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WITHOUT PICTURES.
117
TWENTY-NINTH EVENING.
Close beside the high road,—said the Moon,—lies a little public house, and just opposite to it is a great coach house. As the roof was under repair, I looked down between the beams and saw through the open trap-door into the great desolate space; the turkey slept upon the beam, and the saddle was laid to rest in the empty manger. In the middle of the place stood a travelling-carriage, within which the gentlefolks were sound asleep, whilst the horses were feeding, and the driver stretched his limbs, although I know very well that he slept soundly more than half the way. The door of the fellow’s chamber stood open, and the bed looked as if he had tumbled neck and heels into it; the candle stood on the floor,
