I shall not quote it here again, because we shall have many other things to talk about; but I shall give you the text of a famous little composition by Oldys on the same topic.

It has almost the simplicity of Blake,--and certainly something of the same kind of philosophy.
Busy, curious, thirsty fly, Drink with me and drink as I; Freely welcome to my cup, Couldst thou sip and sip it up: Make the most of life you may, Life is short and wears away.
Both alike are mine and thine Hastening quick to their decline: Thine's a summer, mine's no more, Though repeated to threescore.
Threescore summers, when they're gone, Will appear as short as one! The suggestion is that, after all, time is only a very relative affair in the cosmic order of things.

The life of the man of sixty years is not much longer than the life of the insect which lives but a few hours, days, or months.

Had Oldys, who belongs to the eighteenth century, lived in our own time, he might have been able to write something very much more curious on this subject.

It is now known that time, to the mind of an insect, must appear immensely longer than it appears to the mind of a man.