Upon Little Things.
That “great oaks from little acorns grow,” is a
maxim which was, I doubt not, early impressed by
Adam upon the mind of his eldest born; and, from
Adam down to “ poor Richard,” many wise men have
made the same observation. If, then, you should
wonder that I should come pretending to dispense
radiance, while in reality I but reflect that of
these suns, I would answer, that we may, by custom,
cease to observe the most brilliant light; but
should its colour be changed, for instance, by
passing through a different medium, our attention
would be attracted. Allow me then to throw a few
rays which have passed through my atmosphere upon
the subject with which I have headed my chapter.
It
appears to me, that it is in this, as in many other
things, that which every man admits to be true in
theory, few will prove to be so by their own
experience. Day by day men trample upon their
acorns, and wonder why oaks do not grow up around
them; or suffer noxious seeds to sink into the soil,
and then complain that briers and weeds are
springing up in their paths. And I cannot help
thinking that if past thoughts and words and deeds,
which we have deemed too trifling to note, could be
brought back to give an account of themselves, there
would be much less murmuring against “the fickleness
of Fortune;” fewer men there would be who were
“born to be miserable;” and not quite so much work
for the recording angel, whose duty it is to take
note of complaints of “the injustice of
<<250>>Providence.”
What man can look back upon his past life without
observing that he has, more than once, lost the very
object of which he was in the most earnest pursuit,
not because it was beyond his reach, but because (as
it must appear to a spectator, on purpose to avoid
stumbling upon it), he has, kangaroo-like, leaped
far beyond the object; for he sees in the distance,
a “will o’ the wisp” of surpassing brightness? Why,
my friend, do you not see, that a giant who strides
over the world in seven-league boots, will never
observe the flowers which form its carpet? and yet
one of these same modest blossoms may hold within
its cup a perfume which would gladden his existence.
In plain language, I would call your attention to
the question, whether it would .not be wiser for
those who, under one form or another, are all
engaged in the pursuit of happiness, to seize as
they fly the lessons and the pleasures which the
passing moments offer, instead of awaiting what the
years shall bring; forgetting that seconds are the
materials of which centuries are built.
Whether it would not be better, instead of living in
expectation of one day coming upon something great,
because undefined in the future,—to live in the
actual material present; to make yourself at home in
it; to take it as you find it, or make it better if
you can, but use it. Remember as you pass through
life, whatever situation it may be your lot to fill,
that you are there for a purpose; that every act of
yours, no matter how trifling, has its widespread
influence; and that you are responsible if it is an
evil one; and notice, too, how, although you should
separate yourself from the world, you have a mind,
formed from the minds of all who have lived and
thought before you, from which you cannot separate
yourself. Recollect how often it must have happened
that a word, spoken perhaps by a child, a sentence
from the most commonplace book, has given a
direction to your thoughts which has coloured your
whole character. Think how often a word of kind
encouragement has strengthened your heart and your
arm, for the great work of life; and how, on the
contrary, even an implied disapprobation of the
Medusa-headed monster, opinion, has almost petrified
you,—forgetful as you are, that those serpents are
harmless if you will but grasp them: and
<<251>>
then, tell me, if words, freely as we throw them
from are not of great importance. And, yet less in
appearance, but greater “Stay, winged Thought, I
fain would question thee.”
Where, from Alexander to Napoleon, has there ever
been a conqueror like thee? with dominions so
extended, with power so absolute; yet what so
silent? No one hears when the philosopher, in his
closet, feels for the first time, the glorious
truths which will guide the world in the next
generation, which, like the stars afar off, showing
but like points of fire, but really worlds in
themselves and in their influences, bear the same
relation to the so-called “ great events,” which,
like comets, sometimes burst upon our view, to
dazzle and depart. Treasure, then, your thoughts,
and make companionship with them; for neglected,
their fruit may be, like that of the peach in the
deserts of Persia, bitter and poisonous. It rests
with you to make them your good or evil spirits.
Pass not a sunny spot in life without pausing, if
only to note the beauty of the picture. Do so, and
you may rest assured that the sunshine will enter
your heart, and make you a happier and wiser man.
Listen when you hear one, who has received injury at
the hands of another, come with the soft answer
which turneth away wrath, to take noble revenge.
Listen when the repentant heart, making itself heard
above the whisperings of self-love, finds words to
ask forgiveness. Listen when friends are parting,
and feel with them the sorrow of separation.
Smile with the joyful, and feel it no disgrace to
your manhood, if a tear dim your eye in sympathy
with those who weep. So may you preserve your heart
in its youth, when your eyes grow dim, and your step
feeble. For know, the heart grows the stronger the
more you use it, and if you will but keep it always
open, there are many good and beautiful things
scattered in our daily walks, which will help to
fill it.
Do
not ridicule any expression of feeling, as
sentimental. Too much cause there has been, I know,
to doubt its truth, since the world has been deluged
with novels filled with sickly sentiment, and
would-be-poets and false philosophers have seemed to
think that, if they could but show that they were
the most miserable of human beings, at the same time
that they expressed their con‑<<252>>tempt for the
rest of the world, they fully earned their right to
bear those titles. But all are not pretenders, and
it is easy to distinguish the true from the false,
if you will but take the trouble. Do so, if you
would not become dead to the true joys of life,
those which reside within ourselves, and cannot be
taken from us without our consent.
This is called a practical age; avoid none of these
little things, which make you more capable of loving
fellowship with the world, and cause you to be less
like a very perfect automaton, warranted to read,
speak, or work, but not to feel. What seek you in
life for a resting-place, when your mind takes a
flight into the regions of the future? Is it wealth?
I hope you do not covet riches for their own sake;
but if you would have them, the proverb says, “take
care of the pence, and the pounds will take care of
themselves.” Do you wish to acquire fame? Is it
necessary to your happiness that the voice of
multitudes shall call you great? Why, then, strive
to be great, and that you may mount to the height
which Ambition occupies, build your way up with
little things, so that you may know every step which
led you thither, and thus, when the opportunity
comes, you may be able to answer to its calls,
“Ready, aye ready.”
For instance, if you are a
student, and it is to literature you look for the
means of becoming known, you may look upon a line
read without your having seized its sense, a thought
passed by without your having followed it out, as so
many delays to your advancement; but even though you
should see no present use for the knowledge you
acquire, yet you should be prepared for the time
when it will be needed, so that you may at once take
advantage of it. Do you long for kindness, and
friendship, and love, from those who may chance to
journey with you? Why, then, it rests with you to
have all these; smiles have always their
reflections, and kind words and friendly deeds are
sure to reproduce themselves. Are you, my friends,
subject to fits of melancholy, when you feel angry
with yourself and every one else, and are almost
determined that it is of no use trying to live in
such an ill-natured world? Just walk into the
street, where you may chance to see some living
assertion that there is some good left; or look into
<<253>> some good book, where you may see that
others have felt as you do, and have found comfort
in looking out from the contemplation of their own
real or imaginary causes of complaint, into some of
the pleasant aisles which open up through the
wilderness of life, and have found upon nearer
approach, that there are indeed but few spots so
dark that no sunbeam has found its way through them
to warm into life same flower or blade of grass.
A
word, a thought, a kind smile, a noble impulse, a
friendly action, things in themselves “trifles light
as air,” seem then to me to bear the same relation
to great things, as the alphabet to language; and
when I see men listening with admiration when events
announce themselves with the sound of the trumpet,
while they disregard “the still small voice,”
I
long to remind them of the answer of that clergyman,
who, being asked, how he came to alter his manner,
from the loud, ranting style he had formerly used,
replied: “When I was young, I used to think that it
was the thunder which killed the people, but as I
grew older, I found that it was the lightning; so I
resolved to thunder less and lighten more.”
One more illustration: the cackling of a goose saved
Rome; and though you should smilingly declare this
effusion to be something upon the same order, I
will not complain if I shall have reminded you, that
it would be wise to “despise not the day of small
things.”
L.
R. J. |
