any woman it would have been a great deprivation,
but to one mentally endowed as Mrs. Fremont, it was
especially severe. Yet did she “worry”
about it? No! bravely, cheerfully, boldly, she
accepted the inevitable, and in effect defied
the deafness that had come to her to destroy her happiness,
embitter her life, take away the serenity of her mind
and the equipoise of her soul. If there had to
be a battle to gain this high plane of acceptance,
she fought it out in secret, for her friends and the
world never heard a word of a murmur from her.
I had the joy of a talk with her about it, for it
was a joy to have her make light of her affliction,
in the great number of good things wherein God had
blessed her. Laughingly she said: “Even
in deafness I find many compensations. One is
never bored by conversation that is neither intelligent,
instructive or interesting. I can go to sleep
under the most persistent flood of boredom, and like
the proverbial water on a duck’s back it never
bothers me. Again, I never hear the unpleasant
things said about either my friends or my enemies,
and what a blessing that is. I am also spared
hearing about many of the evils, the disagreeable,
the unpleasant and horrible things of life that I cannot
change, help, or alleviate, and I am thankful for my
ignorance. Then, again, when people say things
that I can and do hear—in my trumpet—that
I don’t think anyone should ever say, I can rebuke
them by making them think that I heard them say the
very opposite of what they did say, and I smile upon
them ‘and am a villain still.’”
Charles F. Lummis, the well-known litterateur and
organizer of the South-West Museum, of Los Angeles,
after using his eyes and brain more liberally than
most men do in a lifetime thrice, or four times as
long as his, was unfortunately struck blind.
Did he “worry” over it, and fret himself
into a worse condition? No! not for a moment.
Cheerfully he accepted the inevitable, got someone
to read and write for him, to guide him through the
streets, and went ahead with his work just as if nothing
had happened, looking forward to the time when his
eyesight would be restored to him and hopefully and
intelligently worked to that end. In a year or
so he and his friends were made happy by that coming
to pass, but even had it not been so, I am assured
Dr. Lummis would have faced the inevitable without
a whimper, a cry, or a word of worry or complaint.
Those who yield to worry over small physical ills
should read his inspiring My Friend Will,[A]
a personal record of his sucessful struggle against
two severe and prostrating attacks of paralysis.
One perusal will show them the folly and futility
of worry; a second will shame them because they have
so little self-control as to spend their time, strength,
and energy in worry; and a third perusal will lead
them to drive every fragment of worry out of the hidden
recesses of their minds and set them upon a better
way—a way of serenity, equipoise, and healthful,
strenuous, yet joyous and radiant living.