This one train platform is alert and alive--brilliant under the incandescence of electricity. A brigade of shirt-sleeved men line it, while to its outer edge one great wagon after another--each showing the red, white, and blue of government service under the reflections of the arcs--comes rolling up, with a fearful clatter over the rough pavement of the station yard. From the cavernous recesses of these great wagons their stores are poured forth--dozens and dozens of mail sacks of leather and canvas, each tagged and directed with absolute accuracy. The grimy granite bulk of the general post-office is a scarce half-dozen blocks away from this terminal--an easy span for each of the great mail-wagons. Into that general post-office the mail--letters, newspapers, packages, all of inconceivable variety--has been pouring at flood-tide ever since the close of business nine hours before. The carriers with their heavy pouches began this tide; wagons bringing their contribution greatly swelled it. From the nearer stations the mail came, silent and unseen, through the giant pneumatic tubes that reach out from the general post-office, under city streets, like great arteries. Underneath the ghastly green mercury lamps of the distributing floor of the general post-office, the first steps were taken toward separating the flood. Expert mail-clerks, working under tremendous tension, made a rough classification of all that come under their trained fingers--sometimes by counties, again by States, or even a group of States. One great subdivision was transcontinental and transpacific. This train with its close connections on the Western lines will reach San Francisco just in time to catch there a big, red-funnelled steamship about to depart for Yokohama and Hong Kong. At Hong Kong the red-funnelled boat will connect with a P. & O. steamer whose screws will hardly cease revolving until she reaches Calcutta. The railroad mail service is a thing that reaches much farther than the rights-of-way of the railroads themselves. There are seven cars in this train--five cars for the postal service and two chartered by the morning newspapers. There are no coaches. Now and then one of these flyers will deign to carry a single sleeper, but such is the exception. The fast mail does not stop to quibble with such trifles as passengers. It even turns its shoulders upon the express companies--they have their own fast special trains across the continent. The last of the mail-wagons has delivered its valuable load to the cars. The final newspaper wagon comes dashing up to the platform--its horses a-froth and its driver on the edge of profanity. "Here's the firsts," he yells. "Big fire down the water-front and they wanted to make the edition with it. We were three minutes late."