A BOON of inestimable worth is a calm, thankful heart--a treasure that
few, very few, possess. We once met an old man, whose face was a
mixture of smiles and sunshine. Wherever he went, he succeeded in making
everybody about him as pleasant as himself.
Said we, one day,--for he was one of that delightful class whom
everybody feels privileged to be related to,--“Uncle, uncle, how _is_ it
that you contrive to be so happy? Why is your face so cheerful, when so
many thousands are craped over with a most uncomfortable gloominess?”
“My dear young friend,” he answered, with his placid smile, “I am
even as others, afflicted with infirmities; I have had my share of
sorrow--some would say more--but I have found out the secret of being
happy, and it is this:
“_Forget self_.”
“Until you do that, you can lay but little claim to a cheerful spirit.
'Forget what manner of man you are,' and think more with, rejoice more
for, your neighbours. If I am poor, let me look upon my richer friend,
and in estimating his blessings, forget my privations.
“If my neighbour is building a house, let me watch with him its
progress, and think, 'Well, what a comfortable place it will be, to be
sure; how much he may enjoy it with his family.' Thus I have a double
pleasure--that of delight in noting the structure as it expands into
beauty, and making my neighbour's weal mine. If he has planted a fine
garden, I feast my eyes on the flowers, smell their fragrance: could I
do more if it was my own?
“Another has a family of fine children; they bless him and are blessed
by him; mine are all gone before me; I have none that bear my name;
shall I, therefore, envy my neighbour his lovely children? No; let me
enjoy their innocent smiles with him; let me _forget myself_--my tears
when they were put away in darkness; or if I weep, may it be for joy
that God took them untainted to dwell with His holy angels for ever.
“Believe an old man when he says there is great pleasure in living for
others. The heart of the selfish man is like a city full of crooked
lanes. If a generous thought from some glorious temple strays in
there, wo to it--it is lost. It wanders about, and wanders about, until
enveloped in darkness; as the mist of selfishness gathers around, it
lies down upon some cold thought to die, and is shrouded in oblivion.
“So, if you would be happy, shun selfishness; do a kindly deed for
this one, speak a kindly word for another. He who is constantly giving
pleasure, is constantly receiving it. The little river gives to the
great ocean, and the more it gives the faster it runs. Stop its flowing,
and the hot sun would dry it up, till it would be but filthy mud,
sending forth bad odours, and corrupting the fresh air of Heaven. Keep
your heart constantly travelling on errands of mercy--it has feet that
never tire, hands that cannot be overburdened, eyes that never sleep;
freight its hands with blessings, direct its eyes--no matter how narrow
your sphere--to the nearest object of suffering, and relieve it.
“I say, my dear young friend, take the word of an old man for it, who
has tried every known panacea, and found all to fail, except this golden
rule,
“_Forget self, and keep the heart busy for others._”