Читать книгу Time and Time-Tellers - James W. active 1857-1887 Benson - Страница 4

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Time cannot be thoroughly defined, nor even properly comprehended by mankind, for our personal acquaintance with it is so brief that our longest term is compared to a span, and to 'the grass which in the morning is green and groweth up, and in the evening is cut down and withered.' The ordinary thinker can scarcely carry his idea of Time beyond that small portion of it which he has known, under the name of life-time. The metaphysician classes Time with those other mysteries,—Space, Matter, Motion, Force, Consciousness, which are the Gordian knots of Mental Science. Time is naturally divided into three most unequal parts,—whereof the Past includes all that has happened until now from that far-distant period when 'Heaven and Earth rose out of chaos;' the Present is but a moment, expended in a breath, to be again like that breath momentarily renewed; the Future is, as the Past,—'a wide unbounded prospect,' an 'undiscovered country,' into which Prophecy itself penetrates but partially, and even then bears back to us but small information; for its language catches the character of a grander clime, and the denizens of this lower earth are incapable of understanding its gorgeous metaphors; the brightness is as blinding as the darkness. We may attempt to pierce the Future by the light which History throws from the Past, but History's record is imperfect; her chronicles are of the rudest and most unreliable character; her most valued memorials serve but to make Past 'darkness visible,' her most ancient registers reach back but a short distance compared with those testimonies which geologists have discovered, and given us veritable 'sermons in stones' about. The Past is, indeed, scarcely less of a mystery than the Future; even the Present we only know in part, but we do know that the brief term during which man 'flits across the stage' of time ere he goes hence and is no more seen, is of inestimable value. Most of us soon make the discovery that the world has much to teach which there is little time to learn and still less time to apply to good purpose. Ars longa, vita brevis est, is the general expression of human experience. For every man there are duties and labours for which time is all too short; just as he begins to understand and to perform his work wisely and successfully, the 'spirit of the destinies,' as Mr Carlyle would say, 'calls him away;' but whither he goeth is as great a mystery as whence he cometh. This, however, we do know, no wise man ever disregarded Time, inasmuch as of this treasure there is no laying in a fresh store when life's supply has been exhausted; the wasters, the 'killers' of Time, like the foolish virgins who neglected their lamps, are met invariably with the 'Not so,'—as the door of opportunity is shut in their faces. Like the dial with the inscription 'Nulla vestigia retrorsum' each man's steps are taken never to be retraced, the act once done can no more be recalled than the shadow on the dial can go backward. What wonder then that the most thoughtful of men are particularly careful of their time, regulating their use of it with the utmost precision and weighing it out as scrupulously as a miser would his gold? What wonder that they should sigh and grieve over a wasted day, and with bitter self-reproach should say to themselves as Titus did, 'Perdidi diem,'—I have lost a day? What wonder is it that such should teach themselves to wrestle with Time, even as Jacob wrestled with the angel, for a blessing; and to regard those reckless ones, in whose butterfly existence are counted only the 'shining hours,'—as the bee might be supposed to regard the idle gnats which frolic in the sunbeams heedless both of to-day and of to-morrow.

The poets are our best interpreters of Time, and they seem never tired of referring to it and symbolising it by every possible figure, emblem, and trope.[1] Celerity of motion and brevity of duration are discovered to be its chief characteristics. Time is therefore depicted as flying,—fast, noiselessly, and uninterruptedly. It is a river, speeding on with imperceptible but resistless pace to the ocean of eternity. It is a stern vigorous old man—Time is already old—rushing by us with never-slackening strides, bearing blessings for each and all, but we must be upon the alert to strive with him for his gifts—'to seize Time by the forelock—'or he will forget to bestow them.

We too often charge upon Time the evil which is the result of our own lack of energy, and thus it happens that although in kindly moments our poets seem to delight in exalting and glorifying him for all manner of enjoyments, at others they can find no word too coarse or uncivil to apply to him. 'Time,' says Shakespeare, 'is a very bankrupt,' adding,

'Nay, he's a thief too; have you not heard men say That time comes stealing on by night and day?'

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.'

FOOTNOTE:

[1] Phœbus Apollo in Ovid's Metamorphoses claims that he is Time's special exponent:—

——'Per me, quod eritque, fuitque, Estque, patet; per me concordant carmina nervis.'

If Roger Bacon's Brazen-head could have repeated and continued his oracular utterances at fixed intervals he would have been a very sensational performer over some prominent public time-piece of the present day. If only once in twelve months, say at midnight, when the year ends, he could have pronounced his three important speeches, 'Time is; Time was; Time's past!' he might have rivalled some of our best actors or orators in attracting the multitude; unfortunately, however, our mechanical clockwork performers have never risen to the dignity of speech, and the secret of Friar Bacon's magic died with the inventor of gunpowder,—which last it is a pity, perhaps, did not also slip out of use and memory along with it. 'Time is,—time was,—time's past' seems to comprise a whole world of hopes, fears, and lost opportunities, and sounds like a little condensed history of all that ever has happened or ever can happen. Herein we may imagine we can observe the wonder-working qualities of Time, solving all mysteries, bringing everything whether of good or evil to fruition, testing friendship and love, solacing troubled and wounded hearts, and healing all manner of griefs; but then we also remark that he is the abaser of the proud as well as the uplifter of the humble. If he builds, he as surely destroys, being, indeed, the Great Spoiler, edax rerum, before whose breath myriads of living things through all generations have faded away, in regular sequence, and towns and cities and the several civilizations of the world have one after another decayed and perished with all their wondrous works, and glories, and aspirations.

'Who shall contend with Time—unvanquished Time, The conqueror of conquerors, and lord Of desolation?'

Time's chronicle is of itself proof of his character, for the very record of his deeds he does not permit to be of long endurance. Time was, before the earliest historian began to take note of him, before the 'twilight of fable,' and before the most primitive symbol. Time himself were too brief to tell of his various experiences, the full value and purport of which we shall never know, until we have bridged the abyss which separates the present from the future. Time and the world, we are told, commenced life simultaneously, and their twin birth was greeted triumphantly 'with the music of the spheres,' the morning stars sang together rejoicingly; and it is also said that their courses shall be simultaneously determined when the edict shall be promulgated that 'Time shall be no more.' When will that great event take place? is a question which has occupied the attention of many theologians and others, who temporarily forget that 'of that day and hour knoweth no man.' As of the end so of the beginning of Time, there is to us no landmark, though geologists are endeavouring to prove that they have traced some of his earliest footprints in this world of ours. Professor Tyndall tells us that 'not for six thousand, nor for sixty thousand, nor for six thousand thousand, but for æons, embracing untold millions of years, this earth has been the theatre of life and death. The riddle of the rocks has been read by the geologist and palæontologist, from subcambrian depths to the deposits thickening over the sea-bottoms of to-day. And upon the leaves of that stone book are stamped the characters, plainer and surer than those formed by the ink of history, which carry the mind back into abysses of past time compared with which six thousand years cease to have a visual angle.'

Although Time is so vast in his operations and so truly marvellous in his many features, it has, nevertheless, been found possible to measure his shorter intervals with the greatest accuracy,—even to but a few seconds in a year. It took some centuries to accomplish this feat, but it is now surely and systematically done. The stages of horological science are some of them remote, but they are well worth studying. The earliest divisions of time were doubtless those made by the operations of Nature, producing day and night,—the sun and moon were the earliest chronometers, and, marked by them, 'the evening and the morning were the first day.' It is even now by noting the recurrence of certain celestial phenomena that we are enabled to certify to ourselves the accuracy of our time-pieces, but although the motion of the heavenly bodies is the standard of computation for lengthened periods, it is found more convenient to reckon short terms, such as seconds, minutes, and hours, by machinery set in motion by a spring or by weights mathematically adjusted, and this in a word has given birth to the science called Horology.

We can readily comprehend the division of time into days and nights, for these, as we have said, are the natural divisions. Let us trace the origin of more arbitrary periods, such as hours, and weeks, and months, and years. First, then, as to days, let it be remembered that the beginning and ending of an ordinary English day differs in several respects from those of other nations. The Jews reckon their day, as do also the Greeks and Italians, from sunset to sunset; the Persians from sunrise to sunrise. The astronomical and nautical day is computed from noon to noon, and is reckoned by 24 hours, not by twice 12,—as, for instance, instead of writing half-past four in the morning of, we will say, Jan. 2, the astronomer would write Jan. 1. 16 h. 30 m. Our ordinary English day is reckoned from 12 to 12 at midnight, after the fashion set by Ptolemy, which has this advantage over the method of reckoning from sunrise or sunset, that the latter periods are continually varying with the seasons of the year. The grouping of seven days into a week is shown in Genesis, but the seventh day is there alone specially named. The Sabbath is still kept by the Jews on the seventh day, but Christians keep the first day of the week in honour of Christ's resurrection, and call it the Lord's Day. After the older planetary method, Sunday was named in honour of the Sun, Monday of the Moon, Tuesday of Tuesco, or Mars, Wednesday of Woden or Mercury, Thursday of Thor, Friday of Friga, Venus, Saturday of Saturn. The Month, named after the Moon in consequence of a month being nearly equal to the time occupied by the Moon in going through all her changes, is again classed under the names lunar or calendar; the lunar month is rather more than 29½ days, but as the solar month is nearly a day longer it would require more than twelve lunar months to make a year, arbitrary additions have been therefore made to each month, some consisting of 30, some of 31 days; and months so arranged to form the calendar are called calendar months, twelve of which make a year of about 365¼ days. Until the time of Julius Cæsar the year was reckoned as of 365 days only, a number which after many centuries required the addition of ninety days to rectify, he therefore ordered one of the years to consist of 444 days, and that subsequently every fourth year should contain 366 days. Even this very summary imperial method was attended with its drawbacks and difficulties, for the earth's revolution round the Sun is made in eleven minutes eleven seconds, less than 365¼ days, which minutes in the course of about 1600 years required to be taken into consideration, and in 1582 Pope Gregory XIII. took off ten days by making the 5th of October the 15th; but the Gregorian time was not introduced into England till 1752 when the error amounted to about eleven, so eleven days were subtracted from 1752 leaving it only 354 days,—much to the indignation of the illiterate people of that time, who clamoured, assembled in great mobs to testify to their sense of the great injury inflicted upon them, 'Give us back our Eleven days,'—one of Hogarth's prints of the 'Election' exhibits a paper containing this very inscription. The fury of the populace at being robbed of its precious time availed not; the day after the 2nd of September, 1752, was made the 14th of September, and from that time dated the New Style, since which the year has been almost exactly correct. Up to 1752 the legal year began in England on the 25th of March, and it was usual up to that day to employ two dates, as 1750-1; but since the change of style the year has commenced with the first of January,—nearly midwinter. As there is one day more than fifty-two weeks in a year every year begins one day later in the week than the preceding year; and after leap-year two days later. The only country in Europe which still retains the Old Style is Russia,— the difference between the styles, now twelve days, is usually indicated by O.S. and N.S., or as in one or two of our watch illustrations by 'Russian' and 'Gregorian.' As regards the smaller divisions of time, it should be noted that the minute and the hour are thus reckoned,—the Earth divided into 360 degrees, turning upon its axis once every twenty-four hours, brings fifteen degrees under the sun each hour, and makes those fifteen degrees of longitude equivalent to one hour of time,—fifteen geographical miles being equivalent to one minute of time.

The earliest horologe or hour measurer of which history makes mention is that called the Polos, and the Gnomon. Herodotus (lib. II.) ascribes their invention to the Babylonians, but Phavorinus claims it for Anaximander, and Pliny for Anaximenes. The Gnomon, which was the more simple and probably the more ancient instrument, consisted simply of a staff or pillar fixed perpendicularly in a sunny place, the shadow of which was measured by feet upon the place where it fell,—the flight of time being computed thereby. In later times the word Gnomon was the title of the sun-dial, and it is the name still in use for the style or finger which throws the shadow on the dial and thus indicates the hour. The Polos or Heliotropion was no doubt a superior instrument to the earliest Gnomon, but, from its being so seldom mentioned, we may suppose it not to have been so generally used. The Polos consisted of a basin, in the middle of which the perpendicular staff or finger was erected, and marked by lines the twelve portions of the day. The Dial was but another form of Polos; its name indicates a Roman origin,—namely, from Dies, a day, but there was a Greek sun-dial called Sciathericum, from skia, a shadow. The invention is said to have been derived by the Jews from the Babylonians, to whom, as we have seen, Herodotus ascribed it, and there is mention made in the viii. of Isaiah of the dial of Ahaz,—a king who began to reign 741 B.C. The form of the Dial of Ahaz has not been ascertained; but there is reason to believe that the ancient Jews and the Brahmins were acquainted with the uses of the dial and applied it to astronomical purposes. Dials were, it is said, not known in Rome before 293 B.C., when one was set up by Papirius Cursor the Roman General, near the Temple of Quirinus. At Athens there is an octagonal temple of the Winds still standing, which shows on each side the lines of a vertical dial and the centres where the Gnomons were placed. At one time the art of Dialling was most assiduously studied; its rudiments may be described as follows:

The plane of every dial represents the plane of some great circle on the earth, and the Gnomon the earth's axis; the vertex of a right Gnomon, the centre of the earth or visible heavens. The earth itself, compared with its distance from the sun, is considered as a point, and therefore if a small sphere of glass be placed upon any part of the earth's surface so that its axis be parallel to the axis of the earth, and the sphere have such lines upon it, and such plans within it, as above described, it will show the hour of the day as truly as if it were placed at the earth's centre, and the shell of the earth were as transparent as glass. The diversity of the titles of sun-dials arises from the different situation of the planes, and the different figure of the surfaces whereon they are described, whence they are denominated equinoctial, horizontal, vertical, polar, erect, direct, declining, inclining, reclining, cylindrical, &c.

The Pocket Ring Dial.

All the before-mentioned time-measurers were up to a certain period non-portable, and in addition to the drawback of being unserviceable excepting when the weather was clear and the days bright were as useless for private purposes, as they were unadapted for the winter-time or for night. The next step was therefore a portable dial, but this was probably not invented until after a very long interval. The Dial of which the above is an illustration, was probably one of the earliest of portable time-keepers, the time being shown by means of a hole through which the light fell on the inside, which had an inner ring adaptable to the day and the month. Ring-dials of this description were in common use within the last century in this country, and were manufactured in large numbers at Sheffield when watches were too expensive to be generally attainable. Some of these Ring-dials were of superior construction, and were made by means of more than one ring to serve for different latitudes. As an example of a still greater advance in the manufacture of pocket dials, see the illustration on the next page.

The Dial consists of a thin silver plate properly divided and marked, and having a compass with glass cover sunk at one end of it. The Gnomon or style moves upon a hinge so as to allow of its lying flat upon the Dial while in the pocket, and thus rendering the instrument conveniently portable. The Gnomon itself is also susceptible of elevation or depression and the beak of the bird carved on a thin slip of silver at its side marks the exact extent of the Gnomon's elevation. This Dial is indubitably of French manufacture.

One would imagine that it was such a dial as this that Shakspeare had in his mind's eye when he wrote the well-known passage which he put into the mouth of Jaques, wherein that philosophic satirist describes his meeting with a fool in the forest.

Silver Pocket Dial (in the collection of the Honble Company of Clockmakers, London).

'Good morrow, fool, quoth I. "No sir," quoth he, "Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune; And then he drew a dial from his poke, And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says, very wisely, "It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see," quoth he, "how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven. And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot. And thereby hangs a tale." When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like Chanticleer, That fools should be so deep contemplative; And I did laugh, sans intermission, An hour by his dial.'

What the fool's dial was, has given rise to many conjectures, but there is no better authority perhaps on the subject than Mr Halliwell, from whose magnificent and elaborate folio we will make the following very interesting extract.

'The term dial appears to have been applied in Shakspeare's time to anything for measuring time in which the hours were marked, so that the allusion here may be either to a watch, or to a portable journey ring, or small dial. The expression "it is ten o'clock" is not decisive, as it may be considered to be used merely in the sense of the hour thus named. * * * A watch even is sometimes called a clock, * * * and it seems by no means unlikely that the common ring dial which has been in use for several centuries up to a comparatively recent period, should be the dial referred to in the text.'

Whatever may have been the shape of the dial which Jaques saw drawn from the fool's 'poke,' it is an undoubted fact that portable dials did serve the part of time-keepers, and were in their way valuable as such to those who had learnt how to use them. But the dial would not do the work of the watch in an age when people no longer travel by the waggon-load or with pack-horse, but are whirled fifty or sixty miles in that time and have to reckon their engagements not by the day, but by the minute. The world no longer 'wags' in jog-trot style, but speeds at steam-pressure and sends its messages by lightning-conductor; it consequently values its time more highly and measures it more carefully.

The Horologe which possibly next succeeded in date the invention of the Dial, was the Clepsydra or Water-Clock, the precise antiquity of which is however unknown.

The Clepsydra, or Water-Clock of the Greeks.

The Clepsydra is so named because the water escapes from it as it were by stealth, but in a regulated flow so as to permit of the lapse of time being computed thereby, even as by sand running through sand-glasses. The Clepsydra appears to have been at first used to limit the time during which persons were allowed to speak in the Athenian Courts of Justice; 'the first water,' says Æschines, 'being given to the accuser, the second to the accused, and the third to the judges,'—a special officer being appointed in the courts for the purpose of watching the Clepsydra and stopping it when any documents were read whereby the speaker was interrupted. The time, and consequently the water allowed, depended upon the importance of the case. This custom, says Phavorinus, was to prevent babbling, that such as spake should be brief in their speeches. Ctesibius of Alexandria, who lived about 245, invented a much improved water-clock, mentioned by Vitruvius and Athenæus. Another kind of Clepsydra consisted of a vessel of water having a hole in it through which the fluid gradually escaped; a miniature boat floated upon the water and descended as the water decreased, whilst an oar placed in the boat indicated the hour by pointing to certain line-marks on the side of the vessel. The hole through which the water dropped was made, we are told, through a pearl, because it was supposed that the action of the water upon the pearl would not, as upon other substances, enlarge the aperture, nor would the pearl, it was imagined, be choked by the adhesion of any other material. The chief fault of the Clepsydra as a chronometer arose from the inequality of the flow of water, it being found to escape more rapidly when the vessel was full than when it was becoming empty, and also more speedily in hot weather than in cold. The Egyptians are however said to have measured by this machine the course of the sun; by it Tycho-Brahe computed the motion of the stars; and by it Dudley made his maritime observations. Plato furnished the original idea of the hydraulic organ by inventing a Clepsydra, or water-clock, which played upon flutes the hours of the night when darkness precluded their being shown by the index. Clepsydræ are still used in India.

The Sand-glass, as we have said, is an instrument of the same character as the Clepsydra,—the one measuring time by the fall of water and the other by the running of sand. Sand-glasses are known to have been used 200 B.C. The best hour-glasses, it is said, were those in which powdered egg-shells well dried in the oven were used instead of sand, such powder being less affected by changes in the atmosphere than sand would be. Sand-glasses are now seldom used except on board ship, and by domestics to compute the time for the boiling of eggs.

King Alfred's invention for measuring time by the burning of candles, which were marked by circular lines to show the progress of the hours, was another effort of rude skill, which however could have been but partially successful even in the opinion of its inventor, for the accuracy of candle-horologes is interfered with by many different influences, prominent among which must of course have been the varying qualities of the materials used in their manufacture, and the more or less care with which they were guarded from the wind, so as to prevent their guttering.

We now come to consider the date of the next grand step in the progress of Horology,—namely, that of the invention of the clock. The name itself may be derived either from the French, la cloche, a bell, or from the German, die gloke, or die kloke. There is no doubt that the word cloche was meant to distinguish the instrument which marked the hours by sounding a bell, from the montre or watch, which (derived from the Latin monstro, to show) merely shows the time by its hands. In ancient books the word cloche simply stands for a bell,—the monks being accustomed to ring a bell at certain periods marked for them by their sun-dials or hour-glasses, and 'What's o'clock?' in old writers is often merely equivalent to the inquiry, 'What hour was last struck by bell?' The word horologe or hour-measurer of course equally applied to the sun-dial, the clepsydra, and the clock, and this convertibility of terms makes it all the more difficult to trace the point at which the newer invention began. Beckmann, in an ingenious analysis of various statements as to the first inventors of clocks made to go by weights and wheels, ascribes the invention to the eleventh century, but he does not attempt to name the first clockmaker. His authority for the date is the life of William Abbot of Hirshan, wherein there is mention made of a machine used by the monks for measuring time, which cannot in Beckmann's opinion have been a clepsydra. Beckmann does not believe that clocks were of European origin, but that they were derived from the Saracens. He founds his opinion upon a horologe described by Trithenius which was presented by the Sultan of Egypt in 1232, to the Emperor Frederic II. of Germany. 'In the same year,' says he, 'the Saladin of Egypt sent by his ambassadors, as a gift to Frederic II., a valuable machine of wonderful construction, worth more than 5000 ducats. For it appeared to resemble internally a celestial globe in which figures of the sun, moon, and other planets, formed with the greatest skill, moved, being impelled by weights and wheels, so that performing their course in certain and fixed intervals, they pointed out the hour, night and day, with infallible certainty; also the twelve signs of the Zodiac with appropriate characters, moved with the firmament, contained within themselves the course of the planet.'

To whom the high honour belongs of inventing the clock is, to use a not unknown phrase, 'lost in the mists of antiquity.' All the ancients who were reported as skilful in mechanics seem to have obtained a modicum of credit as clock-inventors. Archimedes and Posidonius before, the Christian era, Boëthius in the 5th century, Pacificus about the middle of the 9th, Gerbert at the end of the 10th, Wallingford near the beginning of the 14th, and Dondi at the end of the 14th, have each in their turn been asserted to be the inventors of the clock.

The sphere of Archimedes, made 200 B.C., as mentioned by Claudian, was evidently an instrument with a maintaining power but without a regulator, and therefore would not measure time in any other manner than as a planetarium, turned by a handle, measures, or rather exhibits, the respective velocities of the heavenly bodies; and the same may be said of the sphere of Posidonius, as mentioned by Cicero ('De naturâ Deorum'). The clock of Boëthius was a clepsydra, as was also that of Pacificus, according to some, for Bailly in his History of Modern Astronomy asserts that Pacificus was the inventor of a clock going by means of a weight and a balance, and if so the invention must be ascribed to Pacificus; but Bailly gives no authority for his assertion. Gerbert's horologe is said to have been merely a sun-dial, and Wallingford's horologe, called the Albion, must have as much resembled a planetarium as a clock, for the motions of all the heavenly bodies appear to have been conducted by the maintaining power, whatever that was, without controlling mechanism. This instrument, made in 1326, is also described as having shown the ebb and flow of the sea, the hours, and the minutes.

There are, however, still earlier data as to clocks in England than this of Wallingford's, for we find that in 1288 a stone clock-tower was erected opposite Westminster Hall with a clock which cost 800 marks, the proceeds of a fine imposed upon Ralph de Hengham, Chief Justice of the Queen's Bench. The tower mentioned was still standing in 1715, and in it was a clock which struck the great bell known as Tom of Westminster so as to be heard by the people in all the law courts. In Queen Elizabeth's time the clock was changed for a dial upon the clock tower, which, however, bore upon its face the same Virgilian motto, 'Discite justitiam moniti,'—referring to the fine inflicted upon the Chief Justice for making an alteration in a record by which a poor dependent was made to pay 13s. 4d. instead of 6s. 8d. A dial with this motto was still to be seen in Palace Yard, Westminster, within the last dozen years, but was removed with the houses which were then demolished to make way for the gilded palings which have since been erected between Palace Yard and Bridge Street, Westminster.

In 1292 a clock was placed in Canterbury Cathedral, which, according to a statement in a Cottonian MS., cost £30, a large sum at that time.

Dante, who died in 1321, aged 57, makes the earliest mention of an orologio which struck the hour: