"A most unusual occurrence," I said. "Mary can post it for you. Dinner's on the table." Clara extended her hand for the letter. I explained that it was so very important that I could not even trust Mary. "Mary's sex is, of course, against her," said my wife, "but I'll tell her to hold the letter out at arm's length. You can see her all the way from the window and watch her put it in the pillar-box." A little candour is sometimes necessary. "Strangely enough," I said, "the five-thousandth chance has come off. It is true the letter is important, but the business is yours, and the letter is addressed to Mrs. Roberts. I forgot to post it this morning." "I know you did," said Clara. "You left it behind, and I posted it myself." Here I saw that I was going to score. "Then what is this?" I asked in triumph. "This," said Clara, taking it from me, "is the letter you forgot to post ten days ago." * * * * * [Illustration: _Mrs. Judkins_ (_beating up against the draught in the Tube_). "THANK GOODNESS WE SHAN'T 'AVE NO AIR-RAID TO-NIGHT, MRS. 'ARRIS. IT SEEMS TO BE BLOWIN' UP NICELY FOR RAIN."] * * * * * TO "MARTIN ROSS." (_AFTER READING "IRISH MEMORIES."_) Two Irish cousins greet us here From BUSHE "the silver-tongued" descended, Whose lives for close on thirty year Were indistinguishably blended; Scorning the rule that holds for cooks, They pooled their brains and joined their forces, And wrote a dozen gorgeous books On men and women, hounds and horses. They superseded _Handley Cross_; They glorified the "hunting fever;" They purged their pages of the dross, While bettering the fun, of LEVER; With many a priceless turn of phrase They stirred us to Homeric laughter, When painting Ireland in the days Before Sinn Fein bewitched and "strafed" her. With them we watched good _Major Yeates_ Contending with litigious peasants, With "hidden hands" within his gates, With claims for foxes and for pheasants; We saw _Leigh Kelway_ drop his chin-- That precious English super-tripper-- In shocked amazement drinking in The lurid narrative of _Slipper_. _Philippa's_ piercing peacock squeals, Uttered in moments of expansion; The grime and splendour of the meals Of _Mrs. Knox_ and of her mansion; The secrets of horse-coping lore, The loves of _Sally_ and of _Flurry_-- All these delights and hundreds more Are not forgotten in a hurry. Yet the same genial pens that freight Our memories with joyous magic Gave us the tale of _Francie's_ fate-- So vulgar, lovable and tragic; Just to the land that gave them birth They showed her smiling, sad and sullen, And turning from the paths of mirth Probed the dark soul of _Charlotte Mullen_.