"As she stands there, a woman ascends the step, and produces a basket
from under her cloak, into which she looks carefully, examines its
contents (some lace frills, tippets, and collars of her mistress,
which she wore a few nights ago at a ball), and returns with something
heavy in it, for the arm is extended in carrying it, and the stranger
disappears. She still lingers, she is expecting some one. It is the
postman, he gives her three or four letters, one of which is for
herself. She reads it approvingly, and then carefully puts it into her
bosom, but that won't retain it no how she can fix it, so she shifts
it to her pocket. It is manifest Posty carries a verbal answer, for
she talks very earnestly to him, and shakes hands with him at parting
most cordially.
"It must be her turn for a ball to-night I reckon, for a carriage
drives very rapidly to within three or four hundred yards of the
house, and then crawls to the door so as not to disturb the family. A
very fashionably-dressed maid is there (her mistress must be very kind
to lend her such expensive head-gear, splendid jewelry, and costly and
elegant toggery), and her beau is there with such a handsome moustache
and becoming beard, and an exquisitely-worked chain that winds six or
seven times round him, and hangs loose over his waistcoat, like a coil
of golden cord. At a given signal, from the boss of the hack, who
stands door in hand, the young lady gathers her clothes well up her
drumsticks, and would you believe, two steps or springs only, like
those of a kangaroo, take her into the house? It's a streak of light,
and nothing more.
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