to write; and he is hereby invited to view his own feather on the fatal dart.

Whilst a peculiar defect--which I scarcely like to call an oversight
in mental construction--shuts me out from the flowery pathway of the romancer,
a co-ordinate requital endows me, I trust, with the more sterling,
if less ornamental qualities of the chronicler. This fairly equitable
compensation embraces, I have been told, three distinct attributes:
an intuition which reads men like sign-boards; a limpid veracity;
and a memory which habitually stereotypes all impressions except those
relating to personal injuries.

Submitting, then, to the constitutional interdict already glanced at,
and availing myself of the implied license to utilise that homely talent
of which I am the bailee, I purpose taking certain entries from my diary,
and amplifying these to the minutest detail of occurrence or conversation.
This will afford to the observant reader a fair picture of Life,
as that engaging problem has presented itself to me.

Twenty-two consecutive editions of Lett's Pocket Diary,
with one week in each opening, lie on the table before me; all filled up,
and in a decent state of preservation. I think I shall undertake
the annotation of a week's record. A man might, if he were of a fearful heart,
stagger in this attempt; but I shut my eyes, and take up one
of the little volumes. It proves to be the edition of 1883.
Again I shut my eyes while I open the book at random. It is the week
beginning with Sunday, the 9th of September.

SUN. SEPT. 9. Thomp. Coop. &c. 10-Mile Pines. Cleo. Duff. Selec.

The fore part of the day was altogether devoid of interest or event.