THE PROFESSIONAL GUEST AT A COUNTRY HOUSE.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,

Trusting that you take some interest in my fate, after the more or
less pleasant (?) week I spent at Henley, I hasten to let you know
that I am again visiting friends, though this time on _terra firma_,
and that the customary trials of the "Professional Guest" are once
more my portion. The very evening of my arrival, I discovered that a
man with whom I had not been on speaking terms for years was to be my
neighbour at dinner, and that a girl (who really I cannot understand
_any one_ asking to their house) with the strangest coloured hair, and
the most unnaturally dark eyes, was taken in by the host, and called
"darling" by the hostess. After dinner, which, by reason of the
"range" being out of order, was of a rather limited type, they all
played cards. That is a form of amusement I don't like--I can't afford
it; and this, coupled with the fact that I was not asked to sing,
somewhat damped my ardour as regards visiting strange houses.

[Illustration]

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