It has been said that all men are controlled either by reason or by passion. Passion, however, is a fitful mistress, and leads her slaves into innumerable disasters. If a man cannot control himself, how can he expect to be master of others? and on the other hand "he that is master of himself will soon be master of others," "* at least if he wishes; and if he cannot master himself, others will soon master him.

chance with a cool one.

An angry man has no

Seneca well said that "anger

is like rain, which breaks itself against that on which it falls." Always then keep your temper.

When you are

when you are

"Democritus

in the right you can surely keep it, and in the wrong you cannot afford to lose it. laughed," said Seneca, "and Heraclitus wept at the folly of mankind, but no one ever heard of an angry philosopher."** If you can master yourself and the alphabet you can master anything. Neither task, however, is very easy. Grown-up people forget the difficulty of the alphabet: it is acquired once for all and we learnt it long ago. The mastery of self requires a continual watch. Everyone, however, can win the victory if he chooses. We cannot all be great statesmen, artists, or

* Bacon.

On Peace and Happiness.

** Gratian.

2

philosophers, but what is more important, at any rate for us, we can all if we choose be good men. "Etre meilleurs ou pires," says Joubert, "dépend de nous; tout le reste dépend de Dieu."* It is not the wicked world without, but the sinful soul within, that ruins a man. We pray that we may not be led into temptation, but in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred it is we who lead ourselves into temptation. In a weird and tragic story by Calderon, the hero is constantly haunted and thwarted by a mysterious figure in a mask, and when at last the mask is lifted, his own features are disclosed.

Mrs. Browning says that we spend our lives "little thinking if we work our souls as nobly as our iron." The heart is indeed often as hard as iron or stone, but the will is, or ought to be, stronger. Iron and stone can offer but a passive resistance, and if drops of water can wear away stone, surely the human will ought to be able to do so.

There is no doubt high authority for saying that
There's a divinity that shapes our ends,

Rough-hew them how we will; **

*"To be better or worse depends on ourselves, all the rest

God."

** Shakespeare.

but yet no one was ever thoroughly ruined except by

himself:

We ne'er can be, but by ourselves, undone.* Englishmen pride themselves on being free, but there are two sorts of freedom-"the false, where a man is free to do what he likes; the true, where he is free to do what he ought."** Many think that wealth gives leisure and leisure gives pleasure. But what kind of pleasure? There is all the difference in the world. between false pleasures and true pleasures. False pleasures are fleeting; true pleasures last long. True pleasures are paid for in advance; false pleasures afterwards, with heavy and compound interest. As Thomas à Kempis says in The Imitation of Christ-"So every fleshly joy comes with a smiling face, but at the last it bites and kills." False pleasures come from without and are imperfect: happiness is internal and our

own.

Sir George Cornewall Lewis, Chancellor of the Exchequer under Sir Robert Peel, said that "life would be tolerable, if it were not for its amusements;" or, as Mme. de Sévigné put it, "On est au milieu des plaisirs,

sans avoir un moment de joie." "Silence and stillness,” says Alfred Austin, our Poet Laureate, "are the sweetest of all our joys."

But who can describe happiness? "Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much."* The view of Epicurus was "that man cannot live agreeably, unless he lives honourably, justly, and wisely; and, if he lives wisely, justly, and honourably, it is impossible that he should not live agreeably."**

There is an old legend that soon after the creation the gods announced that mankind would, on a given day, be permitted to divide the earth between them. As soon as the appointed time arrived, the agriculturists appropriated the fertile fields; merchants the roads and seas; monks the slopes suitable for vines; noblemen the woods and forests, for the sake of the game; kings the bridges and defiles, where they could raise taxes. The poet, who was in deep meditation, came when all was over and bewailed his lot. What was to be done? The gods had nothing more to give. "Come," they said, "and live with us in the eternal azure of heaven. Come ** Cicero.

* Shakespeare.

as often as you like, you will find the door open." He accepted, but had no need to disturb himself; in his happy moments, free from care or anxiety, his mind, like some well-tuned instrument, could at will bring down the heaven to earth.

We cannot all be poets, but in these happier days we have all the same gracious invitation if we will only accept it. We cannot all be great or powerful, rich or clever, but we may all be happy and good. We can all make our lives bright and beautiful if we choose. This rests with us. We can succeed if we choose, but we must do our best. We do not spring into life perfect, like Pallas. Children are innocent, but not virtuous. Even those who unfortunately inherit a tendency to evil may escape from their ancestors if they will. The result depends not on cleverness, but on character. "L'esprit," said Amiel, "sert à tout, mais il ne suffit à rien."* Rousseau was certainly one of the cleverest of men, but his life was far from happy; and why? It was his own egotism and pride which made him miserable.

Sorrow and pain are, of course, sure to come, but they are often exaggerated.

* "Cleverness serves for everything, but suffices for nothing."