"An invitation to dinner," said the new letter, with a touch of pride. "Pooh!" said the other. "Only that." "It's at a house in Kensington," said the new letter. "Well, _I'm_ an acceptance of an invitation to a dance at a duchess's," was the reply, and the new letter said no more. Then all the others began. "I bring news of a legacy," said one. "I try to borrow money," said another, rather hopelessly. "I demand the payment of a debt," said a sharp metallic voice. "I decline an offer of marriage," said a fourth, with a wistful note. "I've got a cheque inside," said a fifth, with a swagger. "I convey the sack," said a sixth in triumph. "I ask to be taken on again, at a lower salary," said another, with tears. "What do you think I am?" one inquired. "You shall have six guesses." "Give us a clue," said a voice. "Very well. I'm in a foolscap envelope." Then the guessing began. One said a writ. Another said an income-tax demand. But no one could guess it. "I'm a poem for a paper," said the foolscap letter at last. "Are you good?" asked a voice. "Not good enough, I'm afraid," said the poem. "In fact I've been out and back again seven times already." "A war poem, I suppose?" "I suppose so. I rhyme 'trench' and 'French.'" "Guess what I am," said a sentimental murmur. "Anyone could guess that," was the gruff reply. "You're a love-letter." "Quite right," said the sentimental murmur. "But how clever of you!" "Well," said another, "you're not the only love-letter here. I'm a love-letter too." "How do you begin?" asked the first. "I begin 'My Darling,'" said the second love-letter. "That's nothing," said the first; "I begin 'My Ownest Own.'" "I don't think much of either of those beginnings," said a new voice. "I begin, 'Most Beautiful.'" "You're from a man, I suppose?" said the second love-letter. "Yes, I am," said the new one. "Aren't you?" "No, I'm from a woman," said the second. "I'll admit your beginning's rather good. But, how do you end?" "I end with 'A million kisses,'" said the new one. "Ah, I've got you there!" said the second. "I end with 'For ever and ever yours.'" "That's not bad," said the first, "but my ending is pretty good in its way. I end like this: 'To-morrow will be Heaven once more, for then we meet again.'" "Oh, do stop all this love talk," said the gruff voice again, "and be sensible like me. I'm a letter to an Editor putting everything right and showing up all the iniquities and ineptitudes of the Government. I shall make a stir, I can tell you. I'm It, I am. I'm signed 'Pro Bono Publico.'" "That's funny!" said another letter. "I'm signed that too, but I stick up for the Government." But at this moment the listener was conscious of a hand on his arm and a lantern in his face. "Here," said the authoritative tones of a policeman, "I think you've been leaning against this pillar-box long enough. If you can't walk I'll help you home."