I will relate another circumstance, sufficiently ludicrous, though a general and useful deduction may be drawn from it. My valet de chambre, who fortunately for me cannot read, brought me one afternoon a letter which, after a hundred apologies for the liberty he was taking, he begged _I_ would read to him. It came from his father, who is a well-to-do farmer near Besançon. The style of the letter was good, but the writing difficult to decypher. After the usual expressions between a parent and a son, he proceeded in the letter to ask four distinct questions, every one of which required an explicit answer. One of them, upon which he laid the greatest stress, was to inform him by its reply whether his daughter had been safely delivered. The letter, however, had a postscript: “Au Nom de Dieu ne réponds pas à cette lettre, le prix des facteurs est trop cher!” Now without any invidious allusion to Ireland I may be permitted to observe that no so-called Irish bull was ever so simple as this remark. No English labourer whose daughter was in a similar condition would have grudged a few sous upon such occasion, and the expense of internal postage in France is cheaper than with us. Disinclination to correspond extends to men in better circumstances. Amidst the most sumptuous festivities and the Oriental style of living peculiar to the Consular Satrap, there is throughout the mass of the Parisians a chilling penury that would excite compassion, if we could forget that they had been the voluntary authors of their own wretchedness. The extensive operations carried on, the numerous armies maintained on the Continent by the Republic, have rendered it extremely difficult for persons to know the destination and circumstances of their relatives. Hence a new species of egoism has been introduced into society. The social claim is dissolved and every one lives on conjecture or only for himself. The charms and joys of friendship cannot exist in such a state. It must be observed that trade is at a standstill; not on account of want of opportunities but for want of _means_. Property has not yet made its appearance from out the holes where the spirits of fraud, rapine and fear have deposited it. Concealment of spoil is the universal adage; for with all the fulsome panegyrics on the Central Government, which originate with its subaltern agents, and are despatched by the Prefects of the Departments, doubt and anxiety are pictured on every countenance, except the military and the immediate counsellors of the consulate authority. If a merchant be disposed to make a venture, the next moment his fears deter him. He hesitates to trust, and least of all is he inclined to trust his Government. Under such circumstances it is little wonder the General Post Office does so little business. I have stood for hours in the courtyard in order to see the arrivals of the different couriers. [Sidenote: POSTAL TRANSIT]