My dearest darling Edward,
What a wonderful surprise has just greeted me!
That sweet partridge, in that lovely little pear-tree; what an
enchanting, romantic, poetic present! Bless you, and thank
Your deeply loving,
The two turtle-doves arrived this morning, and
are cooing away in the pear-tree as I write. I'm so touched and
With undying love, as always,
My darling Edward,
You do think of the most original presents! Who
ever thought of sending anybody three French hens? Do they really
come all the way from France? It's a pity we have no chicken coops,
but I expect we'll find some. Anyway, thankyou so much; they're
Your devoted, Emily
What a surprise! Four calling birds arrived
this morning. They are very sweet, even if they do call rather loudly
- they make telephoning almost impossible - but I expect they'll calm
down when they get used to their new home. Anyway, I'm very grateful,
of course I am.
Love from Emily
The mailman has just delivered five most
beautiful gold rings, one for each finger, and all fitting perfectly!
A really lovely present! Lovelier, in a way, than birds, which do
take rather a lot of looking after. The four that arrived yesterday
are still making a terrible row, and I'm afraid none of us got much
sleep last night. Mother says she wants to use the rings to "wring"
their necks. Mother has such a sense of humor. This time she's only
joking, I think, but I do know what she means. Still, I love the
Whatever I expected to find when I opened the
front door this morning, it certainly wasn't six socking great geese
laying eggs all over the porch. Frankly, I rather hoped that you had
stopped sending me birds. We have no room for them, and they've
already ruined the croquet lawn. I know you meant well, but let's
call a halt, shall we?
I thought I said NO MORE BIRDS. This morning I
woke up to find no more than seven swans, all trying to get into our
tiny goldfish pond. I'd rather not think what's happened to the
goldfish. The whole house seems to be full of birds, to say nothing
of what they leave behind them, so please, please, stop!
Frankly, I prefer the birds. What am I to do
with eight milkmaids? And their cows! Is this some kind of a joke? If
so, I'm afraid I don't find it very amusing.
Look here, Edward,
This has gone far enough. You say you're
sending me nine ladies dancing. All I can say is, judging from the
way they dance, they're certainly not ladies. The village just isn't
accustomed to seeing a regiment of shameless viragos, with nothing on
but their lipstick, cavorting round the green, and it's Mother and I
who get the blame. If you value our friendship, which I do (less and
less), kindly stop this ridiculous behavior at once!
As I write this letter, ten disgusting old men
are prancing up and down all over what used to be the garden, before
the geese and the swans and the cows got at it. And several of them,
I have just noticed, are taking inexcusable liberties with the
milkmaids. Meanwhile the neighbors are trying to have us evicted. I
shall never speak to you again.
This is the last straw! You know I detest
bagpipes! The place has now become something between a menagerie and
a madhouse, and a man from the council has just declared it unfit for
habitation. At least Mother has been spared this last outrage; they
took her away yesterday afternoon in an ambulance to a home for the
bewildered. I hope you're satisfied.
Our client, Miss Emily Wilbraham, instructs me
inform you that with the arrival on her
7:30 this morning of the entire percussion
section of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, and several
of their friends, she has no course left open to
her but to seek an injunction to prevent you
importuning her further. I am making arrangements for the
return of much assorted livestock.
I am, Sir, yours faithfully,
Attorney at law