In the faithful husbandry of time, in the aggregation of all its particles of golden sand, is the first stage of individual progress. With the living spirit of industry, the student will find his way easy. Difficulties cannot permanently obstruct his resolute career. He will remember "rare Ben Jonson," one of England's admired and most learned bards, working as a bricklayer with a trowel in his hand and a book in his pocket,—Burns, wooing his muse as he followed the plough on the mountain-side,—the beloved German Jean Paul, composing his earliest works by the music of the simmering kettles in his mother's humble kitchen,—and Franklin, while a printer's boy, straitened by small means, beginning those studies and labors which make him an example to mankind.
Seek, then, occupation; seek labor; seek to employ all the faculties, whether in study or conduct,—not in words only, but in deeds also, mindful that "words are the daughters of Earth, but deeds are the sons of Heaven." So shall you eat of that fabled fruit growing on the banks of the river of Delight, whereby men gain a blessed course of life without one moment of sadness. So shall your days be filled with usefulness,—
"And when old Time shall lead you to your end,
Goodness and you fill up one monument."
There is a legend of Friar Roger Bacon, so conspicuous in what may be called the mythology of modern science, which enforces the importance of seizing the present moment; nor could I hope to close this appeal with anything better calculated to impress upon all the lesson I have sought to teach. With wizard skill he had succeeded in constructing a brazen head, which, by unimaginable contrivance, after unknown lapse of time, was to speak and declare important knowledge. Weary with watching for the auspicious moment, which had been prolonged through successive weeks, he had sought the refreshment of sleep, leaving his man Miles to observe the head, and to awaken him at once, if it should speak, that he might not fail to interrogate it. Shortly after he had sunk to rest, the head spake these words, Time is. But the foolish guardian heeded them not, nor the commands of his master, whom he allowed to slumber unconscious of the auspicious moment. Another half-hour passed and the head spake the words, Time was, which Miles still heeded not. Another half-hour passed, and the head spake yet other words, Time is past, and straightway fell to the earth, shivered in pieces, with a terrible crash and strange flashes of fire, so that Miles was half dead with fear; and his master awoke to behold the workmanship of his cunning hand and the hopes he had builded thereupon shattered, while the voice from the brazen throat still sounded in his ears, Time is past!
[BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE LATE JOHN PICKERING.]
Article in the Law Reporter of June, 1846.
