uch of it on
your previous petitions that I can swear to it myself much better than
the police captain could."

As an offset to my anecdotes about our being lost through inability to
riddle out our name on the part of the police, I must relate an instance
where the post-office displayed remarkable powers of divination. One day
I received an official notification from the post-office that there was
a misdirected parcel for me from Moscow, lying in the proper office,--
would I please to call for it? I called. The address on the parcel was
"Madame Argot," I was informed, but I must get myself certified to
before I could receive it.

"But how am I to do that? I am not Madame Argot. Are you sure the parcel
is for me?"

"Perfectly. It's your affair to get the certificate."

I went to the police station, one which I had not visited before, and
stated the case.

"Go home and send the _dvornik_, as is proper," replied the captain
loftily.

I argued the matter, after my usual fashion, and at last he affixed his
signature to my document, with the encouraging remark: "Well, even with
this you won't get that parcel, because the name is not yours."

"Trust me for that," I retorted. "As they are clever enough to know that
it is for me, they will be clever enough to give it to me, or I will
persuade them that they are."

Back I went to the post-office. I had never been in that department
previously, I may mention. Then I was shown a box, and asked if I
expected it, and from whom it came. I asserted utter ignorance; but, as
I took it in my hand, I heard a rattling, and it suddenly flashed across
my mind that it might be the proofs of some photographs which the Moscow
artist had "hurried" through in one month. The amiable post-office
"blindman," who had riddled out the address, was quite willing to give
me the parcel without further ado, but I said:--

"Open it, and you will soon see whether it really belongs to me."

After much protestation he did so, and then we exchanged lavish
compliments,--he on the capital likenesses and the skill of the
artist; I on the stupidity of the man who could evolve Argot out of my
legibly engraved visiting-card, and on the cleverness of the man who
could translate that name back into its original form.

The most prominent instance of minute thoughtfulness and care on the
part of the post-office officials which came under my notice occurred in
the depths of the country. I sent a letter with a