Time is, in proverbial philosophy, the most churlish and unaccommodating of acquaintances,--'Time and tide tarry for no man.' Time is always liable to be chided, as we have said, when one feels like Hamlet, 'The times are out of joint;' although our next door neighbour may, with as much or more reason, be blessing the self-same hour we are condemning. Time is indeed all things to all men, and 'travels divers paces with divers persons.' Sweet Rosalind described long ago 'who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, and who he stands still withal.' 'I prithee,' asks Orlando, 'who doth he trot withal?' and no matter how often we overhear her reply, we shall listen with delight to the quaint language of the pretty rejoinder,--'Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized; if the interim be but a se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years.' 'And who ambles Time withal?' 'With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study; and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain; the one lacking the burthen of lean and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burthen of heavy tedious penury. These ambles Time withal.' 'Who doth he gallop withal?' 'With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.' 'Who stays Time still withal?' 'With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how Time wags.'