CHAPTER XV. << 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 postmaster'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. « Preserve us, sirs," said the butcher's wife; << there's ten, eleven-twal 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-I doubt there will be protested bills in them.» « Is there ony letters come yet for Jenny Caxon?-the lieutenant's been awa'three weeks." << Just ane, on Tuesday was a week.» << Was't a ship-letter?» « In troth was't. >> « It wad be frae the lieutenant then-I never thought he wad hae lookit ower his shouther after her.» «Odd, here's another, » quoth Mrs Mailsetter. A ship-letter- post-mark, Sunderland. » — All rushed to seize it. « Na, na, leddies," said Mrs Mailsetter, «< I hae had aneugh 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 you opened, Mrs Shortcake?» << Me opened !» answered the spouse of the chief baker of Fairport; « ye ken yoursel, 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 ony body 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 baillie --but I wad aye be obliging and neighbourly, and I'm no again your looking at the ouside of a letter neither-See, the seal has an anchor on'the's done't wi' ane o' his buttons I'm thinking." << Shew me! shew 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 epistle up between her eyes and the window. Mrs Shortcake, a little squat personage, strained and stood a tiptoe to have her share of the investigation. << It's frae him, sure aneugh-I can read Richard Taffril on the corner, and it's written, like John Tamson'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 yoursel?»> Whisht, whisht, 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 mornat ten o'clock, and I'll let her ken - we have na 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 hersel! 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-but it doesna 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' them,» said Mrs Heukbane; «< pride will hae a fa-he hasna settled his account wi' my gudeman, the deacon, for this twalmonth-he's but slink, I doubt.» «Nor wi' huz for sax months," echoed Mrs Shortcake- -« He's but a brunt crust.>> «There's a letter,» interrupted the trusty postmistress, « from his son, the captain, I'm thinking the seal has the same things wi' the Knockwinnock carriage. He'll be coming hame to see what he can save out o' the fire. >> -- — The baronet thus dismissed, they took up the esquire « << Twa letters for Monkbarns—they're frae some o' his learned friends now - See sae close as they're written down to the very sealand a' to save sending a double letter—that's just like Monkbarns himsel. When he gets a frank he fills it up exact to the weight of an unce, that a carvy-seed would sink the scale—but he's ne'er a grain abune it. Weel I wot I wad be broken if I were to gie sic weight to the folk that come to buy our pepper and brimstone and sweetmeats.»> << He's a shabby body the laird o' Monkbarns,» said Mrs Heukbanę,« he'll make as muckle about buying a fore quarter o' lamb in August, as about a backsey o' beef. Let's taste another drap |