I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief That the first face of neither, on the start, Can woman me unto’t.[1]

[Footnote 1:  All’s Well that Ends Well, Act. ii.  Sc. 2.]

And, in general, it may be said that, if a man takes misfortunes quietly, it is because he knows that very many dreadful things may happen in the course of life; and so he looks upon the trouble of the moment as only a very small part of that which might come.  This is the Stoic temper—­never to be unmindful of the sad fate of humanity—­condicionis humanoe oblitus; but always to remember that our existence is full of woe and misery:  and that the ills to which we are exposed are innumerable.  Wherever he be, a man need only cast a look around, to revive the sense of human misery:  there before his eyes he can see mankind struggling and floundering in torment,—­all for the sake of a wretched existence, barren and unprofitable!

If he remembers this, a man will not expect very much from life, but learn to accommodate himself to a world where all is relative and no perfect state exists;—­always looking misfortune in the face, and if he cannot avoid it, meeting it with courage.

It should never be forgotten that misfortune, be it great or small, is the element in which we live.  But that is no reason why a man should indulge in fretful complaints, and, like Beresford,[1] pull a long face over the Miseries of Human Life,—­and not a single hour is free from them; or still less, call upon the Deity at every flea-bite—­in pulicis morsu Deum invocare.  Our aim should be to look well about us, to ward off misfortune by going to meet it, to attain such perfection and refinement in averting the disagreeable things of life,—­whether they come from our fellow-men or from the physical world,—­that, like a clever fox, we may slip out of the way of every mishap, great or small; remembering that a mishap is generally only our own awkwardness in disguise.

[Footnote 1:  Translator’s Note.—­Rev. James Beresford (1764-1840), miscellaneous writer.  The full title of this, his chief work, is “The Miseries of Human Life; or the last groans of Timothy Testy and Samuel Sensitive, with a few supplementary sighs from Mrs. Testy.”]

The main reason why misfortune falls less heavily upon us, if we have looked upon its occurrence as not impossible, and, as the saying is, prepared ourselves for it, may be this:  if, before this misfortune comes, we have quietly thought over it as something which may or may not happen, the whole of its extent and range is known to us, and we can, at least, determine how far it will affect us; so that, if it really arrives, it does not depress us unduly—­its weight is not felt to be greater than it actually is.  But if no preparation has been made to meet it, and it comes unexpectedly, the mind is in a state of terror for the moment and unable to measure the full extent