Only through _succession_ do we arrive at the idea of time, and through
a continual _being and ceasing to be_ are its steppings made sensible to
us. It is thus literally true, as sung by the Poet, that 'we take no
note of Time but from its loss.' Happy are we if so used that it may
mark our eternal progress.

There is but little mystery in the art of keeping time, since we may at
once gather a correct notion of it from the vibrations of the pulse, or
from our manner of walking. If we listen to the sound of our own step,
we find it equal and regular, corresponding with what is termed common
time in music. Probably the time in which we walk is governed by the
action of the heart, and those who step alike have pulses beating in the
same time. To walk faster than this gives the sensation of hurry; to
walk slower, that of loitering. The mere recurrence of sounds at regular
intervals by no means constitutes the properties of _musical_ time;
accent is necessary to parcel them out into those portions which Rhythm
and the ear approve. If we listen to the trotting of a horse or the
tread of our own feet, we cannot but notice that each alternate step is
louder than the other--by which we throw the sounds into the order of
common time. But if we listen to the amble or canter of a horse, we hear
every third step to be louder than the other two, owing to the first and
third foot striking the ground together. This regularity throws the
sounds, into the order of triple time. To one or other of these
descriptions may be referred every sort of time.

There is a sympathetic power in measured time which has not yet received
the attention it deserves. It has been found that in a watchmaker's shop
the timepieces or clocks connected with the same wall or shelf have such
a sympathetic effect in keeping time, that they stop those which beat in