WHAT becomes of all the unanswered letters? Thousands of them find their way to the dead-letter office. Some never reach the person for whom they are intended because the postage is not paid; some fail because they are directed to the wrong office; some cannot be sent because the address is illegible; and some because the matter inclosed is unmailable. These float through the mails, are examined at different offices, marked "missent," and finally they fall into the dead-letter office. There they are opened and read, and, if valuable, are forwarded; if not, they are given to the flames. Such is the accuracy and skill of the postal officials that very few valuable letters ever fail of reaching their destination. Some prayers never reach God because they are not addressed to God's office. They are directed to the audience. Here one prays a "sharp cut," to some stubborn brother, or rebukes some error in theology to another, or drives some keen-edged blade of censure into another, directs a severe criticism to some who are running into fashionable follies; and sometimes (shame on us), the very supplication which we offer in tenderest tones, in behalf of the weeping widow and helpless orphans, is intended more for those who kneel in mourning before us than for God who sits in glory above us. God's office is not in our neighbor's care, and if we direct our prayers to that point, they will certainly go to the "dead-prayer office." Again, there is a prayer upon which the address is illegible—not because it is a rough, scrawling "hand-writing;" these can always be deciphered, but because it has so many extra flourishes. This prayer is uttered in a pompous, grandiloquent style. It is full of long words, scientific terms, and classical quotations. The writing on the envelope is very much in keeping with the style upon the inside. The ink was fancy, and soon faded, the pen was the tongue, and it did not set the color in the prayer. How different when indited by the heart! It is no wonder that this prayer gets lost and finds its way into the "dead-prayer office." The last prayer we notice is the unavailable prayer. There is a great latitude allowed us in the postal matters of our government, but there are a few things which cannot even get into the mail-bag. Sharp-edged tools and corroding acids, no matter how securely wrapped, will not be transported through the mail; these are put in a separate box and sent to the "dead-letter office," or, they are captured by the first postmaster that handles them. Many of our prayers, if answered, might be blessings to us, but they would fall like a shower of daggers upon our neighbors. Sometimes in our prayers we halfway complain of the strange providence which has befallen us, and argue the case with God; then the prayer is full of sharp-pointed arrows. Is it at all strange that kind answers are not returned? The corroding acid of selfishness or sensuality or pride is sometimes in our prayer. Such a prayer is lost on the way. It is poured out in mid-air. It is never answered, and well for us it is not. No legally "stamped," sincerely directed, and well meaning prayer is ever lost. The answer may be delayed, but the prayer is "on file."—The Advance.