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Updated: June 9, 2025
"Oh! the chickenpox! take caer! letters, notes, every thing may convey the infection," cried Mrs. Beaumont, snatching the paper. "How could dearest Miss Walsingham be so giddy as to answer my note, after what I said in my postscript! How did this note come?" "By the little postboy, mamma; I met him at the porter's lodge." "But what is all this strange thing?" said Mrs.
He handed her out. The postboy was at a nonplus; but David whipped a piece of cord and a knife out of his pocket, and began, with great rapidity and dexterity, to splice the trace. "Ah! now you are pleased, Mr. Dodd; our misfortune will elicit your skill in emergencies." "Oh, no, it isn't that; it is I never hoped to see you again so soon."
As he was at the turnpike he might as well go on: that was quite clear. So Pen rode to the George, and the hostler told him that Mr. Foker was there sure enough, and that "he'd been a makin a tremendous row the night afore, a drinkin and a singin, and wanting to fight Tom the postboy: which I'm thinking he'd have had the worst of it," the man added, with a grin.
Now my lads, we require the chaise up with you, set to the horses and be ready to start in ten minutes at most. Come bustle!" "Lord!" exclaimed Black Whiskers, "You'd think 'e was a nearl or a jook to 'ear un 'oo is 'e?" "Why, it's 'im as we was tellin' you of, Mr. Vokes!" quoth the landlord. "'Is werry own selluf!" nodded the postboy. "The desp'rit cove as gie me the one-er!" added the ostler.
The postboy lowered the steps of the coupe, but M. d'Anquetil asked Jahel if it would not be more pleasant to travel all four together in the large compartment, and I recognised that that was the first effect of his intimacy with Jahel, and that the full satisfaction of his desires had left it less agreeable to be alone with her.
But the house keeps up enough of its ancient virtue to give us a breakfast worthy of Pantagruel's self; and after it, while we are looking out our flies, you can go and chat with the old postboy, and hear his tales, told with a sort of chivalrous pride, of the noble lords and fair ladies before whom he has ridden in the good old times gone by even, so he darkly hints, before 'His Royal Highness the Prince' himself.
This entry is followed by an account of a narrow escape of Sir Moses and Lady Montefiore. "We have been much alarmed," he writes, "by some person firing a pistol at us, near Welling, on the road from Rochester to London; happily it missed both horses and carriage; the postboy was much frightened."
"Plough-horse!" sparkling scorn. "It's the best sort of horse going." "What if it be? I'm a sea-man myself not a postboy.... How d'ye know he was ridin a what-d'ye-call-it?" "He always does." "Who does?" "The man they call the Gentleman the Galloping Gentleman." "Who told you?" "I picked it up, listening to the riding-officer." The old man cocked an eye over his shoulder at the boy.
The postboy got off his horse; Wilton descended from the vehicle, and applied his hand eagerly to the bell; and Laura, who had certainly thought no part of the journey tedious, did now think the minutes excessively long till the gates should be thrown open.
But it was pure, earnest, joyful reality. Grimwig all ready to receive them, kissing the young lady, and the old one too, when they got out of the coach, as if he were the grandfather of the whole party, all smiles and kindness, and not offering to eat his head no, not once; not even when he contradicted a very old postboy about the nearest road to London, and maintained he knew it best, though he had only come that way once, and that time fast asleep.
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