But against all this we have the accusation that the German official is rude and overbearing. He gives the impression that you, being only a civilian, should wait on his convenience: it is your recognition of the dignity of his office. A writer in _The Sketch_ some time ago described the outcome of his temerity in venturing to enter a post office in Germany to purchase a postage stamp. The first thing which struck him was the arrangement of little slits in the glass walls, behind which the postal officials sat. He took up his place at the end of a queue of people, but after waiting some time without being able to report progress, took steps to find out the cause and found that the slit had not been opened. The official on duty appeared unperturbed, and was not doing anything in particular. “Finally, with a gravity unsurpassed, I should venture to think, in history, an official undid the slit. Then a few stamps and cards were sold to members of the queue. Then the official's attention was distracted. “'Would it be possible—?' a lady with bowed neck humbly began. “'No.' “The hope of the post office shut down the slit with a snap; and the queue settled down to more patience and more beating time.” The German accepts this as a part of his divinely organised scheme of things; it is the Englishman who meditates murder. Many of us are familiar with the French Post Office. In many ways the French have been in advance of our own methods. It is only since 1897 that we have had in this country a complete system of rural posts, but as early as 1830 a law was passed in France, that in every village where there was no post office, there should at least be a delivery of letters every two days. In 1877 the Chief of the French Post Office could say with justice that the rural delivery in France was the most perfect in the world. The real hero of the French Postal Service, it has been said, is the rural postman. From year's end to year's end he trudges on, without a rest even on the greatest holidays. In France nothing less than a revolution stops the postman's rounds, and even then he has often been seen, bag in hand, smiling on the summits of barricades with the bullets whistling around him.