It is often brought as a reproach against the General Post Office that while it occasionally fails to deliver a letter which is only slightly incorrect in its address, it frequently succeeds if the address is entirely wrong or is more or less unintelligible to the average reader. But Post Office men and women have the ordinary human point of view, and we must not blame them for sometimes despising the solution of simple difficulties and laying themselves out to solve the larger problems of official life. Like Naaman, they prefer to be asked to do some great thing. For one reason, both their chiefs and the public will give them more credit for solving an apparently hopeless puzzle than for suggesting a way out of an easy difficulty. They may have in the one case a paragraph all to themselves in the _Daily Mail_: in the other case they will not even be thanked by the man who receives the letter, and who is not modest enough to be surprised because he is known to the Post Office in spite of an imperfect address. None the less, the failure of the Post Office to deliver a letter often means a loss of self-respect to the member of the Department whose duty it is to find an owner for the packet, and he will make great efforts to save his reputation. The Department which deals with the undelivered letters is called the Returned Letter Office, but the older and more striking name was the Dead Letter Office. This name, however, gave rise to some misunderstanding on the part of the simple-minded British public. Many thought that this office was a place where they could learn all about dead and missing friends and relatives. Descriptions were frequently sent as to the age and appearance of lost fathers, husbands, uncles, &c. For instance, information was required of the whereabouts of “R——, a carpenter by trade, 5 feet 10½, blue eyes, brown hare, and a cut on the forreid, a lump on the smorle of his back, and no whiskers.” A lady wrote this letter: “To the Dead Office Post Office, London. I, the mother of Michael Roach, beg leave to write to you trusting that you will kindly send me the necessary information regarding the death of my son, and if dead you as a gentleman will kindly send me an answer to this, whether dead or living.” Other folk who are influenced by superstitious considerations disliked the gruesome suggestiveness of the title. Hence this letter: “To the Dead Letter Office. If any of my letters should come to your office that I have not sent since the last, will you be so kind as to burn them and never send them back to me. After that one came, as many as 21 persons have died and been buried in this little place, and I don't know what will be the end of it. I think this will be my last.” Communications of this nature may have brought about the change in name, but I am inclined to think that this was induced by the reluctance of the staff to admit the deadness of any postal packet which passed through their hands.