Ten Years Among the Mail Bags Part 42

AN "EXTRA" CUSTOMER.

An Irish dame entered the post-office at----, and walking up to the post master with a letter in one hand, and a three cent piece in the other, she committed them both to his charge, inquiring, "will the letther go?"

"Certainly it will," was the reply.

"But is it in time for the extra?"

"In time for the _what_?" asked the mystified post master.

"Is this letther in time for the _extra_?" repeated the woman.

"What do you mean by extra," rejoined the official.

"I mane, is the _baggage_ put up?" replied the persevering questioner.

The post master, seeing that the good woman was so thoroughly posted up in all the details of letter-sending, informed her categorically that the letter _would go_, inasmuch as it was in time for the "extra," and the "baggage" was _not_ "put up."

Hereupon the inquisitive lady, having been fully satisfied in her own mind that the epistle would not fail of the "extra," sailed out of the office a happier, if not a wiser woman.

TO MY GRANDMOTHER.

A little bright eyed, flaxen-haired boy, was one day observed to enter the vestibule of the post-office at Washington, with a letter in his hand, and to wait very modestly for the departure of the crowd collected about the delivery window. As soon as the place was cleared, he approached the letter box and carefully deposited his epistle therein, lingering near as if to watch over the safety of the precious doc.u.ment. His motions attracted the attention of the clerk stationed at the window, whose curiosity induced him to examine the superscription of the letter just deposited by the little fellow. The address on the letter was simply, "To my dear Grandmother, Louisiana;"

doubtless some good old lady, whose memory, in the mind of her innocent grandchild, was redolent of cake and candy, and all the various "goodies" which grandmothers are generally so ready to supply, to say nothing of the various well meant offices of kindness, to which their sometimes blind affection prompts them. "Look here, my little man," said the clerk, "what is your grandmother's name, and where does she live?"

"Why, she's my grandma, and she lives in Louisiana."

"Yes, I see that on the letter, but it will never get to her if her name isn't put on, and the place where she lives."

"Well, please put it on, sir."

"But I shall not know what her name is, unless you tell me."

"Why, sir, she's my grandma,--don't you know her? She used to live at my house."

After the display of considerable ingenuity on the part of the clerk, and a good deal of innocent evasion by the child, the old lady's name and place of residence were finally ascertained, and added to the address; after which the little one went on his way, rejoicing in the a.s.surance given by the clerk that now his "dear grandmother" would certainly receive the important epistle from her darling.

IMPROPER INTERFERENCE.

A letter was once sent from the Dead Letter Office at Washington, containing rail road scrip to a considerable amount. The letter had been mailed in a Southern town, and miscarried, and it was returned to the post master of that town for delivery to the writer. It so happened that the writer of the epistle had failed in business, and on the arrival of the letter the post master informed one of his creditors, and an attachment was laid on the letter by the Sheriff.

The writer reported the case to the Department, when a peremptory order was sent requiring the post master to return the letter at once to the Dead Letter Office at Washington. It was sent, and the return mail brought the post master's dismissal from office and the appointment of his successor.

The post-office was worth $1200 a year, and the discharged post master had abundance of time to count up the profits that might have been made by acting up to the good old rule, "Let every man mind his own business."

THE DEAD LETTER.

The following is contributed by "Dave," of the Columbus (Ohio) post-office.

During my term of service at the General Delivery of this office, it was my custom, upon receiving dead letters from Washington City, to make a list of the names of the persons to whom they were addressed, and stick it up in the lobby of the office, with a notice, "Call for Dead Letters."

One day an elaborate specimen of Erin's sons, whose brawny fist and broad shoulders seemed to denote a construction with an eye single to American rail roads, lounged into the office, and up to the board containing the aforesaid list. He looked at it a moment and burst into tears. I spoke to him through the window, and asked him what was the matter.

"Oh! Mr. Post Master, I see ye have a daid letther for me. I spect me sester in Ireland's daid, and it's not awake since I sint her a tin pound note to come to Ameriky wid--and kin ye tell me how long she's bin daid, Mr. Post Master?'

I asked him his name, found the "letther," and after a request from him to "rade it, sir, and rade it aisy if you plaze," opened it and told him not to cry; that his sister was not dead, but that it was a letter written by himself and directed to _Michael Flaherty_, BOSTON, CHICAGO."

And is Michael daid, Mr. Post Master?"

"No, I guess not," said I.

"Well, who _is_ daid, sir?"

I explained to him that letters not taken from the office to which they were addressed within a certain time, were sent to what was called the Dead Letter Office at Washington City, and from thence, if containing anything valuable, to the persons who wrote them.

"G.o.d bliss ye for that, sir, but Michael lives in Chicaga."

I told him I would not dispute that, but Boston and Chicago were two distinct cities, and the letter was addressed to both, and that Boston being the first named, it had been retained there, and his friend had not received it.

"Sure and I thought Boston was in Chicaga! and that's what ye call a daid letther, is it? Faith and I thought it was Bridget and not the letther, was daid. Ye see, Mr. Post Master, Michael he writ home to the ould folks that he lived in Chicaga, that he had married a nice American lady, that she was a sea-cook on a stameboat, and that they called her a nager. So whin I started for Ameriky, the ould modder, Miehael's modder, she give me these illegant rings (the letter contained a pair of ear-rings,) to give Michael's wife for a prisint.

When we landed at Boston, I wrote Michael the letther, tould him I was going to Columbus to live, put on the name--Michael Flaherty, Boston, Chicaga, and put it in the post,--and sure here it is, and Michael's sea-cook nager niver got it. Bad luck to the ship that fetched me to Boston, Mr. Post Master."

After offering to "trate me for the trouble" he had caused me, he left, and ever after, when he mailed a letter he brought it to me to put on the address, "Because he didn't understand these daid letthers."

SHARP CORRESPONDENCE.

One of the Peter Funk "Gift-Enterprise" firms in a large city, sent a package of tickets to a post master in Maine, the postage upon which was fifteen cents unpaid. They got the following hard rap over the knuckles, from the indignant official:--

"I herewith return your tickets. You must be fools as well as knaves, to suppose that I will aid you in swindling my neighbors, and _pay all the expenses myself_."

To which he in a few days received the annexed "settler:"--

Sir,

"We perhaps owe you an apology for sending the parcel postage unpaid.

As we infer from the phraseology of your note, that you are willing to swindle your neighbors if we will pay all the expenses, please give us your lowest terms on which you will act as our agent.

P. S. All communications shall be strictly confidential."

This note was promptly returned, with the following endors.e.m.e.nt across its face, by the post master:--