s,
the mind is ill at ease." "I acknowledge that," I continued; "but we
must consider such a disposition in the light of a disease, and inquire
whether there is no remedy for it."

"I should be glad to hear one," said Charlotte: "at least, I think very
much depends upon ourselves; I know it is so with me. When anything
annoys me, and disturbs my temper, I hasten into the garden, hum a
couple of country dances, and it is all right with me directly." "That
is what I meant," I replied; "ill-humour resembles indolence: it is
natural to us; but if once we have courage to exert ourselves, we find
our work run fresh from our hands, and we experience in the activity
from which we shrank a real enjoyment." Frederica listened very
attentively: and the young man objected, that we were not masters of
ourselves, and still less so of our feelings. "The question is about a
disagreeable feeling," I added, "from which every one would willingly
escape, but none know their own power without trial. Invalids are glad
to consult physicians, and submit to the most scrupulous regimen, the
most nauseous medicines, in order to recover their health." I observed
that the good old man inclined his head, and exerted himself to hear our
discourse; so I raised my voice, and addressed myself directly to
him. "We preach against a great many crimes," I observed, "but I never
remember a sermon delivered against ill-humour." "That may do very
well for your town clergymen," said he: "country people are never
ill-humoured; though, indeed, it might be useful, occasionally, to my
wife for instance, and the judge." We all laughed, as did he likewise
very cordially, till he fell into a fit of coughing, which interrupted
our conversation for a time. Herr Schmidt resumed the subject. "You
call ill humour a crime," he remarked, "but I think you use too strong
a term." "Not at all," I replied, "if that deserves the name which is
so pernicious to ourselves and our neighbours. Is it not enough that we
want the power to make one another happy, must we deprive each other of
the pleasure which we can all make for ourselves? Show me the man who
has the courage to hide his ill-humour, who bears the whole burden
himself, without disturbing the peace of those around him. No:
ill-humour arises from an inward consciousness of our own want of merit,
from a discontent which ever accompanies that envy which foolish vanity
engenders. We see people happy, whom we have not made so,