what you have done in one you are totally oblivious of in the other."

Something like an occult wink trembled for a moment in the right eye of
Mr. BUMSTEAD.

"Tha's ver' true," said he, thoughtfully. "I've been 'blivious m'self,
frequently. Never c'd r'member wharIowed."

"The idea I've suggested to you for the solution of this mystery," went
on Mr. CLEWS, "Is expressed by one of the greatest of English writers;
who, in his very last work, says; '--in some cases of drunkenness, and
in others of animal magnetism, there are two states of consciousness
which never clash, but each of which pursues its separate course as
though it were continuous instead of broken. Thus, if I hide my watch
when I am drunk, I must be drunk again before I can remember where.'[2]"

"I'm norradrink'n'man, sir," returned Mr. BUMSTEAD, drawing coldly back
from him, and escaping a fall into the fireplace by a dexterous surge
into the nearest chair. "Th' lemon tea which I take for my cold, or to
pr'vent the cloves from disagreeing with me, is norrintoxicating."

"Of course not," assented his subtle counsellor; "but, in this country,
at least, chronic inebriation, clove-eating, and even opium-taking, are
strikingly alike in their aspects, and the same rules may be safely
applied to all. My advice to you is what I have given. Cause a table to
be spread in this room, exactly as it was for that memorable
Christmas-dinner; sit down to it exactly as then, and at the same hour;
go through all the same processes as nearly as you can remember; and, by
the mere force of association, you will enact all the final performances
with your umbrella and your nephew."