The Post Office is always delighted to hear of its difficulties being adjusted by the complainants themselves: it can rarely speak out its own mind to the obtuse, the ignorant, and the careless. And it is not the uneducated folk who give the most trouble. In the autumn of 1910 there appeared in the _Morning Post_ a letter signed “John Brown,” and he described himself as “senior partner in the firm of Brown, Jones, and Robinson, Dumpington House, Little Britain.” The letter was obviously written sarcastically, and was a protest from a typical Briton's point of view against compulsory service, on the ground that it would mean interference with his profit-mongering and the curtailment of many of his luxuries. This is the kind of argument he used. “I have often to sign my name fifty times in the course of the day—a hard-working man of business. I must have some relaxation, and how could I obtain this if I were forced to sell my yacht and give up my moor in Scotland, to say nothing of my fishing in Norway. What, again, would my wife and family do without the little villa in the Riviera to fly to from the rigours of an English winter. And what, I should like to know, would my friends say, and how long should I retain them, if I had to make these enormous sacrifices, and all to please a parcel of scaremongers with no knowledge of business, no sense of duty, no appreciation of the claims of a man who would get on in the world and make a figure in the social life of the community?” A retired military officer read this obviously faked-up letter and boiled over with indignation. He replied “direct,” as he said in a letter to the Department, “to Mr. Brown at the address furnished; but to my surprise my envelope and enclosure were returned through the Dead Letter Office and marked, as you will see on the envelope, 'Not known.' I shall be glad if you will say why my letter was returned. As regards the address, Little Britain, our local postmaster here told me that Little Britain was London, E.C., and further that as a Londoner he knew it quite well.” The Department never laughs, and rarely gives a reply to anybody without some qualification. The cautious officer dealing with the case replied: “The address in question _appears_ to be fictitious. It is regretted that no assistance can be given you in the matter.” This last sentence may of course have been intentionally subtle, because the assistance which the military gentleman required was evidently in the direction of the surgical operation recommended by Sydney Smith to obtuse North Britons. The Department was called upon to explain a joke in another instance. The following note appeared outside a wrapper, addressed from Canada to this country:— “This package contains a pair of undressed kids, size 6¾, colour black finish, extra fine: trade No., 23; manufactured in Paris, France, by Lemoine Fils & Co. To Mrs. J. Smith.”