"She is an aged woman, but her face is serene and peaceful, though
trouble has not passed her by. She seems utterly above the little
worries and vexations which torment the average woman and leave lines of
care. The Fretful Woman asked her one day the secret of her happiness;
and the beautiful old face shone with joy.
"'My dear,' she said, 'I keep a Pleasure Book.'
"'A what?'
"'A Pleasure Book. Long ago I learned that there is no day so dark and
gloomy that it does not contain some ray of light, and I have made it
one business of my life to write down the little things which mean so
much to a woman. I have a book marked for every day of every year since
I left school. It is but a little thing: the new gown, the chat with a
friend, the thoughtfulness of my husband, a flower, a book, a walk in
the field, a letter, a concert, or a drive; but it all goes into my
Pleasure Book, and, when I am inclined to fret, I read a few pages to
see what a happy, blessed woman I am. You may see my treasures if you
will.'
"Slowly the peevish, discontented woman turned over the book her friend
brought her, reading a little here and there. One day's entries ran
thus: 'Had a pleasant letter from mother. Saw a beautiful lily in a
window. Found the pin I thought I had lost. Saw such a bright, happy
girl on the street. Husband brought some roses in the evening.'
"Bits of verse and lines from her daily reading have gone into the
Pleasure Book of this world-wise woman, until its pages are a storehouse
of truth and beauty.[1]
"'Have you found a pleasure for every day?' the Fretful Woman asked.
"'For every day,' the low voice answered; 'I had to make my theory come
true, you know.'"
The Fretful Woman ought to have stopped there, but did not; and she
found that page where it was written--"He died with his hand in mine,
and my name upon his lips." Below were the lines from Lowell:--
"Lone watcher on the mountain height:
It is right precious to behold
The first long surf of climbing light
Flood all the thirsty eat with gold;
"Yet God deems not thine aeried sight
More worthy than our twilight dim,
For meek obedience, too, is light,
And following that is finding Him."
In one of the battles of the Crimea, a cannon-ball struck inside the
fort, crashing through a beautiful garden; but from the ugly chasm there
burst forth a spring of water which is still flowing. And how beautiful
it is, if our strange earthly sorrows become a blessing to others,
through our determination to live and to do for those who need our help.
Life is not given for mourning, but for unselfish service.
"Cheerfulness," says Ruskin, "is as natural to the heart of a man in
strong health as color to his cheek; and wherever there is habitual
gloom there must be either bad air, unwholesome food, improperly severe
labor, or erring habits of life." It is an erring habit of life if we
are not first of all cheerful. We are thrown into a morbid habit through
circumstances utterly beyond our control, yet this fact does not change
our duty toward God and toward man,--our duty to be cheerful. We are
human; but it is our high privilege to lead a divine life, to accept the
joy which our Lord bequeathed to his disciples.
Our trouble is that we do not half will. After a man's habits are well
set, about all he can do is to sit by and observe which way he is going.
Regret it as he may, how helpless is a weak man, bound by the mighty
cable of habit; twisted from tiny threads which he thought were
absolutely within his control. Yet a habit of happy thought would
transform his life into harmony and beauty. Is not the will almost
omnipotent to determine habits before they become all-powerful? What
contributes more to health or happiness than a vigorous will? A habit of
directing a firm and steady will upon those things which tend to produce
harmony of thought will bring happiness and contentment; the will,
rightly drilled,--and divinely guided,--can drive out all discordant
thoughts, and usher in the reign of perpetual harmony. It is impossible
to overestimate the importance of forming a habit of cheerfulness early
in life. The serene optimist is one whose mind has dwelt so long upon
the sunny side of life that he has acquired a habit of cheerfulness.
"Talk happiness. The world is sad enough
Without your woes. No path is wholly rough;
Look for the places that are smooth and clear,
And speak of those who rest the weary ear
Of earth, so hurt by one continuous strain
Of human discontent and grief and pain.
"Talk faith. The world is better off without
Your uttered ignorance and morbid doubt.
If you have faith in God, or man, or self,
Say so; if not, push back upon the shelf
Of silence all your thoughts till faith shall come;
No one will grieve because your lips are dumb.
"Talk health. The dreary, never-changing tale
Of mortal maladies is worn and stale.
You cannot charm, or interest, or please,
By harping on that minor chord, disease.
Say you are well, or all is well with you.
And God shall hear your words and make them true."[2]