hil, "that's because you don't know how to tell her.--
See here now, cousin Sarah. The average length of a message is thirty
words. Well, that gives 660 millions of words. Now, a good average
story-book of 400 pages contains about ninety-six thousand words.
Divide the one by the other, and that gives you a magnificent library of
6875 volumes as the work done by the Postal Telegraphs every year. All
these telegrams are kept for a certain period in case of inquiry, and
then destroyed."

"Phil, I must put on my things and go," exclaimed Miss Lillycrop,
rising. "I've had quite as much as I can stand."

"Just cap it all with this, ma'am, to keep you steady," interposed
Solomon Flint;--"the total revenue of the Post-Office for the year was
six millions and forty-seven thousand pounds; and the expenditure three
millions nine hundred and ninety-one thousand. Now, you may consider
yourself pretty well up in the affairs of the Post-Office."

The old 'ooman, awaking at this point with a start, hurled the cat under
the grate, and May laughingly led Miss Lillycrop into her little
boudoir.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

IN WHICH A BOSOM FRIEND IS INTRODUCED, RURAL FELICITY IS ENLARGED ON,
AND DEEP PLANS ARE LAID.

A bosom friend is a pleasant possession. Miss Lillycrop had one. She
was a strong-minded woman. We do not say this to her disparagement. A
strong mind is as admirable in woman as in man. It is only when woman
indicates the strength of her mind by unfeminine self-assertion that we
shrink from her in alarm. Miss Lillycrop's bosom friend was a
warm-hearted, charitable, generous, hard-featured, square-shouldered,
deep-chested, large-boned lady of middle age and quick temper. She was
also in what is styled comfortable circumstances, and dwelt in a pretty
suburban cottage. Her name was Maria Stivergill.

"Come with me, child," said Miss Stivergill to Miss Lillycrop one day,
"and spend a week at The Rosebud."

It must not be supposed that the good lady had given this romantic name
to her cottage. No, when Miss Stivergill bought it, she found the name
on the two gate-posts; found that all the tradespeople in the vicinity
had imbibed it, and therefore quietly accepted it, as she did all the
ordinary affairs of life.

"Impossible, dear Maria," said her friend, with a perplexed look, "I
have so many engagements, at least so many duties, that--"

"Pooh!" interrupted Miss Stivergill. "Put 'em off. Fulfil 'em when you