Be this letter delivered with haste--haste--post-haste!
Ride, villain, ride,--for thy life--for thy life--for thy life.
Ancient Indorsation of Letters of Importance.
Leaving Mr.Oldbuck and his friend to enjoy their hard bargain of fish, we beg leave to transport the reader to the back-parlour of the post-master's house at Fairport, where his wife, he himself being absent, was employed in assorting for delivery the letters which had come by the Edinburgh post.
This is very often in country towns the period of the day when gossips find it particularly agreeable to call on the man or woman of letters, in order, from the outside of the epistles, and, if they are not belied, occasionally from the inside also, to amuse themselves with gleaning information, or forming conjectures about the correspondence and affairs of their neighbours.Two females of this description were, at the time we mention, assisting, or impeding, Mrs.Mailsetter in her official duty.
``Eh, preserve us, sirs!'' said the butcher's wife, ``there's ten --eleven--twall letters to Tennant and Co.--thae folk do mair business than a' the rest o' the burgh.''
``Ay; but see, lass,'' answered the baker's lady, ``there's twa o' them faulded unco square, and sealed at the tae side--Idoubt there will be protested bills in them.''
``Is there ony letters come yet for Jenny Caxon?'' inquired the woman of joints and giblets; ``the lieutenant's been awa three weeks.''
``Just ane on Tuesday was a week,'' answered the dame of letters.
``Wast a ship-letter?'' asked the Fornerina.
``In troth wast.''
``It wad be frae the lieutenant then,'' replied the mistress of the rolls, somewhat disappointed--``I never thought he wad hae lookit ower his shouther after her.''
``Od, here's another,'' quoth Mrs.Mailsetter.``A ship-letter --post-mark, Sunderland.'' All rushed to seize it.--``Na, na, leddies,'' said Mrs.Mailsetter, interfering; ``I hae had eneugh o' that wark--Ken ye that Mr.Mailsetter got an unco rebuke frae the secretary at Edinburgh, for a complaint that was made about the letter of Aily Bisset's that ye opened, Mrs.Shortcake?''
``Me opened!'' answered the spouse of the chief baker of Fairport; "ye ken yoursell, madam, it just cam open o' free will in my hand--what could I help it?--folk suld seal wi'
better wax.''
``Weel I wot that's true, too,'' said Mrs.Mailsetter, who kept a shop of small wares, ``and we have got some that I can honestly recommend, if ye ken onybody wanting it.But the short and the lang o't is, that we'll lose the place gin there's ony mair complaints o' the kind.''
``Hout, lass--the provost will take care o' that.''
``Na, na, I'll neither trust to provost nor bailier'' said the postmistress,--``but I wad aye be obliging and neighbourly, and I'm no again your looking at the outside of a letter neither--See, the seal has an anchor on't--he's done't wi' ane o'
his buttons, I'm thinking.''
``Show me! show me!'' quoth the wives of the chief butcher and chief baker; and threw themselves on the supposed love-letter, like the weird sisters in Macbeth upon the pilot's thumb, with curiosity as eager and scarcely less malignant.Mrs.
Heukbane was a tall woman--she held the precious epistle up between her eyes and the window.Mrs.Shortcake, a little squat personage, strained and stood on tiptoe to have her share of the investigation.
``Ay, it's frae him, sure eneugh,'' said the butcher's lady;--``I can read Richard Taffril on the corner, and it's written, like John Thomson's wallet, frae end to end.''
``Haud it lower down, madam,'' exclaimed Mrs.Shortcake, in a tone above the prudential whisper which their occupation required--``haud it lower down--Div ye think naebody can read hand o' writ but yoursell?''
``Whist, whist, sirs, for God's sake!'' said Mrs.Mailsetter, ``there's somebody in the shop,''--then aloud--``Look to the customers, Baby!''--Baby answered from without in a shrill tone--``It's naebody but Jenny Caxon, ma'am, to see if there's ony letters to her.''
``Tell her,'' said the faithful postmistress, winking to her compeers, ``to come back the morn at ten o'clock, and I'll let her ken--we havena had time to sort the mail letters yet--she's aye in sic a hurry, as if her letters were o' mair consequence than the best merchant's o' the town.''
Poor Jenny, a girl of uncommon beauty and modesty, could only draw her cloak about her to hide the sigh of disappointment and return meekly home to endure for another night the sickness of the heart occasioned by hope delayed.
``There's something about a needle and a pole,'' said Mrs.
Shortcake, to whom her taller rival in gossiping had at length yielded a peep at the subject of their curiosity.
``Now, that's downright shamefu','' said Mrs.Heukbane, ``to scorn the poor silly gait of a lassie after he's keepit company wi'
her sae lang, and had his will o' her, as I make nae doubt he has.''
``It's but ower muckle to be doubted,'' echoed Mrs.Shortcake;--``to cast up to her that her father's a barber and has a pole at his door, and that she's but a manty-maker hersell!
Hout fy for shame!''
``Hout tout, leddies,'' cried Mrs.Mailsetter, ``ye're clean wrang --It's a line out o' ane o' his sailors' sangs that I have heard him sing, about being true like the needle to the pole.''
``Weel, weel, I wish it may be sae,'' said the charitable Dame Heukbane,--``but it disna look weel for a lassie like her to keep up a correspondence wi' ane o' the king's officers.''
``I'm no denying that,'' said Mrs.Mailsetter; ``but it's a great advantage to the revenue of the post-office thae love-letters.
See, here's five or six letters to Sir Arthur Wardour--maist o' them sealed wi' wafers, and no wi' wax.There will be a downcome, there, believe me.''
``Ay; they will be business letters, and no frae ony o' his grand friends, that seals wi' their coats of arms, as they ca'
