If worry merely affected the one who worries it might be easier, in many cases, to view worry with equanimity and calmness.  But, unfortunately, in the disagreeable features of life, far more than the agreeable, the aphorism of the apostolic writer, “No man liveth unto himself,” seems to be more than ordinarily true.  It is one proof of the selfishness of the “worrier”—­whether consciously or unconsciously I do not say—­that he never keeps his worry to himself.  He must always “out with it.”  The nervous mother worrying about her baby shows it even to the unconscious child at her breast.  When the child is older she still shows it, until the little one knows as well as it knows when the sun is shining that “mother is worrying again.”  The worrying wife does not keep her worry to herself; she pours it out to, or upon, her husband.  The worrying husband is just the same.  If it is the wife that causes him to worry—­or to think so—­he pours out his worry in turbulent words, thus adding fuel to a fire already too hot for comfort.

It is one of the chief characteristics of worry that it is seldom confined to the breast of its victim.  It loses its power, too often, when shut up.  It must find expression in looks, in tone of voice, in sulkiness, in dumps, in nagging or in a voicing of its woes.

It is in this voicing of itself that worry demonstrates its inherent selfishness.  If father, mother, wife, friends, neighbors, anybody can give help, pleasure, joy, instruction, profit, their voices are always heard with delight.  If they have reasonable cautions to give to those they love, who seem to them to be thoughtless, regardless of danger which they see or fear, or even foolhardy, let them speak out bravely, courageously, lovingly, and they will generally be listened to.  But to have them voice their fretful, painful, distressing worries no one is benefitted, and both speaker and the one spoken to are positively harmed.  For an unnecessary fear voiced is strengthened; it is made more real.  If one did not feel it before, it is now planted in his mind to his serious detriment, and once there, it begins to breed as disease germs are said to breed, by millions, and one moment of worry weds another moment, and the next moment a family of worries is born that surround, hamper and bewilder.  Is this kindly, is it helpful, is it loving, is it unselfish?

The questions answer themselves.  The planting of worry in the mind of another is heartless, cruel, unkind and selfish.

Another question naturally arises:  If this course of action is selfish, and the worrier really desires to be unselfish, how can he control his worry, at least so as not to communicate it to another?  The answer also is clear.

Let him put a guard upon his lips, a watch upon his actions.  Let him say to himself:  Though I do not, for my own sake, care to control the needless worries of my life, I must not, I dare not curse other lives with them.  Hence I must at least keep them to myself—­I must not voice them, I must not display them in face, eyes or tone.