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

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, thank you so much, they're lovely.

Your devoted, Emily

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.