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How the Postmistress wishes, on these bright May mornings, that she could turn herself into a fairy godmother!
"What would she do then," do you ask?
Why, print ever so many more of the dear little letters, bright stories, and tangled puzzles which every day are dropped for her into Uncle Sam's great mail-bags by the children's hands.
Her heart almost aches sometimes when she has to put aside so many clever, amusing, and affectionate letters which can not possibly be crowded into Our Post-office Box. Still, the dear little folks are too sensible to be vexed at the Postmistress, when she can not possibly help herself. You all know she must try to be fair in her treatment of each of her host of correspondents.
When you have anything interesting to write, do not mind even though you may have sent two or three letters already and they have not appeared. Write again.
Now for a word to the Exchangers. I am sorry that several complaints have come about careless little people who forget, when they send their exchanges, to inclose plain directions as to where they live; and, worse still, stories have been told about some who appear to be dishonorable. I will not believe that a single boy who reads Young People ever willfully cheats another boy. I am sure this can not happen. But I fear that some lads do not attend as they ought to the standing notice at the head of our exchange list, and I think some may not be sufficiently careful to fully prepay the postage on their budgets, and so the pretty treasures and rare curiosities are sent away to the Dead-letter Office.