There was yet another fool this year, but, this time, he was not a maniac—only a Post Office Clerk, who wanted to have an interview with Her Majesty. On the afternoon of the 8th Dec., a carriage and four drove up to Windsor Castle, and, from it, alighted a personage wearing a foraging cap, a fur boa round his neck, and fur gloves, who announced himself as the bearer of important despatches which he must deliver into the Queen’s own hands. This, of course, was not complied with, and as he would not part with the documents, he was handed over to the police, and taken to the station, where he made a sturdy resistance when they were taken from him. He turned out to be a junior clerk in the Foreign Post Office, named William Saunders, who, being on duty when the Foreign Mails arrived, found some letters and papers addressed to the Queen, and put them into his pocket with the intention of delivering them himself. He was suspended from his duties, but I do not know his ultimate fate. Gambling houses were still in existence, although the Police Act of this year (2 & 3 Vict., c. 47, s. 48) gave the police great and additional power towards suppressing them. Here is a sample raid as reported in the _Observer_ of 15 Dec.: “Superintendent Baker, C, succeeded on Saturday night week, in breaking his way into a gambling house, 60 Jermyn Street (commonly called the Cottage), and some persons, therein found, were fined, on Monday, at Marlborough Street Office. In all, seven persons were captured, of whom, two were connected with the management of the gambling house; the others were gentlemen players. They were taken to the Station house in Vine Street; and, as we know it to be the anxious desire of the police authorities to suppress the nuisance of gaming houses, we feel that we are but lending our humble aid towards effecting that object in now publishing the real names of those gentlemen who were captured, and who passed themselves off to the police and the magistrate as being ‘Jones,’ ‘Smith,’ and other conventional misnomers. (Here follow the names.) Our Correspondent has told us of a certain noble lord, who was running here and there, on the night of the capture of his friends, striving, in the first instance, to get them bailed out, and, failing in that, to provide for them creature comforts in their cells. We cannot avoid mentioning one or two little incidents connected with this affair. The admission of spirits to prisoners in a station house is strictly forbidden, but, on this occasion, their friends outside succeeded in introducing eight soda water bottles filled with excellent pale brandy, so regularly corked and wired, as to deceive even the sharp eyes of the Inspector.