aning; the moon is gone:--but sleep on, sweet Kate--sleep on,
dreaming not of dark days before thee--Oh, that thou couldst sleep on
till the brightness returned!

* * * * *

After having stood thus leaning against the window for nearly half an
hour, Titmouse, heavily sighing, returned to bed--but there he tossed
about in wretched restlessness till nearly four o'clock in the morning.
If he now and then sank into forgetfulness for a while, it was only to
be harassed by the dreadful image of Mrs. Squallop, shouting at him,
tearing his hair, cuffing him, flinging a pot of porter in his face,
opening his boxes, tossing his clothes about, taking out his invaluable
ornaments; by Tag-rag kicking him out of the shop; and Messrs. Quirk,
Gammon, and Snap dashing past him in a fine carriage, with six horses,
and paying no attention to him as he ran shouting and breathless after
him; Huckaback following, kicking and pinching him behind. These were
the few little bits of different colored glass in a mental kaleidoscope,
which, turned capriciously round, produced those innumerable fantastic
combinations out of the simple and ordinary events of the day, which we
call _dreams_--tricks of the wild sisters Fancy, when sober Reason has
left her seat for a while. But this is fitter for the Royal Society than
the bedroom of Tittlebat Titmouse; and I beg the reader's pardon.

About six o'clock, Titmouse rose and dressed himself; and, slipping
noiselessly and swiftly down-stairs, and out of the court, in order to
avoid all possibility of encountering his landlady or his tailor, soon
found himself in Oxford Street. Not many people were stirring there. One
or two men who passed him were smoking their morning's pipe, with a
half-awakened air, as if they had only just got out of a snug bed, in
which they always slept every moment that they lay upon it. Titmouse
almost envied them! What a squalid figure he looked, as he paced up and
down, till at length he saw the porter of Messrs. Tag-rag & Co. opening
the shop-door. He soon entered it, and commenced another jocund day in
that delightful establishment. The amiable Mr. Tag-rag continued
unaltered.

"You're at liberty to take yourself off, sir, this very day--this
moment, sir; and a good riddance," said he, bitterly, during the course
of the day, after demanding of Titmouse how he dared to give himself
such sullen airs; "and then we shall see how charming easy it is