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Crawley of Queen’s Crawley

           

           HowtheyoungmanfromCambridgesulkilyputhisfivegreat-coatsinfront;butwasreconciledwhenlittleMissSharpwasmadetoquitthecarriage,andmountupbesidehim—whenhecoveredherupinoneofhisBenjamins,andbecameperfectlygood-humoured—howtheasthmaticgentleman,theprimlady,whodeclareduponhersacredhonourshehadnevertravelledinapubliccarriagebefore(thereisalwayssuchaladyinacoach—Alas!was;forthecoaches,wherearethey?),andthefatwidowwiththebrandy-bottle,tooktheirplacesinside—howtheporteraskedthemallformoney,andgotsixpencefromthegentlemanandfivegreasyhalfpencefromthefatwidow—andhowthecarriageatlengthdroveaway—nowthreadingthedarklanesofAldersgate,anonclatteringbytheBlueCupolaofSt.Paul’s,jinglingrapidlybythestrangers’entryofFleet-Market,which,withExeter‘Change,hasnowdepartedtotheworldofshadows—howtheypassedtheWhiteBearinPiccadilly,andsawthedewrisingupfromthemarket-gardensofKnightsbridge—howTurnhamgreen,Brentwood,Bagshot,werepassed—neednotbetoldhere.Butthewriterofthesepages,whohaspursuedinformerdays,andinthesamebrightweather,thesameremarkablejourney,cannotbutthinkofitwithasweetandtenderregret

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Roboto Lora
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