“December 31st.—The Post Office expenses are increasing at an enormous rate. As nearly as I can ascertain the present rate of expenditure is about £900,000 per annum, which is an increase of more than £200,000 in the last two years: the greater part of the increase results from the employment of railways, and cannot perhaps be avoided (though I think much may be done even there to reduce the charge), but a considerable portion is owing to the increase of establishments. In the first half of the present year the expenses of the several establishments were increased at the rate of about £20,000 per annum, and I fear that at least an equal increase has taken place in the last half of the year. Nearly the whole of this increase of establishments might, I believe, have been avoided.”
Before closing the narrative of this year, I may mention one or two incidents of an amusing character.
Soon after the issue of the adhesive stamp, a distinguished connoisseur, reading the direction to affix the stamp “on the right-hand side of the letter,” felt a doubt as to what this might really mean. Being in the artistic habit of reversing sides in speaking of pictures, and probably having done so in the case of Mulready’s beautiful though unacceptable design, he wished to know whether the term “right” were to be received in the artistic or the common sense. Accordingly, knocking at the office window, he modestly requested to be informed which was the right-hand side of the letter, when he was repulsed with the counter-demand, “Do you think we have nothing to do but to answer idle questions?” the window at the same time closing with a bang.
In the same year there was, as may be still remembered, much public excitement in expectation of Her Majesty’s first accouchement; lively interest turning upon the question whether the nation would be blessed with a prince or princess. Amongst other speculation on the subject, doubtless a good deal went on in the room where the three messengers passed most of their time, with little else to do than to discuss the topics of the day, of which they probably supposed every one’s head to be as full as their own. For myself, as I was during the whole period engaged in the earnest effort to give my plan that full development which was essential to its success, I fear I did not give to the great question all the attention which its importance demanded; and even when the grand announcement was matter of hourly expectation, I was completely absorbed in the device of means for overcoming one or other of the numberless difficulties with which I had to contend. In the midst of this research the door was suddenly thrown open by my messenger, with a loud exclamation, “A Princess Royal, Sir!” As the sounds which reached my ear did not inform my understanding, I merely looked up from my paper with the inquiry, “Who?” and the announcement, though repeated, still conveying but half-meaning, the only result was that I started up from my chair, in surprise and perplexity, with a direction to my messenger that he should “show the lady upstairs.”
I close the year’s history in a manner very pleasing to myself by transcribing the following extract from a letter received in the course of it from one to whose works I felt, in common with many of my contemporaries, deeply indebted; and whose name I can never mention but with gratitude and respect:—
“Dear Sir,—Captain Beaufort[310] told you very truly that I take a strong interest in the progress of the Penny Postage—both a public and a private interest; and I truly think that the British nation, the united empire, owes you millions of thanks for the improvements that have been made in social intercourse—in all the intercourse of human creatures for pleasure or business, affection or profit; including the profits of literature and science—foreign and domestic.
* * * * *
“I am, dear Sir,
“Your obliged,