DAY—THEN AND NOW

Then—Thirty Years Ago. Family assembled.

Paterfamilias. Post nearly two hours late! Really disgraceful!

Materfamilias. Well, dear, remember it's only once a year, and we used to enjoy it ourselves before we were married!

Eldest Daughter. I got half-a-dozen last year. I dare say I shall get twice as many this.

Second Daughter. I dare say! I believe you send them yourself!

Eldest Daughter. So probable! How can you think of such silly things! And how spiteful of you!

Son and Heir. Don't quarrel, girls! And here's the post.

Enter servant with heaps of letters, which are eagerly seized and distributed.

Chorus. What are they?

Paterfamilias (disgusted at his budget). Valentines!

Now—To-day. Family assembled as before.

Paterfamilias. The fourteenth of February. Dear me, surely this is a memorable date—somehow.

Materfamilias. To be sure, father. It's Valentine's Day.

Eldest Daughter. Is it really true, mother, that people used to receive pictures just as we do Christmas cards?

Second Daughter. Come, you can surely remember. It's not so very long for you.

Eldest Daughter. Don't be spiteful! Remember, miss, there's only a couple of years between us!

Second Daughter. Really! From our appearance there might be a decade!

Son and Heir. Don't quarrel, girls! And here's the post!

Enter servant with a solitary letter.

Chorus. What is it?

Paterfamilias (perusing a bill). Not a Valentine!

"The Act of Union."—Getting married.

That dear old Mrs. Wilkinson (who can't always express exactly what she means to say, meeting Jones with the girl of his choice). "And is this young lady your fiasco, Mr. Jones?"]