s and farewells.

What a soothing, luxurious, drowsy way of travelling, to lie inside
that slowly-moving mountain, listening to the tinkling of the horses'
bells, the occasional smacking of the carter's whip, the smooth rolling
of the great broad wheels, the rattle of the harness, the cheery
good-nights of passing travellers jogging past on little short-stepped
horses--all made pleasantly indistinct by the thick awning, which
seemed made for lazy listening under, till one fell asleep! The very
going to sleep, still with an indistinct idea, as the head jogged to
and fro upon the pillow, of moving onward with no trouble or fatigue,
and hearing all these sounds like dreamy music, lulling to the
senses--and the slow waking up, and finding one's self staring out
through the breezy curtain half-opened in the front, far up into the
cold bright sky with its countless stars, and downward at the driver's
lantern dancing on like its namesake Jack of the swamps and marshes,
and sideways at the dark grim trees, and forward at the long bare road
rising up, up, up, until it stopped abruptly at a sharp high ridge as
if there were no more road, and all beyond was sky--and the stopping at
the inn to bait, and being helped out, and going into a room with fire
and candles, and winking very much, and being agreeably reminded that
the night was cold, and anxious for very comfort's sake to think it
colder than it was!--What a delicious journey was that journey in the
waggon.

Then the going on again--so fresh at first, and shortly afterwards so
sleepy. The waking from a sound nap as the mail came dashing past like
a highway comet, with gleaming lamps and rattling hoofs, and visions of
a guard behind, standing up to keep his feet warm, and of a gentleman
in a fur cap opening his eyes and looking wild and stupefied--the
stopping at the turnpike where the man was gone to bed, and knocking at
the door until he answered with a smothered shout from under the
bed-clothes in the little room above, where the faint light was
burning, and presently came down, night-capped and shivering, to throw
the gate wide open, and wish all waggons off the road except by day.
The cold sharp interval between night and morning--the distant streak
of light widening and spreading, and turning from grey to white, and
from white to yellow, and from yellow to burning red--the presence of
day, with all its cheerfulness and life--men and horses at the
plough--birds in th