mportance to them. An
example of this is the heroine of Mrs. Ward's "Robert Elsmere," who
refused to marry because the family could not get on without her;
and when finally she consented, the family lived more happily and
comfortably than when she considered herself their leader. If this
woman's seriousness, which blinded her judgment, had been real
instead of sham, the state of the case would have been quite clear
to her; but then, indeed, there would have been no case at all.
When seriousness is real, it is never intrusive and can never be
overdone. It is simply a quiet, steady obedience to recognized laws
followed as a matter of course, which must lead to a clearer
appreciation of such laws, and of our own freedom in obeying them.
Whereas with a sham seriousness we dwell upon the importance of our
own relation to the law, and our own responsibility in forcing
others to obey. With the real, it is the law first, and then my
obedience. With the sham, it is myself first, and then the laws; and
often a strained obedience to laws of my own making.
This sham seriousness, which is peculiarly a New England trait, but
may also be found in many other parts of the world, is often the
perversion of a strong, fine nature. It places many stones in the
way, most of them phantoms, which, once stepped over and then
ignored, brings to light a nature nobly expansive, and a source of
joy to all who come in contact with it. But so long as the
"seriousness" lasts, it is quite incompatible with any form of real
amusement.
For the very essence of amusement is the child-spirit. The child
throws himself heartily and spontaneously into the game, or whatever
it may be, and forgets that there is anything else in the world, for
the time being. Children have nothing else to remember. We have the
advantage of them there, in the pleasure of forgetting and in the
renewed strength with which we can return to our work or care, in
consequence. Any one who cannot play children's games with children,
and with the same enjoyment that children have, does not know the
spirit of amusement. For this same spirit must be taken into all
forms of amusement, especially those that are beyond the childish
mind, to bring the delicious reaction which nature is ever ready to
bestow. This is almost a self-evident truth; and yet so confirmed is
man in his sham maturity that it is quite common to see one look
with contempt, and a sense of superiority which is ludicro
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