(_At the Service of the Departmental Committee on the Treatment of
Inebriates._)
_Monday._--I am afraid that I can no longer resist the temptation to
return to my customary diet. This morning my breakfast was spoiled by
finding that the _pièce de résistance_ was corked. And this when I
pay 96_s._ a dozen, and the vintage is 1884! However, it could not
be helped, and I managed to exist until lunch. Then came another
disappointment. I had purposely ordered a light repast, as I had not
much appetite. But I did intend to take it with soda-water--not
neat. At dinner I managed to get through a biscuit, and as it was
"devilled," it gave me renewed relish for the morning's champagne.
This time the bottles were in excellent condition, and I quite forgot
that earlier in the day one of them had been corked. All in the
half-dozen were in perfect condition--especially the last magnum. I do
not know how I got to bed.
_Tuesday._--When I find that I have not removed my boots overnight, I
know that I require a pick-me-up. A friend joined me at breakfast, and
we both thought the champagne excellent. My friend BROWN, or perhaps
it was JONES, and now I come to think of it, it may have been
ROBINSON. And yet, when I consider the matter, there may have been
three of them. I tried to count them, and it took me half the morning.
Well, BROWN, or whoever he was, is a very good fellow. Most amusing,
and an excellent audience. He laughs at everything. Whether you
mean it to be funny or not, he laughs. I like him as a brother. A
thoroughly good fellow. We had a most interesting discussion about the
right pronunciation of Constitution. He said it was in two syllables.
I said it was in one. I think I was right. We had a long chat about it
after dinner. First we talked about it over the port, and then under
the table. I don't know how I managed to get home, but I have a firm
belief that it was all right--quite all right.
_Wednesday._--Found my boots again on my feet when recovering
consciousness. So this is the second time I must have slept in them.
I feel excessively melancholy. I have wept very much, and were it
not for the supporting-powers of whiskey, I am sure I should he much
worse. However, there is only one thing to be done--to keep at it. One
bottle down, another come on. I have floored no end of a lot of
them. Strange to say that I am now happy after all my sorrow of this
morning. Everything is right but the lamp-posts. They are all wrong.
Getting in my way on my road home. I feel awfully tired. However,
seems to be my duty to interfere in a street-row.
_Thursday._--It appears I had an altercation with the police last
night. I am free, but sorrowful. I really must put myself
under restraint. I feel almost certain that I have given way to
intemperance. On appealing to BROWN (or whoever he is), he says I have
been as drunk as a fly for ages. This hurts me very much. Only thing
to do is to retire into a retreat. Have, with the assistance of BROWN
(or whoever he is), drawn up the application. It looks right enough.
And, as this is my last chance for some time to come, I and BROWN (or
whoever he is) are going to make a night of it.
_Friday._--Boots again! BROWN (or whoever he is) called with two
doctors. I said I couldn't be bothered with them. BROWN (or whoever he
is) said I must. So I saw them. They say that the Act requires that I
must understand what I am doing. All right--going into retreat. Word
"retreat" should be pronounced as one syllable. All right, they have
made the statutory declaration.
_Saturday._--Here I am. Charming place, away from drink, and ought to
do well for the next fortnight. Can't remember how long I promised to
stay, but know it was for some considerable time. I have just seen
the Superintendent. He says he is very sorry, but I cannot stay
any longer. This, in spite of it appearing that I have signed an
application undertaking to remain for life. Can't make it out. Rather
vague about what I have been doing during the week, but know I wanted
to cure myself from habitual inebriety. Superintendent says he must
turn me out under the statute. Appears that I signed the application
for admission when I was not absolutely sober. Can't be helped. Out I
go. Well, there are worse things in the world than whiskey and port. I
have a notion that I am booked for another night in my boots!
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[Illustration: NOTE AND QUERY.
_Small Boy_ (_to Companion_). "I SAY, BILL, WHICH O' THESE TWO'S TAKEN
THE PRIZE?"]
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