Sir Arthur Blackwood, who was Permanent Secretary to the Post Office in Fawcett’s day, used of his chief this striking phrase: ‘He had a passion for justice.’ His only criticism of Fawcett’s administration was that he was too lenient to erring subordinates, and apt to give too much time to details which might have been entrusted to others. His conclusion was: ‘The Post Office could never, I believe, have a more capable Postmaster-General, nor its officers a truer friend.’ As witness to this last, a post-office clerk wrote: ‘The humblest servant within the dominion of his authority was not left uncared for. During his history as Postmaster-General, a greatly improved state of feeling has been introduced among the officers in their general tone towards each other and towards those beneath them.’ The view of the country at large was equally emphatic. Let these verses from _Punch_, written after Fawcett had been two years in office, speak for the popular appreciation of his work:— ‘THE MAN FOR THE POST John Bull _loquitur_ Well, well, here’s comfort, and, by Jove, it’s needed Amidst the chaos of cantankerous cackle, Here is one man has silently succeeded— One man who a tough job can stoutly tackle. O si sic omnes! In my blatant Babel Business is a lost art—at least it seems so. All the more honour to the Champion able Who still can realise my hopes and dreams so, To serve the State, to sagely shape and plan for it, Is the true Statesman’s part, and here’s the man for it. No epic hero! Well, I’m getting weary Of the huge windiness now dubbed heroic, “Arms and the Man”—and a fiasco dreary Too oft repeated, irritate a Stoic Such as I’m grown. And then I’m not quite certain, Applied to him the name _is_ pure misnomer. _Fawcett_, though seldom called before the curtain, Perhaps in more than _one_ point pairs with _Homer_. Although one sang Achilles and his host, The other schemed, not sang, the Parcels Post. Perhaps the large ambition that loves spangles And warrior fame might pooh-pooh the projectors, But I’m inclined to fancy Red Tape’s tangles Are tougher foes than many Trojan Hectors. Achilles as Laocoön might have thundered And thrust tremendously, and yet been throttled. St. Stephen’s spouters long have fought and blundered, And long my rising wrath I’ve choked and bottled, But I _am_ glad to see one silent, strong fellow, Who emulates the hero sung by Longfellow.