I'm too Busy.—

A merchant sat at his office desk; various letters were spread before him; his whole being was absorbed in the intricacies of his business. A zealous friend of mankind entered the office. “I want to interest you a little in a new effort for the temperance cause,” said the good man. The merchant cut him off by replying, “Sir, you must excuse me, but really I'm too busy to attend to that subject now.” “But Sir, intemperance is on the increase among us,” said his friend. “It is? I'm sorry, but I'm too busy at present to do anything.” “When shall I call again, Sir?” “I cannot tell. I'm am very busy. I'm busy every day. Excuse Sir, I wish you a good morning.” Then bowing the page 55 intruder out of the office, he resumed the study of his papers. The merchant had frequently repulsed the friends of humanity in this manner. No matter what was the object, he was too busy to listen to their claims. He had even told his minister he was too busy for anything but to make money. But one morning a disagreeable stranger stepped very softly to his side, laying a cold moist hand upon his brow, and saying, “Go home with me.” The merchant laid down his pen; his head grew dizzy; his stomach felt faint and sick; he left the counting-room, went home and retired to his bed-chamber. His unwelcome visitor had followed him, and now took his place by the bed side, whispering ever and anon, “You must go with me.” A cold chill settled on the merchant's heart; dim spectres of ships, notes, houses, and lands, flitted before his excited mind. Still his pulse beat slower, his heart heaved heavily, thick films gathered over his eyes, his tongue refused to speak. Then the merchant knew that the name of his visitor was Death! All other claimants on his attention, except the friends of Mammon, had always found a quick dismissal in the magic phrase, “I'm too busy.” Humanity, mercy, religion had alike begged his influence, means, and attention, in vain. But when Death came the excuse was powerless; he was compelled to have leisure to die. Let us beware how to make ourselves too busy to secure life's great end. When the excuse rises to our lips, and we are about to say that we are too busy to do good, let us remember we cannot be too busy to die.