THE INTEREST OF LIFE.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 5875, 5 July 1890, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE INTEREST OF LIFE.

There are men and women who complain of the dulness of their lives. They have so few objects to attract them, so few persons to care about, that, if they are not forced to work for their living, they yawn and idle, read sensational novels, and cry out for some distraction. People of this class have minds, I suppose, and hearts also, at any rate for their own sorrows, but they are but half alive, and care for nothing that does not affect their own fortunes. They are sensitive enough to bodily pain, they feel acutely the loss of money or of comfort, but for the great questions of the day. and for the greater questions that have filled the thoughts of wise men in all ages, they care little, or not at all. It would be unreasonable to expect a full intellectual life in men who work for a mere subsistence for twelve, or fourteen hours a day, but in the middle and upper middle classes, as well as among the aristocracy, there is a vast number of people who have choice of action and leisure for thought, and yet do nothing that can be said to be worth doing. Too often thisstudid indolence leads a man into bad company and the worst kind of dissipation ; but more frequently, being only idle and foolish, he regards himself as innocent, and, while clinging, to life, may be said to throw it aivav.

I suppose there are few of us to whom some Mame does not attach in this way. It is m , light task to gain from life all that iv is capable of yielding, yet there are times when its intense interest flashes on the mind like a revelation. The sense of its capabilities is at such moments almost overwhelming, and we cry mil, ' How much there is to learn and to do, and how .short mir time is ! ' Let us In)ce courage, however, from what men have done whose lives were far shorter than the three score years and ten of the Psalmist. Along list might readily be given of men famous, fur action, for thought and imagination, whose 'thin spun' lives were prematurely snapped : hut this is unnecessary, fur J ;>ni not writing for readers ignorant of history, every chapter of which shows, to quote Ben -Jonsori, that "in short measures life may perfect be.' Indeed, even more tlinu a greater length of days we need ardour, perseverance, and a clear perception of the objects to be attained. The acquisition of knowledge is not. the chief end of man, but it is a noble end, and the interest of the pursuit is inexhaustible. Think of all that is implied by a knowledge <>f such sciences as astronomy and chemistry ; think of the joy of men who discover some fresh secret of nature, of travellers who open new fields to Christianity and to commerce, of students whose researches add an important chapter to history, of statesmen whose familiarity with political science enables them to grapple fearlessly with the problems of the day : md think, to come down from these intellectual heights, of the pleasure to be gained from mastering a language or cultivating a garden, or making some intricate piece of machinery ! All work done well gives pleasure, and all knowledge, whether it be of small things or of great, brings a reward with it by adding to the zest of living. ' Knowledge,' said .Jeremy Taylor, ' is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, , which is not always true, for a man's mind may be so fixed on one point as to absorb his attention and to prevent him looking beyond it. Porson's learning and Turner's art and Gibbon's vast historical research, and Mezzofanti's knowledge of forty-eight languages, do not seem to have had any elevating influence on character. At the same time, the saying that ' ignorance is the mother of devotion' is one of the falsest of proverbs, for there is an irremediable hopelessness in stupidity.

The resources of men alive ;it all points arc not easily exhausted. Books, pictures, travel, science, literature, politico, music, and architecture, all minister to their enjoyment. And is there little to interest us in the bewitching ways of children, in the inexhaustible and never monotonous beauty of scenery, in the mirth and loveliness of girls, in the endearments of home, in the stimulating inlluenee of society, in the friends that share our joys and sorrows, and even—for the body has its claims—in the pleasure of a good dinner and a posiprandial pipe 1 For some of us there is the additional interest in life that great wealth brings with it—the management of estates, the building of cottages, oHicial posts, perhaps, in the Government of the country, and the power of doing good on a large scale. Or, if hereditary wealth be wanting, there may be the ability that commands attention at the Bar, on the stage, or in the House of Commons, the genius thai fills our ' chambers, of imagery ' with undying forms of beauty, the wielding of a pen or brush that gives delight to thousands.

And, happily, life is of absorbing interest (juite apart from intellectual endowments and pursuits. We have all a task to do before we die, and often the simplest and most obscure people do it best. Men and women who are actively employed in lightening the sorrow? of others do not complain that life is without interest. For them it is full of variety, and the .sense of duty fulfilled brings delight with it. It may be admitted that hilarity of .spirits is ol'teu a UiUtter of temperament, and thai

there are moments—possibly when the wind is in the. east—in which a feeling of stagnation and despondency gives a flatness to life. We feel incompetent and useless, and wonder at the healthy activity that is independent of moods and weather. We are tempted to be idle, and hate idleness ; we try to work, but gain no pleasure from it : and a "darkness tliat'may "be" felt hangs over us. We thought, yesterday, that lift* was intensely interesting : and to-day wo-care for nothing, and weary of everything. Probably, the best remedy, when we are brought to ihi.- sties.-, is to exercise the body and to lot the mind lie fallow. Go out of doors, heedless of weather or discomfort. Face your enemy boldly, for low spirits slink away when defied. Mount a spirited horse or sail in a strong breeze—if there be a spice of danger, so much the better ; or take vigorous exercise on foot, and, if then you fail to recover your natural interest in life, suppose you try tlie effect of a little excitement, and survey mundane things from the car of a balloon ! 1 don't recommend stronger measures ; otherwise, unless married already, yon might rif.k the ordeal of making an oiler ; or, if a Benedick, you could ask your wife's mother (o live with you, and see if that would not revive your'jaded powers.

I have even known people who find life supremely interesting when the difficulty of living stares them in the face. Mr Micawbr-r, you will remember, was never so lively and entertaining as when he was in momentary expectation of being arrested for debt.— J. D. in Illustrated London News.