It was this--the oddest, most eccentric notion (not that Rosalie it thought so). Mr. Simcox, cut off from letters, had determined that he must get letters. He would get letters. If the postman would not come of himself (so to speak) then he must be forced to come. And Mr. Simcox set about forcing him to come by answering advertisements. Not employment advertisements; no; the advertisements to which Mr. Simcox re-plied were the advertisements that offered to send you something for nothing--that implored you to permit them to send you something for nothing. They are common objects of the periodical press. Every paper is stuffed with them. “Write for free samples.” “Catalogues.” “Trial packet sent post free on application.” “Write for our beautifully illustrated art brochure.” “Descriptive booklet by return.” “Write for full particulars.” “Free sample bottle sufficient for seven days’ trial.” “Approval gladly. Postpaid.” “Plans and particulars of the sole agents.” “Superbly printed art volume on receipt of postcard.” The advertisement columns of every paper are stuffed with them and soon the letter-box of Mr. Simcox was stuffed with them. The postman who never stopped at Mr. Simcox’s house now never missed Mr. Simcox’s house. He went on a lighter and a brisker man after having dealt with Mr. Simcox’s house. The agitation with which his approach was heard was now exchanged for a superb confidence as his approach was heard. The deliveries that for Mr. Simcox had never been deliveries were now, not deliveries, but avalanches. They roared into the letter-box of Mr. Simcox. They cascaded upon the floor of the hall of Mr. Simcox. A mail thus composed does not perhaps sound interesting. Mr. Simcox, once he had got into the full swing of the thing, discovered it to be profoundly and exhaustively interesting. It possessed in the highest degree the two primary essentials of a really good mail,--surprise and variety. There would always be two or three fascinating little parcels, there would always be two or three handsome packets, there would always be two or three imposing looking letters. No common correspondence could possibly have had the number of attractively boxed gifts, the amount of handsomely printed literary and il-lustrated matter, and certainly not the unfailing persistency of flow, that constituted the correspondence of Mr. Simcox.