sophers, that there is a time for everything. Let it be observed, however, that he has not, amongst his royal maxims, spoken of a time for doing nothing; and it is fearful to think how large a portion of the season of youth is spent in this manner.
Nor is it absolute idleness alone which claims our attention. The idleness of self-delusion has already been described. But there is. besides this, a busy idleness, which operates with equal force against the right economy of time. Busy idleness arises chiefly from a restlessness of feeling, which, without any calculation as to the fitness of time or place, or the ultimate utility of what is done, hurries its possessor into a succession of trifling or ill-timed occupations, frequently as annoying to others, as they are unproductive of any beneficial result. Busy idleness is also a disease most difficult to cure, because it satisfies for thee moment that thirst for occupation, with which every human being is more or less affected, and which has been implanted in our nature for the wisest of purposes. It is under the influence of this propensity to busy idleness, that, with multitudes who have no extraordinary capability for receiving pleasure, amusement is made to supply the place of occupation, and childish trifling that of intellectual pursuit.
It may be asked, how does the law of love operate here? I answer; precisely in this way—We are never so capable of being useful to others, as when we have learned to economize our own time; to make exact calculations as to what we are able, or not able, to do in any given period; and so to employ ourselves as to make the trifles of the moment give place to more important avocations. Without having cultivated such habits, our intentions, nay, our promises, must often fall short of what we actually perform; so that in time, and after many painful disappointments, our
