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Updated: June 21, 2025
Even up to the present day this fief can hardly be said to be settled or occupied except by the retainers of the garrison of Fort Ingall, and from all the evidence which could be found on the spot it appeared that no settlement had ever been made upon it until the establishment of a posthouse some time between the date of the treaties of 1783 and 1794.
Eschar to be gone, I sent my letters by a porter to the posthouse in Southwark to be sent by despatch to the Downs. So to dinner to my Lord Crew's by coach, and in my way had a stop of above an hour and a half, which is a great trouble this Parliament time, but it cannot be helped.
They seemed to be annoyed at every posthouse with their passports, &c.; I was never even asked about the matter. The custom-house gentry, in their searches, to be sure, occasionally gave me a little trouble, but I was soon up to their tricks.
I do not know whether this letter will find you at Leipsig: at least, it is the last that I shall direct there. My next to either you or Mr. Harte will be directed to Berlin; but as I do not know to what house or street there, I suppose it will remain at the posthouse till you send for it.
Yes, THEY are not the persons to inspire envy. Rather, it is the folk of the middle classes folk who at one posthouse call for bacon, and at another for a sucking pig, and at a third for a steak of sturgeon or a baked pudding with onions, and who can sit down to table at any hour, as though they had never had a meal in their lives, and can devour fish of all sorts, and guzzle and chew it with a view to provoking further appetite these, I say, are the folk who enjoy heaven's most favoured gift.
I do not know whether this letter will find you at Leipsig: at least, it is the last that I shall direct there. My next to either you or Mr. Harte will be directed to Berlin; but as I do not know to what house or street there, I suppose it will remain at the posthouse till you send for it.
Mederic Rompel, the postman, who was familiarly called by the country people Mederi, started at the usual hour from the posthouse at Rouy-le-Tors.
By and by, when he could not see Martinswand by turning his head back ever so, he came to an inn that used to be a posthouse in the old days when men traveled only by road. A woman was feeding chickens in the bright clear red of the cold daybreak. Findelkind timidly held out his hand. "For the poor!" he murmured, and doffed his cap. The old woman looked at him sharply.
I wondered to see them smile, and look upon me, and to that corner of the room; but I was afraid of looking that way, for fear of seeing Mr. Williams; though my face was that way too, and the table before me. Said my master, Did you send your letter away to the posthouse, my good girl, for your father? To be sure, sir, said I, I did not forget that: I took the liberty to desire Mr.
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