not endanger his chance of heaven about once a month by standing up
and telling it what he thinks of it, is either a dangerous rival to
that old established firm, Job, or else he does not know enough bad
language to make it worth his while to start saying anything at all.

The great dream of its life is to lure you on into trying to catch a
train by it. For weeks and weeks it will keep the most perfect time.
If there were any difference in time between that clock and the sun,
you would be convinced it was the sun, not the clock, that wanted
seeing to. You feel that if that clock happened to get a quarter of a
second fast, or the eighth of an instant slow, it would break its
heart and die.

It is in this spirit of child-like faith in its integrity that, one
morning, you gather your family around you in the passage, kiss your
children, and afterward wipe your jammy mouth, poke your finger in the
baby's eye, promise not to forget to order the coals, wave at last
fond adieu with the umbrella, and depart for the railway-station.

I never have been quite able to decide, myself, which is the more
irritating to run two miles at the top of your speed, and then to
find, when you reach the station, that you are three-quarters of an
hour too early; or to stroll along leisurely the whole way, and dawdle
about outside the booking-office, talking to some local idiot, and
then to swagger carelessly on to the platform, just in time to see the
train go out!

As for the other class of clocks--the common or always-wrong
clocks--they are harmless enough. You wind them up at the proper
intervals, and once or twice a week you put them right and "regulate"