Music.—This morning, the fifteenth of my sojourn here, the band is playing something new. This is refreshing, as I am becoming a little tired of the overtures to Zampa, Guillaume Tell, Italiano in Algeria, selections from the Huguenots (highly popular as a good finish to any concert) and the dance music, waltzes and mazurkas, which have been popular for the last two years.
The clocks of Royat are still in an undecided state. The uninitiated person who takes his time—(Note, en passant for all baigneurs here—Never be in a hurry, and always "take your time," no matter from where you take it)—from the Hotel, and starts at 7·30 in order to reach his bath by 8,—a walk of five minutes,—will find, on arriving at the Etablissement, that it is just 8·5, so that he has taken a quarter of an hour to do the distance. If he starts from the Etablissement at 8·30, to meet a friend at the station, on arriving there he will discover that it is 8·15 by the Railway Clock, so that he is at the end of his journey a quarter of an hour before he set out, having done the distance in considerably less than no time,—a record worth preserving. The Post Office Authorities, in despair, have put up a notice informing everybody that their clock has no connection with that of the Etablissement, which may just do what it likes and be wound to it, and ignoring all church-clock authority and all municipal authority too, they (the Post Office Authorities aforesaid) announce that they intend to take their time from the Railway station, but even then will give themselves a margin of five minutes one way or the other, so that the public wishing to send letters must ascertain what the post times ought to be, and then give themselves another margin of at least ten minutes on the safe side. The calculation is not very complicated when you are accustomed to it, and its uncertainty lends a gentle stimulus to the ordinary routine of the uneventful life at Royat.
For "Excursions from Royat by Rail or Road," see my Guide-Book, forthcoming.
This advice, "See my Guide," or "See my History," is perpetually recurring as a friendly hint—it really being a most artful way of introducing an advertisement to your notice—in that invaluable publication, the Guides Diamant, P. Joanne, series, Hachette & Cie., without which no traveller's pocket or bag is completely furnished. Time for siesta.
FIRST IN THE FIELD.
A Song of the Cricket Championship.