were thrusting parcels into every boot, guards were stowing away
letter-bags, hostlers were dashing pails of water against the renovated
wheels; numbers of men were pushing about, fixing poles into every
coach; passengers arrived, portmanteaus were handed up, horses were put
to; in short, it was perfectly clear that every mail there, was to be
off directly. Gentlemen, my uncle opened his eyes so wide at all this,
that, to the very last moment of his life, he used to wonder how it fell
out that he had ever been able to shut 'em again.

'"Now then!" said a voice, as my uncle felt a hand on his shoulder,
"you're booked for one inside. You'd better get in."

'"I booked!" said my uncle, turning round.

'"Yes, certainly."

'My uncle, gentlemen, could say nothing, he was so very much astonished.
The queerest thing of all was that although there was such a crowd of
persons, and although fresh faces were pouring in, every moment, there
was no telling where they came from. They seemed to start up, in some
strange manner, from the ground, or the air, and disappear in the same
way. When a porter had put his luggage in the coach, and received his
fare, he turned round and was gone; and before my uncle had well begun
to wonder what had become of him, half a dozen fresh ones started up,
and staggered along under the weight of parcels, which seemed big enough
to crush them. The passengers were all dressed so oddly too! Large,
broad-skirted laced coats, with great cuffs and no collars; and wigs,
gentlemen--great formal wigs with a tie behind. My uncle could make
nothing of it.

'"Now, are you going to get in?" said the person who had addressed my
uncle before. He was dressed as a mail guard, with a wig on his head and
most enormous cuffs to his coat, and had a lantern in one hand, and a
huge blunderbuss in the other, which he was going to stow away in his
little arm-chest. "ARE you going to get in, Jack Martin?" said the
guard, holding the lantern to my uncle's face.

'"Hollo!" said my uncle, falling back a step or two. "That's familiar!"

'"It's so on the way-bill," said the guard.

'"Isn't there a 'Mister' before it?" said my uncle. For he felt,
gentlemen, that for a guard he didn't know, to call him Jack Martin,
was a liberty which the Post Office wouldn't have sanctioned if they had
known it.

'"No, there is not," rejoined the guard coolly.

'"Is the fare paid?" inquired my uncle.

'"Of course it is," rejoined the guard