And one day I discovered that
every one of those small youngsters had a _bank account_--something I
had never had in my life! They lived as they _liked_ to live, and I had
been harrowing my feelings and carrying their (?) burdens for nothing.
This world is _not_ a pitiful place. It is a lovely great world, full of
all sorts of people, every one of whom _exactly fits into_ his
conditions.
And the loveliest thing of all about this bright, blessed old world is
that there is not a man, woman or child in it who cannot _change_ his
environment if he doesn't like the one he now occupies. He can THINK his
way into anything.
A real, deep, tender feeling will prompt one to do all he can to
alleviate distress or add to the world's joy. _Real_ feeling prompts to
action. But this sentimental slush which slops over on anything and
everything in general is nothing but an imitation of the real thing. To
sympathize to the extent of _acting_ is good; to harrow up the feelings
when you cannot or will not act, is simply weakness.
"Feeling" is subject to the same law as water. Take away its banks and
it spreads all over creation and becomes a stagnant slough of despond.
Confine it by banks of _common-sense_ and _will_ and it grows deep and
tender and powerful, and bears blessings on its bosom.
Pages:
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30