THE POST-OFFICE NOT A TAXING MACHINE, BUT A BENEFICENT AGENCY.
Only in obedience to traditional usage have I dwelt thus long on the financial aspect of this question, which to my mind is the least important of all. Not to make money, but to promote the welfare of the people, and to increase the happiness of all,—such is the precious object I would propose; and here I ask no such question as, “Will it pay?” It may not pay in revenue at once, but it will pay in what is above price. Unhappily, the Post-Office, whether at home or abroad, has been from the beginning little more than a taxing machine, a contrivance to raise money, or a “milch cow” with fruitful dugs. In England it was at times farmed out to a speculator, and then again it was charged with the support of a royal mistress or favorite. For its profits only was it regarded, and not for its agency in the concerns of life. In this respect it was not unlike the Government, which was simply a usurpation for the benefit of the few. All this is now changed, at least among us, and Government is the creation of the people for their good. The Post-Office should share this transformation. Instead of a mere taxing machine, or contrivance to raise money, or “milch cow” with fruitful dugs, it should be an omnipresent beneficent minister, reaching its multitudinous hands with help and comfort into all the homes of our wide-spread land. Such it is already in England, to the infinite joy of all. But the omnipresent beneficent minister belongs to a republic more than to a monarchy. Cheap postage is a republican institution. If England has anticipated us, we may at least profit by her example.
It is because Senators see the Post-Office only in its least elevated, not to say its most vulgar character, that there is any hesitation. Contemplate for one moment, if you please, its great and beautiful office. It is the universal messenger of a people, bearing tidings of all kinds, whether of business, hope, affection, charity, joy, or sorrow, and articulating them throughout the land. There is nothing that man can do, desire, or feel, which is not contained in the various and abounding errand. The letters of a single day are the epitome of life, and this service is unceasing. Every day this messenger flies over the land, from city to city, from town to town, from village to village, from house to house, leaving everywhere the welcome token. Such a messenger is more than a winged Mercury, with sandalled feet and purse in hand, whose special care was commerce; it is an angel in reality, as in name. In the ancient Greek, from which the word is derived, an angel was a messenger; and is not the office of our messenger angelic? But by what rule or reason can you tax such a messenger in his great and beautiful office?
A letter is simply conversation in writing, and therefore, by strictness of logic, the tax you impose is a tax on conversation. Reflect a moment on the part performed by conversation in the education of men and in the economies of life; and here I give you testimony. Once at Mr. Webster’s table I heard the question discussed, “From what do men derive most of what they know?” The scholars about him answered,—one naming “Our Mothers,” another “Schools,” another “Books,” another “Newspapers,” when the host, who had listened to each, remarked, very gravely, “You forget Conversation, from which, in my judgment, we derive the larger part of what we know.” Who shall say that Mr. Webster was not right? It is clear that conversation is a wonderful educator and a constant servant. But conversation in writing, no matter on what subject, whether of business or of the heart, is now subject to an unrelenting tax, so that persons conversing by letter must not only pay the cost of the intermediary in their own case, but must contribute to the expense of other conversations elsewhere.