ong fortifications, and sixty thousand inhabitants.
Now it is nothing.

I can not tell you of all the interesting places I passed on my way. In
fact, I hardly know myself where I did go, for I slept most of the time,
and when awake, my bruised head ached so badly that I did not care to be
curious.

In fact, until I reached Brindisi I had only once attempted to peep out.
I did wish to view the Suez Canal. But for that I should have been
obliged to go around the Cape of Storms. To be sure, in that case I
might have caught a glimpse of Table Mountain and its vaporous
"table-cloth," and have seen the rocky isle where Napoleon was caged.
But that would have been small compensation for the tedious voyage. So I
regarded the Suez Canal as in some sort a friend, and I tried to see it.
But the vulgar yellow Circular I told you of edged himself directly in
front of me, and hid the view completely. I had no more remarkable
adventures until we reached the Post-office in London. I did not suffer
at all on the Channel, though my courtly friend the Letter and his pages
were all quite distressed. He was unkind enough to say that my escape
was probably due to the fact that I had nothing inside. I excused the
discourtesy, under the circumstances, and was heartily sorry to part
from him at London. Here I was taken out and given a breath of fresh
air. But here, also, I suffered. Another clerk seized me, and struck me
a violent blow on the breast. He certainly left a red mark upon me. I
think that I shall not recover from my ill-treatment.

I have lived long enough to reach the one to whom I was sent, and to
give him glad congratulations on his-- But, there! I almost told my
secret. It is my greatest fault.

[Illustration]

My life is nearly over. I meant to tell you of Bombay, its race-course,
its fine harbor which gives it its name, its wealthy Parsees, and good
Sir Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy, but I am too much worn out. I have had my face
photographed for you. You can see my scars. You must not turn me over
and read my glad message. That would not be fair. I too have a
superscription. I have been of use. I have been told that after my death
I may live again; that I may, perhaps, live in white, and become a grand
Letter. I may even get a monogram and a crest. It is not impossible.
Other messengers of glad tidings die and live again. Flowers do--and
butterflies.

POP'S IDEA OF FUN.

BY MRS. FRANK McCARTHY.

Only this morning Pop