After all, there are so many mistakes made by other people that affect nobody but themselves that Don Quixote might tire of tilting at them.  The more asinine the speaker the louder is his bray, and the more surely do we encounter him in social and domestic haunts.  To dispute with him is to strengthen the stakes, and twist harder the cords of his belief in himself.  In recognizing the truth, so humiliating to human reason, one wonders what effect would be produced by a determined regime of letting alone.  Would what St. James graphically describes as “foaming out of their own shame,” finally froth itself into silence?  Is not the opposition consequent upon the universal desire to set other people right, the breath that blows the flame?

What would be the status of society, what the atmosphere of our homes, were each of us to curb the impulse to controvert doubtful, but important, statements:—­to seem to acquiesce in—­let us say, in Tom’s declaration that there are forty black cats in the back yard, and Polly’s opinion that Susie Jones is the prettiest girl in town, when we consider her positively homely, and so on to the end of the day’s or week’s or month’s chapter?  If, when we know that a man is a blatant vaporer, we simply let him vapor, and mind our own business; if, having gauged the measure of a woman’s mind, and found it only an inch deep, we do not fret our souls by vain dredgings in a channel to-day that will fill up by to-morrow; if we give the fool the benefit of his license; and expend thought and care upon that which is hopeful and profitable—­do we not prove ourselves prudent economists of time and labor?

The subject is practical, and merits consideration.  In this working-day world of ours there is so much unavoidable pain, and so much annoyance which we cannot overlook, that sensible people cushion corners and shrink aside from brier-pricks.  We do ourselves actual physical harm when we lose temper; the tart speech takes virtue out of us.  A woman would better fatigue herself by righting an untidy chamber than scold a servant for neglecting it.  Foreigners comment surprisedly upon the “anxious faces” of American women even of the better class.  The inchoate condition of our domestic service has undoubtedly much to do with the premature seams that mar what would else be fair and sweet, but I incline to the belief that more is due to a certain irritableness which is a national characteristic,—­a restless desire to set everything right.  The zeal for reform is commendable, but not always according to knowledge.  Certain forms of folly cure themselves, if not flattered by grave rebuke, and others do not come within the province of her who has her hands full already.  It is easier for us all to find fault than to overlook.  It “just drives our woman-reformer wild to hear some people talk!” The least aggressive of us knows for herself the impotent vexation of attempting to convince one who is too dull, or too dogged, to see reason.  Why, then, yield to the disposition to attempt the impracticable?  If we would live worthily and live long, we must school ourselves in the minor details of self-control and everyday philosophy that make up a useful and well-balanced life.