pon ourselves as well as upon others.

This disposition is encouraged by selfishness: indeed, it is for the
most part selfishness unmingled, without any admixture of sympathy
or consideration for the feelings of those about us. It is simply
wilfulness in the wrong direction. It is wilful, because it might be
avoided. Let the necessitarians argue as they may, freedom of will and
action is the possession of every man and woman. It is sometimes our
glory, and very often it is our shame: all depends upon the manner in
which it is used. We can choose to look at the bright side of things,
or at the dark. We can follow good and eschew evil thoughts. We can be
wrongheaded and wronghearted, or the reverse, as we ourselves determine.
The world will be to each one of us very much what we make it. The
cheerful are its real possessors, for the world belongs to those who
enjoy it.

It must, however, be admitted that there are cases beyond the reach of
the moralist. Once, when a miserable-looking dyspeptic called upon a
leading physician and laid his case before him, "Oh!" said the doctor,
"you only want a good hearty laugh: go and see Grimaldi." "Alas!" said
the miserable patient, "I am Grimaldi!" So, when Smollett, oppressed
by disease, travelled over Europe in the hope of finding health, he
saw everything through his own jaundiced eyes. "I'll tell it," said
Smellfungus, "to the world." "You had better tell it," said Sterne, "to
your physician." The restless, anxious, dissatisfied temper, that is
ever ready to run and meet care half-way, is fatal to all happiness and
peace of mind. How often do we see men and women set themselves about as
if with stiff bristles, so that one dare scarcely approach them without
fear of being pricked! For want of a little occasional command over
one's temper, an amount of misery is occasioned in society which is
positively frightful. Thus enjoyment is turned into bitterness, and
life becomes like a journey barefooted amongst thorns and briers and
prickles. "Though sometimes small evils," says Richard Sharp, "like
invisible insects, inflict great pain, and a single hair may stop a vast
machine, yet the chief secret of comfort lies in not suffering trifles
to vex us; and in prudently cultivating an undergrowth of small
pleasures, since very few great ones, alas! are let on long leases." [175]

St. Francis de Sales treats the same topic from the Christian's point
of view. "How carefully," he says, "we s