Ten Years Among the Mail Bags: Or, Notes from the Diary of a Special Agent of the Post-Office DepartmentHolbrook, James
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Ten Years Among the Mail Bags: Or, Notes from the Diary of a Special Agent of the Post-Office Department
Holbrook, James
Postal service -- United States
Many a head of a family, I think, was missed that evening from the tea
tables, for although it was about the usual hour of that repast when I
reached the hotel, the citizens came flocking in in great numbers, and
filling the spacious audience room which the landlord had hastily
prepared on hearing of my approach, to its utmost capacity, and even
before I was fairly seated.
Most of them being still in the same dress in which they had attended
the funeral ceremonies, the "customary suit of solemn black," they
were about as well-looking a set of men as you will often see in
country or city. A more excited and anxious group of faces, I am sure
was never seen in a council of war on the eve of a great and decisive
battle. Nor will I attempt to assert that I was wholly free from
anxiety as to how I should acquit myself before this august assembly,
as the representative and embodiment of the Government, on this trying
occasion.
The scene, however, considered in reference to the real importance of
the interests at stake, was richly ludicrous. I felt that the dignity
of the Post-Office Department was for a time committed to my keeping,
and I flatter myself that I succeeded admirably in sustaining it,
though it required occasionally not a little effort.
One of the gentlemen whose acquaintance I had informally made in the
rear of the funeral procession, did the honors in the way of
introducing me to each of those who had assembled, and to such as came
in in the course of that ever-to-be remembered evening--I should have
said night, for it was not far from daylight, when I had listened to
the last eloquent appeal in behalf of restoring to them their lost
rights and privileges.
The whole thing was conducted in a way which, for parliamentary order
and decorum, would have put to the blush the lower House of Congress
near the close of the session; and I am not quite sure that the upper
branch of that Honorable body, with an exciting subject in hand, could
not have derived some useful hints from the manner in which business
was there enacted.
The room, which I understand was soon after christened and is now
known as "Restoration Hall," was about twenty-five feet by thirty, and
for most of the time during this eventful meeting, I chanced to occupy
the only rocking chair therein, at one side of the room facing the
door. Considering that most of the company were my seniors by several
years, that was hardly polite; but after several times insisting in
vain that some one else should take the post of honor, I settled down
without further misgivings.
Never did I so heartily regret my ignorance of the art of stenography
as now; for a _verbatim_ report of all that was here said, would prove
the richest and most amusing part of this narrative.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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