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.