A hard bed, and a distant snore, kept me awake till break of day, when, for a brief space, I successfully wooed Morpheus. I think I slept for seven minutes. Then a loud bell rang, and several doors on an upper floor were heavily banged. I heard the servants chattering as they went down to breakfast. Then there was silence, and once more I composed myself to rest, when the dreadest sound of all broke on my ear. _The baby began to cry._ Then I gave it up as hopeless, but it was with a sensation of being more dead than alive that I crawled down to breakfast--late, of course. One is always late the first morning in a strange house--one can never find one's things. I bore with my best professional smile the hearty chaff of my host (how I hate a hearty man the first thing in the morning) and the audible remarks of the dear children who were seated at intervals round the table. But my patience well-nigh gave way when I found that our hostess had carefully mapped out for her guests a list of amusements (save the mark!) which extended not only over that same day, but several ensuing ones. I am not of a malice-bearing nature, but I do devoutly pray that she, too, may one day taste the full horror of being tucked into a high dog-cart alongside of a man who you know cannot drive; the tortures, both mental and physical, of a long walk down dusty roads and over clayey fields to see that old Elizabethan house "only a mile off;" or the loathing induced by a pic-nic among mouldering and utterly uninteresting ruins. All this I swallowed with the equanimity and patience born of many seasons of country-house visiting; I even interviewed the old family and old-fashioned cook, on the subject of a few new dishes, and I helped to entertain some of those strange aboriginal creatures called "the county." But the announcement one afternoon, that we were to spend the next in driving ten miles to attend a Primrose League _Fête_ in the private grounds of a local magnate, proved too much for me. Shall you be surprised to hear that on the following morning I received an urgent telegram recalling me to town? My hostess was, or affected to be, overwhelmned that by my sudden departure I should miss the _fête_. I knew, however, that the "dyed" girl rejoiced, and in company with the objectionable man metaphorically threw up her hat. As I passed through the Lodge-gates on my way to the station I almost vowed that I would never pay another visit again. But even as I write, an invitation was brought me. It is from my Aunt. She writes that she has taken charming rooms at Flatsands, and hopes I will go and stay with her there for a few days. She thinks the sea air will do me good. Perhaps it will. I shall write at once and accept. THE ODD GIRL OUT. FROM OUR YOTTING YORICK, P.A. _Aboard the Yot "Placid," bound for Copenhagen (I hope)._ DEAR EDITOR,