Giving the wrong State in an address, is a disease as common among letters, as hydrophobia among dogs. A draper's clerk in C—— sent a remittance to Boston which did not arrive there. The draper was obliged to send the amount (three hundred and fifty dollars) again, which he did personally, to prevent mistakes. This too failed to arrive, but the first was soon received by him from the Dead Letter Office, having died at Boston in New York, instead of Massachusetts! The merchant drank gunpowder-tea, and gave his clerk a "blowing up." The latter person, however, was in some sort avenged, not long after, for Coroner John Marron reported that the second letter, written and mailed by the merchant himself, had died of the same disease that carried off the first, and forwarded the body to him.

It should here be mentioned, for the benefit of the uninitiated, that the gentleman referred to, is the Third Assistant Post Master General, embracing the Superintendence of the Dead Letter Office. His duties may be considered as in some respects analogous to those of a Coroner, as he, or those in his bureau, in the case of defunct money letters, ascertain the causes of death, and send the remains to surviving friends.

The omission of the name of the State from the address of a letter, often causes much uncertainty in its motions.

There are, for instance, seven Philadelphias besides the one in Pennsylvania, twenty-three Salems, as many Troys, and no end of Washingtons, Jeffersons, and other names distinguished in the history of the country.

There are three New Yorks, and eleven Bostons. Indeed the majority of the names of the post-offices are at least duplicated, and often repeated many times, as we could easily show; but two or three more specimens of this will suffice. Twenty-three Franklins, twenty Jacksons, and sixteen Madisons, will help to perpetuate the memories of the distinguished men who once bore those names.

The danger of a letter's miscarrying in consequence of the omission of the name of the State on its direction, is of course reduced to nothing, when there is no other post-office in the country with the same name as the one addressed, especially if there is any oddity about the name. Thus, were we to direct a letter to "Sopchoppy," it would be likely to find the place rejoicing in that euphonious title, even were the State (Florida) omitted in the address; although it would often involve the trouble of consulting the list of post-offices. "Sorrel Horse," also, could not fail to receive whatever might be sent to it.

A teetotaler would not be surprised to find "Sodom" in "Champaign County;" and while on this subject we would say that temperance views seem to have prevailed in naming post-offices. We have two named Temperance, and three Temperancevilles, to balance which, besides the above Sodom, there appear only "Gin Town," and "Brandy Station," one of each.

One given to speculation on such matters, would be curious to know what must be the state of society in "Tight Squeeze." Is the "squeeze" commercial or geographical? Do hard times prevail there as a general thing, or is there some narrow pass, leading to the place, which has originated the name? There may be some tradition connected with the subject; at least a moderately lively fancy might make something even of such an unpromising subject as "Tight Squeeze."

Far different must be the condition of things in "Pay Down." This favored place is doubtless eschewed by advocates of the credit system, and here Cash must reign triumphant.

Some villages seem to aspire to astronomical honors. There are in our social firmament, one Sun, one Moon, and two Stars; also one Eclipse, and a Transit, whether of Venus or not is unknown. So it appears that the "man in the Moon," is not altogether a fictitious character, but may be a post master.

The twenty-five thousand names contained in the list of post-offices would furnish many other curiosities as noticeable as those just cited, and we refer those who are desirous of entering more largely into the subject, to that work.

It is sufficient for us to have called the attention of the public to the necessity of exactness and sufficient fulness in the address of letters, to insure their delivery at the place where they are intended to go. Much vexation, and real inconvenience would be obviated, if more care were exercised in this respect, and the Dead Letter Office would have fewer inquests to make.

The mails, as we have seen, afford facilities to the rogue for carrying out his designs as well as to the honest man in the prosecution of his business. But the post-office has been made, accidentally or purposely, the instrument of bringing to light criminals who had hitherto remained undetected; and whose deeds had no such connection with the mails as those which have thus far been described in this work.

A striking instance of this has been kindly furnished me by the Cincinnati Post Master, relating to a case which has excited the horror of the whole country. I refer to the Arrison case, most of the circumstances of which are doubtless familiar to my readers.

It will be recollected that the man Arrison was guilty of murdering the steward of the Cincinnati Hospital, and his wife, by means of a box, containing explosive materials, which took fire by the action of opening it. Arrison immediately absconded, and his place of retreat remained undiscovered for some time; but he was destined to be betrayed by a chain of circumstances, hanging upon an accident of the most trifling description.

A letter came to the Cincinnati office from Muscatine, Iowa, addressed to "P. F. Willard, Cincinnati, Ohio." The Muscatine post-mark was so placed as to cover the P. in the address in such a manner as to make it resemble a C. There being a young lawyer in the place by the name of C. F. Willard, the letter was very naturally placed in his box. Upon opening and reading the document, he found that its contents were of the most mysterious character, and totally incomprehensible. Finding thus that it was not intended for him, he very properly returned it to the office with the request that it should be handed to the post master. This gentleman calling to mind the circumstances of the Arrison case, and being familiar with some of the names connected therewith, came to the conclusion, after reading the letter, that Arrison was the writer, and thereupon gave the information which led to his discovery and arrest.

A clerk stationed at the "General Delivery" window of the post-office, dispensing epistolary favors to the impatient throng without, was suddenly confronted by a countenance flaming with wrath; which countenance was part and parcel of the individual, now first known to fame by the name of Mike Donovan, who had elbowed his way through the crowd, and now stood before the astonished official, demanding justice. Handing him a foreign letter, marked "24 cents," Mike exclaimed in a tone of righteous indignation.

"Here, sir, is a letther that I paid twinty-four cints for, out of me own pocket, and the letther is from Pat Cosgrove, me cousin in ould Ireland, and Pat is as honest a boy as iver saw daylight, and Pat, he says inside of the letther that he paid the postage, and so some raskill has chated me, and I mane to make him smart for't; and I'd be obleiged to ye if ye'd tell me who to sue. Bedad, it isn't me that's goin to put up wid such rashcality."

Here he brought down his shillalah on the floor, to the imminent danger of his neighbor's toes, with an emphasis strongly suggestive of his fixed determination to exact the uttermost farthing from his unknown defrauder.

The clerk informed him if any mistake had occurred, the British Government was the delinquent, and therefore the party to be sued.

"Is it the British Government?" inquired Pat.

"Certainly," was the reply, "that's where you must look for your twenty-four cents."

Mike settled his hat over his eyes, and walked out of the office with an air of defiance to the world in general, and the British Government in particular.

Timothy Boyle, entering the post-office one morning, and perceiving a clerk "taking a limited view of society" through the aperture technically called "general delivery," naturally supposed that the duties of this functionary included receiving as well as delivering, and accordingly handed him a letter adorned with the lineaments of the Father of his Country, (not Tim's,) and bearing upon its exterior this general exhortation to all whom it might concern,—"With spede."

The clerk directed Tim to deposit the document in the letter box.

"And where is the letther box?"

"Follow this railing," said the young man, "and you will find it round the corner;" meaning thereby the corner of the tier of boxes, which was surrounded by a neat railing.

On the strength of these instructions, Tim turned on his heel, dashed into the main street, ("with spede," as per letter,) and walked on vigorously till he arrived at a corner, which happened to be occupied as a tailor's shop.

"I want to put this letther in the box," said Tim, after looking about him in vain for any sign of such a receptacle.

"What box?" asked the tailor.

"What box would I put it in but the letther box?" replied Tim.

"Who sent you here after a letterbox?" said the tailor; "you must be a natural fool to suppose that we have any such thing here."

"Natheral fule or not, sir, I was towld by the clark at the post-office that I'd find the box round the corner, and shure this is a corner I've come to, and if it isn't here, I don't know where I'll find it."

"You'd better go back to the post-office," said the tailor, "and see whether the clerk can make you understand where to put your letter."

So the unlucky Tim left the tailor's shop with the impression that he had been made a goose of by the post-office clerk, and by "nursing his wrath to keep it warm," he succeeded in bringing it to the boiling point, by the time that he again entered the office.

"And it's a purty thrick ye've bin a playin' me, Misthur Clark," he vociferated, "sendin' me to a tailor's shop for a letther box! Bad luck to ye, what for did ye put me to all this throuble?"

The clerk blandly explained to Mr. Boyle that the "throuble" was caused by his own impetuosity, not to say stupidity, and finally succeeded in describing the locality of the letter box in such a lucid manner, that even Tim was guided by his direction to the much desired spot, and it is to be hoped that the letter in question underwent no more such vicissitudes, before it reached its destination.

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.

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 document. 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 assurance given by the clerk that now his "dear grandmother" would certainly receive the important epistle from her darling.

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 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.

"God 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."

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:—

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

This note was promptly returned, with the following endorsement across its face, by the post master:—

To which this answer came back by next mail:—

Here follows the post master's final reply:—

But that was the last thing that the "Gift" gentleman could think of doing. In fact, secrecy as to his locality, was quite essential in keeping out of the clutches of the Police.

Many of the reading public will remember the sad accident which occurred in Hartford, Conn., in the year 1853, when by the bursting of a boiler connected with a car factory, several of the workmen were killed. Among the killed were two Irishmen, brothers, each of whom left a widow, with an infant child. These men had been industrious and faithful toward their employers, and kind in their own households, so that when they were taken away in such a sudden and shocking manner, their sorrowing widows felt a double stroke, in the loss of affectionate hearts, and in the deprivation of many of the comforts which the hand of affection had hitherto supplied. Their little ones, too, required much of their attention, and often seriously interfered with their efforts to provide for the daily wants of their desolate households.

About six months after the accident, the Hartford post master received from the Department at Washington a "dead letter," which had been written by these brothers to a female relative in Ireland, enclosing a draft for ten pounds sterling, to defray the expenses of her passage to America.

This anxiety on the part of these children of Erin who had come to this land of promise, to furnish their relatives and friends whom they had left behind, with the means of following them, is a striking manifestation of that ardent attachment to home and its circle of loved ones, which leads them to undergo every sacrifice in order to effect a reunion with those for whose presence they long with irrepressible desires, as they go about, "strangers in a strange land." They have often been known to submit to the severest privations for the sake of bringing over a sister, a brother, or some other relative, without whom the family circle would be incomplete. All this is but one aspect of the "Irish heart," whose warmth of affection and generous impulses should put to shame many, who without their ardent unselfishness, coolly laugh at the blunders and mal apropos speeches of its possessors, and attribute that to shallowness, which is in truth but a sudden and sometimes conflicting flow of ideas. As the mad poet McDonald Clark once wrote in an epigram on an editor who had accused him of possessing "zigzag brains,"

"By their works ye shall know them." It is comparatively easy to utter the language of affection, and to express a vast deal of fine sentiment; and much of this spurious coin is current in the world. But when one is seen denying himself almost the necessaries of life, in order to accumulate a little fund for the benefit of some one near to his heart, though far away, we feel that there can be no deception here. Like the widow's mite, it has the ring of pure gold.

The letter referred to, (which was sent back from Ireland in consequence of some misdirection,) was full of kind feeling, and manifested on the part of the writers a firm and simple trust in the goodness of Providence. The post master sent word to the widows that this letter was in his possession, and accordingly was visited by the bereaved women, whose tears flowed fast as they gazed upon the record which recalled so vividly the kindnesses of their departed husbands. The little sum enclosed, as they stated, was the result of the united efforts of the two families, who cheerfully joined in this labor of love. How many a recollection of unmurmuring self-denial, with the hope that made it easy; how many a remembrance of bright anticipations of the happiness to be enjoyed, when the beloved one, for whose sake these efforts were made, should be received within their family circle; how many such things must have been brought to mind by the sight of the missive, so freighted with affection and memories of the past!

The post master informed the widows that by returning the draft to the office from which it was purchased, they might obtain the money on it; but they replied that since it had once been dedicated to an object sacred both to the departed and their survivors, it must go back to Ireland, and fulfil its mission.

So these poor stricken women, to whom ten pounds was a large sum, (even larger than when the letter was first sent,) and who much needed the comforts it would purchase, sent back the draft, and have since had the happiness of meeting their relative in America, and seeing the wishes of their husbands faithfully carried out.

This is but one of many constantly recurring instances of generosity and devotion which come to the knowledge of post masters; and while we have put on record some of the blunders of an impulsive people, our sense of justice as well as inclination, has prompted us to make public the foregoing incidents, so forcibly illustrating the warm attachments that grace the Irish Heart.

The most ridiculous errors and omissions sometimes occur on the part of persons applying to post masters for missing letters. The following amusing correspondence will illustrate this phase of post-office experience:—

The above letter was forwarded to the post master of New Haven, after having been read by the New York post master. It was soon returned with the following pertinent inquiries:—

The New Haven post master's letter was then sent to Mr. H., with the annexed note:—