The Royal Mail Part 20

It is amusing, however, to read the contemptuous and very funny criticisms which were showered upon the artist and Mr Rowland Hill by the newspapers of the day, in one of which the following remarks appear:--

"The envelopes and half-sheets have an engraved surface, extremely fantastic, and not less grotesque. In the centre, at the top, sits Britannia, throwing out her arms, as if in a tempest of fury, at four winged urchins, intended to represent postboys, letter-carriers, or Mercuries, but who, instead of making use of their wings and flying, appear in the act of striking out or swimming, which would have been natural enough if they had been furnished with fins instead of wings. On the right of Britannia there are a brace of elephants, all backed and ready to start, when some Hindoo, Chinese, Arabic, or Turkish merchants, standing quietly by, have closed their bargains and correspondence. The elephants are symbolic of the lightness and rapidity with which Mr Rowland Hill's penny postage is to be carried on, and perhaps, also, of the power requisite for transporting the 1500 a-year to his quarters, which is all he obtains for strutting about the Post-office with his hands in his pockets, and nothing to do, like a fish out of water. On the left of Britannia, who looks herself very much like a termagant, there is an agglomeration of native Indians, missionaries, Yankees, and casks of tobacco, with a sprinkling of foliage, and the rotten stem of a tree, not forgetting a little terrier dog inquisitively gliding between the legs of the mysterious conclave to see the row. Below, on the left, a couple of heads of the damsel tribe are curiously peering over a valentine just received (scene, Valentine's Day), whilst a little girl is pressing the elders for a sight of Cupid, and the heart transfixed with a score of arrows. On the right, again, stands a dutiful boy, reading to his anxious mamma an account of her husband's hapless shipwreck, who, with hands clasped, is blessing Rowland Hill for the cheap rate at which she gets the disastrous intelligence. With very great propriety the name of the artist is conspicuously placed in one corner, so that the public and posterity may know who is the worthy Oliver of the genius of a Rowland on this important occasion. As may well be imagined, it is no common man, for the mighty effort has taxed the powers of the Royal Academy itself, if the engraved announcement of W. Mulready, R.A., in the corner, may be credited. Considering the infinite drollery of the whole, the curious a.s.sortment of figures and faces; the harmonious _melange_ of elephants, mandarins' tails, Yankee beavers, naked Indians squatted with their hindquarters in front, Cherokee chiefs with feathered tufts shaking missionaries by the hand; casks of Virginia threatening the heads of young ladies devouring their love-letters; and the old woman in the corner, with hands uplifted, blessing Lord Lichfield and Sir Rowland for the saving grace of 11d. out of the shilling, and valuing her absent husband's calamity or death as nothing in comparison with such an economy,--altogether, it may be said that this is a wondrous combination of pictorial genius, after which Phiz and Cruikshank must hide their diminished heads, for they can hardly be deemed worthy now of the inferior grade of a.s.sociates and aspirants for Academic honours."

All this is excessively funny, and enables us to smile; but if the grounds of condemnation were of no more solid kind, we might venture the suggestion that the envelopes had hardly a fair trial at the bar of serious public judgment.

_Lines on the Penny Postage._

The following lines were popular about the year 1840, when Sir Rowland Hill introduced the uniform penny rate of postage. The scheme was not looked upon hopefully in all quarters, and some persons predicted an early failure for it, while others only saw in the new departure grounds for ridicule or jest. These lines, which are certainly amusing, are said to be the production of Mr James Beaton:--

Something I want to write upon, to scare away each vapour-- The "Penny Postage" shall I try? Why, yes, I'll write on paper.

Thy great invention, Rowland Hill, each person loudly hails; The females they are full of it, and so are all the mails.

This may be called the "Penny Age," and those who are not mulish, Are daily growing "penny wise," though not, I hope, pound foolish.

We've penny blacking, penny plays, penny mags, for information, And now a "Penny Post," which proves we've lots of penetration.

Their love-sick thoughts by this new act may Lucy, Jane, or Mary, Array in airy-diction from Johnson's dictionary.

Each maid will for the postman watch the keyhole like a cat, And spring towards the door whene'er there comes a big rat-tat.

And lots of paper will be used by every scribbling elf, That each should be a paper manufacturer himself.

To serve all with ink enough they must have different plans; They must start an "Ink walk" just like milk, and serve it round in cans.

The letters in St Valentine so vastly will amount, Postmen may judge them by the lot, they won't have time to count; They must bring round spades and measures, to poor love-sick souls Deliver them by bushels, the same as they do coals.

As billet-doux will so augment, the mails will be too small, So omnibuses they must use, or they can't carry all; And ladies pleasure will evince, instead of any fuss, To have their lovers' letters all delivered with a 'bus!

Mail-coachmen are improving much in knowledge of the head, For like the letter which they take, they're themselves all over red.

Postmen are "men of letters" too; each one's a learned talker, And 'cause he reads the diction'ry, the people call him "Walker."

Handwriting now of every sort the connoisseur may meet; Though a running hand, I think, does most give postmen running feet.

They who can't write will make their mark when they a line are dropping, And where orthography is lame, of course it will "come hopping."

Invention is progressing so, and soon it will be seen, That conveyance will be quicker done than it has ever been; A plan's in agitation--as nought can genius fetter-- To let us have the answer back, before they get the letter.

_At the Stamp-counter._

A man who can stand at the stamp-counter and serve the public without fear and without reproach, must needs be possessed of a highly sweetened temper. What with the impatient demands of some, the unreasonable demurs of others, the tiresome iteration of questions propounded by the eccentric, and the attention required to be given to the Mrs Browns of society, not to mention the irritating remarks at times of the inconsiderate, the position behind the counter is one which calls for self-control and a large share of good-nature.

The sort of thing that has to be endured at the hands of

"Perfect woman, n.o.bly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command,"

when she chooses to lay siege to the stamp-window, is thus described by an American writer, and the description is not to any great extent an exaggeration (if it be so at all) of experiences which are had in our own country in this particular direction:--

"Just about eleven o'clock yesterday forenoon there were thirteen men and one woman at the stamp-window of the Post-office. Most of the men had letters to post on the eastern trains. The woman had something tied up in a blue match-box. She got there first, and she held her position with her head in the window and both elbows on the shelf.

"'Is there such a place in this country as Cleveland?' she began.

"'Oh yes.'

"'Do you send mail there?'

"'Yes.'

"'Well, a woman living next door asked me to mail this box for her. I guess it's directed all right. She said it ought to go for a cent.'

"'Takes two cents,' said the clerk, after weighing it. 'If there is writing inside, it will be twelve cents.'

"'Mercy on me, but how you do charge!'

"Here the thirteen men began to push up and bustle around, and talk about the old match-box delaying two dozen business letters; but the woman had lots of time.

"'Then it will be two cents, eh?'

"'If there is no writing inside,' observed the clerk.

"'Well, there may be; I know she is a great hand to write. She's sending some flower-seed to her sister, and I suppose she has told her how to plant 'em ----'

"'Two threes,' called out one of the crowd, as he tried to get at the window.

"'Hurry up!' cried another.

"'There ought to be a separate window here for women,' growled a third.

"'Then it will take twelve cents?' she calmly queried, as she fumbled around for her purse.

"'Yes.'

"'Well, I'd better pay it, I guess.'

"From one pocket she took two coppers, from her reticule she took a three-cent piece, from her purse she fished out a nickel; and it was only after a hunt of eighty seconds that she got the twelve cents together. She then consumed four minutes in licking on the stamps, asking where to post the box, and wondering if there was really any writing inside.

"But woman proposes and man disposes. Twenty thousand dollars worth of business was being detained by a twelve-cent woman, and a tidal wave suddenly took her away from the window. In sixty seconds the thirteen men had been waited on and gone their ways, and the woman returned to the window, handed in the box, and said, 'Them stamps are licked on crooked; it won't make any difference, will it?'"

CHAPTER XXIV.

ABOUT POSTMASTERS.

The description furnished by Scott in the 'Antiquary' of the internal management of a country Post-office, as existing towards the close of last century, is extremely amusing and piquant; but the probability is that, while so much of what is said might be true to circ.u.mstances, the picture was heightened in colour for the purpose of literary effect. No doubt a certain amount of gossip emerged from such country offices, derived from the outsides and occasionally from the insides of letters; yet it is hardly likely that a group of curious women should have gathered together in the postmaster's room to make a general overhaul of the contents of the mail-bag, as is described in the case of the Post-office at Fairport. In small country towns in the present day, it is no uncommon thing to attribute the spread of "secrets" about the place to a breach of confidence at the Post-office, while the real fact is that things told by the persons concerned in strictest secrecy to their most intimate friends are by these communicated again to other kind friends, and so the ripple of information rolls on till there is no longer any secret at all, and the poor official at the Post-office is a.s.sumed to be the only possible offender. The smaller the place the greater is the thirst for neighbourly gossip, the more quickly does it spread when out, and the more ready are those whose secrets ooze forth to point the finger of suspicion at the Post-office.

Every one knows what a small country Post-office is nowadays. When we seek change of air and relaxation in the holiday season, choice is made maybe of some little country village or seaside resort whereat to spend the few weeks at our disposal. If the place be a _place_ at all, there we shall find a Post-office; but possibly there is no house-to-house delivery, and letters must be called for at the Post-office itself. As the post-hour approaches, groups of visitors take up positions near the office door, or squat themselves down on any patch of sward that may be conveniently near. Young ladies waited upon by their admirers, mothers with their children, a bachelor group or two from the inn, and here and there a native of the place, some expecting letters, others indulging a feeble hope in that direction, attend as a.s.sistants at what is one of the excitements of the day. Presently the post-runner, with his wallet slung upon his back and a rustic walking-stick in his hand, appears in the distance, jogging along with that steady swinging stride which is so characteristic of his cla.s.s. The visitors begin to close up around the Post-office; in a few minutes the runner steps into it; he throws down his wallet of treasures on the counter, removes his faded and dusty hat, and with his coloured cotton handkerchief wipes the sweat from his soiled and heated face. Meanwhile the attention of the postmistress is given to the contents of the bag; and as the expectant receivers of letters crowd in at or around the door, a few who have been unable to approach sufficiently near derive what consolation they can from eyeing the operations through the shop window, or by vainly endeavouring to catch an early glimpse of some well-known superscription as the letters pa.s.s one by one through the hands of the postmistress.

The division of the letters, which can hardly be called a system of sorting, is a proceeding worthy of study. Some letters are placed up on end against sweetie-bottles in the window, others are laid down on shelves, others again are spread out on drawers or tables, quite in an arbitrary fashion. The postmistress has no difficulty in reading the addresses, as a rule, but the name of a new-comer seems to demand a little study: the letter is looked at back and front, and then laid down hesitatingly in a place by itself, as if it were an uncanny thing. The address of a letter for any young lady supposed to be engaged in correspondence of a tender kind seems also to require scrutiny; and should she happen to be well in at the door, it is immediately handed to her, those who are in the secret and those who are not forming different ideas as to the reason for this special mark of favour. While this is being done, an undefined sensation is produced in the small crowd, and the recipient retires in confusion to peruse the letter in peace and quiet elsewhere. At length the whole treasures are ready, and the distribution to the eager callers is a matter of a very few minutes, to be renewed again at the same hour next day.

Something like this is the routine observed when the delivery is being effected at small rural Post-offices in our own days--the keeper of the post being a shopkeeper, generally a grocer.

In the earlier history of the post, and up till the time of mail-coaches, the Post-office was very generally to be found established at the inn of the place. There was an evident convenience in this, owing to the innkeeper being the postmaster in the other and original sense of the provider of horses to ride post, when it was common to send on expresses, by means of these agents, from stage to stage. But the innkeepers, being often farmers besides, had business more important than that of the post to look after, and consequently the work was delegated to others. The duty of receiving and despatching the mails was frequently left to waiters or chambermaids, with the undesirable but inevitable result that the work was badly done. Often there was no separate place set apart for Post-office business; letters were sorted in the bar or in one of the public rooms, where any one could see them, thereby excluding all possibility of secrecy in dealing with the correspondence. Referring to the middle of last century, a surveyor expressed himself to the effect that "the head ostler was often the postmaster's prime minister in matters relating to the mails."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Interior of an Old Post-Office.]

The interest taken by Boniface in the Post-office does not seem to have been very great; for an English surveyor, writing in 1792, thus expresses himself: "Persons who keep horses for other uses, and particularly innkeepers, may a.s.suredly more conveniently and at less expense work the mails than those who keep horses for that business only. But, on the other hand, it may be observed that innkeepers, so far from paying Government service the compliment of employing in it their best horses, too often send their worst with the mails; and as to their riders, they are, in general, the dregs of the stable-yard, and by no means to be compared to those employed by postmasters in private stations."