three hundred and forty-eight millions! Being
"as fond as an Arab of dates," Mr. Bull begins
to calm himself after the delivery of this
culminating statement, and to wander back, with
rich precision, to the early years of the
century, and the number of letters that each
brought to the Post-bag of the reigning
sovereign. Then gently, very gently, he
touches upon the profits of the Post-office for
the last half-century. He reflects that we
have tried a magnificent experiment of late;
and that by certain advances we are reaching
a result that will content, to the fullest extent,
the lovers of large balance-sheets. Mr. Bull
finds that on the fifth day of January, 1840, it
was shown that the net revenue for the year
then ended, of the Post-bag (including a month
of the four-penny rate) was upwards of one
million and a half sterling. In the following
great experimental year, which ended on the
fifth of January, 1841, the net postal revenue
fell to four hundred and ten thousand pounds!
A little more than one-fourth of the usual
Post-office net revenue.

Mr. Bull remembers that he felt a certain
sadness when he read that year's account.
But as the years followed one another his
heart revived. The financial year which ended
on the fifth of January, 1846, showed a net
postal revenue of six hundred and sixty
thousand pounds; that which closed on the fifth
of January, 1851, showed a net postal revenue
of six hundred and ninety-four thousand; that
which closed on the fifth of January of the
present year displayed a net postal revenue
of one million six hundred and forty thousand
pounds; being an increase of twenty-five
thousand pounds on the net postal revenue
of the financial year 1839. Of the vast sums
expended by the Postmaster-General for the
convenient delivery of his bag in various
parts of the kingdom, Mr. Bull gives us a
notion, when he informs us that in the
financial year, 1851, the railway companies
of this country received, for work done within
that year, no less a sum than two hundred
and six thousand pounds.

We find Mr. Bull quite excited with the
glowing bits of the Post-bag history. Talk
of California and the gold of Australia, why,
a golden sand is shifting continually all over
England. So vast is the wealth deposited in
Victoria's Post-bag, that in one year the Dead
Letter Office received in cash and bank
notes nearly nineteen thousand pounds,
and money, otherwise represented, as by
cheques, bills, &c., no less than one million
two hundred and twenty-six thousand pounds.
Mr. Bull would not have it supposed that
these sums are quietly pocketed; on the
contrary, he is anxious to express his assurance
that "nearly the whole of the letters
containing the money were delivered to the
writers." Three years is the space, of
time allowed by the Post-office regulations
for the owner of a missing letter, containing
any property, to recover it; and, at
the expiration of that period, if the property
be in the shape of a bill or cheque, it is
destroyed, and if in the form of cash, it is
added to the revenue of the country. Many
a luckless individual has thus, unwillingly,
helped to lighten the burdens of his countrymen.

These are the main facts upon which
Mr. Bull, in this present year, 1852, delights
to dwell; but all he has put forth only goes
to prove that his friend, Mr. Bull, of Dover,
may reasonably advocate the consideration of
his grievance upon the promoters of the
inland penny postage. However, some people
appear to think that the correspondence of
Mr. Bull, of Dover, may be cut short by the
mild manoeuvres of a French squadron in the
Channel. We shall see.

CHIPS.

TWENTY SHILLINGS FOR A NAPOLEON.

MOST thoroughly did we — freed from a long
voyage, and a long residence in the tropics—
enjoy our four days' stay at St. Helena. Of
course we made a visit to the late residence,
and we may now say also, to the late tomb of
Napoleon. Let me tell you the result.

Longwood is about six miles from James
Town. The road winds up along the side of
the mountain, opposite Ladder-hill, to a height
of some two thousand feet, presenting many a
bleak point of view, and numerous picturesque
glimpses of the sea, through the deep gorges
of the mountains. At the point of greatest
elevation on the road, is the " Napoleon Half-
way House," — a fact announced by a
signboard, representing the ex-Emperor in his
well-known coat and cocked hat, standing in
the stock attitude.

Here, we had no reason to think highly of
anything, except the bill of costs. Pursuing
the road along the edge of the deep glen,
called Sloane's Valley, we arrived at Hut's
Gate. In the dell beneath it, at the foot of a
hillock covered by fir-trees, is " The Tomb."
We will step that way presently. A mile or
a mile and a half more, along the side of the
"Devil's Punch Bowl," — (query, how many
punch bowls has that personage?) — brought
us to Napoleon's Gate, at the entrance of the
grounds at Longwood. The old as well as the
new residence of the name were visible at the
trees which fringed the soft and turfy
platform over which we galloped until stopped.
The stoppage was occasioned by a slovenly-
dressed woman, who presented us with a large
dirty card " which," said she, " will tell the
gentlemen how much they have got to pay
before they go in." This proved to be two
shillings per head. We paid the sum, and
accordingly were ushered into Longwood.

An exhibition, to which the entrance-money
is as high as at the Coliseum in London, ought
to be kept in decent order, one might think.

All that is now seen of old Longwood House