Dec 25
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 you.
Your deeply loving,
Emily Dec. 26
Beloved Edward,
The two turtle-doves arrived this morning, and are cooing away in the
pear-tree as I write. I'm so touched and grateful!
With undying love, as always,
Emily Dec. 27
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 lovely.
Your devoted, Emily Dec. 28
Dearest Edward,
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 Dec. 29
Dearest Edward,
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 rings.
Bless you,
Emily Dec. 30
Dear Edward,
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?
Love,
Emily Dec. 31
Edward,
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!
Your Emily Jan 1
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.
Emily Jan. 2
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!
Emily Jan 3
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.
Emily Jan 4
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. Jan. 5
Sir,
Our client, Miss Emily Wilbraham, instructs me to
inform you that with the arrival on her premises at
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,
G. Creep
Attorney at law
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 you.
Your deeply loving,
Emily Dec. 26
Beloved Edward,
The two turtle-doves arrived this morning, and are cooing away in the
pear-tree as I write. I'm so touched and grateful!
With undying love, as always,
Emily Dec. 27
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 lovely.
Your devoted, Emily Dec. 28
Dearest Edward,
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 Dec. 29
Dearest Edward,
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 rings.
Bless you,
Emily Dec. 30
Dear Edward,
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?
Love,
Emily Dec. 31
Edward,
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!
Your Emily Jan 1
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.
Emily Jan. 2
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!
Emily Jan 3
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.
Emily Jan 4
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. Jan. 5
Sir,
Our client, Miss Emily Wilbraham, instructs me to
inform you that with the arrival on her premises at
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,
G. Creep
Attorney at law
