THE CITY OF MANCHESTER 215 



was meant for the Elephant and Castle Inn — the sign 

 in each case, and not its legend or written description, 

 leaving an impression on the memory. 



Counter clerks at most post-offices are full of 

 resource, and help the doubting public out of many 

 difficulties. Several years ago two ladies of my 

 acquaintance went to the Hampstead Green post-office 

 to send a money order to a foreign tradesman in 

 Oxford Street. ' What Christian name ?' inquired 

 the clerk. ' He is a Turk, and has none.' * We must 

 have a Christian name,' insisted the clerk. *But you 

 can't. His bill merely says " Kotzemolien." ' 'Oh, 

 very well ; that will do : cut his name in two, and 

 make the order payable to " Kotze Molien." ' This 

 stroke of genius settled the matter. 



A lament on the decease of a Manchester man has 

 been sung by the premier postman-poet, the late 

 Edward Capern : 



' Another hearth with vacant chair, 



Another lute lies broken, 

 Another widow wets her hair, 



And eyes the treasured token.' 



Capern's subject was Dr. Mark, of ' Little Men ' 

 pelebrity. The Doctor was the founder of a kind of 

 peripatetic College of Music. He trained a number 

 of little boys as instrumentalists, and travelled 

 throughout Great Britain, giving concerts with them. 



Other postmen than Capern have turned poets, but 

 I know only one instance of a poet turning post- 



