"You got that little bit out of _The Morning Post_," I said. "Couldn't you persuade the bride's parents to take a house in London? There's one just opposite us at only about thirty pounds a week. Stands in its own grounds, it does, and there's a stag's head in the hall. There's nothing like a stag's head for hanging top-hats on." It was no good. You know what these young lovers are. Immersed in their own petty affairs, they can pay no proper attention to the troubles of their friends. William rang off and left me once more a prey to harrowing despair. There were only three nights before the calamity took place, and I had terrible nightmares on two of them. In one I attended the wedding in a bowler hat and pyjamas, with carpet slippers and spats. In the other my top-hat was on my head and my vest-slip was all right, but I tailed off into khaki breeches and trench boots. On the third day a gleam of light broke and I rang up William again. "I haven't quite settled that little hat problem I was talking to you about," I told him. "Look here--can you lend me your old top-hat-box?" "Haven't got one," he replied. "In the chaos consequent upon Armageddon it somehow disappeared." I breathed a sigh of relief. Happily the morning of the wedding was cloudy and dull. I wore my oldest squash hat and coat and went to Whittlehampton carrying my present in my hand. As the train arrived the sun broke through the clouds, and I also emerged from my chrysalis and attended the ceremony in all the panoply that William's egotism had demanded. If it had not been too late to get into the list you would have seen this entry amongst the wedding gifts:-- "Mr. Herbert Robinson: Leather hat-box." Perhaps if it had been a very full list it would have gone on:-- "Containing unique specimen of dappled fawn trilby headwear slightly moth-eaten in the crown." As I explained to William, it is customary to give useful rather than ornamental gifts nowadays, but I could not refrain from adding a small sentimental tribute. EVOE. * * * * * THE WESTERN LIGHTHOUSES. Flashed Lizard to Bishop, "They're rounding the fish up Close under my cliffs where the cormorants nest; The lugger lamps glitter In hundreds and litter The sea-floor like spangles. What news from the West?" Flashed he of the mitre, "The night's growing brighter, There's mist over Annet, but all's clear at sea; Lit up like a city, Her band playing pretty, A big liner's passing. Ay, all's well with me." Flashed Wolf to Round Island, "Oh, you upon dry land, With wild rabbits cropping the pinks at your base, You lubber, you oughter Stand watch in salt water With tides tearing at you and spray in your face."