HY.  FRESHFIELD.

The Postmaster-General.

SIR,—­In reply to your enquiry as to the nature of the parcel, I beg to inform you that it was oblong in shape and done up in brown paper and tied securely with string.  To assist you still further in the task of identification, I may mention that it is addressed to Miss Nancy Freshfield, c/o F.E.L.  Freshfield, Esq., 47, Ottalie Gardens, Westminster, S.W.

Trusting that nothing serious has occurred to disqualify my parcel,
Yours faithfully, HY.  FRESHFIELD.

DEAR UNCLE,—­I thought it was such a long time my parsel didnt come I would write to you dear Uncle.  I hop you were very angry with him.  And now no more

from your loving neice NANCY.

DEAR SIR,—­I am directed by the Postmaster-General to inform you that your parcel has now been traced.

The name of the addressee was correctly stated by you, but you omitted to append such further instructions for the guidance of the Post Office as to indicate the destination to which you desired it to go.  I have the pleasure to add that the fuller information has been copied in from your letter, and the parcel despatched....

DEAR NANCY,—­By the same post that brought me your letter I heard from our absent-minded friend, the Postmaster-General.  You will be pained to learn that he is even more absent-minded than we thought he was.  Although, when I handed him your parcel, I distinctly told him it was going to Westminster, the moment my back is turned he must needs forget all about it.

I feel really rather sorry for him, and I don’t think we ought to be angry any more.  He can’t possibly forget now, because I have written the address down for him.  Your loving

UNCLE HENRY.

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[Illustration:  WHAT TO DO WITH OUR FAT MEN; OR, EVERY LITTLE HELPS.]

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A CABINET CRISIS.

It had to be faced at last.  There is a demand for them occasionally, and people won’t put up with that excellent one taken under the crab-apple tree any longer.

I was caught just right there.  The sun was in an indulgent mood and winked at the signs of advancing age.  The bald patch was out of sight, and the smile would have softened the heart of an income-tax assessor.  I acquired the negative from the amateur performer, and had it vignetted, which made it better still, as there was a space between the cashmere sock and the spring trousering in the original that I did not want attention drawn to.  I had a large number of prints made, and dealt them out to anybody who asked for a photograph of me.  At first they aroused considerable enthusiasm, but after five or six years a look of doubt began to appear on the faces of the recipients.  Hadn’t I got a later one?  This was very nice, but—­I pointed out that I hadn’t changed at all, or only a very little.  At my best I was still like that; and didn’t they want me at my best?