"TO THE ELECTORS OF —— WARD.
"Ladies and Gentlemen,—I beg to thank you for returning me as your member at the Election on Monday last. Nothing shall be wanting on my part to betray the confidence thus reposed in me."—Provincial Paper.
A YEAR'S REPRISALS.
When I sent Aunt Emily—from whom I have expectations—a pincushion at Christmas and she retaliated with a pen-wiper on New Year's Day, I thought that was the end of it.
Not so.
Aunt Emily reopened hostilities on my birthday with a purple satin letter-case embroidered with a sprig of rosemary and the word "Remembrance." That fresh offensive occurred on January 27th, which, I repeat, is my birthday. Readers please note.
When was Aunt Emily's birthday? Frenzied search in antique birthday books revealed not the horrid secret. Probing my diary for other suitable anniversaries, I came to February 1st—"Partridge and Pheasant Shooting ends."
I passed this as being inappropriate, and then—the very thing—February 14th, St. Valentine's. Also Full Moon.
To arrive on that day, I despatched, carefully packed, the white marble clock from the spare-room. When well shaken it will tick for an hour. Aunt Emily had never seen it, I knew.