SOME EARLY POSTAL REFORMERS
In Mr Joyce's already quoted and exhaustive work upon the Post
Office as it existed before 1840 an interesting account is given of
the reformers who, long before Rowland Hill's time, did so much to
render the service efficient, and therefore to benefit the nation.
As pioneers in a good cause, they deserve mention in another volume
dealing with the same public Department; and their story is perhaps
the better worth repeating because it shows how curiously similar is
the treatment meted out to those who are rash enough to meddle with
a long-established monopoly, no matter how greatly it may stand in
need of reform. In every instance the reformer struggled hard for
recognition of the soundness of his views, toiled manfully when once
he had acquired the position he deserved to hold, was more or less
thwarted and harassed while he filled it, and, precisely as if he
had been a mischievous innovator instead of a public benefactor, was
eventually got rid of.
As regards the Post Office, each of the best-known reformers was
handicapped by the fact that, with one notable exception, he was that
unwelcome thing, an outsider. Murray was an upholsterer, or, according
to another account, a clerk in the Assize Office; Dockwra was a
sub-searcher at the Custom House; and Palmer was the proprietor of the
Bath theatre. My father, as has been shown, had been a schoolmaster, a
rotatory printing press inventor, and a member of the South Australian
Commission. Even when his plan was accepted by the Government, he
had yet to set foot within the Post Office, though not for want of
trying to enter, because while collecting material for his pamphlet in
1836 he had applied to the authorities for permission to inspect the
working of the Department, only to meet with a refusal.
The one notable exception was Ralph Allen, Pope's “humble Allen,” and,
as mentioned in the previous chapter, the author of the cross-posts.
The original of Fielding's “Squire Allworthy” had, Mr Joyce tells us,
“been cradled and nursed in the Post Office,” and his grandmother
was postmistress at St Columb, Cornwall. Here he kept the official
accounts in so neat and regular a manner that he attracted the
attention of the district surveyor, and, later, was given a situation
in the Bath Post Office, eventually becoming its chief official.[48]
Mr Joyce's narrative, as we have seen, is brought down only to the end
of the old postal system. To that which superseded it he makes but
brief allusion, because the subject had already been dealt with in the
two volumes edited and added to by Dr Birkbeck Hill.
In the present work the story will be carried less than thirty years
beyond the time at which Mr Joyce's narrative ends—that is, so far as
postal reform is concerned. The later history of the Post Office,
which would easily make a volume as large as Mr Joyce's, has yet to
find an author, and to rank worthily beside his should be written with
a corresponding care and accuracy of detail.
One chapter only need be devoted here to the most prominent early
postal reformers, and their story shall begin with Witherings (1635).
Speaking of his work, Mr Joyce says, “This was the introduction of
postage.”[49] To Witherings, therefore, must be awarded the merit
of having furnished cause for a new meaning of the word “post,”
whose earlier usage still survives in some provincial hotel notices
announcing “posting in all its branches.”[50]
In Witherings' time the postal rates were, for single letters, “under
80 miles, 2d.; under 140 miles, 4d.; over 140 miles, 6d.—for until
1840 the charges were calculated according to distance. For double
letters double rates were, of course, exacted. If “bigger” than
double, the postage became 6d., 9d. and 1s. Single postage to and from
Scotland was 8d., to and from Ireland 9d. These were heavy rates at a
time when the country was far less wealthy and the relative value of
money higher than is now the case. But at least service was rendered
for the heavy rates, as “Henceforth the posts were to be equally open
to all; all would be at liberty to use them; all would be welcome.”[51]
Witherings especially distinguished himself in the management of the
foreign postal service, which he accelerated and made more efficient.
In 1637 he was appointed “Master of the Posts,” and was thus the only
reformer from outside who, withinside, rose to become supreme head
of the Department. The office was given to enable him to undertake,
unhindered, the improvements he proposed to make in the inland posts.
Three years later he was dismissed, and an end put to “the career of
one who had the sagacity to project and the energy to carry out a
system, the main features of which endure to the present day.”[52]
In 1643 the postal revenue amounted to some £5,000 a year only. By
1677 the Department's profits were farmed at £43,000 a year, and
the officials consisted of one Postmaster-General and seventy-five
employees. A writer of the day tells us that “the number of letter
missives is now prodigiously great.”
In 1658 John Hill, a Yorkshire attorney, did good work, and tried
to accomplish more. He already supplied post horses between York
and London, undertook the conveyance, at cheap rates, of parcels
and letters, and established agencies about the country for the
furtherance of a scheme to greatly reduce the postal charges
throughout the kingdom; his proposal being a penny rate for England
and Wales, a twopenny rate for Scotland, and a fourpenny rate for
Ireland. But the Government declined to consider the merits of the
plan.
When Dockwra—who gave practical shape to the scheme which Murray had
assigned to him—established his reform of a penny post, London had
no other post office than the general one in Lombard Street,[53] and
there was no such thing as a delivery of letters between one part of
London and another. Thus, if any Londoner wished to write to any other
Londoner, he was obliged to employ a messenger to convey his missive
to its destination; and as the houses then had no numbers, but were
distinguished only by signs, the amateur letter-carrier must have been
often puzzled at which door to knock.
Dockwra soon put his great scheme into working order. He divided city
and suburbs into districts—in that respect forestalling a feature
of Rowland Hill's plan—seven in number, each with a sorting office;
and in one day opened over four hundred receiving offices. In the
city letters were delivered for 1d., in the suburbs for 2d. It must
have been quite as epoch-making a reform to the Londoners of the
seventeenth century, as was the far wider-reaching, completer scheme
established a hundred and sixty years later to the entire nation. For
Dockwra's, though for its time a wonderful advance, was but a local
institution, the area served being “from Hackney in the north to
Lambeth in the south, and from Blackwall in the east to Westminster in
the west.”[54] He also introduced a parcel post.
The local penny posts—for they were afterwards extended to many other
towns—have given some people the erroneous impression that Rowland
Hill's plan of penny postage was simply an elaboration and a widening
of Dockwra's older system. Things called by a similar name are not
necessarily identical. Indeed, as we have seen, the word “postage” had
formerly quite a different meaning from that it now has; and, although
Dockwra's “penny post” and Rowland Hill's “penny postage” related
equally to postage in its modern interpretation of the word, that the
system established in 1840 materially differed from preceding systems
will be shown in the succeeding chapter.[55]
Dockwra's reform was inaugurated in 1680, proved of immense benefit
to the public, was intended to last for ever, and did last for a
hundred and twenty-one years. In 1801 the charges on the local—to
say nothing of those on the general—post were raised from 1d. and
2d. to 2d. and 3d., while its area, which in Queen Anne's reign had
been extended to from 18 to 20 miles beyond London, shrank into much
narrower limits.[56] The increase of charge was due to that augmented
contribution, on the part of the Post Office, to the war-tax which
has been already mentioned. During the last twenty-five of the years
1801-1840 the country was at peace, but the tendency of “temporary”
war-taxes is to become permanent, or to die a very lingering death;
and, as has been shown, no diminution was made in postal rates; and
letter-writing in thousands of homes practically ceased to be.
In 1663 the entire profits of the Post Office had been settled
on James, Duke of York; and Dockwra's reform, like other large
measures, being costly to establish, he had to seek financial help
outside the Department, the requisite money being furnished by a few
public-spirited citizens of London. The undertaking was a losing
speculation at first, but presently began to prosper; and the Duke's
jealousy was at once roused. “So long,” says Mr Joyce, “as the
outgoings exceeded the receipts, Dockwra remained unmolested; but no
sooner had the balance turned than the Duke complained of his monopoly
being infringed, and the Courts of Law decided in his favour. Not only
was Dockwra cast in damages, but the undertaking was wrested out of
his hands.”[57]
During James's reign this eminent public servant met with no
recognition of his valuable work; but under William and Mary he was
granted a pension, and after some delay was reinstated as comptroller
of the penny post. But in 1700 both situation and pension came to
an end; and the man who had conferred so signal a benefit upon his
fellow-citizens was finally dismissed.
In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the posts in Ireland were
few and far between. Carrick-on-Shannon was the only town in County
Leitrim which received a mail, and that not oftener than twice a week.
Several districts in Ireland were served only at the cost of their
inhabitants.
Besides London, Bath alone—favoured by its two distinguished
citizens, Ralph Allen and John Palmer—had, before 1792, more than
one letter-carrier; and many important centres of population, such
as Norwich, York, Derby, Newcastle-on-Tyne, and Plymouth, had none
at all—the postmaster, and in some instances a single assistant,
constituting the entire staff, no sort of duty outside the official
walls being undertaken. The Channel Islands were treated as though
they had been in another planet. Before 1794 they had no postal
communication with the rest of the United Kingdom, though for some
years local enterprise had provided them with an inter-insular
service. When Palmer appeared on the scene, the number of towns in
the British Isles which received mails increased rapidly, while those
already served two or three times a week began to receive a post
daily.
In no respect, perhaps, has greater progress been made than in the
matter of mail conveyance, both as regards acceleration and safety,
and in other ways. In Witherings' time about two months were required
for a letter and its answer to pass between London and Scotland or
London and Ireland. Exchange of correspondence between the three
kingdoms was, strange to say, far less expeditiously carried on
than that between London and Madrid. But when it is remembered how
direful was the condition of our thoroughfares in the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries, the impossibility of anything like swift
progress becomes evident. Ruts there were, says Arthur Young, which
measured 3 feet in depth, and in wet weather were filled to the
brim with water; while in “Guy Mannering” Scott speaks of districts
“only accessible through a succession of tremendous morasses.” In
“Waverley” (_temp._ 1745) is described the “Northern Diligence, a
huge, old-fashioned tub drawn by three horses, which completed the
journey from Edinburgh to London ('God willing,' as the advertisement
expressed it) in three weeks.” Twenty years later, even, the coaches
spent from twelve to fourteen days upon the journey, and went once a
month only. In some places the roads were so bad that it was necessary
to erect beacons alongside them to keep the travelling public after
dark from falling into the ponds and bogs which lined the highways and
sometimes encroached upon them. Elsewhere, the ponderous “machines”
groaned or clattered over rocky and precipitous ways, rolling and
pitching like a vessel on an angry sea. Not even by the more
lightly-freighted men on foot and boys mounted on the wretched steeds
provided for the Post Office service could swifter progress be made.
No wonder that letter and answer should travel but slowly.
In 1784, when Palmer proposed the abolition of these slow-moving
and far from trustworthy mail-carriers,[58] and the substitution
in their place of the existing stage-coaches,[59] great were the
scorn and indignation of the postal authorities. Seven miles an hour
instead of three and a half! And coaches instead of post-boys! Were
ever such mad proposals heard of! The officials were “amazed that
any dissatisfaction, any desire for change should exist.” Not so
very long before, they had plumed themselves on the gratifying fact
that “in five days an answer to a letter might be had from a place
distant 200 miles from the writer.” And now, even in face of that
notable advance, the public wanted further concessions! One prominent
official “could not see why the post should be the swiftest conveyance
in England.” Another was sure that if travelling were made quicker,
the correspondence of the country would be thrown into the utmost
confusion. But he thought—and perhaps the parentage of the thought
was not far to seek—that to expedite the mails was simply impossible.
The officials, indeed, were “unanimously of opinion that the thing
is totally impracticable.”[60] And, doubtless, Palmer was set down
as “a visionary” and “a revolutionist”—names to be bestowed, some
fifty-three years later, upon another persistent reformer. A second
Committee, formed to consider Palmer's proposals, reported that it
had “examined the oldest and ablest officers of the Post Office, and
they had no confidence whatever in the plan.” “It is always,” said
Brougham, when, in the Upper House, he was advocating adoption of the
later reform, “the oldest and ablest, for the Committee considered the
terms synonymous.”[61]
Thus does history repeat itself. As it was with Palmer, so, before
him, it was with Witherings and Dockwra; and, after him, with Rowland
Hill. The unforgivable offence is to be wiser than one's opponents,
and to achieve success when failure has been predicted.
But worse things than prophecy of failure accompany reforms, attempted
or accomplished, and act like a discordant chorus striving to drown
sweet music. Prophecy of dire results, such as ruin of society,
disruption of the Empire, etc., are sometimes raised, and carry dismay
into the hearts of the timid. My father, who was born less than
forty-three years after “the change of style,” as a child often heard
old people, in all seriousness, lament the loss of “our eleven days,”
and declare that since it was made everything in this country had gone
wrong.[62] I too, when young, have heard aged lips attribute the awful
cholera visitation of 1832 to our sinfulness in passing the Catholic
Emancipation Bill; and the potato disease and consequent Irish famine
in the mid 'forties to interference with the sacred Corn Laws. We
laugh at this sort of thing to-day, but are we much wiser than our
forebears?
Although these great reforms differ widely in character, the gloomy
predictions concerning them are substantially alike. The terrible
things prophesied never come to pass; and of the reforms when once
established no sane person wishes to get rid.
When at last Palmer had borne down opposition and been placed in
authority, he set to work in a far-reaching, statesmanlike manner.
The old, worthless vehicles which, owing to their frequent habit of
breaking down on the road, had become a constant source of complaint,
were gradually got rid of; and by 1792 all his mail-coaches were
new. He was a born organiser, and insisted on the introduction and
maintenance of business-like methods. Unnecessary stoppages along
the road were put an end to, and necessary stoppages shortened; the
mail-bags to be taken on were made up before the coaches appeared, the
mail-bags to be taken off were ready to the guard's hand; and strict
punctuality was enforced. The guards and coachmen were armed, and no
one unskilled in the use of firearms was employed in either capacity.
The harness and other accoutrements were kept in good repair, the
coaches were well-horsed, and the relays were made with reasonable
frequency.[63]
Palmer had calculated that sixteen hours ought to suffice for the
London and Bath coach when covering the distance between the two
cities. The time usually spent on the road was thirty-eight hours. The
first mail-coach which started from Bath to London under his auspices
in 1784 performed the journey in seventeen hours, proving with what
nearness to absolute accuracy he had made his calculations. For a
while seventeen hours became the customary time-limit. Not long after
this date mail-coaches were plying on all the principal roads.
Before the first of Palmer's coaches went to Liverpool, that seaport
was served by one letter-carrier. Ten years later, six were needed.
One postman had sufficed for Edinburgh; now four were required.
Manchester till 1792 had but one letter-carrier, and its postal staff
consisted of an aged widow and her daughter. Previous to 1794 the Isle
of Wight was served by one postmaster and one letter-carrier only.
Before Palmer took over the management of the coaches they were
robbed, along one road or another, at least once a week. It was not
till his rule was ten years old that a coach was stopped or robbed;
and then it was not a highwayman, but a passenger who did the looting.
Before 1784 the annual expenditure incurred through prosecution of the
thieves had been a heavy charge on the service, one trial alone—that
of the brothers Weston, who figure in Thackeray's “Denis Duval”—having
cost £4,000. This burden on the Post Office revenue henceforth shrank
into comparatively insignificant dimensions.
Palmer traversed the entire kingdom along its coach routes, making
notes of the length of time consumed on each journey, calculating in
how much less time it could be performed by the newer vehicles, and
always keeping an observant eye on other possible improvements.
Before the end of the eighteenth century Dockwra's London penny
post[64] had fallen upon evil days. Neglect and mismanagement had
been its lot for many years; there was a steady diminution of its
area, and no accounts were kept of its gains. Palmer looked into the
condition of the local post, as, in addition to the mail conveyance,
he had already looked into the condition of the newspaper post and
other things which stood in need of rectification; and, later, the old
penny post, now transformed into a twopenny post, was taken in hand
by Johnson, who, from the position of letter-carrier, rose, by sheer
ability, to the office of “Deputy Comptroller of the Penny Post.”
As a rule, Palmer was fortunate in choosing subordinates, of
whom several not only accomplished useful work long after their
chief had been dismissed, but who introduced reforms on their own
account. Hasker, the head superintendent of the mail-coaches, kept
the vehicles, horses, accoutrements, etc., to say nothing of the
officials, quite up to Palmer's level. But in another chosen man the
great reformer was fatally deceived, for Bonner intrigued against his
benefactor, and helped to bring about his downfall.
One reform paves the way for succeeding reforms. Palmer's improved
coaches caused a marked increase of travelling; and the establishment
of yet better and more numerous vehicles led to the making of better
roads. By this time people were beginning to get over the ground at
such a rate that the late Lord Campbell, when a young man, was once,
in all seriousness, advised to avoid using Palmer's coaches, which,
it was said, owing to the speed at which they travelled between
London and Edinburgh, and elsewhere, had caused the death of several
passengers from apoplexy! “The pace that killed” was 8 miles an hour.
By the time the iron horse had beaten the flesh-and-blood quadruped
out of the field, or rather road, the coaches were running at the rate
of 12 miles an hour.
Everywhere the mails were being accelerated and increased in number.
For now the science of engineering was making giant strides; and
Telford and his contemporary MacAdam—whose name has enriched our
language with a verb, while the man himself endowed our thoroughfares
with a solid foundation—were covering Great Britain with highways the
like of which had not been seen since the days of the Roman Conquest.
And then arrived the late 'twenties of the nineteenth century,
bringing with them talk of railways and of steam-propelled locomotives
whose speed, it was prophesied by sanguine enthusiasts, might some day
even rival that of a horse at full gallop. The threatened mail-coaches
lived on for many a year, but from each long country highway they
disappeared one after another, some of them, it is said, carrying, on
their last journey, the Union Jack at half-mast; and, ere long, the
once busy roadside inn-keepers put up their shutters, and closed the
doors of their empty stables. More than half a century had to elapse
before the hostelries opened again to the cyclists and motorists who
have given to them fresh life and energy.
And thus passed away the outward and visible witnesses to Palmer's
great reform, not as many things pass because they have reached the
period of senile decay, but when his work was at the high water-mark
of efficiency and fame. Perhaps that singular fact is suggestive
of the reason why the disappearance of the once familiar pageant
gave rise to a widespread regret that was far from being mere
sentimentality.
When they were in their prime, the “royal mail-coaches” made a brave
display. Ruddy were they with paint and varnish, and golden with
Majesty's coat-of-arms, initials, etc. The driver and guard were
clad in scarlet uniforms, and the four fine horses—often increased
in a “difficult” country to six or more—were harnessed two abreast,
and went at a good, swinging pace. Once upon a time a little child
was taken for a stroll along a suburban highroad to watch for the
passing of the mail-coaches on their way from London to the north—a
literally everyday pageant, but one unstaled by custom. In the
growing dusk could be distinguished a rapidly-moving procession of
dark crimson and gold vehicles in single file, each with its load of
comfortably wrapped-up passengers sitting outside, and each drawn by
four galloping steeds, whose quick footfalls made a pleasant, rhythmic
sound. One heard the long, silvern horns of the guards, every now
and then, give notice in peremptory tones to the drivers of ordinary
conveyances to scatter to right and left, and one noted the heavy
cloud of dust which rolled with and after the striking picture. A
spectacle it was beside which the modern railway train is ugly, the
motor-car hideous: which rarely failed to draw onlookers to doorways
and windows, and to give pedestrians pause; and which always swept
out of sight much too quickly. The elderly cousin accompanying the
child drew her attention to the passing procession, and said that her
father was doing something in connection with those coaches—meaning,
of course, their mails—something that would make his country more
prosperous and his own name long remembered. The child listened in
perplexity, not understanding. In many noble arts—above all, in the
fashioning of large, square kites warranted, unlike those bought at
shops, to fly and not to come to pieces—she knew him to be the first
of men. Yet how even he could improve upon the gorgeous moving picture
that had just flashed past it was not easy to understand.
In the days when railways and telegraphs were not, the coach was
the most frequent, because the fastest, medium of communication. It
was therefore the chief purveyor of news. On the occurrence of any
event of absorbing interest, such as the most stirring episodes of
the twenty-years-long war with France, or the trial of Queen-Consort
Caroline, people lined the roads in crowds, and as the coach swept
past, the passengers shouted out the latest intelligence. Even from
afar the waiting throngs in war time could always tell when the news
was of victories gained, or, better still, of peace, such as the
short-lived pact of Amiens, and the one of long duration after June
1815. On these occasions the vehicle was made gay with flags, ribbons,
green boughs, and floral trophies; and the passengers shouted and
cheered madly, the roadside public speedily becoming equally excited.
It fell one day to Rowland Hill's lot, as a lad of nineteen, to meet
near Birmingham an especially gaily-decked coach, and to hurry home
with the joyful intelligence of the “crowning mercy”—at one stage of
the battle, 'tis said, not far from becoming a defeat—of Waterloo.
The once celebrated Bianconi was known as “the Palmer of Ireland.”
Early in the nineteenth century he covered the roads of his adopted
country with an admirably managed service of swift cars carrying mails
and passengers; and thus did much to remedy postal deficiencies there,
and to render imperative the maintenance in good order of the public
highways. Once, if not oftener, during his useful career, he came to
the Post Office on official business, and “interviewed” Rowland Hill,
who found him an interesting and original-minded man, his fluent
English, naturally, being redolent of the Hibernian brogue. Bianconi's
daughter, who married a son of the great O'Connell, wrote her father's
“Life”; and, among other experiences, told how on one occasion he was
amazed to see a Catholic gentleman, while driving a pair of horses
along the main street of an Irish town, stopped by a Protestant who
coolly detached the animals from the carriage, and walked off with
them. No resistance could be offered, and redress there was none. The
horses were each clearly of higher value than the permitted £5 apiece,
and could therefore legally become the property of any Protestant mean
enough, as this one was, to tender that price, and (mis)appropriate
them. When Catholic Emancipation—long promised and long deferred—was
at last conceded, this iniquitous law, together with other laws as bad
or worse, was swept away.[65]
With the advent of railways the “bians” gradually disappeared, doing
so when, like the mail-coaches, they had reached a high level of
excellence, and had been of almost incalculable public benefit.
The mail-coach, leisurely and tedious as it seems in these days of
hurry, had a charm of its own in that it enabled its passengers to
enjoy the fresh air—since most of them, by preference, travelled
outside—and the beauties of our then comparatively unspoiled country
and of our then picturesque old towns, mostly sleepy or only slowly
awakening, it is true, and, doubtless, deplorably dull to live in.
The journey was at least never varied by interludes of damp and
evil-smelling tunnels, and the travelling ruffian of the day had less
opportunity for outrage on his fellowman or woman. The coach also,
perhaps, lent itself more kindly to romance than does the modern,
noisy railway train; at any rate, a rather pretty story, long current
in our family, and strictly authentic, belongs to the ante-railway
portion of the nineteenth century. One of my mother's girl-friends,
pretty, lively, clever, and frankly coquettish, was once returning
alone by coach to London after a visit to the country. She was the
only inside passenger, but was assured that the other three places
would be filled on arrival at the next stage. When, therefore, the
coach halted again, she looked with some curiosity to see who were
to be her travelling companions. But the expected three resolved
themselves into the person of one smiling young man whose face she
recognised, and who at once sat down on the seat opposite to hers,
ere long confessing that, hearing she was to come to town by that
coach, he had taken all the vacant places in order to make sure of
a _tête-à-tête_. He was one of several swains with whom she was
accustomed to flirt, but whom she systematically kept at arm's-length
until she could make up her mind whether to say “yes” or “no.” But he
had come resolved to be played with no longer, and to win from her a
definite answer. Whether his eloquent pleading left her no heart to
falter “no,” or whether, woman-like, she said “yes” by way of getting
rid of him, is not recorded. But that they were married is certain;
and it may as well be taken for granted that, in accordance with the
time-honoured ending of all romantic love stories, “they lived happy
ever after.”
No eminent postal reformer rose during the first thirty-seven years
of the nineteenth century unless we except that doughty Parliamentary
free lance, Robert Wallace of Kelly, of whom more anon. But the
chilling treatment meted out by officials within the postal sanctuary
to those reform-loving persons sojourning outside it, or even to those
who, sooner or later, penetrated to its inner walls, was scarcely
likely to tempt sane men to make excursions into so inhospitable a
field.
Yet it was high time that a new reformer appeared, for the Department
was lagging far behind the Post Offices of other countries—especially,
perhaps, that of France—and the wonderful nineteenth “century of
progress” had now reached maturity.
FOOTNOTES:
[48] “History of the Post Office,” p. 146.
[49] “History of the Post Office,” p. 18.
[50] The word “postage,” we are told, was originally applied to
the hire of a horse for “posting,” and was extended to letters in
comparatively recent times only. It is therefore well when meeting
with the word in other than modern documents not to conclude too
hastily that it relates to epistolary correspondence. An Act of 1764
is said to be the first in which was used “postage” in the sense of
a charge upon letters. But in 1659 the item, “By postage of letters
in farm, £14,000,” appears in a “Report on the Public Revenue in the
Journals of the House of Commons,” vii. 627. The fact likewise seems
well worth recalling that in the translation of the Bible of 1611 the
words “post” and “letters” are connected, notably in “2 Chronicles,”
xxx. 6, and in “Esther.” Chapter xvii. of Marco Polo's travels, by the
by, contains an interesting description of the horse and foot posts
in the dominions of Kubla Khan, which were so admirably organised
that the journeys over which ordinary travellers spent ten days were
accomplished by the posts in two.
[51] “History of the Post Office,” p. 18.
[52] _Ibid._ p. 21.
[53] In George I.'s reign, besides London, Chester is said to have
been the only town in England which possessed two post offices.
[54] “History of the Post Office,” p. 37.
[55] “The ancient penny post resembled the modern penny post only in
name,” says Justin M'Carthy in “A History of Our Own Times,” chap. iv.
p. 99.
[56] The “New Annual Directory for 1800” (see Guildhall Library),
speaking of the “Penny Post,” defines its area as “the cities of
London [and] Westminster, the borough of Southwark and their suburbs.”
[57] “History of the Post Office,” pp. 37-40.
[58] Or, in his own words, mails trusted to “some idle boy without a
character, mounted on a worn-out hack, who, so far from being able
to defend himself against a robber, was more likely to be in league
with one.” Apparently, the people of this class had no better name
in France, and probably other countries, to judge by a fragment
of conversation taken from Augier, and chronicled in Larousse's
“_Dictionnaire du XIXe Siècle_,” xii. 1497:—“La poste est en retard.”
“Oui, d'une heure à peu près. Le piéton prend courage à tous les
cabarets.”
[59] As a contemporary of Palmer, Scott was never guilty of an
anachronism not unknown to present-day authors who sometimes cause the
puppet men and women of their romances to travel before 1784 in _mail_
when they really mean _stage_ coaches. The terms are too often taken
to be synonymous.
[60] “Report of the Committee of Inquiry (1788).”
[61] “Hansard,” xxxix. 1201, etc.
[62] For nearly two centuries the change was opposed here, partly
perhaps chiefly, because it was inaugurated on the Continent by a
Pope, Gregory XIII. Common-sense and the noblest of all sciences were
on the side of His Holiness; but religious bigotry was too strong even
for that combination; and for those many years religious bigotry held
the field. Opposition did not cease even when the correction was made;
and grave divines preached against the wickedness of an Act which,
they said, brought many millions of sinners eleven days nearer to
their graves; and in one of Hogarth's series of Election Pictures, a
man is seen bearing a placard on which is inscribed the words, “Give
us back our eleven days.” Most of us, too, are familiar with the cruel
story of the witch mania which was shared by men as excellent as Sir
Matthew Hale and John Wesley. To-day, we are glad that old, friendless
men and women, to say nothing of their harmless, necessary cats, are
permitted to die peacefully. Are there any now among us who would
restore the Act, _De Comburendo Heretico_, expunged from the Statute
Book in William's III.'s reign—a removal which doubtless scandalised
not a few sincerely devout persons?
[63] In the oldest days of coaching, the horses which started with the
vehicle drew it to the journey's end. Relays of horses were a happy
afterthought.
[64] Dublin became possessed of a local penny post before 1793;
but not until that date, or a hundred and thirteen years after the
establishment of Dockwra's reform in London, was it considered worth
while to extend the boon to Manchester—which had now displaced Bristol
as the second town in the kingdom—or to the last-named city and to
Birmingham. At this time, too, it was still customary to address
letters bound for the centre of the cutlery industry to “Sheffield,
near Rotherham”, the latter being the more important town.
[65] For a graphically described contrast between the treatment meted
out in those “good old times” to Catholics and that to Protestants,
see Sydney Smith's too-seldom read “Peter Plymley's Letters.”