rhythm in the wheels of the train, and in the
purring of the motor-engine, knowing all the
while that it is we who impose or make-up the
rhythm, in our human instinct for organizing
the units of attention. We cannot help it,
as long as our own pulses beat. No two
persons catch quite the same rhythm in the
sounds of the animate and inanimate world,
because no two persons have absolutely
identical pulse-beats, identical powers of at-
tention, an identical psycho-physical organ-
ism. We all perceive that there is a rhythm
in a racing crew, in a perfectly timed stroke
of golf, in a fisherman's fly-casting, in a vio-
linist's bow, in a close-hauled sailboat fight-
ing with the wind. But we appropriate and
organize these objective impressions in subtly
different ways.

When, for instance, we listen to poetry
read aloud, or when we read it aloud our-
selves, some of us are instinctive "timers," ¹
paying primary attention to the spaced or
measured intervals of time, although in so
doing we are not wholly regardless of those
points of "stress" which help to make the

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