The tooth-brushes were rivetted to the glass, of which (in my haste to
disengage them from their strong hold) they carried away a fragment;
the soap was cemented to the dish; my shaving-brush was a mass of
ice. In shape more appalling Discomfort had never appeared on earth.
I approached the looking-glass. Even had all the materials for the
operation been tolerably thawed, it was impossible to use a razor
by such a light.--"Who's there?"

"Now, if 'ee please, zur; no time to lose; only twenty-vive minutes to
vive."

I lost my self-possession--I have often wondered _that_ morning did
not unsettle my mind!

There was no time for the performance of any thing like a comfortable
toilet. I resolved therefore to defer it altogether till the coach
should stop to breakfast.

"I'll pack my portmanteau: that _must_ be done." _In_ went
whatever happened to come first to hand. In my haste, I had thrust in,
amongst my own things, one of mine host's frozen towels. Every thing
must come out again. "Who's there?"

"Now, zur; 'ee'll be too late, zur!"

"Coming!"--Every thing was now gathered together;--the portmanteau
would not lock. No matter, it must be content to travel to town in a
_deshabille_ of straps. Where were my boots? In my hurry, I had
packed away both pair. It was impossible to travel to London, on such
a day, in slippers. Again was every thing to be undone.