“We got on very well as far as Swindon, where, in the Splendid Refreshment room, there was a galaxy of lovely gals in cottn velvet spencers, who serves out the soop, and 1 of whom maid an impresshn upon this Art which I shoodn’t like Mary Hann to know—­and here, to our infanit disgust, we changed carridges.  I forgot to say that we were in the seeknd class, having with us James Hangelo, and 23 other light harticles.

“Fust inconveniance:  and almost as bad as break of gage.  I cast my hi upon the gal in cottn velvet, and wanted some soop, of coarse; but seasing up James Hangelo (who was layin his dear little pors on an Am Sangwidg) and seeing my igspresshn of hi—­’James,’ says Mary Hann, ’instead of looking at that young lady—­and not so very young neither—­be pleased to look to our packidges, & place them in the other carridge.’  I did so with an evy Art.  I eranged them 23 articles in the opsit carridg, only missing my umberella & baby’s rattle; and jest as I came back for my baysn of soop, the beast of a bell rings, the whizzling injians proclayms the time of our departure,—­& farewell soop and cottn velvet.  Mary Hann was sulky.  She said it was my losing the umberella.  If it had been a cotton velvet umberella I could have understood.  James Hangelo sittn on my knee was evidently unwell; without his coral:  & for 20 miles that blessid babby kep up a rawring, which caused all the passingers to simpithize with him igseedingly.

“We arrive at Gloster, and there fansy my disgust at bein ableeged to undergo another change of carridges!  Fansy me holding up moughs, tippits, cloaks, and baskits, and James Hangelo rawring still like mad, and pretending to shuperintend the carrying over of our luggage from the broad gage to the narrow gage.  ‘Mary Hann,’ says I, rot to desperation, ‘I shall throttle this darling if he goes on.’  ‘Do,’ says she—­’and go into the refreshment room,’ says she—­a snatchin the babby out of my arms.  Do go,’ says she, youre not fit to look after luggage,’ and she began lulling James Hangelo to sleep with one hi, while she looked after the packets with the other.  Now, Sir! if you please, mind that packet!—­pretty darling—­easy with that box, Sir, its glass—­pooooty poppet—­where’s the deal case, marked arrowroot, No. 24?’ she cried, reading out of a list she had.—­And poor little James went to sleep.  The porters were bundling and carting the various harticles with no more ceremony than if each package had been of cannonball.

“At last—­bang goes a package marked ‘Glass,’ and containing the Chayny bowl and Lady Bareacres’ mixture, into a large white bandbox, with a crash and a smash.  ‘It’s My Lady’s box from Crinoline’s!’ cries Mary Hann; and she puts down the child on the bench, and rushes forward to inspect the dammidge.  You could hear the Chayny bowls clinking inside; and Lady B.’s mixture (which had the igsack smell of cherry brandy) was dribbling out over the smashed bandbox containing a white child’s cloak, trimmed with Blown lace and lined with white satting.