stupidly good-natured man is a pleasant companion; and, as the world goes, a good-tempered fool is by no means to be sneered at; but when we meet with a wise man or a wise book, replete with good humour, we should hug either to our hearts, and grapple the first to us as a bosom friend, ay, even with "hooks of steel.”

XVIII.

THE CONTENTED MIND.

To have achieved contentment is to have conquered the world, to have mounted the highest rung of the ladder, to have climbed the mountain; and although it is perhaps easier to write an essay upon content than to practise it, we hope our readers will believe that the practice is not quite foreign to us—that we have learnt with St. Paul, whatever happens to us, "therewith to be content." This to forestall those objectors who, discontented themselves, wish to accuse all men of the same fault. What merit there is in

being contented we forbear to say.

We do not think that there is much; or, to put it the other way, if there be any merit, we think that it is amply repaid. There are some dozens of blessings pronounced upon the virtues, and they, like potatoes, are a most paying crop; but the one which crowns contentment pleases us the best. "A contented mind is a continual feast ;" not that any man would be continually feasting, but, given the content, he always feels beatifically and healthily full and replete

as a man does after an abounding and wholesome meal. Perhaps there is no more comfortable earthly feeling ; it is as full of peace as a child which, having suckled sufficiently at its mother's breast, falls off smilingly to sleep. It is full of trust, hindered by no disquieting fears, blest above measure because it seeks nothing beyond the present. Such is content. It lives long, is healthy, does not quarrel nor snarl, and puts the best face on matters. It is pleasant to live with, and a good substance to work upon; it is not rapid, nor greedy, nor slovenly in its work; it is pleased with its remuneration; it digests well, and is nourished, harbours no evil thoughts, is loyal, true, simple, and beautiful in its holiness, and yet it has its enemies. For, beautiful as it is, contentment is not the whole duty of man; and it has its detractors-nay, what is more, those detractors are not without their modicum of truth.

Thus they say that content, when it possesses a man thoroughly, renders him either too great a fool to want anything, or too lazy to acquire it; that, in this age of the world, in most countries contentment means lethargy or deathsimply, that man was not born to be contented; that a sulky quiescence which passes for it, the unwillingness of man to contend, is half made up of jealousy and half of fear that contentment might have been born with Adam in Paradise, but that it soon ceased to please him; that, if contentment were universal, two generations of contented

;

people would "run" most of the human race to “ earth,” and leave the remainder spiritless, lifeless, and useless; that contented races die out from lack of energy, and that such, during their lives, discover little and do nothing. On the other hand, the restlessness and ambition of man do much for him ; and this is not to be denied. Let us look at both ; sides of the question-not because we are indifferent to truth, but because by so doing we hope the sooner to discover truth.

The shrewd American clergyman (?) who writes under the name of Josh Billings, and who produces many wise and often beautiful sentences in the midst of some very bad spelling and grammar-which, by the way, is not at all funny, but merely the exploded fashion of other writersgives us in the midst of his curious verbiage some very wise sentences, and oftentimes some very pious ones. It is like sugaring pills, to put wisdom into a mere jest-book, and to mix serious reflections with the common rough-and-tumbletalk of a clown in the circus; but it is an old fashion, dating perhaps in its earliest shape even from the time when language first assumed a written form. When one gives the public a large slice of unadulterated and dry wisdom in a didactic essay, it needs great art to render it attractive and to induce them to read it. But, when one introduces the subject with a brilliant display of bad spelling, or with a quantity of coarse nastiness, as Rabelais-when one spells

and Boswell records it ". as a proof of how little a man knows of his own character in the world." "It is a wonderful thing, sir," said Johnson, "how rare a quality good humour is in life. We meet with very few goodhumoured men!"

Boswell-they were then riding in Sir Joshua Reynolds' carriage, who, though neither mentioned the fact, had good-humouredly and good-naturedly ridden forward alone, leaving his carriage to the friends because Johnson was late-mentioned four of their friends, to none of whom Johnson allowed the full quality. One was said to be "acid," which would certainly bar any claim to good humour; another was "muddy," which meant, we suppose, dull, phlegmatic, and easy only, and so on. Then, stretching himself at ease in the coach, and rolling his head, the great Cham of Literature said, "I look upon myself as a good-humoured fellow."

"This light notion of himself," adds Boswell, “struck me with wonder;" but he answered, as he notes, also smiling, "No, no, sir, that will not do. You are good-natured, but not good-humoured. You are irascible. You have not patience with folly and absurdity. I believe you would pardon them if there were time to deprecate your vengeance; but punishment follows so quick after sentence that they cannot escape."

This is a noteworthy passage. Johnson no doubt did