The Pleasures of Life | Page 2

recommended as best worth reading.
For instance as regards the Sheking and the Analects of Confucius, I
must humbly confess that I do not greatly admire either; but I
recommended them because they are held in the most profound
veneration by the Chinese race, containing 400,000,000 of our
fellow-men. I may add that both works are quite short.
The Ramayana and Maha Bharata (as epitomized by Wheeler) and St.
Hilaire's Bouddha are not only very interesting in themselves, but very
important in reference to our great oriental Empire.
The authentic writings of the Apostolic Fathers are very short, being
indeed comprised in one small volume, and as the only works (which
have come down to us) of those who lived with and knew the Apostles,
they are certainly well worth reading.
I have been surprised at the great divergence of opinion which has been
expressed. Nine lists of some length have been published. These lists
contain some three hundred works not mentioned by me (without,
however, any corresponding omissions), and yet there is not one single
book which occurs in every list, or even in half of them, and only about

half a dozen which appear in more than one of the nine.
If these authorities, or even a majority of them, had concurred in their
recommendations, I would have availed myself of them; but as they
differ so greatly I will allow my list to remain almost as I first proposed
it. I have, however, added Kalidasa's Sakuntala or The Lost Ring, and
Schiller's William Tell, omitting, in consequence, Lucretius and Miss
Austen: Lucretius because though his work is most remarkable, it is
perhaps less generally suitable than most of the others in the list; and
Miss Austen because English novelists were somewhat
over-represented.
HIGH ELMS,
DOWN, KENT, _August 1890_.

THE PLEASURES OF LIFE

PART I
"All places that the eye of Heaven visits Are to the wise man ports and
happy havens."
SHAKESPEARE.
"Some murmur, when their sky is clear And wholly bright to view, If
one small speck of dark appear In their great heaven of blue. And some
with thankful love are fill'd If but one streak of light, One ray of God's
good mercy gild The darkness of their night.
"In palaces are hearts that ask, In discontent and pride, Why life is such
a dreary task, And all good things denied. And hearts in poorest huts
admire How love has in their aid (Love that not ever seems to tire)
Such rich provision made."
TRENCH.

CHAPTER I.

THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS.
"If a man is unhappy, this must be his own fault; for God made all men
to be happy."--EPICTETUS.
Life is a great gift, and as we reach years of discretion, we most of us
naturally ask ourselves what should be the main object of our existence.
Even those who do not accept "the greatest good of the greatest
number" as an absolute rule, will yet admit that we should all endeavor
to contribute as far as we may to the happiness of our fellow-creatures.
There are many, however, who seem to doubt whether it is right that we
should try to be happy ourselves. Our own happiness ought not, of
course, to be our main object, nor indeed will it ever be secured if
selfishly sought. We may have many pleasures in life, but must not let
them have rule over us, or they will soon hand us over to sorrow; and
"into what dangerous and miserable servitude doth he fall who
suffereth pleasures and sorrows (two unfaithful and cruel commanders)
to possess him successively?" [1]
I cannot, however, but think that the world would be better and brighter
if our teachers would dwell on the Duty of Happiness as well as on the
Happiness of Duty, for we ought to be as cheerful as we can, if only
because to be happy ourselves, is a most effectual contribution to the
happiness of others.
Every one must have felt that a cheerful friend is like a sunny day,
which sheds its brightness on all around; and most of us can, as we
choose, make of this world either a palace or a prison.
There is no doubt some selfish satisfaction in yielding to melancholy,
and fancying that we are victims of fate; in brooding over grievances,
especially if more or less imaginary. To be bright and cheerful often
requires an effort; there is a certain art in keeping ourselves happy; and
in this respect, as in others, we require to watch over and manage
ourselves, almost as if we were somebody else.
Sorrow and joy, indeed, are strangely interwoven. Too often

"We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest
laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest