that you could easily light a cigarette at, and firmly under the
impression that the whole population of the district is watching him.
When he does get to the right place he has forgotten his name and
address and is in a general condition of hopeless imbecility. Asked
in a severe tone how he came by "this," he stammers and contradicts
himself, and it is only a miracle if he does not confess to having
stolen it that very day. He is thereupon informed that they don't
want anything to do with his sort, and that he had better get out of
this as quickly as possible, which he does, recollecting nothing more
until he finds himself three miles off, without the slightest
knowledge how he got there.

By the way, how awkward it is, though, having to depend on
public-houses and churches for the time. The former are generally too
fast and the latter too slow. Besides which, your efforts to get a
glimpse of the public house clock from the outside are attended with
great difficulties. If you gently push the swing-door ajar and peer
in you draw upon yourself the contemptuous looks of the barmaid, who
at once puts you down in the same category with area sneaks and
cadgers. You also create a certain amount of agitation among the
married portion of the customers. You don't see the clock because it
is behind the door; and in trying to withdraw quietly you jam your
head. The only other method is to jump up and down outside the
window. After this latter proceeding, however, if you do not bring
out a banjo and commence to sing, the youthful inhabitants of the
neighborhood, who have gathered round in expectation, become
disappointed.

I should like to know, too, by what mysterious law of nature it is
that before you have left your watch "to be repaired" half an hour,