difficult to get what she can call "a dacent
runner." In Posy's time, the runner, or letter-
carrier, in consideration of threepence a week,
not only delivered letters, but also fetched
water and did the nursing of a baby. These
additional duties are not now attached to the
office of runner to the Barryhooraghan postal
establishment; the salary is also raised, but
Mrs. Minahan declares that the mode in
which the duties are executed "would break
the heart of a millstone."

We have had three runners.

No. 1. Thady Cronin, a quiet boy (for an
Irish boy); as soon as he knew his business
among us, he went off on board ship.

No. 2. Billy Keating, a scamp, was always
in bed when we were at our breakfasts and
expecting letters to come in. He never got
out of bed unless he was hauled up by main
strength. Most letters delivered by him
were either caked with mud or wet with
puddle water; but, fortunately, as he left
them at wrong houses, they had time to rub
clean or to dry before they reached their
rightful owners. Billy Keating also
transferred his service from Her Majesty's post-
office to Her Majesty's navy.

No. 3. Tommy Hegarty, the present runner,
a small, ragged, bright-eyed urchin, who
may be of any age between ten and fifteen.
Ten by form and size, but fifteen or fifty by
the twitchings of his wide old Irish mouth,
and by the shrewd look in his eyes.

On the morning after Tommy's installation,
having made his presence known by an
authoritative official knock, he sent three or
four letters up to me with the verbal message,
that "there was a pinny charged on one of
them." The Royal countenance upon the
stamp gave grace to them all, and as I went
down to breakfast, letters in one hand and
key-basket in the other, I greeted Tommy,
saying, "No penny to be paid on any of these,
my little fellow."

"May be not, ma'am," answered our postman.
"Mrs. Minahan bade me get a pinny
somewhere from some ov 'em, so I thought
I'd try if it was your honour."

Mr. Tommy Hegarty, our letter-carrier,
has lately added to his cares the business of
a news agent. In a large city not far from
our village, a weekly penny newspaper was
lately started; it is an advertising print,
containing three pages of miscellaneous
advertisements, recommended to notice by one page
of amusing extracts from new books and
magazines. The proprietors, anxious to
extend the circulation of their paper, appointed
as its rural agents the "runners" attached to
the different post-offices. Thus Mr. Tommy
came by his promotion.

On the Saturday following his appointment,
he very perseveringly hawked bundles
of papers through the town, and really
met with a good many customers. One
of my neighbours bought a copy, and
desired to have the paper supplied to her, every
week. On the following Saturday, little
Tommy, who on the strength of his improved
worldly position had started a new pair of
corduroys, brought his paper to my friend in
triumph.

We have little to amuse us in our village, so
the lady lost no time in peeping at the sheet.
But there was something familiar about the
aspect of it, and a little dialogue ensued.

"Why, Tommy, how is this? This is last
week's paper: the same that I bought before."

"Oh, then, to be sure it is, ma'am. Why
would I go bring a new one till I have the
ould ones all sould off? That would be a
quare thing, I'm thinkin!"

"But this is of no use to me."

"Why, then, can't ye buy it, ma'am, and
good luck to ye? 'Twill be better for yeself
too; for, ye see, the sooner we get through the
ould 'uns, the sooner we'll come to the new."

Such logic holds good among us; so Tommy
Hegarty marched off with his penny, and a
slice of bread-and-butter.

The letters slipped into our post-office
must give great trouble to somebody. I
append a few directions which have passed
through the post-office in our county town,
selected from a list sent by one of the
managers to a local paper. I have reason to
know that Barryhooraghan supplies its share
of riddles. S. Newenham, Esq., a gentleman
living in our neighbourhood, was duly found,
when staying in a distant place, by a letter
from Ballyhooraghan, addressed "Mr.
Symnoihiam."

The following I think must have defied the
blind clerk's penetration, and was never
unriddled at Ballyhooraghan.

"ile of man Cork Crist vusen lolkil partie
let Ellen taylor."

A very natural way of distinguishing one
another used among our people, being
transferred to the outside of letters, has
an odd effect, and I dare say causes, now and
then, to the person addressed some little
annoyance. As this, for example, if it ever could
arrive, that is to say, if Michael Hurley were
sufficiently well known in the navy:

"To Michael Hurley A Salor Boy on
board Ship. His mother sells milk on the
Coal Quay, Cork." Or this, "O.H.M.S.,
Michael Leary, private Soldier, James Town,
Saint Helena Regiment, the above Michael
Leary is a Taylor from Ballingarry Count of
Cork Ireland near Carrigaline post office."

Such letters do not much trouble our post-
office, except when they arrive among us.
We send out our bags with a clean conscience,
and leave the distribution of our despatches
to be settled by the world at large. As for
the mistakes and troubles that beset us in
the distribution of our own supplies, as I
have before said, they increase fun in a dull
village, and it is neither in sorrow nor in
anger, but, as I have also before said, nightingale
fashion, that I murmur complaint about
them.