morning!' What hopeless confusion the people who happened to live on the line would be in, is not for me to say. There would be a quarrel every morning as to what the name of the day should be. I can imagine no third case, unless everybody was allowed to choose for themselves, which state of things would be rather worse than either of the other two.

I am aware that this idea has been started before -- namely, by the unknown author of that beautiful poem beginning, `If all the world were apple pie,' etc.³ The particular result here discussed, however, does not appear to have occurred to him as he confines himself to the difficulties in obtaining drink which would certainly ensue.

OBSERVING that this question is now under discussion in your columns (a question which occurred to myself years ago, and for which I have never been able to meet with a satisfactory solution), I am anxious that your correspondents should be aware what the real difficulty is. According to the statement of `T.J. Buckton, Lichfield', the day is always commencing at some point or other on the globe; so that if one could travel round it in twenty-four hours, arriving everywhere exactly at midnight by the time of the place, we should find each place in a transition of name. But if for midnight we substitute midday we are at once involved in a difficulty: the case may be briefly stated thus: -- Suppose yourself to start from London at midday on Tuesday, and to travel with the sun, thus reaching London again at midday on Wednesday. If at the end of every hour you ask the English residents in the place you have reached the name of the day, you must at last reach some place where the answer changes to Wednesday. But at that moment it is still Tuesday (1 p.m.) at the place you left an hour before. Thus you find two places within an hour in time of each other using different names for the same day, and that not at midnight when it would be natural to do so, but when one place is at midday and the other at 1 p.m. Whether two such places exist, and whether, if they do exist, any communication can take place between them without utter confusion being the result, I shall not pretend to say: but I shall be glad to see any rational solution suggested for the difficulty as I have put it.

The Illustrated London News
April 18, 1857

WHICH is better, a clock that is right only once a year, or a clock that is right twice every day? `The latter,' you reply, `unquestionably.' Very good, now attend.

I have two clocks: one doesn't go at all, and the other loses a minute a day: which would you prefer? `The losing one,' you answer, `without a doubt.' Now observe: the one which loses a minute a day has to lose twelve hours, or seven hundred and twenty minutes before it is right again, consequently it is only right once in two years, whereas the other is evidently right as often as the time it points to comes round, which happens twice a day.

So you've contradicted yourself once.

`Ah, but,' you say, `what's the use of its being right twice a day, if I ca'n't tell when the time comes?'

Why, suppose the clock points to eight o'clock, don't you see that the clock is right at eight o'clock? Consequently, when eight o'clock comes round your clock is right.

`Yes, I see that,' you reply.

Very good, then you've contradicted yourself twice: now get out of the difficulty as best you can, and don't contradict yourself again if you can help it.