“Your eloquence, Mr. Deputy, is irresistible,—“Man anticipates Time in the busy march of destruction. His own mortal frame, broken by intemperance, becomes a premature ruin; he fells the stately oak in the towering majesty of its verdure and beauty; he razes the glorious temple hallowed by Time! and the ploughshare passes over the sacred spot it once dignified and adorned!
Man is ever quarrelling with Time. Time flies too swiftly; or creeps too slowly. His distempered vision conjures up a dwarf or a giant; hence Time is too short, or Time is too long! Now Time hangs heavy on his hands; yet for most things he cannot find Time! Though fame-serving, he makes a lackey of Time; asking Time to pay his debts; Time to eat his dinner; Time for all things! He abuses those, that never gave him a hard word; and, in a fit of ennui, to get rid of himself he kills Time; which is never recovered, but lost in Eternity!” And Uncle Timothy, keeping time and the tune, sang his retrospective song of
OLD TIME.
From boyhood to manhood, in fair and rough weather.
Old Time! you and I we have jogg'd on together;
Your touch has been gentle, endearing, and bland;
A fond father leading his son by the hand!
In the morning of life, ah! how tottering my tread—
(True symbol of age ere its journey is sped!)
But Time gave me courage, and fearless I ran—