Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1872-10-25
Youths Department.
A JOURNEY IN A BAG.
by OLIVE THoRNE,

have seen many things that you never
saw, and perhaps never heard of.
You must know that / am letter.
was born-that is, was written-in the
city of New York, by q beautiful young
lady. am no common letter, on coarse
paper, in shabby yellow overcoat-envel-
ope y0u call it. by no means! My paper
is of the daintiest, cresmlaid, and rose
scented, with gorgeous monogram at
the top. My coat is to match, and used
to live in tiny rosewood desk, with 9th
ers of my kin.
When my mistress had written her mes
sages, she folded me up, put me carefully
into my coat, sealed it, and gave me to
the letter carrier.
I was young and foolish then, dear
children, and thought l was starting on
pleasant journey to find the John
whose name was written on my coat.
Little did | suspect that my very first
trip would be taken in horrid, dark,
leather bag, tied up in package between
dirty yellow coat smelling of fish, and
a dingy white one, so strong of musk one
could hardly breathe. knew should
have the vulgar smell of musk forever
after
But at last I reached California-where
I was sent, and when l found myself in
light, clean box, with glass front, l
hoped should soon find John" But
alas! when / was handed out, with Other
letters, to a man who asked for us, he
looked at me and handed me back.
"John Howard--there's no such name
in my house. The letter don't belong to
me-"
''But it's directed to Box 487," said the
clerk.
"Well, it's mistake" said the man,
and my heart sank as I went back into
another box, with lots of others.
In day or two clerk came and wrote
down the names of us all, and passed us
over to a young lady, saying as he did so:
"Here are the advertised letters"
wondered what that meant, but she
sorted us over, and put me into a pile
with others, and stuck us into a box
marked III. Soon found out that all our
names were printed in a newspaper, and
every little while, all day, some one
would come and ask for one of Us. They
asked for Howe, and Horton, and Han
son, but no one came for Howard.
l felt very much discouraged, as I
thought of my lovely young mistress, and
how she longed to have her message given
to "John." But what could debut
waltz"
had good long wait, tool tell you,
for lay in that office two months. No
body came for me, and at last when be-
gan to think I should die there, man
came and took us all out, and began to
do us up again.
"What are those?" asked lady's voice.
"Dead Letters, madam" replied the
man. "Im putting them up for the Dead
Letter Office"
So was dead-was I?
l had heard of death, but felt alive
enough, and / shivered to the end of my
last page, when thought perhaps should
be buried.
Buried indeed?-I should think so!
Back [ went into that horrid bag, and an
awful, long, jolting journey took. But
at last our prison was opened, and found
myself in the Dead Letter Office, in Wash
.ington.
That's curious place. In the first
place l went into a room, where perhaps
dozen clerks were at work, at mOnstrous
piles of letters of all kinds. Business let
ters, love letters, money letters, begging
letters Oh, l can'ttell you half the kinds
there were.
Our bag was emptied before very busy
young man, and he proceeded at once to
open us. Now, knew he wasn't John
Howard, and felt very much insulted.
But of course l couldn't say anything,
and so my coat was rudely jerked of, and
he began to read.
He had five piles of letters he had read.
The first pile were those that had money
over one dollar. On the envelopes of
these he wrote how much money was in
them, and I understood from what
heard that they were carefully sent back
to the writers.
The second pile was letters that had
checks or drafts, or valuable papers. These
too were sent back to the writers.
The third pile was letters with small
sums of money, letter stamps, receipts,
and such things. All sent back.
The fourth pile was of letters contain
ing nothing, but with the name of the
writer signed, so they tLey could tell
where to send it. My dear mistress had
signed her full name very nicely:
MOLLY HOWARD,
1856 Blank Street,
New York.
So went into the fourth pile. But /
tell you the fifth pile was sight. The
letters were signed with all sorts of fancy
names, Fanny, Lu, Josie, Will, Harry,
of date. OF course they couldn't be
sent back, because how would a respect
able letter look-I should like to know
addressed;
"Affectionate Jenny,
"New York"
How do you suppose the postmaster
could pick out the special "affectionate
jenny in that big city?
OF course it's ridiculous. So they just
go to the fifth pile, where an awful fate
awaits them. / tell you l was glad my
Misc Molly wasn't SO silly as to sign like
that.
Those unfortunate letters were put into
a cruel machine, which tore them into BITS
Then they were "dead letters" indeed,
and their remains were sold to paper-deal- |
ers.
When the days letters were sorted, and |
there were a good many thousands of
them, all the piles were gathered up and |
carried to other rooms. All the fourth pile |
went to a room, where each one of us
was put, overcoat and all, into new en-
velope, and directed to the one who wrote |
the letter.
/ was directed as l told you I was
signed
Miss Molly Howard,
19j Blank Street,
New York
and was stamped with curious sign, "6
cents DUE"
Well, went into another horrid bag,
but had got used to it by this time be- |
sides, my strong, buff overcoat protected |
me pretty well and all nv neiohhors had /