Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1858-05-12
An hour in the Dead Letter Office.

A female correspondent of Life Illus
trated gives the following account of a
visit to the Dead-Letter Office at w ash
ington:
We had been fortunate enough to
procure the e,atree to this place through
special favor and influence, although as
a general thing, no visitors are admit
ted. 1t was a large, light room, with
two or three desks, at which were seat
ed aged officials among literal drifts of
letters. The walls are lined on every
side with huge mail sacks which had
been returned full ofunclaimed epistles
from myriads ofpost offices; there might
have been fifty or hundred of these
sacks, and each probably containing
thousands on thousands of these let
ters!
"How rapidly you dispose of them!"
said l, watching the lightning speed
with which the clerks tore open the
epistles, glanced over them to see that
no drafts, checks, or other important
documents were enclosed, and then
threw them upon an immense heap of
opened letters at their feet.
cit is all habit, ma am said the gen
tleman nearest me. "We are accus-
toned to open certain number daily.
and to those who do not understand
the expedition and accuracy with which
we work, it would seem almost incredi-
ble."
AS he spoke, tiny gold ring rolled
from the folds of a rose-tinted letter,
whose pages were evidently written
over by a delicate female hand.
GA child's ring he said taking
it up; ''would you like to look at it,
ma 'am?''
[ took it in my hand-it was fairy
circlet ofvirgin gold, with the words
"lHu'y q to e. ~ engraved within
and wondered who the s'Mary'' was,
and whether the little "E. "" who
never received the tiny gift was dead
or living.
Meanwhile the clerk had been taking
rapid note of the signature, direction,
etc.
"What will you do with it?'' inquir-
ed, returning the rinr to his care.
owe lay all such Things aside, in case
they should be called for.''
care they often redeemed?''
s'Not often-not one in a hundred
instances" he replied, taking a little
gold dollar from beneath the seal of
another letter, and laying it carefully
on the desk.
We stood in silence, regarding the
pile Of opened letters, which was grow
ing higher with every moment. It was
a strange medley Of style and hand-wri-
ting. Some were inscribed on huge
sheets offoolscap, in manner that con
veyed the impression to your mind
that the writer must have grasped his
pen with both hands, and gone at the
paper as he would dig a spade into the
earth, and folded with glorious disre-
gard to all geometrical precision; 9th
ers, again, were daintily written on
colored tissue paper, and some were in
that easy, flowing hand that bespeaks
energy and refinement of character in
the caligrapher.
'Oh, how [ should like to read these
letters!' said I, involuntariIy.
The official smiled "That is what
the ladies say. It would be almost inn
possible to preserve our charge from
the curiosity of the femele sex, if, for
tunately, our rules did not protect us
from many VISITORS
''But do you never read them?''
'sNever, unless they seem very i'm
portant, or contain Enclosures of value.
1t is all we can do to keep up with the
arrival Of the dead-letter mails now
If we were to stop and read one letter
in hundred, we should be lamentably
behind hand; besides, the privacy of
these letters is point of honor with us.
We have no more right to read them
here, than to pry into any personal Sc
crets.''
Here one Of the clerks leaned over
and handed our companion tiny pack
age.
'sFrom one of the letters he said; ssI
thought therlady might feel interested
in it."
1t was single curl of golden hair
tied with bit fpink ribbon, and wrap
ped in small piece ofpaper, on which
was written "Baby's hair"
l knew the history of that letter in
an instant. Though I had never look
ed on its folds, I could see the young
mother parting the sunny tress from the
infant head, and placing it with half a
smile and half tear within the close
ly written page that was to glad the
heart Of her far away husband And
he never received the letter. Perhaps
he died under the mighty shadow of
the Sierra Nevada; perhaps the turf of
some Mississippi valley lay cold and
close on his pulseless heart, while she,
the faithful wife, was growing more
sad, less hopeful with every day that
brought no answering word.
"Baby's hair!'' I could not bear that
the bri ght curl should be thrown care
lessly among the host ofletters; it seem
ed like desecration.
s'May keep this little lock?'
Certainly, if you ike
And l placed it carefully in my reti-
cule with tender hand. I know not
where the sorrowing young mothers
heart is breaking day by day, but GER
tain am that there is an invisible bond