(Author of "Dhree Men in a Boat,"
"Paul Kelver;" ete).
Philosophy, it has been said, is the art of bearing other people's troubles. The truest philosopher [ever heard of was a woman. She was brought into the Lo don Hospital suffering from a poisoned Jeg. The house surgeon made a hurried examination. He was a man of blunt speech. "It will have to come off," he told her." What, not all of it?" "The whole of it, I am sorry to say," growled the house surgeon." "Nothing else for it?" "(No other chance for you whatever," explained the house surgeon. "Ah, well, thank God it's not my bead," sob-served the lady.
The poor have a great advantage 01 us. Providence provides them with plenty of opportunities for the practice of philosophy. I was present at a "high ton" given last winter by charitable folk to party of churwomen. After the tables were cleared we thought to amuse' them. One young lady, who was. proud of herself as a palmist, set out to study their lines. Ax sight of the first {oil-Wworn hand she took hold of, pathetic face grew sad. "There trouble coming to you," she informed the ancient dame. The placid-featured dame looked up and smiled: " What, only ove, my dear?" " Yes only one," asserted the kind fortune-teller, much pleased, after! that all goes smoothly." "Ab," marmured the old dame quite cheerfully, "we was all of us a short-lived family."
Our skins harden to the blows of Fate.
I wus Iuuching one Wednesday with 4 friend in the country. His sou and heir, aged twelve, entered and took h at at the table," Well," said his father, and how did we get on at school to-day?" "Oh, all right," answered the youngster, settling himself down to his dinner with evident appetite. "Nobody caned?" demanded his father, with—as I noticed ly twinkle in his eye. " No," replied young hopeful, after reflection; no, I don't think so," adding, as an aftertuonght, as he tucked into beef xnd potatoes, "'cepting, o' course, mo, an 01
It is a simple science, philosophy. The idea is that it never matters what to you provided you don't min out of ten you can't help minding it. "No misfortune can harm me," says Marcus Aurelius, " without the consent of the demon within me." The trouble is oar daemon cannot always: be relied upon. So often he does not soam up to his work.
"You've been a naughty boy, and I'm going to whip you," said the nurse four-year-old criminal. "You tant," retorted the young ruffian, gripping' with both bands the chair before the fire that he was occupying. "T'so sitting' on it." His demon was, no doubt, resolved tha misfortune, xs personified by nurse, should not hurt him. The misfortune, alas! proved stronger than the demon, and misfortune, he found, did hurt him. The toothache cannot hurt us so long as the dwmou within us (that is to sxy, our will power) holds on to the chair and says it can't. But, sooner or later, the demon lots go, and then we howl. One sees the idea: in theory it-is excellent. One makes bel Your bank has suddenly stopped payment. You say to yourself, "Thi does not'really matter." Your butcher and your baker say it does, and insist on making a row in the passage. You fill yourself up with gooseberry wine. You toll yourself it is seasoned champagne. Your liver next morning says it is not. The demon within us means well, but forgets it is not the only thing.here, A man I knew was an euthusi.st on vegetarianism. He argued that it the poo would adopt a vegetarian diet the problem existence would be simple fur them, and maybe he was right. So one day he assembled some twenty poor lads for the purpose of introducing to them a vegetarian lunch. He begged them to believe that Ieutil beans were stocks, that cauliflower were chops. Asa third course he placed before them a mixture of carrots and savoury herbs, and urged them to imagine they were eating saveloys. 'Now, you all like saveloy," he said. addressing them "aud: the palate is but the creature of the imagination. Say to yourselves, 'I am eating saveloys,' and for all. practical Rome of the lads professed to have done it, purposes these things will be saveloys.
but owe disappointed-looking youth confessed' to failure. "But how can you be-sure it was not a saveloy the host persisted. "Because." explained the boy, "Thaven't got the stomach-ache." Itappeared that saveloys, although a dish of which he was fond, invariably and im-. mediately disagreed with him. If only we were all Gomon wad nothing slse_philonophy would be easier. Unfortunately, there is more of us,
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.