> 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
> pease, 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
Delma 


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