in
which we cannot or else will not share moves us to a particular
impatience. It may be because we are envious, or because we are sad, or
because we dislike noise and romping--being so refined, or
because--being so philosophic--we have an overweighing sense of life's
gravity: at least, as we go on in years, we are all tempted to frown
upon our neighbour's pleasures. People are nowadays so fond of resisting
temptations; here is one to be resisted. They are fond of self-denial;
here is a propensity that cannot be too peremptorily denied. There is an
idea abroad among moral people that they should make their neighbours
good. One person I have to make good: myself. But my duty to my
neighbour is much more nearly expressed by saying that I have to make
him happy--if I may.

III

Happiness and goodness, according to canting moralists, stand in the
relation of effect and cause. There was never anything less proved or
less probable: our happiness is never in our own hands; we inherit our
constitution; we stand buffet among friend and enemies; we may be so
built as to feel a sneer or an aspersion with unusual keenness, and so
circumstanced as to be unusually exposed to them; we may have nerves
very sensitive to pain, and be afflicted with a disease very painful.
Virtue will not help us, and it is not meant to help us. It is not even
its own reward, except for the self-centred and--I had almost said--the
unamiable. No man can pacify his conscience; if quiet be what he want,
he shall do better to let that organ perish from disuse. And to avoid
the penalties of the law, and the minor _capitis diminutio_ of social
ostracism, is an affair of wisdom--of cunning, if you will--and not of
virtue.

In his own life, then, a man is not to expect happiness, only to profit
by it gladly when it shall arise; he is on duty here; he knows not how
or why, and does not need to know; he knows not for what hire, and must
not ask. Somehow or other, though he does not know what goodness is, he
must try to be good; somehow or other, though he cannot tell what will
do it, he must try to give happiness to others. And no doubt there comes
in here a frequent clash of duties. How far is he to make his neighbour
happy? How far must he respect that smiling face, so easy to cloud, so
hard to brighten again? And how far, on the other side, is he bound to
be his brother's keeper and the prophet of his own morality? How far
must he resent evil?

The dif