“Nothing feeds the flame like a letter.  It has intent, personality, secrecy.”  But that is love indeed which stands the test of long separation—­and letters.

[Sidenote:  A Single Drop of Ink]

With a single drop of ink for a mirror, the old Egyptian sorcerer promised to reveal the past and foretell the future.  The single drop of ink with which a lover writes may sadly change the blissful future of which he dreams.

The written word is so sadly different from that which is spoken!  The malicious demon concealed in the ink bottle delights in wrecking love.  Misunderstandings and long silences follow in rapid succession, tenderness changes to coldness, and love to bitter regret.

Someone has said that the true test of congeniality is not a matter of tastes, but of humour.  If two people find the same things amusing, their comradeship is a foregone conclusion, but even so, it requires unusual insight to distinguish the playful parts of a letter from the serious passages.  If the separated lovers would escape the pit of destruction, let all jokes be plainly marked with a cross or a star.

A letter is an unfair thing.  It follows its own mood blindly without reference to others.  If penned in sadness it often makes a sunny day a cloudy one, and if written in jest it may be as inopportune as mirth at a funeral.

[Sidenote:  Misunderstood]

A letter betraying anger and hurt pride may often crystallise a yielding mood into determination and summon evil spirits which love cannot banish.  The letter asking forgiveness may cross the path of the one which puts an end to everything.  It would seriously test the power of the Egyptian to foretell what might result from a single letter, written in all love and tenderness, perhaps, but destined to be completely misunderstood.

Old love letters often mean tears, because they have been so wrongly read.  Later years, with fine irony, sometimes bring new understanding of the loving heart behind the faulty lines.  After all, it is the inexpressible atmosphere of a letter which is felt, rather than the meaning which the phrases ostensibly convey.

[Sidenote:  The Postman]

Tender secrets are concealed in the weather-worn bag of the postman.  The lovers may hide their hearts from all but him.  Parents, guardians, and even mature maiden aunts may be successfully diverted, but not the postman!

He knows that the girl who eagerly watches for him in the morning has more than a passing interest in the mail.  He knows where her lover is, how often he writes, when she should have a letter, and whether all is well.

Sometimes, too, he knows that it is better to take a single letter to the house three or four times in succession, rather than to leave it in the hands of one to whom it is not addressed.

Blessed be the countless Cupids in the uniform of the postal service!  The little blind god is wont to assume strange forms, apparently at will.  But no stern parent could suspect that his sightless eyes were concealed behind the spectacles of a sedate postman, nor that his wicked arrows were hidden under piles of letters.