because the moment which bore that stain upon it, would be gone—and gone for ever.
Again, we scarcely become acquainted with life in any of its serious aspects, before death is presented to our notice. And where are they—"the loved, the lost?" Their days have been numbered—all those long days of companionship in which their friends might have loved, and served them better, are gone for ever. 'And why,' we ask, when the blow falls nearest to ourselves—when the delight of our eyes is taken away as with a stroke— 'why do not the sun, and the moon, and the stars, delay their course?—why do the flowers not cease to bloom?—the light and cheerful morning not fail to return? above all, why do those around us continue their accustomed avocations? and why do we join them at last, as if nothing had occurred?' It is because time passes on, and on, and neither life nor death, nor joy, nor sorrow, nor any of the changes in our weal or wo, present the minutest hinderance to his certain progress, or retard for a single moment his triumphant and irresistible career.
Nor is it simply as a whole, that we have to take into account the momentous subject of time. Every year, and month, and day, have their separate amount of responsibility; but especially the season of youth, because the habits we acquire during that period, have an influence upon the whole of our after lives.
The habit of making correct calculations upon how much can be done in any stated portion of time, is the first thing to begin with, for without this, we are very apt to go on with anything that may happen to interest us, to the culpable neglect of more important duties. Thus, though it may be well for a man to pluck the weeds up in his garden for half an hour after breakfast; yet, if his actual business lies in the counting-house, or the exchange, it would
