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The postman himself is an institution in the village, being of an unknown age, in fact, the real and original oldest inhabitant, and still with no signs of coming dissolution about him, thereby carrying out Dicken's theory that a dead post-boy or a dead donkey is a thing yet to be seen. He is a hoary-headed old person, decrepit and garrulous, with only one leg worth speaking about, and an ear trumpet. This last is merely for show, as once old Jacob is set fairly talking, no human power could get in a word from any one else. "Think of it now, Paul,—now before it is too late," entreats she, piteously. "Try to pray: there is always mercy." "I dare say," she says, carelessly, purposely mistaking his meaning: "it must have been cold lying there.".

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