But life is a larger and a
nobler business than that; and one learns the lesson sooner, if one
takes the suffering home to one's soul, not as a tedious interlude,
but as the very melody and march of life itself, even though it
crash into discords, or falter in a sombre monotony.
The point is that when one seems to be playing a part to one's own
satisfaction, when one appears to oneself to be brilliant,
suggestive, inspiriting, and genial, one is not necessarily
ministering to other people; while, on the other hand, when one is
dull, troubled, and anxious, out of heart and discontented, one may
have the chance of making others happier. Here is a whimsical
instance; in one of my dreariest days--I was in London on business--
I sate next to an old friend, generally a very lively, brisk, and
cheerful man, who appeared to me strangely silent and depressed. I
led him on to talk freely, and he told me a long tale of anxieties
and cares; his health was unsatisfactory, his plans promised ill.
In trying to paint a brighter picture, to reassure and encourage
him, I not only forgot my own troubles, but put some hope into him.
We had met, two tired and dispirited men, we went away cheered and
encouraged, aware that we were not each of us the only sufferer in
the world and that there were possibilities still ahead of us all,
nay, in our grip, if we only were not blind and forgetful.
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