The immoralities circulated and encouraged by Valentines cannot be estimated. Statistics would fail to arrive at the amount of vice engendered by this pernicious breed. One of the worst evils that owe their origin to this cause, is the temptation laid in the way of post-office clerks. A Valentine is often the first provocation to crime. Numerous instances have come under the observation of the writer, in which persons convicted of robbing the mails, trace back their transgressions to no more serious a fault than that of peeping into one of these silly missives. They are often carelessly sealed, and easily opened by third parties without discovery. Imagine a young man intrusted with the care of a village post-office. He is interested in Miss A. He believes she encourages his sentiments. He hopes her proud father will some day encourage him as an eligible suitor for his daughter's hand. Still he is subject to desponding and jealous doubts. And when, one evening in the middle of February, a Valentine addressed to his paragon strikes his eye as he is assorting the mails, an indescribable pang shoots through his heart. He wonders who sent it. Tom Bellows is at first suspected, but the hand-writing differs from Tom's. "Can it be Robert Cartwright?" says the distressed clerk. "He is partial to Miss A., and she seems pleased with him. What can he be writing to her?" Such thoughts perplex the young man's brain. The Valentine is not taken from the office that evening; and when all is quiet, he draws it once more out of the box, and again examines the superscription. It is certainly Cartwright's writing. "O dear!" sighs the clerk, "how easy I could open it, and nobody know it!" Aching with curiosity, but calling moral principle and self-denial to his aid, he returns the missive to the box, and goes to bed. But sleep is out of the question. He is awake, thinking about the Valentine, and those supposed to be immediately interested therein. "I wonder if I _could_ open it!" he says to himself. "I've half a mind to try." He gets up, strikes a light, and a moment later the Valentine is in his hand. "If it comes open," says he, "I'll seal it again without reading it. I only want to see if it can be done without having it show afterwards." Instantly he starts back. The Valentine is open! Really, he did not mean to do it; it came open so much easier than he expected! Although it is night, and he is alone, he cannot help looking over his shoulder to assure himself that the grim individual watching him, exists only in his imagination. "Well," thinks he, "it's done, and who knows it? What's the harm, as long as I'm going to seal it up again?--and after all, I don't see that it will be much worse just to see if there is any name to it, provided I don't read the rest."