If I undertake to dwell on the suggestions of this theme, it is because it seems to me especially appropriate to the young, at whose request I have the honor of appearing before you. My subject is the Value of Time, and the way in which it may be best employed. I shall attempt nothing elaborate, but simply gather together illustrations and examples, which, though trite and familiar, will at least be practical.
The value of time is one of our earliest lessons, taught at the mother's knee, even with the alphabet,—"S is a sluggard,"—confirmed by the maxims of Poor Richard, printed at the end of almanacs, and stamped on handkerchiefs,—further enforced by the examples of the copy-book, as the young fingers first learn to join words together by the magical art of writing. Fable comes in aid of precept, and the venerable figure of Time is depicted to the receptive, almost believing, imagination of childhood, as winged, and also bald on the top and back of the head, with a single tuft of hair on the forehead, signifying that whoso would detain it must seize it by the forelock. With such lessons and pictures the child is trained. Moralist, preacher, and poet also enforce these teachings; and the improvement of time, the importance of industry, and the excellence of labor become commonplaces of exhortation.
The value of time has passed into a proverb,—"Time is money." It is so because its employment brings money. But it is more. It is knowledge. Still more, it is virtue. Nor is it creditable to the character of the world that the proverb has taken this material and mercenary complexion, as if money were the highest good and the strongest recommendation. Time is more than money. It brings what money cannot purchase. It has in its lap all the learning of the Past, the spoils of Antiquity, the priceless treasures of knowledge. Who would barter these for gold or silver? But knowledge is a means only, and not an end. It is valuable because it promotes the welfare, the development, and the progress of man. And the highest value of time is not even in knowledge, but in the opportunity of doing good.
Time is opportunity. Little or much, it may be the occasion of usefulness. It is the point desired by the philosopher where to plant the lever that shall move the world. It is the napkin in which are wrapped, not only the talent of silver, but the treasures of knowledge and the fruits of virtue. Saving time, we save all these. Employing time to the best advantage, we exercise a true thrift. Here is a wise parsimony; here is a sacred avarice. To each of us the passing day is of the same dimensions, nor can any one by taking thought add a moment to its hours. But though unable to extend their duration, he may swell them with works.
It is customary to say, "Take care of the small sums, and the large will take care of themselves." With equal wisdom and more necessity may it be said, "Watch the minutes, and the hours and days will be safe." The moments are precious; they are gold filings, to be carefully preserved and melted into the rich ingot.
Time is the measure of life on earth. Its enjoyment is life itself. Its divisions, its days, its hours, its minutes, are fractions of this heavenly gift. Every moment that flies over our heads takes from the future and gives to the irrevocable past, shortening by so much the measure of our days, abridging by so much the means of usefulness committed to our hands. Before the voice which now addresses you shall die away in the air, another hour will have passed, and we shall all have advanced by another stage towards the final goal on earth. Waste or sacrifice of time is, then, waste or sacrifice of life itself: it is partial suicide.
The moments lost in listlessness or squandered in unprofitable dissipation, gathered into aggregates, are hours, days, weeks, months, years. The daily sacrifice of a single hour during a year comes at its end to thirty-six working days, allowing ten hours to the day,—an amount of time, if devoted exclusively to one object, ample for the acquisition of important knowledge, and for the accomplishment of inconceivable good. Imagine, if you please, a solid month dedicated, without interruption, to a single purpose,—to the study of a new language, an untried science, an unexplored field of history, a fresh department of philosophy, or to some new sphere of action, some labor of humanity, some godlike charity,—and what visions must not rise of untold accumulations of knowledge, of unnumbered deeds of goodness! Who of us does not each day, in manifold ways, sacrifice these precious moments, these golden hours?
There is a legend of Mohammed which teaches how much may be crowded into a moment. It is said that he was suddenly taken up by an angel, and borne beyond the naming bounds of space, where he beheld the wonders of Heaven and Hell, the bliss of the faithful and the torments of the damned in measureless variety, and was then returned to the spot of earth from which he had been lifted,—all in so short a time that the water had not entirely run out of the pitcher which he let fall from his hands when he was borne upwards. But actual life furnishes illustrations of greater point. It is related of a celebrated French jurist, one of the ornaments of the magistracy, that he composed a learned and important work in the quarter hours that draggled between dinner ordered and dinner served. Napoleon directed one of his generals to move on a battery of the enemy, although reinforcements were in sight, saying, "It will take them fifteen minutes to reach the point; I have always observed that these fifteen minutes decide great battles." In the currents of common life they are often as decisive as in the heady fight.