of awe in the thought how frail are the
foundations of your earthly happiness,--what havoc may be made of them
by the chances of even a single day. It is no wonder that the solemnity
and awfulness of the Future have been felt so much, that the languages
of Northern Europe have, as I dare say you know, no word which expresses
the essential notion of Futurity. You think, perhaps, of _shall_
and _will_. Well, these words have come now to convey the notion of
Futurity; but they do so only in a secondary fashion. Look to their
etymology, and you will see that they _imply_ Futurity, but do not
_express_ it. _I shall_ do such a thing means _I am bound to do it, I am
under an obligation to do it. I will_ do such a thing means _I intend to
do it. It is my present purpose to do it_. Of course, if you are under
an obligation to do anything, or if it be your intention to do anything,
the probability is that the thing will be done; but the Northern family
of languages ventures no nearer than _that_ towards the expression of
the bare, awful idea of Future Time. It was no wonder that Mr. Croaker
was able to east a gloom upon the gayest circle, and the happiest
conjuncture of circumstances, by wishing that all might be as well that
day six months. Six months! What might that time not do? Perhaps you
have not read a little poem of Barry Cornwall's, the idea of which must
come home to the heart of most of us:--

"Touch us gently, Time!
Let us glide adown thy stream
Gently,--as we sometimes glide
Through a quiet dream.
Humble voyagers are we,
Husband, wife, and children three;--
One is lost,--an angel, fled
To the azure overhead.

"Touch us gently, Time!
We've not proud nor soaring wings:
_Our_ ambition, our content,
Lies in simple things.
Humble voyagers are we,
O'er life's dim, unsounded sea,
Seeking only some calm clime:--
Touch us gently, gentle Time!"

I know that sometimes, my friend, you will not have much sleep, if, when
you lay your head on your pillow, you begin to think how much depends
upon your health and life. You have reached now that time at which you
value life and health not so much for their service to yourself, as for
their needfulness to others. There is a petition familiar to me in this
Scotch country, where people make their prayers for themselves, which
seems to me to possess great solemnity and force, when we think of
all that is implied in it. It is, _Spare useful lives!_