To Be Opened

A Dominique rooster with black-and-white barred plumage in a claret velvet waistcoat over a white linen shirt and cream silk stock, standing on a round mahogany table in a candlelit Georgian room beside a small copper box sealed with red wax and a folded letter tied with ribbon, blue dusk in the tall window behind

Two Hundred and Fifty

He was asked what he would put in, and after some thought chose a letter to whoever opens it, advising them not to judge. Two hundred and fifty years is long enough to learn that every age looks a little foolish from the next one along.

4 July 2026