The reasons for this are not very far to seek. We are living in an age of feverish unrest and agitation. If we could picture a twentieth century Satan appearing before the Almighty under the circumstances described in the Book of Job, to answer the question, “Whence comest thou?”--the same reply would suit not only his, but our condition--“From going to and fro in the earth, and wandering up and down within it.” We are always going to and fro in these days. We are forever wandering up and down. Few of us are satisfied to remain long in the same place, among the same surroundings--and in this way the foundations of home life,--formerly so noble and firm a part of our national strength--are being shaken and disorganized. A very great majority of us appear to be afflicted with the chronic disease of Hurry, which generally breeds a twin ailment--Worry. We have no time for anything somehow. We seem to be always under the thrall of an invisible policeman, commanding us to “Move on!” And we do move on, like the tramps we are becoming. Moreover, we have decided that we cannot get over the ground quickly enough on the limbs with which Nature originally provided us--so we spin along on cycles, and dash about on motor cars. And it is confidently expected that by-and-by the mere earth will not be good enough for us, and that we shall “scorch” through the air--when a great change may be looked for in house accommodation. People will return, it is said, to the early cave dwellings, in order to avoid the massacre likely to be caused by tumbling air-ships over which the captains have lost control. There is something humourous in all this modern hurry-skurry; something almost grotesque in this desire for swift movement--this wish to save time and to stint work;--but there is something infinitely pathetic about it as well. It is as if the present Period of the world’s civilization felt itself growing old--as if, like an individual human unit, it knew itself to be past its prime and drawing nigh to death, as if,--with the feeble restlessness of advancing age, it were seeking to cram as much change and amusement as possible into the little time of existence left to it. Two of the most notable signs of such mental and moral decay are, a morbid craving for incessant excitement, and a disinclination to think. It is quite a common thing nowadays to hear people say, “Oh, I have no time to think!”--and they seem to be more proud than ashamed of their loss of mental equilibrium. But it is very certain that where there is no time to think, there is less time to imagine--and where there is neither thought nor imagination, creative work of a high and lasting quality is not possible.