303 THE POST. THERE is perhaps no possible event that would cause so great a revolution in the state of modern society, as the cessation of the Post. A comet coming in collision with the earth, could alone cause a greater shock to its inhabitants: it would shake nations to their centre. It would be a sort of imprisonment of the universal mind,-a severing of the affections, and a congelation of thought. It would be building up a wall of partition between the hearts of mother and child, and husband and wife, and brother and sister. It would raise Alps between the breasts of friend and friend; and quench, as with an ocean, the love that is now breathed out in all its glowing fervour, despite of time or place. What would be all the treasures of the world, or all its praise, to a feeling heart, if it could no longer pour out its fulness to its chosen friend, whom circumstances had removed afar off? What could solace the husband or the father, during his indispensible absence from the wife of his affections, or the child of his love, if he had no means of assuring them of his welfare, and his unalterable love; and what could console him, could he not be informed of theirs? Life in such circumstances would be worse than a blank; it would be death to the soul, but death without its forgetfulness. Write soon,-pray do write soon and often,-are among the last words we breathe into the ear of those we love, while we grasp the hand, and look into the eye that will soon be far from us. What other consolation or hope is left us, when the rumbling wheel, or the swelling sail, is bearing that beloved being far from us, while we stand fixed to the spot where that object uttered its last adieu. And how impatiently do we wait the arrival of the welcome letter, that will assure us of its well being and safety. The object of our solicitude may have to cross inhospitable deserts, or stormy seas; dangerous mountains, or forests infested by beasts of prey, or the sons of plunder; and were there no channel by which we could be informed of its subsequent safety, our suspense would overwhelming and intolerable. But the welcome sheet arrives, and we are blest by the intelligence that the being concerning whom we were so anxious, has surmounted all dangers, and still lives to think of us, and to love us. Again we converse together,—again we interchange our thoughts as if present with each other; we speak to those we cannot see, and we listen to them who are too far off to hear even the thunder that rolls along our horizon. If ever mortal deserved a monument to perpetuate his memory, it was the inventor of writing; (what are the claims of kings or conquerors in the comparison?) it is the next best gift to life itself, and, deprived of it, life would hardly be worth the possessing it is truly like the air we breathe; if we have it not, we die. The best enjoyments of being emanate from this divine art it pours the brightest sunshine that illumines the desolate path of life; without it, the gift of genius would be bestowed in vain, and talent would expire unseen and unenjoyed, like the bright flowers of an uninhabited region. And without the medium of communication by the Post, even this would be divested of half its advantages; with a cheapness that no other mode can compete with, a swiftness that none else can rival, and a certainty and dependance that no other can offer, it presents the finest instance of communication between men, that the world has ever witnessed. Crowned heads, and the nobles of the land, might indeed send their communications by messengers or couriers, but these would hardly be available for the merchant, and not at all for the tradesman or artisan. But now we can receive the most needful intelligence, or the kindest effusions of regard, from a distance of nearly three hundred miles, for almost nothing: and in four or five days, a letter may be dispatched, and an answer received, from the metropolis to the Land's End in Cornwall. Thus may the prodigal, who has absented himself from his paternal roof, and the arms of his parents, solicit and receive permission to return to the hearts that mourn over his absence. I knew a father whose son had left his home, and was an exile above two hundred miles off. This father was taken ill, and was told he could not survive many days. His palsied hand was yet able to scrawl a few lines to his still darling boy, whose retreat had just become known to him. He conjured him, if he wished to receive his dying blessing and forgiveness, to return immediately. The unconscious paper was dispatched; it flew upon the wings of the wind along the dreary road,—it traversed the long heaths, it past over the high hills and the deep rivers neither the floods nor the precipices retarded the important message; and, in a few days, the repentant prodigal was at his father's feet, and in his arms, and received his pardon and blessing, and saw him close his eyes in peace; when, but for this, the one would have lived -wretched, and the other died miserable. : I never see the mail flying along the road, with its lamps gleaming through the darkness, and its horn breaking the stillness of midnight, but I think of the thousand intense interests that are conveyed in its packages. The timely assistance which it is conveying to solace, and perhaps to save, the distressed, the pleadings of love, the outpourings of friendship, and the supplications of despair,-the joys and the sorrows of the heart, are all going to their respective destinations, to carry peace or hope, succour or sympathy, to the bosoms that need them. To some it will terminate a suspense worse than death. To whole families deprived of the means of existence, it will carry plenty and peace. It oft makes whole the breaking heart, revives the sinking spirit, and illumes the haggard eye; and, if it do convey some sad intelligence, it is that which must be known, and is always better known than feared. How many a man has its speed and punctuality saved from bankruptcy and from ruin. M. was, and is still, in prosperous and happy circumstances; but, owing to the failure of his banker, he was once nearly involved in irreparable ruin. He had a large acceptance coming due in six days after this event happened; and, upon the honouring of this, his credit as a tradesman, and perhaps his very liberty, depended. The state of his mind during this period is not to be described. He had indeed a friend, possessing both the means and the will to save him; but he, alas, was afar off,-a distance of more than three hundred miles spread between them. Could he breathe his distress into the ear of that friend, he was safe; for him to go and return in the time, was indeed difficult, to say nothing of the expense; but he seized his pen, he described his misfortune, the Post conveyed it to his friend; the answer might arrive on the day the bill became due, but sooner it could not. The fated day came, the bill was presented, the clerk left the address; he had done his part, and cared for no more. M. paced his counting-house in all the agonized suspense of a man whom that day must save or destroy. His wife was weeping at home, his children wondering at the cause of such unusual sorrow. The postman entered the street, and every knock that sounded caused the heart of M. to beat with increased velocity; the unconscious messenger past his door,-M. clasped his hands, and felt himself undone! Suddenly the man returned; he had overlooked the number, and his knock sounded like a reprieve to a malefactor on the scaffold. The letter was torn open, it contained a sufficient remittance, and a command to call upon the donor in any similar emergency, with a heartinspired assurance of unaltered friendship. The throbbing heart of M. was stilled; his difficulties were surmounted, and he is now independent and happy. Had his letter miscarried, or the answer been less punctual, he and his family might have been undone. Similar was the fate of H., one of the best of men; he was in danger of falling a victim to one of the foulest conspiracies that ever threatened the honour or the life of a good man. He was falsely accused of forgery, and the principal witness to prove his innocence was in a neighbouring country. In all the tortures of despair, he wrote to that individual: he used no persuasion to induce his presence, he only stated his case, and the consequence that would ensue, in the event of his nonarrival. He entrusted this letter, productive of life or death, to the Post, accompanied by the prayers of his family and friends. This momentous message was sent, together with a host of others, on business, pleasure, or amusement. Ah! if it should miscarry ;-it has long, lonely roads to traverse, and regions infested by robbers, and it may be intercepted and destroyed,— it has to go over the deep and stormy ocean, and the winds may be adverse, and the vessel may sink. But the Post is punctual, and his guardian angel watches over it. His friend sets off at an instant's notice; he travels post, nor stays night nor day; he reaches the coast, a vessel is about to depart, and he leaps onboard. Again the breeze is favourable,—the day of trial arrives, but the witness is not come,—the trial commences,—a carriage drives up to the residence of H., an attendant leaps in, and they depart to the court of justice; the important name is called, H. looks round in agony and despair, but the call is answered, and the witness rushes forward, covered with dust, and almost fainting with fatigue-but his testimony was sufficient; and the victim, instead of being consigned to a fearful punishment, that day presided at his own table, with his friends and family around him; and still lives to think of the Post, to which he had entrusted his honour and his life, with heartfelt gratitude. The Post! how often is it the only remaining link that unites the fondest hearts on earth! When fortune has torn them asunder, and they beat in different hemispheres, it is the only connecting chain that still binds them together. It is as if another sense, over which distance had no control, were added to those we already possess. By this channel alone, each knows that the other still lives. But for this, how doubly afflicting to the fond mother would be the absence of a son, who had gone in search of fame or fortune to distant climes; how many fears, which nothing could allay, would fancy conjure up to torture her: how else could she know that he had not expired on the pestilential shores of Africa, in the fever of the West Indies, or beneath the poisoned dagger of the Malay; that he had not been engulphed in the stormy billows of the Cape, or been wasted to death beneath the burning heat of an equinoxial sun? Now she knows that he still lives, and waits in fond hope for the day that shall restore him to her arms; she is assured by a messenger she cannot doubt, that he was, when that was dispatched, living and well, and her sorrow is disarmed of its sting. When a battle has been fought on some distant shore, how many thousands are anxiously awaiting the arrival of the sealed messengers, which can alone assure them that those they love have survived the carnage of the field, and still live for them. And, till the letters arrive, how many thousand eyes are passing sleepless nights, how many bosoms are throbbing with suspense,-how many fond lips are counting the days that must intervene before the Post can bring the longed-for tidings. Till then they are imagining that the objects of their solicitude may be entombed beneath the field of slaughter, or writhing in the anguish of cureless wounds, and praying in vain for the tender hand of friend or relative to smooth the couch of pain: thus, even while friends at home are conjuring up all the harrowing circumstances that fancy can devise, the sealed papers are speeding on their way, to set their hearts at rest. -- But to depict all the interests that are connected with the Post, would be to write the history of human life, and the portraiture of human feelings: there is no passion that can actuate the breast, that is not fed or solaced by its visits; there is no interest that concerns the welfare of man, that is not carried on and perfected by it. Events the most momentous to those concerned, are forwarded and completed, without the parties ever seeing each other during their progress. A man's dearest interests may hang on the safe conveyance, and punctual arrival, of a single letter, and seldom does it fail. If victory have blest the arms of the nation, the Post conveys the welcome news to all parts of the empire, and from east to west the joy is simultaneous. It is the most perfect system of intercourse that has ever been devised, it scatters wealth and happiness in a thousand directions. No place is too distant for it to reach,-no village too insignificant for it to visit. Like the sun, dispensing delight, it goes its daily journey. The heats of summer, and the cold of winter, are not allowed to intercept or retard it. In spite of Malthus, and all the economists, it carries on the important business of courtship, and leads to matrimony, whether for better or worse. It solaces the lover's sorrow, and transmits hope through many a cruel league. The bashful bachelor, who has not the courage to make a personal declaration, may do it through the medium of the Post; nay, if he prefer it, he may even put the last question itself into the hands of the postman. It assists to bind society in one common union, for who would emigrate to a region where it could not reach! It is better than the gold mines of Peru; and, like the Nile in Egypt, it scatters blessings along its track; and deserves to be considered as one of the most happy and distinguishing features of modern times. |