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 DEAD LETTER. 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.