The Greatest Battle of All.  
Time advanced apace, and wrought many of those innumerable changes in the fortunes of the human race for which Time is famous.
 
Among other things it brought Sir James Clubley to the bird-shop of Messrs Blurt one Christmas eve.
 
“My dear sir,” said Sir James to Mr Enoch in the back shop, through the half-closed door of which the owl could be seen gazing solemnly at the pelican of the wilderness, “I have called to ask whether you happen to have heard anything of young Aspel of late?”
 
“Nothing whatever,” replied Mr Blurt, with a sad shake of his head. “Since Bones died—the man, you know, with whom he lived—he has removed to some new abode, and no one ever hears or sees anything of him, except Mrs Bones. He visits her occasionally (as I believe you are aware), but refuses to give her his address. She says, however, that he has given up drink—that the dying words of her husband had affected him very deeply. God grant it may be so, for I love the youth.”
 
“I join your prayer, Mr Blurt,” said Sir James, who was slightly, though perhaps unconsciously, pompous in his manner. “My acquaintance with him has been slight—in fact only two letters have passed between us—but I entertained a strong regard for his father, who in schoolboy days saved my life. In after years he acquired that passion for spirits which his son seems to have inherited, and, giving up all his old friends, went to live on a remote farm in the west of Ireland.”
 
Sir James spoke slowly and low, as if reflectively, with his eyes fixed on the ground.
 
“In one of the letters to which I have referred,” he continued, looking up, “young Aspel admitted that he had fallen, and expressed regret in a few words, which were evidently sincere, but he firmly, though quite politely, declined assistance, and wound up with brief yet hearty thanks for what he called my kind intentions, and especially for my expressions of regard for his late father, who, he said, had been worthy of my highest esteem.”
 
“He’s a strange character;—but how did you manage to get a letter conveyed to him?” asked Mr Blurt.
 
“Through Mrs Bones. You are aware, I think, that a considerable time ago I set a detective to find out his whereabouts—”
 
“How strange! So did I,” said Mr Blurt.
 
“Indeed!” exclaimed Sir James. “Well, this man happened by a strange coincidence to be engaged in unravelling a mystery about a lost little dog, which after many failures led him to the discovery of Abel Bones as being a burglar who was wanted. Poor Bones happened at the time of his visit to be called before a higher tribunal. He was dying. Aspel was at his bedside, and the detective easily recognised him as the youth of whom he had been so long in search. I sent my letter by the detective to Mrs Bones, who gave it to Aspel. His reply came, of course, through the ordinary channel—the post.”
 
“And what do you now propose doing?” asked Mr Blurt.
 
“I think of going to see Philip Maylands, who, I am given to understand by Miss Lillycrop, was once an intimate friend of Aspel. Do you happen to know his address?”
 
“Yes, he lives with his mother now, but it’s of no use your going to his home to-night. You are aware that this is Christmas eve, and all the officials of the Post-Office will be unusually busy. They often work night and day at this season.”
 
“Then I will go direct to the General Post-Office. Perhaps I shall be able to exchange a few words with him there,” said Sir James, rising.
 
At that moment there burst upon the ears of the visitor a peculiar squall, which seemed to call forth a bland and beaming smile on the glad countenance of Mr Blurt. Sir James looked at him inquiringly.
 
“My babe, Sir James,” said Mr Blurt, with ill-concealed pride; “since last I had the pleasure of seeing you I have been married. Ah! Sir James, ‘it is not good for man to be alone.’ That is a truth with which I was but feebly impressed until I came to understand the blessedness of the wedded state. Words cannot—”
 
He was cut short by a sudden crash of something overhead, and a bump, followed by a squall of unwonted vehemence. The squall was simultaneous with the ringing of a handbell, and was followed by the cry of a soft entreating voice roused to excitation.
 
“Oh! Nockie dear”—thus the former Miss Gentle named her spouse,—“come here, quick—oh! do be quick! Baby’s fallen and Fred’s ringing.”
 
The truth of this was corroborated by another furious ring by the invalid, which mingled with the recurring squalls, and was increased by the noisy and pertinacious clatter of the cracked bell that announced the opening of the shop-door.
 
“Zounds! Mrs Murridge, mind the shop!—Good-bye, Sir James. Excuse—. Coming, dear!”
 
Mr Blurt, glaring as he clutched his scant side locks, dashed up-stairs with the agility of a schoolboy.
 
Sir James Clubley, who was a bachelor, left the place with a quiet smile, and proceeded, at what we may style a reflective pace, towards the City.
 
But Sir James might have saved himself the trouble. It was, as we have said, Christmas eve, and he might as well have demanded audience of a soldier in the heat of battle as of a Post-Office official on that trying night of the year.
 
In modern times the tendency of the human race (the British part of it at least) to indulge in social intercourse by letter and otherwise at the Christmas season has been on the increase, and, since the introduction of cheap postage, it has created a pressure on the Post-Office which has taxed its powers very considerably. The advent of halfpenny post-cards, and especially the invention of Christmas-card and packet correspondence, with the various facilities which have of late years been afforded to the public by the Department, have created such a mass of inter-communication throughout the kingdom, that Christmas has now to be regularly prepared for as a great field-day, or rather a grand campaign extending over several days. Well-planned arrangements have to be made beforehand. Contingencies and possibilities have to be weighed and considered. All the forces of the Department have to be called out, or rather called in. Provisions—actual food, of exceptional kind and quantity—have to be provided, and every man, boy, nerve, muscle, eye, hand, brain, and spirit, has to be taxed to the very uttermost to prevent defeat.
 
On the particular year of which we write, symptoms of the coming struggle began to be felt before Christmas eve. On the morning of the 23rd, the enemy—if we may so style the letters—began to come in like a flood, and the whole of that day the duty was most pressing, although the reserve forces had been called into action. On the morning of the 24th the strain was so severe that few men could be allowed to leave the Office, though some of them h............