til we cannot help giving. If we have grown to such a stature
we shall be able to meet sorrow and loss bravely and simply. We shall
feel for ourselves and for others in their troubles as Forbes Robertson
did when he wrote to his friend who had met with a great loss: "I pray
that you may never, never, never get over this sorrow, but through it,
into it, into the very heart of God." All this is very unworldly, no
doubt, and yet I will venture the assertion that such a standard and
such a method will come nearer to the mark of successful and
well-controlled living than the most carefully planned campaign of duty.
If we plan to make life fine, if we say, in effect, "I will be good and
cheerful, no matter what happens," we are beginning at the wrong end. We
may be able to work back from our mottoes to real living, but the
chances are we shall stop somewhere by the way, too confused and
uncertain to go on. Self-control, at its best, is not a conscious thing.
It is not well that we should try to be good, but that we should so
dignify our lives with the spirit of good that evil becomes well-nigh
impossible to us.

VIII

THE LIGHTER TOUCH

Heart not so heavy as mine,
Wending late home,
As it passed my window
Whistled itself a tune.
EMILY DICKINSON.

I have never seen good come from frightening worriers. It is no doubt
wise to speak the truth, but it seems to me a mistake to say in public
print or in private advice that worry leads to tragedies of the worst
sort. No matter how hopeful we may be in our later teaching about the
possibilities of overcoming worry, the really serious worrier will
pounce upon the original tragic statement and apply it with terrible
insistence to his own case.

I would not minimize the seriousness of worry, but I am convinced that
we can rarely overcome it by direct voluntary effort. It does not go
until we forget it, and we do not forget it if we are always trying
consciously to overcome it. We worriers must go about our
business--other business than that of worry.

Life is serious--alas, too serious--and full enough of pathos. We cannot
joke about its troubles; they are real. But, at least, we need not
magnify them. Why should we act as though everything depended upon our
efforts, even the changing seasons and the blowing winds? No doubt we
are responsible for our own acts and thoughts and for the welfare of
those who depend upon us. The trouble is we