very many persons with the characters in the
plays; thus, a humpbacked blacksmith, a morose
ill-conditioned fellow, always snarling at us boys
over the half-hatch door of his forge, stood for
Caliban; the fat man with the bald head, who
was always taking turnpike-tickets with one
hand and mopping himself with the other, was
obviously Falstaff; the headmaster was Prospero
(somewhat hazy this, but, if we remember
rightly, a confused mixture of the former's
cane and the latter's wand); the French
usher was Dr. Caius; and Sneesh, the tobacconist
and newsvendor, whose shop door was
graced by a wooden Highlander, a perfect
Tantalus, in the way he was always expecting a
pinch of snuff and never got it, was Macbeth.
Nor were the minor characters unfilled. We
particularly remember that we identified the
proprietor of the oil and pickle shop in
the High-street as Rumour— perhaps on
account of his establishment being " full of
tongues;" while both the famous carriers of
the Rochester Inn-yard, those good fellows
who wanted Cut's saddle beaten, who so heartily
abused the oats, who had a gammon of bacon
and two razes of ginger to be delivered as
far as Charing Cross, and who showed such
an invincible disinclination to lend Gadshill
a lantern, were embodied in Cokeham, who connected
us with the metropolis. A sharp, clever,
'cute man, Cokeham, with a moist eye and a
red nose, and an invariable crape hatband, respected
by the masters, popular with the boys
{we made a subscription for him when his
grey mare was supposed to have staked herself
in the night in Upton's fields, and bought him
a fresh horse, only regretting our money when
we learned that Cokeham himself had staked
her to trot against a butcher's horse, had won the
match, and had then sold her for fifteen pounds
to the loser), punctual in his delivery of homesent
cakes and play-boxes, and never " telling"
when a shower of stones would rattle against
his tilted cart as he passed the playground wall.
There was not very much difference, possibly,
between the Rochester carriers of Henry the
Fourth's time and Cokeham. Until very lately,
" carrying" seems to have been a fine old Conservative
institution, and with the exception of
the substitution of a tilted-cart for Cut's packsaddle,
and a few other minor details of that
kind, to have gone on in a very jog-trot fashion.
In a small and very humble fashion the Rochester
men, even to this day, have their descendants;
walking through some behindhand
suburb, one may still observe a parlour-window
decorated with a small placard bearing a capital
letter of the alphabet, a bouncing B, or a dropsical
and swollen S — the initial letter of Bolland,
or Swubble, the village-carrier, who furnishes
his clients with these mystic symbols of
indication, to be placed in the window when his
services are required.

But so far as London and what is commonly
known as the London district are concerned,
the old body of carriers has been entirely superseded
by the London Parcels Delivery Company,
which was established in 1837, and which,
after many severe struggles at the outset, has
become a recognised and necessary institution,
admirably conducted, serviceable to the
public, and remunerative to its shareholders.
Its principal establishment is in Rolls' Yard,
Fetter-lane, where the whole of the practical detail
is devised and carried out under the superintendance
of a manager, who has been in the
company's service since its earliest days. The
plan originated by the Post-office, and in force
therein until the recent division of London into
districts, is followed by the Parcels Delivery
Company. Every parcel collected for delivery
is brought into Rolls' Yard, and sent out thence,
even though it was originally only going from
one street in the suburb to another, a hundred
yards off, and this is found to afford the only
efficient system of check. In all respectable
and thriving neighbourhoods, at graduated distances
according to the amount of business to
be done, the company has its agents for the
receipt of the parcels to be conveyed. These
agents, who are paid by a per-centage on the
number and amount of their transactions, were
at the outset, nearly all keepers of Post-office
Receiving-houses. It was naturally thought
that such persons would be the most respectable
in their various neighbourhoods, and their holding
their little government appointments was a
guarantee of their position. But, like other great
creatures, the Post-office has its weaknesses, one
of which is found to be an overweening jealousy;
it ill brooked the divided attention which its
receivers bestowed upon the Parcels Delivery
Company; but when rivals started up and called
themselves the Parcel Post and Parcel Mail,
then St. Martin le Grand rose up in fury, called
to his aid the services of the redoubtable Mr.
Peacock, well known in connexion with dishonest
postmen and mornings in Bow-street,
and having, with the great hammer of the law,
smashed the rash innovators who had dared to
appropriate those sacred words "post" and
"mail," which a sagacious legislature has dedicated
solely to St. Martin's use, St. Martin
issued an edict forbidding his servants to have
anything to do with receipt or despatch of
parcels, for whatsoever company, and commanding
them to serve him and him alone. So, since
then the company have selected the best agents
they could find, furnishing them with a blue
board, with a well executed picture of a delivery
cart proceeding at a rapid rate— which board, in
many instances, is imitated as closely as possible
by the carrier of the vicinity, who places it at
the door of a neighbouring shop, and, thanks to
the heedlessness and ignorance of domestic servants
generally, obtains a certain share of the
patronage intended for the company.

Again, following the example of the Post-Office,
the Parcels Delivery Company have an
inner and an outer circle, one not exceeding
three miles from Rolls' Yard, the other extending
somewhat over twelve miles from the same
point. The furthest places embraced are
Twickenham Common in the south-west, and