It would have been gross improvidence to waste more words on the occasion; for I was to be roused up again at four o’clock the next morning to proceed by the early coach. I determined, therefore, to do as much sleep within the interval as I could; and in a minute, short measure, I was with that mandarin, Morpheus, in his Land of Nod. How intensely we sleep when we are fatigued! Some as sound as tops, others as fast as churches. For my own part I must have slept as fast as a Cathedral,--as fast as Young Rapid wished his father to slumber: nay as fast as the French veteran who dreams over again the whole Russian campaign while dozing in his sentry-box. I must have slept as fast as a fast post-coach in my four-poster--or rather I must have slept “like winkin,” for I seemed hardly to have closed my eyes, when a voice cried “Sleep no more!” It was that of Boots, calling and knocking at the door, whilst through the keyhole a ray of candlelight darted into my chamber. “Who’s there?” “It’s me, your honour, I humbly ax pardon--but somehow I’ve oversleeped myself, and the coach be gone by!” “The devil it is!--then I have lost my place!” “No, not exactly, your honour. She stops a bit at the Dragon, t’other end o’ the town; and if your honour wouldn’t object to a bit of a run--” “That’s enough--come in. Put down the light--and take up that bag--my coat over your arm--and waistcoat with it--and that cravat.” Boots acted according to orders. I jumped out of bed--pocketed my nightcap--screwed on my stockings--plunged into my trowsers--rammed my feet into wrong right and left boots--tumbled down the back stairs--burst through a door, and found myself in the fresh air of the stable-yard, holding a lantern, which, in sheer haste, or spleen, I pitched into the horsepond. Then began the race, during which I completed my toilet, running and firing a verbal volley at Boots, as often as I could spare breath for one. “And you call this waking me up--for the coach. My waistcoat!--Why I could wake myself--too late--without being called. Now my cravat--and be hanged to you!--Confound that stone!--and give me my coat. A nice road--for a run!--I suppose you keep it--on purpose. How many gentlemen--may you do a week?--I’ll tell you what. If I--run--a foot--further--” I paused for wind; while Boots had stopped of his own accord. We had turned a corner into a small square; and on the opposite side, certainly stood an inn with the sign of the Dragon, but without any sign of a coach at the door. Boots stood beside me aghast, and surveying the house from the top to the bottom; not a wreath of smoke came from a chimney; the curtains were closed over every window, and the door was closed and shuttered. I could hardly contain my indignation when I looked at the infernal somnolent visage of the fellow, hardly yet broad awake--he kept rubbing his black-lead eyes with his hands, as if he would have rubbed them out.