But we average about twenty begging letters a day. They are
always long, the first page taken up in congratulations upon "big heart,"
"wide influence," "Christian sympathies," and so on, winding up with a
solicitation for five dollars, more or less. We always know from the amount
of lather put on that we are going to be shaved. The postal card will soon
invade even that verbosity, and the correspondent will simply say,
"Poor--very--children ten--chills and fever myself--no quinine--desperate--
your money or your life--Bartholomew Wiggins, Dismal Swamp, Ia."

The advantage of such a thing is that, if you do not answer such a letter
no offence is taken, it is so short and costs only a cent; whereas, if the
author had taken a great sheet of letter paper, filled it with compliments
and graceful solicitations, folded it, and run the gummed edge along the
lips at the risk of being poisoned, and stuck on a stamp (after tedious
examination of it to see whether or not it had been used before, or had
only been mauled in your vest pocket), the offence would have been mortal,
and you would have been pronounced mean and unfit for the ministry.

Postal cards are likewise a relief to that large class of persons who by
sealed envelope are roused to inquisitiveness. As such a closed letter lies
on the mantel-piece unopened, they wonder whom it is from, and what is in
it, and they hold it up between them and the light to see what are the
indications, and stand close by and look over your shoulder while you read
it, and decipher from your looks whether it is a love-letter or a dun. The
postal card is immediate relief to them, for they can read for themselves,
and can pick up information on various subjects free of charge.

But, after all, the great advantage of this new postal arrangement is
economy in the consumption of time. It will practically add several years
to a man's life, and will keep us a thousand times, at the beginning of our
letters, from saying "Dear Sir" to those who are not at all dear, and will
save us from surrendering ourselves with a "Yours, truly," to those to whom
we will never belong. We hail the advent of the postal-card system.

CHAPTER XLIX.

ROYAL MARRIAGES.

There has lately been such a jingle of bells in St. Petersburg and London
that we have heard them quite across the sea. The queen's son has married
the daughter of the Russian emperor. We are glad of it. It is always well
to have people marry w