Part 6

We all like the optimist. The bright, cheerful, good-natured fellow, who always looks through the cloud and sees its silver lining, is as good as a tonic to our most pessimistic dispositions. If, then, you wish to make yourself agreeable to others and to yourself, cultivate the habit of cheerfulness--of always looking on the bright side. Wear a pleasant countenance; let cheerfulness beam in your eye; let love write its mark on your forehead, and have kind words and a pleasant greeting for those whom you meet. Don't forget to say "good morning!" and say it heartily. Say it to your brothers and sisters, your school-mates, your parents, your teachers and your friends. Pleasant, hearty greetings cheer the discouraged, rest the tired, and make the wheels of life run more smoothly. They clear up the thorny pathways, win friends, and confound enemies. In fact, it is impossible to resist the influence of cheerfulness. Let a bright face beam on the darkness of defeat, shine on the abode of poverty; illumine the chamber of sickness, and how everything changes under its benign influence.

Victory becomes possible, competence promises a golden future, and health is wooed back again.

On the other hand, you cannot estimate the amount of unhappiness you may cause by wearing a clouded face and by speaking harsh, unkind words.

Many persons fret and whine all through life. They never appear to have a generous impulse.

"They seem to have come into the world during one of those cold, bleak, gloomy days, when there was nothing with which to build a fire. They, apparently, grew up in the same bleak atmosphere, and they live in it all their lives. You see their smallness in everything they do and say. You see it in their buying and in their selling, in their talk and in their actions. They have been well called 'the frogs that constitute one of the plagues of society.' They have never made one heart glad, nor shed one ray of sunshine upon man, woman, or child."

It is just as easy to be kind as to be cross, and as easy to give pleasure as pain. It costs nothing; it is a smile, an appreciative word, a mention of what one likes to hear spoken of rather than an irritating reference.

If your minister has preached a sermon that interested and helped you, tell him so. It will encourage and cheer him, and he will try to give you still better sermons in the future. Remember that the preacher is much more human than most people think, and that no man more highly prizes the genuine, manly word of good cheer, sympathy and affection. If your grocer has sold you something that was particularly good, tell him so. No doubt you have often found fault with the tea and the flour and the meat; then why not surprise him by letting him know that you appreciate a good thing when you get it.

Perhaps you have children who are attending the public schools. Perhaps their teacher by patience, tact, and the expenditure of much nerve force, has succeeded in interesting them in their studies as they have never been before. Don't you think it would stimulate her to still greater effort if you should say to her when you meet: "My children are doing well at school this term. They like you and are interested in their work." No doubt you have often severely criticised teachers, methods, and school management, and you have been very free with your words of condemnation. Why not help a little by some expression of approval if you can honestly do so.

Give pleasure to your wife, if you have one. Notice her painstaking efforts to make home comfortable; compliment her dinner and show that you appreciate the thousand things she does for your comfort. There is no greater exhibition of heroic fortitude than is seen in one who dwells in a cheerless home she does her best to brighten, and who wears away the years in an unsatisfied desire for words and tokens of love and sympathy which never come to her.

Do not be afraid of giving something of yourself, of letting yourself out a little; and do not fear that your heart will run away with your head. Do not confound sentiment with sentimentalism, and do not hesitate to praise a thing or an act if it is really worthy of it. You need to do this for your own sake as well as for the sake of making others happy.

"For my own sake," you say. "In what way will it help me if I bestow praise upon another?" Praise, when it is deserved, is of more importance to the giver than the receiver.

"Praise does not immediately affect the merit of him to whom it is awarded," said a writer recently, "but it does immediately affect the merit of him to whom its awarding belongs. If a man deserves praise he is quite as much of a man without it as with it; but no man can be so much of a man, nor seem so much of a man, while withholding just praise as while bestowing it."

In little matters as well as in large ones, to acknowledge the merit of others is a duty, the performance of which is even more important to the one who owes it, than to the one to whom it is owed. We do not fail to express our appreciation of heroic deeds, but it is in the common, everyday life that the words of appreciation are most sorely needed, and too seldom spoken. Many a woman would have been greatly cheered and helped over many hard places, if, while living, she could have heard half as many nice things said to her by those she loved, as were put into her funeral sermon and obituary notice.

There is, of course, a great difference between the expression of a due and delicate appreciation of merit, and that false and exaggerated praise which is dictated by the desire to flatter. The former is always received with pleasure, but the latter wounds the susceptibility of those on whom it is lavished. To a mind rightly constituted, there are few things more painful than undeserved, or even excessive commendation. Flattery is never excusable; deserved praise should never be withheld.

Do not be a grumbler. Is there any person more unwelcome than the chronic growler? When we meet him he begins by growling about the weather; then you are entertained with a long account of his aches and pains, his trials and his losses. Nothing pleases him. His neighbors are dishonest, church members are hypocrites, public officials are, in his estimation, all rascals, law makers are corrupt, and the country is going to the dogs. If you speak in commendation of an individual, he at once attempts to belittle him in your estimation. If you praise a cause or an institution, he is sure to find fault with what you say. He wishes your sympathy for his troubles, but he has none to give.

We all crave sympathy, but, if we are not careful, we may exhaust the patience, even of our best friends, with the recital of our troubles. If your aches and pains are ever so bad, the best advice for you is "grin and bear it." It is all very well to be an interesting invalid for a short time. Your neighbors will bring you in good things to eat, and your friends will bring you pretty flowers to look at, and books to read, but do not remain too long in bed if you can help it, and do not wear too long and sad a face when you are recovering. It will not relieve your pain at all to tell everyone you meet how much you suffer, and when your friends have sympathized with you a dozen times they become a little tired of it. This advice is worthy of practice, not for the sake of your friends only, but for your own. The burden cheerfully borne becomes light, and any physician knows that the hopeful, cheerful patient has many more chances of recovery than the despondent one. In the lives of us all there are hours of anxiety, disappointment, pain and vexation; seasons of trial that are to be met only with stubborn patience. Greatness of soul is tested by the serenity with which these inevitable ills are borne and finally overcome. The little mind will fret and chafe and fume over little things, even as the petty stream over its narrow, pebbly bed, while the deep, strong river moves swiftly and silently over the boulders that lie at its bottom.

"But," you say, "while the advice is good it is very hard to follow it." Yes, but it is really harder not to heed it. "The bird that beats against the iron bars of its cage suffers more than the patient captive."

Laugh all you can. It is good for you. Physicians tell us that laughing has a direct and positive effect upon one's health. The physical movement caused by a hearty laugh causes the arteries to dilate and the flow of blood to hasten, thus promoting an acceleration of vital processes; and a mental action through stimulating the blood vessels of the brain. He who administers medicine in the shape of wit and humor to the sad heart is most assuredly a "good Samaritan."

The irresistible, good-humored philosophy of Mark Twain has relieved the depression and sorrow of multitudes. He has compelled us to laugh, and his mission in the world has been a beneficent one. A cheerful face is as good for an invalid as pleasant weather. Cheerfulness is health, melancholy is disease. Cheerfulness is just as natural to the heart of a man in sound moral and physical health as color to his cheeks, and wherever we see habitual gloom we may be sure there is something radically wrong in the animal economy or the moral sense.

Sydney Smith once gave a lady two-and-twenty receipts against melancholy. One was a bright fire; another, to remember all the pleasant things said to her; another, to keep a box of sugar plums on the chimney piece and a kettle simmering on the hob. These are trivial things in themselves but life is made up of these little pleasures and none should be neglected because of their seemingly trifling nature.

If our temperament does not make us naturally cheerful, we can, at least, cultivate those habits of body and mind which seem most favorable to the growth of this condition. We can keep the mind open to cheerful impressions, and close it to those that are gloomy. It is far better to magnify our blessings than to depreciate them. The Spaniard of whom Southey tells that he always put on his magnifying glasses when he ate cherries, in order to make them seem larger, had the true philosophy of life. So the ancient Pompeiians seem to have well understood the art of making the most of everything. Their gardens were very small, but by painting the surrounding walls with plants and landscapes their little area became indefinitely enlarged to the eye of the observer.

PERSONAL PECULIARITIES.

_"Eccentricity may be harmless, but it never can be commendable; it is one of the children of that prolific failing--vanity. And whether it shows in feeling, manners, or peculiarities of dress, it is clearly acted upon from the presumptuous supposition that the many are in the wrong, the individual in the right."_

_Society will pardon much to genius and special gifts, but, being in its nature a convention, it loves what is conventional or what belongs to coming together. That makes the good and bad of manners, namely, what helps or hinders fellowship._ EMERSON.

We all know that the outward address of a person has great influence upon his success both in the social and the business world. Thousands of men and women are, in their efforts to please, hindered by some personal peculiarity which is painfully apparent to other people, but of which they themselves seem wholly ignorant. Thousands of professional and business men are prevented from attaining the success they might reach by some infelicity of manner or speech which could be remedied by a little painstaking effort.

Here is a physician who has prepared himself thoroughly for his profession by years of hard study and by the expenditure of a considerable sum of money, but he knows little of human nature, and but little of the requirements of good society. He has no tact, and has not thought it necessary to cultivate that quality. He is cold and unsympathetic. He has no ability to make friends or to keep them. He is not sociable, and he does not make himself agreeable to his patients by those little kindly acts and sympathetic speeches so comforting to invalids. He feels that he is well prepared to practice his profession, and he regards any personal defects as of little importance. Other men of less ability, but with more tact, soon outstrip him in the race for public favor. He never succeeds in acquiring a large practice, and, possibly, never knows the reason why.

A young man applies for a position as a teacher. He is well equipped in scholarship for the place he wishes, for he led his class in college, and he comes highly recommended as a young man of integrity and earnestness. After a short interview the superintendent of schools decides that he is not the man for the position and the applicant goes away disappointed. Why was he rejected? Not by reason of poor scholarship, nor for lack of moral character, but simply on account of his personal appearance. He was untidy in his dress. His linen was soiled, his coat was not brushed, his cuffs were frayed at the edges, while his finger-nails gave evidence that he was habitually careless about personal neatness and cleanliness. The superintendent decided at once that he did not want him, and the young man did not know why.

Here is a young woman who is fine looking, intelligent and accomplished. Apparently she possesses all those qualities which are necessary to make her a favorite in society and she seems to deserve a host of friends. Yet she is not greatly sought after by her acquaintances, and she has few firm friends. Young men pay her but little attention, and seem afraid of her. Other girls, less brilliant intellectually, with fewer accomplishments, and with plainer faces, are far greater favorites in society. Her particular weakness is that she has allowed herself to fall into the practice of employing sarcasm to an extent which is offensive to those with whom she talks. She has a habit of saying disagreeable, biting things in a humorous way, and she never suspects that people are hurt by them. She has cultivated the habit to such a degree that she can always raise a laugh at some person's expense, and she is constantly on the watch for opportunities to exercise this accomplishment. Finally it dawns upon her that she does not hold her friends; that she is sometimes slighted in the matter of invitations; that she is not a popular girl, and she doesn't know why.

A certain clergyman is a fine preacher, capable of attracting, instructing, and inspiring the most cultivated audiences, but he is shut out from his proper sphere of usefulness and influence, and prevented from reaching the position for which his endowments qualify him, by a matter which might seem trifling in itself, but which has become offensive through its persistent hold upon him. He exhibits a lack of proper deference to the feelings of others, an arrogant and unsympathetic tone of voice, and sometimes yields, under opposition, to unrestrained violence of language. He betrays his weakness every time anyone crosses his plans and desires. It seems hard for him to understand that others have an equal right to their preference and opinions. He forgets that while it is easy to be amiable when everyone agrees with him, the test of character is in keeping the temper sweet and reasonable when people differ from him and criticise him. He understands his power to move audiences; he is told by persons competent to judge that his sermons are superior; he knows that in higher intellectual qualities he surpasses many other clergymen who secure and retain prominent positions; yet the painful truth is forced upon him that his services as a pastor are not sought for, while inferior preachers are selected for places of power and influence.

A man goes into trade. He is a shrewd buyer, energetic, honest, and keeps a good assortment of goods, but he is not obliging to customers. He is short and crusty in his speech, irritable and sometimes almost rude in his manner; consequently he does not hold his patrons. They leave him, one by one, and do their purchasing at other stores where they receive polite attention. The merchant does not prosper in business, and he never knows why.

Here is a woman who prides herself upon her plain speaking. She boasts that when she has anything to say she is willing to say it to one's face, and not behind one's back. She thinks it is a mark of sincerity and frankness to say disagreeable things and to bring one's infirmities to the surface. Her tendencies finally become fixed habits. She finds herself shunned by her acquaintances, and she does not know why.

Then there is the loquacious woman, the woman who monopolizes the conversation, the woman who has an apparent contempt for paragraph and punctuation. No matter what the topic of conversation may be, she at once takes the management of it into her own hands, and the other members of the company are made to feel at once that they are expected to be only listeners. The loquacious woman may talk well--she often does--but she fails to understand that there may be such a thing as too much even of good things, and so she talks on and on, with an utter disregard for the rights and the comfort of those around her.

A professional man, who possesses much intellectual force and originality, takes pride in his unconventionality in the matter of dress. His garments are so far from the prevailing style that they attract attention and invite comment. He does not realize that the man who rebels against fashion may be open even more to the imputation of vanity than he who obeys it, because he makes himself conspicuous, and practically announces that he is wiser than his associates. An affectation of superior simplicity is vulgarity.

Stop a moment and recall twenty men and women of your acquaintance. You will probably remember that two-thirds of them have some peculiarity, some defect of speech or manner which detracts from their social and business success, or from their usefulness. One is a gossip; another possesses a hasty temper, while a third is intellectually dishonest, never yielding his position, even under the most absolute proof that he is in the wrong. One of your friends is a pessimist, and is continually attempting to convert you to his point of view, while his wife is so inquisitive that you at once become nervous when you perceive her approach. A young woman of your acquaintance would be a most charming person if she did not laugh too much. A conversation with her is, upon her part, a perpetual giggle.

These may generally be good, intelligent, and, in many respects, charming people, but unfortunately they are hampered by these deficiencies. They have become so unconscious of these personal traits that, doubtless, they would be greatly surprised were their attention called to them. The effect of these shortcomings upon others is, however, just as unfortunate as if they were intentionally retained and nourished, for we usually regard the outward manner as a true index of the inward emotion.

If so many of our acquaintances display idiosyncrasies that affect us disagreeably, is it not possible that we too may be harboring some remediable evil of temper, some superable infirmity of manner or of speech which is a bar to our own usefulness, because distressing to those with whom we are thrown?

Let us think about this.

SUGGESTIONS FROM MANY SOURCES

FOR

THE MAN WHO WOULD PLEASE AND THE WOMAN WHO WOULD CHARM.

A gentleman makes no noise; a lady is serene.

EMERSON.

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So I talked a great deal and found myself infinitely pleased with Brandon's conversational powers, which were rare; being no less than the capacity for saying nothing, and listening politely to an indefinite deal of the same thing, in another form, from me.

CHARLES MAJOR.

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Talk about those subjects you have had long in your mind, and listen to what others say about subjects you have studied but recently. Knowledge and timber should not be much used till they are seasoned.

O. W. HOLMES.

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A beautiful form is better than a beautiful face; a beautiful behavior is better than a beautiful form; it gives a higher pleasure than statues or pictures; it is the finest of the fine arts.

EMERSON.

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Believe nothing against another but on good authority, nor report what may hurt another, unless it be a greater hurt to another to conceal it.

WILLIAM PENN.

* * * * *

"Life is like a mirror. It reflects the face you bring to it. Look out lovingly upon the world, and the world will look lovingly in upon you."

* * * * *

But it is mostly my own dreams I talk of, and that will somewhat excuse me for talking of dreams at all. Everyone knows how delightful the dreams are that one dreams one's self, and how insipid the dreams of others are. I had an illustration of this fact not many evenings ago, when a company of us got telling dreams. I had by far the best dreams of any; to be quite frank, mine were the only dreams worth listening to; they were richly imaginative, delicately fantastic, exquisitely whimsical, and humorous in the last degree; and I wondered that when the rest could have listened to them they were always eager to cut in with some silly, senseless, tasteless thing, that made me sorry and ashamed for them. I shall not be going too far if I say that it was on their part the grossest betrayal of vanity that I ever witnessed.

WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS.

* * * * *

"There is a great mistake in supposing that giving is concerned only with material benefits. These form indeed but a small part of its mission. Whoever creates happiness, whether by a kindly greeting, or tender sympathy, or inspiring presence, or stimulating thought, is as true a giver as he who empties his purse to feed the hungry."

* * * * *

Politeness and good breeding are absolutely necessary to adorn any or all other good qualities or talents. Without them no knowledge, no perfection whatever, is seen in its best light. The scholar, without good breeding, is a pedant; the philosopher, a cynic; the soldier a brute; and every man, disagreeable.

LORD CHESTERFIELD.

* * * * *

"Tact, though partly a natural gift, is a good deal indebted to education and early habits. The superiority of one sex to the other in this respect will often be found to depend on art quite as much as upon nature."

* * * * *

"Never is silence more eloquent than when it is preserved toward persons older than ourselves when they voice opinions long since proven erroneous. Age doesn't like to be contradicted, right or wrong."

* * * * *

In the supremacy of self-control consists one of the perfections of the ideal man: not to be impulsive, not to be spurred hither and thither by each desire that in turn comes uppermost; but to be restrained, self-balanced, governed by the joint decision of the feelings in council assembled, before whom every action shall have been fully debated and calmly determined.

HERBERT SPENCER.

* * * * *

In the exhaustless catalogue of heaven's mercies to mankind, the power we have of finding some germs of comfort in the hardest trials must ever occupy the foremost place; not only because it supports and upholds us when we most require to be sustained, but because in this source of consolation there is something, we have every reason to believe, of the Divine Spirit; something which, even in our fallen nature we possess in common with the angels.

DICKENS.

* * * * *

"When you bury animosity don't set up a headstone over its grave."