Part 4 (1/2)
”Everything has gone,” said a New York business man in despair, when he reached home. But when he came to himself he found that his wife and his children and the promises of G.o.d were left to him. Suffering, it was said by Aristotle, becomes beautiful when any one bears great calamities with cheerfulness, not through insensibility, but through greatness of mind.
When Garrison was locked up in the Boston city jail he said he had two delightful companions,--a good conscience and a cheerful mind.
”To live as always seeing The invisible Source of things, Is the blessedest state of being, For the quietude it brings.”
”Away with those fellows who go howling through life,” wrote Beccher, ”and all the while pa.s.sing for birds of paradise! He that cannot laugh and be gay should look to himself. He should fast and pray until his face breaks forth into light.”
Martin Luther has told us that he was once sorely discouraged and vexed at himself, the world, and the church, and at the small success he then seemed to be having; and he fell into a despondency which affected all his household. His good wife could not charm it away by cheerful speech or acts. At length she hit upon this happy device, which proved effectual. She appeared before him in deep mourning.
”Who is dead?” asked Luther.
”Oh, do you not know, Martin? G.o.d in heaven is dead.”
”How can you talk such nonsense, Kathe? How can G.o.d die? Why, He is immortal, and will live through all eternity.”
”Is that really true?” persisted she, as if she could hardly credit his a.s.sertion that G.o.d still lived.
”How can you doubt it? So surely as there is a G.o.d in heaven,” a.s.serted the aroused theologian, ”so sure is it that He can never die.”
”And yet,” said she demurely, in a tone which made him look up at her, ”though you do not doubt there is a G.o.d, you become hopeless and discouraged as if there were none. It seemed to me you acted as if G.o.d were dead.”
The spell was broken; Luther heartily laughed at his wife's lesson, and her ingenious way of presenting it. ”I observed,” he remarked, ”what a wise woman my wife was, who mastered my sadness.”
Jean Paul Richter's dream of ”No G.o.d” is one of the most somber things in all literature,--”tempestuous chaos, no healing hand, no Infinite Father. I awoke. My soul wept for joy that it could again wors.h.i.+p the Infinite Father.... And when I arose, from all nature I heard flowing sweet, peaceful tones, as from evening bells.”
IV. TAKING YOUR FUN EVERY DAY AS YOU DO YOUR WORK.
Ten things are necessary for happiness in this life, the first being a good digestion, and the other nine,--money; so at least it is said by our modern philosophers. Yet the author of ”A Gentle Life” speaks more truly in saying that the Divine creation includes thousands of superfluous joys which are totally unnecessary to the bare support of life.
He alone is the happy man who has learned to extract happiness, not from ideal conditions, but from the actual ones about him. The man who has mastered the secret will not wait for ideal surroundings; he will not wait until next year, next decade, until he gets rich, until he can travel abroad, until he can afford to surround himself with works of the great masters; but he will make the most out of life to-day, where he is.
”Why thus longing, thus forever sighing, For the far-off, unattained and dim, While the beautiful, all round thee lying, Offers up its low, perpetual hymn?
”Happy the man, and happy he alone, He who can call to-day his own; He who, secure within himself, can say: 'To-morrow, do thy worst, for I have lived to-day!'”
Paradise is here or nowhere: you must take your joy with you or you will never find it.
It is after business hours, not in them, that men break down. Men must, like Philip Armour, turn the key on business when they leave it, and at once unlock the doors of some wholesome recreation. Dr. Lyman Beecher used to divert himself with a violin. He had a regular system of what he called ”unwinding,” thus relieving the great strain put upon him.
”A man,” says Dr. Johnson, ”should spend part of his time with the laughers.”
Humor was Lincoln's life-preserver, as it has been of thousands of others. ”If it were not for this,” he used to say, ”I should die.” His jests and quaint stories lighted the gloom of dark hours of national peril.
”Next to virtue,” said Agnes Strickland, ”the fun in this world is what we can least spare.”
”When the harness is off,” said Judge Haliburton, ”a critter likes to kick up his heels.”
”I have fun from morning till night,” said the editor Charles A. Dana to a friend who was growing prematurely old. ”Do you read novels, and play billiards, and walk a great deal?”
Gladstone early formed a habit of looking on the bright side of things, and never lost a moment's sleep by worrying about public business.