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Updated: May 31, 2025
Martin's-le-Grand was anciently a magnificent college, founded by Jugelricus and Edwardus his brother, anno 1056, and confirmed by William the Conqueror, by his charter, dated anno 1068, in the second year of his reign, who also gave all the moorlands without Cripplegate to this college, exempting the dean and canons from the jurisdiction of the bishop, and from all legal services, granting them soc and sac, toll and theam, with all liberties and franchises that any church in the kingdom enjoyed.
Blurt and Company, have gone a-missing, therefore the Post-Office is to blame! Full of this idea Mr Enoch Blurt put on his hat with an irascible fling and went off to the City. Arrived at St. Martin's-le-Grand he made for the principal entrance. At any other time he would have, been struck with the grandeur of the buildings.
Martin's-le-Grand? In the gratifying of his desires the man in grey experienced no difficulty. The staff of the Post-Office is unvaryingly polite and obliging to the public. An order was procured, and he soon found himself with a guide traversing the mysterious regions underneath the splendid new building where the great work of postal telegraphy is carried on.
Martin's-le-Grand he stopped, and, forgetting the bustling crowd of people, buses, cabs, and carts by which he was surrounded, allowed his mind to wander into the past. It was on the broad steps of the Post-Office that he had been first led astray by the man who wished to compass his ruin, but who was eventually made the willing instrument in bringing about his salvation.
Paul's, whose mighty dome was visible above the house-tops from the colonnade. During these fleeting moments a few dozens of late ones posted some hundreds of letters. With kindly consideration the authorities of St. Martin's-le-Grand have set their timepieces one minute slow.
When the Wheatstone Automatic Sender is employed with these systems about 500 words per minute can be sent through the line. Press news is generally sent by night, and it is on record, that during a great debate in Parliament, as many as half a million words poured out of the Central Telegraph Station at St. Martin's-le-Grand in a single night to all parts of the country.
The mail-coaches continued to be overturned, and stage-coaches, in the tourist season, to break down as before.* The Irish mail-coach took forty one hours to reach Holyhead from the time of its setting out from St. Martin's-le-Grand; the journey was performed at the rate of only 6 3/4 miles an hour, the mail arriving in Dublin on the third day.
Martin's-le-Grand off before six o'clock. "It will save me a day," he thought, as he drove to the General Post Office with this brief epistle.
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