When a Podkins and a Jossy confess themselves doubtful about the boundaries of West Kensington (said to have been traced in the blood of Oxen), I need not be ashamed to confess a similar doubt.

I will ask you to excuse me from further history, and to assist me with your encouragement in dealing with the problem which faces us to-day.

Is this ancient spirit of the London townships to die out?
Are our omnibus conductors and policemen to lose altogether that light which we see so often in their eyes, the dreamy light of 'Old unhappy far-off things And battles long ago' -- to quote the words of a little-known poet who was a friend of my youth?
I have resolved, as I have said, so far as possible, to preserve the eyes of policemen and omnibus conductors in their present dreamy state.

For what is a state without dreams?
And the remedy I propose is as follows:-- "To-morrow morning at twenty-five minutes past ten, if Heaven spares my life, I purpose to issue a Proclamation.

It has been the work of my life, and is about half finished.