a foreign mail is overdue. Moreover, to write in haste and repent at leisure is the experience of many an impetuous correspondent, who is ignorant or oblivious of the rule that a letter once posted can never be taken out of the box, that it becomes the property of the Postmaster-General until it is delivered to the person to whom it is addressed. The reports give many instances of the painful results of haste and carelessness; "On one occasion a gentlemanly looking person called and expressed a fear that he had enclosed two letters in wrong envelopes, and that all his prospects in life depended on his having his letters back, and correcting the mistake; inasmuch as they revealed plans which he had adopted to save two mercantile houses in the same line of business, whose interests clashed at every point." A similar blunder occurred in a more delicate affair, when a young lady was most urgent to have her letters returned, as she had accepted the wrong offer of marriage. The local postmaster was unable to resist her earnest entreaties, and thus prevented a painful catastrophe. But a whole romance might be written on the following incident: A young lady, who had been engaged to a prosperous young manufacturer, was informed, a few days before the marriage was fixed for, that the firm was insolvent. Not a moment was to be lost, and a letter was written and posted, breaking the engagement; when, within two hours, it was discovered that the report was entirely unfounded. The report continues: "The daughter with her parents rushed to the post-office, and no words can describe the scene-the appeals, the tears, the wringing of hands, the united entreaties of the family, to have the fatal letter re

"Isle of Wight,
Hampshire."

"For Mister Willy wot brinds de Baber in Lang Caster ware te gal is,"

puzzled the officers, until it was discovered it was intended for the editor of a Lancaster paper where the jail is.

There was less difficulty in

"Qeen Vic Tory at Winer Casel, and to the King of Rusheyn.

Feoren with speed."

Lord John Manners gives a great many entertaining applications made to the office, and extraordinary letters received.

"May 1878. "MY LORD,-I ask you for some information about finding out persons

"John

"Dec 31 1877.

acting as Farmer here would be very much obliged to the Postmaster at if he would be so good as to name a suitable party at to whom he might sell a 30 stone pig of good quality well-for he understands it is the best place to sell. The pig is now quite ready for killing."

'April 1878. "SIR,-Will you, if you please, let me know if there is such a gentelman as Mr ́ ́in · i beleave he is

a Chirch Clurdgman. There is a who has been young man in engaged to my sister and he says Mrs at is his sister. i should very much like to know, if you will oblige me by sending. i thought if Mrs was his sister i would rite and ask for his charctar because he is a stranger to us all.—please oblige

KENT.

Trollope and Edmund Yates, both of these distinguished littérateurs having filled important posts in that department: it is remarkable how many men of genius have commenced life in St Martin's-le-Grand. And we may add how deeply the sympathies of noble and generous ladies have been interested in the welfare of the excellent subordinates in this public department. While Mr Fawcett devoted his wonderful energies to the development of the machinery and the working of all branches of the service, Mrs Fawcett gave all her heart to the improvement of the homes of those who are toiling for our benefit. Lady John Manners has, with the assistance of some philanthropic and benevolent ladies, furnished rooms in different localities, where temporary rest and shelter is provided for the postmen during the brief respite from their

daily toil, and where they can appreciate these generous efforts of kind and sympathising friends. And certainly no class of public servants are worthier of kindness and sympathy-while of all our State departments there is none of which we may be justly prouder.

Time is passing rapidly. We have visited the principal offices. The hall-clock is silently approaching the hour of eight, when the bags must be all sealed and ready to leave. At five minutes to eight all is bustle and activity; at five minutes after eight the halls are silent and deserted, the bags have been collected and placed in the mail-vans, which dash off to the different railway stations. A few minutes more and the mail-trains

those messengers of joy, of sorrow, of hope, rest and unrest—will be rushing through the darkness to their several destinations.

EVENING came,-perhaps her last evening of freedom, thought Gretchen, as, alone in her room, she stood by the open window, and allowed the night air to fan her hot cheeks.

It was a bright and silvery night for the world, but not for the Hercules valley.

Elsewhere the moon is glorifying points of rock, and striking cold flashes from the water; here the rock and the water sleep untouched. But rarely the sun shines into the very heart of the valley, and more rarely still the moon. Moonlight here is a distant dream. Looking down the valley, where the space is wider and shallower, it is seen lying, a transparent veil upon the hills- a still cold veil which hides nothing, and beautifies everything, Here the moon must have risen very high, before it can pour its light-floods down the flanks of these jealously guarding mountains. And yet the invisible moon is felt, for without the moon the night sky could not be of this transparent, quivering paleness. Never do the mountains look so black as they do when, on nights like these, each ridge on their summit, and each tiniest curve and angle of outline, is thrown out in startling contrast to the shining background. Never do the rocks frown more heavily, nor the valley wrap itself up more gloomily in its depth of darkness, than when the rest of the world is flooded and silvered with the moonlight.

- Midsummer Night's Dream.

Wait long enough, and presently strange effects will be seen on the hills opposite. The edge of the disc has reached the level of the hill-top, and the first white beam trembles on the mountainside. Timidly it touches some tree, and that tree, which a minute ago was only one in the million of other trees, becomes forthwith a thing of wonderful beauty. It is the favoured and chosen object of the moonlight; the moon has elected it out of the black mass around, and lavishes its favours richly. It was but a black pine a minute ago it is now a tree worthy of fairy-land; its stem is glorified, its branches are fancifully beautified, each tiny twig is dreamily idealised. The black pines around wait in sullen patience until their turn shall come. To some of them it will come, to some of them not; for it is rarely, very rarely, that the moon will pierce to the heart of this spot in the valley. It is in vain that the Djernis sings songs to the moonlight, wooing her now with laughter and now with sobs; the moonlight is not tempted by the enchanter's voice, and will not let herself be drawn down to the enchanter's embrace.

It was such an evening as this to-day-glory everywhere else, and blackness here. But the valley had another voice to-night besides the moaning Djernis; for Dr Kokovics, as a last melancholy contribution to the amusement of the