I am glad the wind has veered to the north-east. Your parsnips will no doubt share my joy. By the way was it you I saw yesterday in your paddock holding your nose just before the wind shifted round? The man, whoever it was, was looking at your poultry, which appear to be drooping. Yours till the wind changes, H. J. Fordyce. P.S.--If I can get a good stamp-album in town to-day I will send it to you. A change of hobby is often very beneficial. I followed this up with another letter in the afternoon, couched in more formal terms:-- Sir,--In fulfilment of the promise contained in my previous letter of to-day's date I have the honour to inform you that my dog Togo is not the cause of the trouble. As soon as he was dry I fastened him up in the middle of my drawing-room, and my household, myself included, sniffed at him from all points of the compass. Then, leaving him still chained up, we went into the garden and nearly fainted from the pestilential odours borne on the breeze, which was again south-east. If you have not suffered it seems clear to me that either (a) you have a curious taste in scents, or (b) you have no sense of smell. I think you should call in an expert, in the case of (a) a brain specialist, or in the case of (b) a nose-plumber. In the meantime I intend to consult another sort of expert, the Sanitary Inspector. Yours obediently, except in such a matter as this, H. J. Fordyce. I wrote to the Inspector that night and received the following within twenty-four hours:-- Dear Sir,--Yours of yesterday's date to hand, and in reply I regret that I am unable to assist you in the matter as your neighbour, Mr. Petherton, is engaged on important experimental work for the Government in connection with the manufacture of asphyxiating gases, thus causing the unpleasant odours about which I have received several complaints recently. I have been in communication with Mr. Petherton on the matter, but he seems unable to abate the nuisance. I am surprised that he has not explained the position to you himself. I remain, Yours obediently, M. Tarbutt. _pp_. A. C. On receiving the above I wrote to Petherton:-- Dear Fred,--Only a few words to say that I have just heard the great news. Heartiest congratters. As a strafe-scent-manufacturer you are IT. _A bas les Boches!_ But why so close about it all this time? If you had only let me know about it sooner I would have dug a trench in my garden and slept in it, instead of complaining. Henceforth I shall turn my nose (well respirated) to the south-east every morning as an act of homage. Give it 'em hot, old man; don't mind us; we love it now. When you get stuck for any fresh ingredients refer to _Macbeth_, Act 4, Scene I, though I should be inclined to think you have done this already.