THE question as to how far it may be in our own power to increase the spirit of contentment, and consequently lessen sorrow, is assuredly one of sufficient importance to each individual mind for it to claim some share of attention. Although not not inclined, like Epicurus, to assert that pleasure is the "chief good," yet any one who has studied the world's history, or looked into the depths of the human heart, will find it impossible to deny that, from the earliest ages, the motive power influencing the majority of mankind, both in public movements and private actions, has been the desire to procure blessings either for themselves or for others: whether it be the philanthropist spending his life in efforts to benefit his fellow-creatures, or the philosophical egotist, whose thoughts begin and end with self; whether it be the devotee who, with stoical firmness, denies himself the most innocent pleasures, or the voluptuary indulging every appetite, and gratifying every passion, with all the actuating principle is the same, the desire for happiness real or imaginary, either present or to come.

We all, by an instinct of our nature, delight in pleasure, and shrink from pain, either physical or mental, and it would be well for us if we could bear in mind that it is greatly within every one's power, in going through life, to cultivate the former, and diminish the latter, by

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a sober contemplation of surrounding circumstances with a view to discovering what is to be chosen, and what avoided; and by banishing from the mind all distressing ideas, the harbouring of which can be of no benefit to ourselves or others. If people would only learn to realize it, happiness depends far less on external, than on internal sources; both pleasure and its converse being, in many cases, rather the result of our mental bias, and habit of viewing things, than in the nature of the events themselves. "Every spot in life's sunshine is," to quote Carlyle, "but the shadow of our

selves."

We may define pleasure as the result of things being suited to our mind, contentment as the bringing our ideas to fit the condition in which we are placed; the former may not often be at our command, but the latter always is. Let Fortune rule the weak and vain amongst mankind. Over those who view life sensibly this fickle goddess should have no power. It is not nearly so sad a thing to have troubles as to be incapable of bearing them, for what dignity can there be in the mind that is elated or depressed at the veriest trifles? Undoubtedly the more refined a man's nature, and the brighter his genius, the more acutely sensitive will he often be to all emotions of pleasure or pain; but surely an intellect of a high order, a mind trained to view

things philosophically, should have in itself a power to rise above the trivialities, the insignificant daily worries, that, to the morbid and the fatuous, seem almost insurmountable.

It may be said, "All this is mere assertion, but we want demonstration; prove to us that the happiness or misery of a man's life is not a thing over which his will can have no influence; suggest some means by which we may increase the one and lessen the other; be practical, give us a little more than mere vague generalizing, and we will begin to believe and hope that something in the way of benefit is to be derived from your words." Well, let us inquire into the nature, and possible remedy for some of the ills to which mankind is liable; let us seek out the source, and if possible suggest a cure, for the low spirits, a curb for the discontents to which, despite the smiling masks that go about the world, so many bearts are liable.

If we trace depression to its real source, what is it after all but a form of self-love, or rather selfcompassion ? When grieved and anxious, or suffering from misfortunes, small or great, what wise man sits down to mourn over his sad condition? Will he not rather try to trace the events or circumstances that produced it to their final cause, if so be that he may have the power to avoid the like troubles in future? Will he not ask himself, " Can I by my own efforts mend matters ?" If reason answer "Yes," he will set about it at once, activity itself must be a solace; but if a thing is inevitable, he reconciles himself to it, and wastes no time in useless vague regrets. Others have the same troubles or worse, and what are we, that we should expect to be free?

All men love comparisons, but let it be our habit to measure our

condition with that of persons less fortunate than ourselves, rather than to compare it with those who, in our estimation, are happier. Every wretchedness that we see others suffer, and we ourselves are free from, is a blessing, and therefore should be a source of thankfulness. When suffering from real or fancied ills, let us seek out those who are more miserable than ourselves, and it will go hard with us if, by the time we have done something to relieve their trouble, we do not find that our own has dis

appeared. Whether it speaks well for human nature or not, it is an undoubted fact, that a contemplation of the condition of those less fortunate than ourselves is a source of satisfaction. Napoleon, who was morbidly vain and sensitive on the subject of his height, in contemplating on one occasion, a picture of Alexander the Great, remarked more than once, with an air of self-congratulation, "Alexander the Great was shorter than I am-much shorter," and no doubt there was consolation to him in the thought.

Those who are inclined to be discontented, are too apt to contemplate the lot of others only to envy their fancied happiness; like Damocles, they find some Dionysius, whom, in their folly, they pronounce to be the happiest man on earth, till chance, perhaps, reveals to them that troubles greater than any they are called upon to bear are hanging above the head of that one who seemed so fortunate, and whom they thought so blest beyond desert. Truly, if we could look into the hearts of our fellowcreatures, there are few indeed whose destiny we should be willing to take in preference to our own. The hungry man, eating some garden stuff which had been thrown away, and exclaiming, "None is surely so wretched as I," looked round by chance, and

saw a man following, picking up, and devouring the leaves which he had rejected; and so, not one of us need more than turn his head to find, in like manner, a motive for thankfulness-a cure for discontent.

Crede quod habes, et habes, is a truer saying than at first sight it might appear; while one ridicules the act, it is impossible to help envying the spirit of that ingenious philosopher who turned his shirt, and observed, with satisfaction, "What a comfort there is in clean linen!" Imagination is a veritable Aladdin's lamp to those who accustom themselves to look on the bright side of things; to those who, on the other hand, are in the habit of going to meet troubles, an incalculable amount of misery is caused by the evils that have never happened, though both religion and philosophy still preach to them the folly that it is to take an undue thought of what the morrow may or may not bring.

How much better would it be for us again, if we could accustom ourselves to think of what we have, rather than of what we want; the overvaluing of those things that we desire prevents our having a just appreciation of the blessings we possess, and it is very rarely that our horizon is so dark as to make it impossible for us to find consolation in the thought of how much worse our condition has been, or at least might be, than it is at present. It is not easy this, for in the mind's perspective the nearest things are always magnified, and we wish for anything, everything, rather than the inconvenience from which we now are suffering; it takes men long to learn how far better it is "to bear those ills we have, than fly to others that we know not of." And yet if we allow ourselves to be so depressed by present cares as to be unable

to look beyond them, in what are we superior to the unthinking, unreasoning creatures who live but in to-day, and with whom instinct takes the place of intellect?

However heavy sorrow seems, joy must sooner or later follow it; in a month's time, if we remember our present condition, it will be to wonder what we could have found to grieve about, and there is always consolation in the thought that as in the darkness of night, the hearing is intensified, the pupil of the eye dilates, the senses all seem quickened, so in the depths of sorrow, are men's characters developed, and their minds gain strength under the treatment of that tonic pain; life's bitters always, too, give zest to the pleasures that succeed, for existence is so sweet to none as to those who have experienced the very depths of bitterness, and who therefore know how to value present ease. If it were possible for us to go through life without tasting of real anxiety or trouble, we should soon be overwhelmed with fancied cares, which are far the worst to bear, and pleasure itself would soon so pall upon us, as to become in time, first weariness, and then an actual pain.

Troubles that arise in the imagination it is wiser not to dwell upon or talk of to another, distresses of this nature will sooner die a natural death if not made much of; real trials, on the contrary, are often lessened by the sympathy of those we love. The man who gave it as a rule to his disciples always to keep sorrow locked within their own breasts could have known little, we think, of the blessedness of either giving or receiving sympathy.

Are we poor, and do we wish for wealth? It has been wisely said, "There be as many blessings on this side riches as beyond them.” Wealth and rank may not be at our

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command, but we have the power to form our own idea of these, and so rise superior to their influence. It should always be an object to reduce one's wants as much as possible, for the fewer we have, the less we shall naturally suffer from disappointment. It is harder to support the dignity of human nature by a due exercise moderation in prosperity, than to cultivate, in adversity, that patience and contentment which have power to turn the grains of sand in life's hourglass into gold. All who can bring their desires to the level of their means may, in some sense, be said to have wealth-for riches, at the best, are only comparative.

The question of intellectual cultivation scarcely comes within the compass of this essay, but perhaps a few words may be permitted on the point in which the subject bears more directly upon the one we are considering. The feeling of ennui, which is akin to discontent, is only to be escaped by habitual occupation; not mere desultory trifling, but the steady prosecution of some purpose, having a definite object in view, such as the acquirement of any art or science which commends itself to our taste, with which we may Occupy all our leisure moments, and so have no time to worry over our own affairs, or those of others. Steady industry, whatever its object, must always be more or less accompanied by that self-approbation which, call it an approving conscience or what we will, is the pleasantest and most necessary ingredient in the cup of human felicity; the cultivation of those pursuits that are productive of internal satisfaction has another recommendation, in that, when pleased with ourselves, it is generally easier to be amiable towards others. The happier a man is, the more genial is he likely to be; and, for this reason, it scarcely

seems wise to deny one's self, as some would advocate, the moderate use and enjoyment of those things the abuse of which has led to harm. Select wine, for instance; no one in his senses is likely to become seriously an advocate for intemperance, and far be it from us to assert, with an author who should have known better, that "No man is ever really happy unless he is drunk;" and yet, taken with limitations, there is a sort of hidden truth in the logical formula: "Qui bene bibet, bene dormit; qui bene dormit, non peccat; qui non peccat salvatus erit," inasmuch as the man who pampers his spiritual health by denying himself a moderate use of the good things of this life is in great danger of becoming hard, not only to himself, but towards others, and of being governed by feelings of a nature both uncharitable and unchristian.

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There are times in every one's life when cares arise that are only to be met by a brave, bold spirit: it is well, sometimes, to meet, as Horace says, "life's bitters with a jest;" this is not always possible, but we should get on much better if, instead of bemoaning our fate, instead of avoiding or flying from annoyances, we would accustom ourselves to meet and grapple with them boldly, and at once; troubles, seemingly the gigantic, would, under this treatment, often dwindle to the veriest pigmies, and we should find that many an erection which our fears have built have built up is demolished simply by examination. It is only on a near approach we find the blessings hidden in adversity. How many a rugged mountain pass has within its clefts spots of exquisite beauty, and fruits and flowers that we search in vain for, in the level meadows, in which, with man's short-sightedness, we long to spend our days.

One of the most fruitful sources

of depression is, no doubt, ill-health. Even the stoics themselves, we think, must, in their inmost heart, have felt that pain they so despised to be an evil. Zeno was no martyr to gout; neuralgia in those days was a thing unknown, or he could never have taught as he did on this point, nor would he have found so many followers. No, pain of body is an evil, and a very great one, but still, much more than people think, it is to be avoided by regularity and temperance, and by never giving way to fancied grievances and ailments. It has its consolations, too, has sickness, in bringing to light in those we love the sympathies which, when we are in health, perhaps, lie hidden beneath a veil of calmness and indifference.

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Disappointed ambition is to some minds a source of misery. We have been for years, perhaps, using all our energies, been toiling and struggling for some envied distinction, some fancied blessing, and at the last we find ourselves poor, unnoticed, and unknown: but if we think of the concomitants to greatness, burden of cares and anxieties, its responsibilities, the weary days and restless nights, the envy, illnature, and ingratitude to which we must be subjected, we should rather be thankful that our thoughtless prayers are denied, remembering that the lofty tree is shaken by many a blast that the lowly plant beneath scarce feels; that, however unattainable greatness of place may be, nobility of mind is always at the command of those who seek it, for "it is not," as Epictetus says, "to be considered who in life's drama is the prince, and who the beggar, but who acts prince or beggar best;" and so, encouraging such thoughts, we should in time appreciate the blessings of our humble lot, and the safety of a life unknown.

There are people, again, who grieve over the loss of youth, but to a well

balanced mind the growth of years is not to be looked upon as an evil. If our days are not wasted, that is to say if we live w igher aim than the casure and

gratification of the moment; if we use every possible means to increase our knowledge, to improve our talents, and strengthen our understanding, we ought, each year that we live, to grow not only wiser and better, but happier and more contented; for as our intelligence widens, so must the capacity for all reasonable enjoyment grow in proportion. It is harder, perhaps, to be sanguine; Hope is shy, and comes not so soon at our command as in very early youth; but if we summon Faith to her support, she hesitates no more, and while one points us to eternity, the other bears us safely over all the waves of sorrow, into which, without her aid, we must have sunk. L'ame ne peut vieillir, and if we only choose to look for them, we shall find the violets that autumn brings are quite as sweet as those of spring.

One prolific cause of worry, too, especially to those who are sensitive or self-conscious, is the thought of what others think and say about them; there is no end to the miseries people of this temperament inflict on themselves by imaginary remarks on their conduct, though very often the supposed mistakes and blunders about which we distress ourselves have been absolutely unnoticed; and even should this not be the case, wisdom will make a resolve to avoid such for the future, and will then dismiss the subject altogether. If we are conscious of not deserving blame, let us intrench ourselves behind this conviction, for as long as we do nothing of which we are ashamed, what have we to fear from calumny ? The man who forms then a false estimate of our actions is to be pitied for his want of discernment, certainly not dreaded.