the worries of hate. How much
worry hate causes the hater, he alone can tell. He spends hours in
conjuring up more reasons for his hate than he would care to write
down. Every success of the hated is another stimulant to worry, and
each step forward is a sting full of pain and bitterness.

He who hates walks along the path of worry, and so long as he hates he
must worry. Hence, there is but one practical way of escape from the
worries of hatred, viz., by ceasing to hate, by overcoming evil with
good.

CHAPTER XX

THE WORRIES OF SUSPICION

He who has a suspicious mind is ever the prey of worry. Such an one is
to be pitied for he is tossed hither and yon, to and fro, at the whim
of every breath of suspicion he breathes. He has no real peace of
mind, no content, no unalloyed joy, for even in his hours of pleasure,
of recreation, of expected jollity he is worrying lest someone is
trying to get ahead of him, his _vis-a-vis_ is "jollying" him, his
partner at golf is trying to steal a march on him, he is not being
properly served at the picnic, etc.

These suspicious-minded people are sure that every man is a scoundrel
at heart--more or less--and needs to be watched; no man or woman is to
be trusted; every grocer will sand his sugar, chicory his coffee, sell
butterine for butter, and cold-storage eggs for fresh if he gets a
chance. To accept the word of a stranger is absurd, as it is also
to believe in the disinterestedness of a politician, reformer,
office-holder, a corporation, or a rich man. But to believe evil,
to expect to be swindled, or prepare to be deceived is the height
of perspicacity and wisdom. How wonderfully Shakspere in _Othello_
portrays the wretchedness of the suspicious man. One reason why Iago
so hated the Moor was that he suspected him:

the thoughts whereof
Doth like a poisonous mineral gnaw my inwards,
And nothing can or shall content my soul
Till I am even'd with him.

How graphic the simile, "gnaw my inwards;" it is the perpetual symbol
of worry; the poisonous mineral ever biting away the lining of the
stomach; just as mice and rats gnaw at the backs of the most precious
books and destroy them; aye, as they gnaw during the night-time and
drive sleep away from the weary, so does suspicion gnaw with its sharp
worrying teeth to the destruction of peace, happiness and joy.

Then, when Iago has poisoned Othello's mind with suspicions about his
wife, how the Moor is