Some were big, and made an awful noise, and some were tiny, and just whispered what they had to say.

Some were very proud, and showed off their jewels and chains in a way which made me blush for the vanity of my fellow- creatures--"dear" watches, the ladies called these, and others were as plain as plain could be.
Every now and then our case would be opened, and one of my neighbours taken out and never put back.

Then we knew he had been sold, and we who were left spent our time in gossiping about what had become of him, and speculating whose turn would come next.

A gold repeater near me was very confident the turn would be his, and so impressed us with the sense of his "striking" importance and claims, that when the next time our glass house was entered, and a hand came groping in our direction, I at once concluded it was his summons into publicity and honour.

Imagine my astonishment, then, when the hand, instead of reaching my gold neighbour, took hold of me and cautiously drew me out of the case! My heart leaped to my mouth--or whatever part of a watch's anatomy corresponds with that organ--and I was ready to faint with excitement.
I had always imagined I was to lie in that case for years, but now, when I was barely a month old, here was I going out into the world.
It made me quite bashful to listen to all the flattering things my master said of me.