a former learned wit of the post office department, cogitating over, upon, under, and between, the multifarious and abstruse problems submitted for adjudication, evolved the following gems of keen, mental penetration. that:

feather beds are not mailable.

a stamp of the foot is not sufficient to carry a letter.

a pair of onions will go for two cents.

persons are compelled to lick their own postage stamps; the postmaster cannot be compelled to do this.

nitro-glycerine must be forwarded at the risk of the sender. if it should blow up in the postmaster’s hands he cannot be held responsible.

when candy is sent through the mails it is earnestly requested that both ends of the package be left open, so that the employees of the post office may test its quality.

john smith gets his mail from 674,279 post offices, hence a letter directed to john smith, united states, will reach him.

[155]

poems on “spring, spring, the beautiful spring,” and “the beautiful snow, with its white efulgent glow,” are rigidly excluded from the mails. (this is to catch the editorial vote).

it is earnestly requested that lovers writing to their sweethearts will please confine their gushing rhapsodies to the inside of the envelope.

ducks cannot be sent through the mails alive. their discordant, vociferous greetings are apt to disturb the slumbers of the clerks.

it is unsafe to send fruit-laden trees through the mails; clerks are known to have a weakness for such things.