The Birmingham age-herald., 1904-12-04
CHAPTER VII.

opinion is not altogether personal. As I observe the lives of my contempo- raries and listen to their talk 1 find myself unhappily confirmed in the opinion that they do not get much pleasure out of things. And certainly 1t is not from lack of trying. But 1t must be acknowledged that their sue cess is meager. Where can the fault 1 be?
 Some accuse politics or business, others social problems or militarism We meet only an embarrassment of choice when we start to unstring the chaplet of our carking cares. Sup pose we set.out in pursuit of pleasure There is too much pepper in our soup to make it palatable. Our arms are filled with a multitude of embarrass- ments, any one of which would be enough to spoil our temper From morning till night, wherever we go. the people we meet are hurried, wor- ried, preoccupled. Some have split their good blood in the miserable con flcts of petty politics; others arc dis heartened by the meanness and jeal- ousy they have encountered in the world of literature or art Commercial competition troubles the sleep of not n few. The crowded curricula of study and the exigencies of their open ing careers spoil life for young men, The working classes suffer the conse- quences of a ceaseless struggle. It is becoming disagreeable to govern be- cause authority is diminishing; to teach because respect is vanishing Wherever one turns there is matter for discontent.
 And yet history shows us certain epochs of upheaval which were as lacking in idyllic tranquility as is our own, but which the gravest events did not prevent from being gay. It even seems as if the seriousness of af- fairs, the uncertainty of the morrow, the violence of social convulsions, sometimes became a new source of vitality. It is not a rare thing to hear soldiers singing between two battles, and think myself nowise mistaken in saying that human joy has celebrated its finest triumphs under the greatest tests of endurance But to sleep peace fully on the eve of battle, or to exult at the stake, men had then the stinl- l ulus of an internal harmony which we perhaps lack. Joy is not in things; it is in us, and hold to the belief that i the causes of our present unrest, of this contagious discomfort spreading everywhere, are in us at least as much 1 as in exterior conditions.
 To give oneself up heartily to diver sion one must feel himself on a solid basis, must believe in life and find it within him. And here lies our weak ness. So many of us-even, alas, the younger men = are at variance with life, and I do not speak of philosophers only. How do you think a man can be amused while he has his doubts wheth- CT, after all, life is worth living? Be sides this, one observes a dlsquieting 1 depression of vital force, which must be attributed to the abuse man makes of his sensations. Excess of all kinds has blurred our senses and poisoned our faculty for happiness. Human na- ture succumbs under the Irregularities imposed upon 1t. Deeply attainted at its root, the desire to live, persistent in spite of everything, seeks satisfaction in cheats and baubles. In medical sci- ence we have recourse to artificial res piration, artificial alimentation and gal vanism. So, too, around expiring pleas ure we see a crowd of it's votaries ex- erting themselves to reawaken it, to re- animate it. Most ingenious means have been invented; 1t can never be said that expense has been spared Everything has been tried, the possible and the impossible. But in all these complicated alembics no one has ever arrived at distilling a drop of veritable joy. We must not confound pleasure with the instruments of pleasure. To i be a painter, does it suffice to arm oneself with a brush, or does the pur- chase at great cost of Stradivarius make one a musician? No more, if you had the whole paraphernalia of amusement in the perfection of it's in- genuty, would it advance you upon your road But with bit of crayon great artist makes an immortal sketch. It needs talent or genius to paint; and to amuse oneself, the facul- ty of being happy-whoever possesses it is amused at slight cost. This facul- ty is destroyed by skepticism, artificial living, overabuse; it is fostered by con f1dence, moderation and normal habits of thought and action.
 An excellent proof of my proposition, and one very easily encountered, lies in the fact that wherever life is sim pie and sane true pleasure accompa- nies it as fragrance does uncultivated flowers Be this life hard, hampered, devoid of all things ordinarily consid- cred as the very conditions of pleasure, the rare and delicate plant, joy, flour ishes there. It springs up between the flags of the pavement, on an arid wall, in the Assure of a rock. We ask our selves how it comes and whence, but 1t lives, while in the soft warmth of con servatories or in fields richly fertilized you cultivate it at golden cost to see 1t fade and die in your hand
 Ask actors what audience is happiest at the play. They will tell you the pop ular one. The reason is not hard to grasp. To these people the play is an exception. They are not bored by 1t from overindulsencc. And, too, to