repetition. The days repeat themselves, the tibes ebb and flow, the tree sways forth and back. This world is intent upon recurrences. Not the pendulum of a clock is more persist- ent of iteration than are all existing things; periodicity is the ultimate law and largest ex- planation of the universe — to do it over again the one insatiable ambition of all that is. Everything vibrates; through vibration alone do the senses discern it. We are not provided with means of cognizance of what is absolutely at rest; impressions come in waves. Recurr- ence, recurrence, and again recurrence — that is the sole phenomenon. With what fealty we submit us to the law which compels the rhythm and regularity to our movement — that makes us divide up passing time into brief equal intervals, marking them off by some method of physical notation, so that our senses may apprehend them! In all we do we unconsciously mark time like a clock, the leader of an orchestra with his baton only more perfectly than the smith with his ham- mer, or the woman with her needle, because his hand is better assisted by his ear, less em- barrassed with impedimenta. The pedestrian impelling his legs and the idler twiddling his thumbs are endeavoring, each in his uncon-
