tenor of what was said, that franks were in great request, and were
even used as a means of paying debts by needy members of
Parliament. The rector sealed his epistles with an immense coat of
arms, and showed by the care with which he had performed this
ceremony that he expected they should be cut open, not broken by
any thoughtless or impatient hand. Now, Miss Jenkyns's letters
were of a later date in form and writing. She wrote on the square
sheet which we have learned to call old-fashioned. Her hand was
admirably calculated, together with her use of many-syllabled
words, to fill up a sheet, and then came the pride and delight of
crossing. Poor Miss Matty got sadly puzzled with this, for the
words gathered size like snowballs, and towards the end of her
letter Miss Jenkyns used to become quite sesquipedalian. In one to
her father, slightly theological and controversial in its tone, she
had spoken of Herod, Tetrarch of Idumea. Miss Matty read it "Herod
Petrarch of Etruria," and was just as well pleased as if she had
been right.

I can't quite remember the date, but I think it was in 1805 that
Miss Jenkyns wrote the longest series of letters--on occasion of
her absence on a visit to some friends near Newcastle-upon-Tyne.
These friends were intimate with the commandant of the garrison
there, and heard from him of all the preparations that were being
made to repel the invasion of Buonaparte, which some people
imagined might take place at the mouth of the Tyne. Miss Jenkyns
was evidently very much alarmed; and the first part of her letters
was often written in pretty intelligible English, conveying
particulars of the preparations which were made in the family with
whom she was residing against the dreaded event; the bundles of
clothes that were packed up ready for a flight to Alston Moor (a