THE PHILOSOPHY OF TIME.

EDITED BY ALFRED CROWQUILL.

'Time and tide tarry for no man.'

'Quid times?'

'Time travels in divers places with divers persons: I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.'

MINUTE THE FIRST.

WHEN the wise man said there was a time for all things, he of course alluded to dinner-time, supper-time, and bed-time, and doubtless thyme for stuffing!

Pleasure is universally considered, pastime, and New Year's Day, when gifts are exchanged, the present time!

Chiron, Saturn's fifth son, according to the mythologists, taught Apollo music; and it is reported upon the best authority, that when his music-master's daddy grew old, and was likely to become an inmate of one of the Unions, Apollo, from motives of gratitude, got up a soirée musicale for his benefit, and contributed no little to the amiable object by playing first-fiddle on the occasion.

In imitation of the god of music, his numerous disciples have since invariably vied with each other in 'keeping time.'

This is really a matter of fact, mingled with a spice of allegory.

MINUTE THE SECOND.

TIME,-called Chronos by the Greeks, and Saturn by the Latins, which signified, according to Cicero, one who is full of years:' Quod saturatur annis. Time was said to devour and consume all things: tempus edax rerum, as the elegant Horace expresses it; and, according to his portrait-painters, the poets, he is represented as a lean, lank old gentleman, with evident symptoms of no credit with the Nugees and Stultzes of his day. A bald head, with the exception of a solitary lock pendant from his wrinkled forehead, which the prudent and economical, with a sort of refined cruelty, instruct their pupils to pluck on every occasion; for 'Take Time by the forelock' is the very first maxim taught in their schools, notwithstanding the respect which his venerable and flowing beard ought naturally to command.

These fanciful gentry, the poets, have also provided the old gentleman with a pair of wings,-armed him, like an Irish labourer in harvest, with a scythe, and stuck a delicate-waisted hour-glass in his bony fist.

The rhyming rogues were, like many of their craft, Time-servers ; but there is less of fact than fiction in their description.

MINUTE THE THIRD.

SOME bewail the enormous waste of Time, as if he were afflicted

with the dropsy, or were an alderman of Cockaigne, and an unfailing guest at the celebrated turtle-feasts.

Others, again, talk of their spare Time, as if he were a lean pauper, and could be employed at 'stone-breaking' wages.

In fact, the old fellow appears to be a sort of Jack-of-all-trades, and able to turn his hand to anything; for he is employed by one in painting, by another in fiddling, while some sporting youths, by way of a lark, as they term it, actually 'run against Time,' without the least regard to his age and infirmities; and, if the wager be accepted, Time is at least spent, if he be not 'out of breath.'

It is no wonder, overwhelmed by these various vexations, that Time becomes distracted. Yes, 'Time out o' mind' is now a household phrase in the language; and, in this case, it is said the best Time-keepers' are punctual men and musicians!

Some ruthless rebels boast of killing Time;' but this is a mere farce, an idle façon de parler; for, like clocks that run down, they are more frequently' wound up,' and 'go' rapidly, and Time ultimately kills them.

MINUTE THE FOURTH.

THE Pagans multiplied their gods;-the moderns have divided Time, and we have now consequently a perfect pantheon. Among others too numerous to mention, there are-hard times,-piping times, bad times,-good times,-sad times,-merry times,-a long time, a short time,-a miserable time,-a happy time,-the time o' night, the time o' day, and such times as never was.' But the most classically correct of all is pudding-time; for the saturnalia invented in honour of old Chronos were celebrated at Christmas, which is indubitably the pudding-time par excellence,—at least in Old England!

MINUTE THE FIFTH.

ONE section of that curious class denominated politicians, those monoculous Polyphemi, who, having but one eye, invariably see on one side only,-which is always the right in their partial estimation, -condemn the depravity of the age and the honesty of the times! The meaning they intend to convey we leave to the sagacious to discover, and, if they will, to communicate. For our own part, we candidly confess we prefer pancakes to politics; for they are not only more readily discussed, but are easier of digestion. At the same time we must avow that our politics are those of the majority, founded on that conservative principle which enounces the urgent necessity of taking care of number one! But behold!-like all those who launch forth upon subjects which they do not understand,we are losing our time!

MINUTE THE SIXTH.

I AM very particular in the distribution of my time,' said H-; for "time is the stuff that life is made of," as Benjamin Franklin, or some other sage, has justly observed; and, moreover, being perfectly convinced of the truth of the old saw,

'Early to bed, and early to rise,

Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise,"

I am always stirring betimes. I have a bantam-cock who is ar infallible regulator, for he punctually arouses me of a morning. I call him my gallinaceous clock!'

'Your crow-nometer would be more appropriate!' remarked B.

MINUTE THE SEVENTH.

TIME is a perfect optical delusion, being apparently long or short according as the mental telescope through which he is observed is handled, some looking at him through the smaller end, others reversing it, and taking a sight' through the larger.

Thus, for example: Time to a lover about to be noosed by Hymen or an expectant heir to a goodly estate, appears long; to a culprit about to be noosed by Mr. John Ketch of the Old Bailey, to a piccaninny at a pantomime, or to a school-boy in the vacation, appears extremely short!

MINUTE THE EIGHTH.

TO-MORROW is the coin with which the procrastinator pays the urgent demands of that detestable dun-To-day, who is continually at his elbow; or it is rather his I. O. U., or promissory note, which he never honours, but continually renews. Time, however, saves his conscience, for no sooner is To-morrow born than old Chronos becomes its sponsor, and names it To-day; thus aiding and abetting the quibbling procrastinator in his fraudulent pretences and evasion. The consequences of this conduct are, however, always costly, and sometimes fatal to those who indulge in it, and frequently, indeed, approaches the borders of insanity.

Tom Tortoise receives a letter with the information that his maternal uncle is dangerously ill.

Ah!' cries he, 'I suppose I must post off and see the old fogey, -must exhibit my affection, so I'll pack up and be off-to-morrow!'

He goes, and, alas! finds the old fogey' is gone' before his arrival, and, vexed at his delay, has left the bulk of his property to some distant relative, or some friend of 'to-day,' who was cunningly' doing the attentive' on the spot!

A neighbour complains to old Slow that, in consequence of a hole in his fences the peripatetic pork of the said Slow have been enjoying themselves in his flower-gardens, and in their porcine ignorance of botany mistaken some valuable bulbous roots for turnips, or other legitimate food for swine.

Oy oy!' grunts Slow, blowing an awful cloud from his yard of clay. I maun see to that-to-morrow!'

To-morrow comes, and with it a lawyer's letter,' setting forth an awful extent of damages, and the threat of an action. A compromise is insinuated, but his dilatory disposition prompts him still to put off the evil day until it is too late, and Slow is mulcted in a round sum and considerable costs.

To-morrow is, in fact, a notorious cheat,-a promise-breaker, who is always coming, but never appears; therefore put no faith in him, but Trust in To-day, who is a plain-spoken, honest servant, who is always at your side, and ready to obey your bidding.

MINUTE THE NINTH.

THE difference between a bankrupt and a watch,' said B., is, that the former goes," and is "wound-up" while the latter is al

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ways "wound-up" before it "goes!"'

Being in the artillery-ground when they were firing minute guns, he observed that those field pieces ought in this instance to be called time-pieces!

And at one of those annual civic pageants, popularly called a Lord Mayor's Show, some one remarking how correctly the walking-footmen in silk-stockings marched through the November mud, • What wonder is it that their legs kept such exact time,' said he, 'for don't you perceive they are all furnished with clock-stockings?'

MINUTE THE TENTH.

We have thus far learnedly discoursed of Time, when, strange to say, we have suddenly convinced ourselves there is no such thing,that we have reared our building on a foundation of sand, and that Time is an airy-nothing.' That to-day, yesterday, and to-mor row are all nonsense and intangible nothings, for will not to-day be yesterday to-morrow, and to-morrow yesterday on the following day ?

Time hath neither beginning nor end. It is a circle and all dates, periods, and ages, are arbitrary and nonsensical. It is true we know from memory that Julius Cæsar and Jim Crow have had their day, which in language gives the idea of time past, but the earth still revolves round the sun, albeit, notwithstanding the acknowledged truth of the Newtonian system, both foolish people and philosophers still talk of sunrise and sunset-which, according to that profound astronomer, is sheer nonsense. There is no such thing as Time.

The newspapers frequently indulge in paragraphs touching the 'united ages of three old fools who have vegetated, according to their calculations, two hundred and odd years! and again lugubriously lament the early death of some genius killed by consumption, or like Keates by an 'article.' Now this, in our opinion, is absolute twaddle, for if there be really any measure of longevity, it is certainly not to be computed by days, weeks, months, or years, but by incidents and accidents, and by actions bodily and mental.

A genius a man of wit, intelligence, and brains, who dies at the early age, as they term it, of twenty, is actually older than the coarse, unintellectual, mangel-wurzel sort of vegetable man, who rises with the sun' to plough, and goes to roost with the lark, full of beans and bacon, for the uniform life of the latter-the animal existence is comprised in one day, and every coming day is merely the child and counterpart of the past.

MINUTE THE LAST.

HOWEVER indifferently some of our readers may regard this philosophical essay (considering it probably of only temporary interest,) if they peruse it in a proper spirit, the good effects thereof will exhibit themselves-in time, and we have faith, hope, and charity enough to believe (with a sprinkling of confidence to boot) that those who seek will find everything they want-in Timel

THE NORFOLK TRAGEDY.

AN OLD SONG TO A NEW TUNE.
BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY, ESQ.

Air-Drops of Brandy.'

WHEN we were all little and good,-
A long time ago I'm afraid, Ma'am,-
We were told of the Babes in the Wood
By their false, cruel Uncle betray'd, Ma'am;
Their Pa was a Squire, or a Knight;

In Norfolk I think his estate lay

That is, if I recollect right,

For I've not read the history lately,

Their Pa and their Ma being seiz'd

Rum ti, &c.

With a tiresome complaint, which in some seasons
People are apt to be seiz'd

With, who 're not on their guard against plum-seasons,
Their medical man shook his head,

As he could not well get to the root of it:

And the Babes stood on each side the bed,
While their Uncle, he stood at the foot of it.

'Oh, Brother!' their Ma whisper'd faint

And low, for breath seeming to labour, 'Who'd
Think that this horrid complaint,

That's been going about in the neighbourhood,
Thus should attack me,-nay, more,

My poor husband besides, and so fall on him!

Bringing us so near Death's door

That we can't avoid making a call on him!

'Now think, 'tis your Sister invokes

Your aid, and the last word she says is,

Be kind to those dear little folks

When our toes are turned up to the daisies!

By the servants don't let them be snubb'd,-
Let Jane have her fruit and her custard,
And mind Johnny's chilblains are rubb'd

Well with Whitehead's best Essence of Mustard!

You know they'll be pretty well off in
Respect to what's called worldly gear,'
For John, when his Pa 's in his coffin,
Comes in to three hundred a-year,
And Jane's to have five hundred pound

On her marriage paid down every penny,
So you'll own a worse match might be found

Any day in the week than our Jenny !'

* See Bloomfield's History of the County of Norfolk, in which all the particulars of this lamentable history are (or ought to be) fully detailed, together with the names of the parties, and an elaborate pedigree of the family.