The Philosopher and the Tack.

Otago Witness, Issue 2817, 11 March 1908, Page 87

The Philosopher and the Tack.

♦—The Result of a New-Year Resolution. — "I intend to-day," said Watkins Furbish, -while the New Year was yet young, "to be a. philosopher. I am going to be optimistic, no matter what befalls. It is my firm belief that unhappiness is nothing but a mental etate. If I can make up my mind to be happy, I am sure that I can be. I will therefore disregard the things that are ordinarily vexat.ous. I will start out this morning tp look for the pleasant things in life, and be blind to all that are disagreeable." Be attempted to draw on his trousers, and while hopping around on one foot stepped upon a tack, which, went into hie heel as far as it could, and then stopped. Watkins Furbish sat down on the bed, pulled out the tack, drew a long breath, and manfully controlled his feelings. "Why," he asked himself, up the taok, "should I permit a little thing like this to make me unhappy? If I were to give way to anger now, I should injure myself and inflict no damage whatever upon this tack. When a man becomes angry he poisons himself. Anger brings on indigestion. It opens the pores —or closes them, I forget which —thus interfering with the circulation and causing physical aa well as mental depression. And, after all, how foolish it is to give way to anger. The angry man is always at a disadvantage. Already I begin to appreciate the benefits of philosophy. Confound that heel, I wish it would quit bleeding! Ah, little tack, a poet might apostrophise thee. That's pretty fair. I never would have thought of that word apostrophise if I had permitted myself to bcome angry. Other words would have crowded in upon me, and I should have given utterance to phrases that possessed no sublimity, no beauty, no rhythmic cadences that might have soothed or comforted. Even now'l find myself thinking in poetry. Oh, little tack, so sharp and keen, A lesson thou hast taught to me; Hovr strong are they and how serene Who quarrel not with destiny. Oh. voiceless little tack, thou hast No soul, no sinew and no joint. Yet most men by thee are surpassed. You get so quickly to the point. "That," mused Watkins Furbish, "isn't half bad for an amateur. There's a lot of philosophy in those few line?, too. I suppose almost any man could be a philosopher if he would only set himself to it. It^s a matter of habit, that's all. Socrates pTobably could have been just as impatient as any of the rest of us if he hadn't acquired the habit of being philosophical. It's a great thing. I wonder why I never thought of it before?" He sat for a moment or two thinking it over, and then remembering that it would be necessary to get ready for the duties of the day be tossed the tack from him and slipped a leg into the other section of his trousers. Then he fcshod r. mioc om from under the bed, and having put it on. looked for its mate. It v>e* at the other «:do of the room, near the olewet door. Still feeling that it was splemil-J to be * philosopher,

Mr Furbish started acroes the carpeted floor. He paused after he had taken a step or two, and said to himself: — "Yesterday I would have complained because this shoe was tight acroes the tee-To-day it gives me no concern. lam able to bear it with equanimity. And aside from the physical inconvenience that comes from permitting little things to fret ua we who are able to control ourselves are heirs to a feeling of pride that in itself is \iplifting and inspiring." Then he took another step forward, uttered a wild yell, and sat down with a suddenness that cau=ed his wife, who was below getting breakfast, to fear that the house had been struck by a meteorite. "Watkins," she cried, rushing to him where he writhed upon the floor, "what in the world js the matter?" Watkin6 told her. But his words were disconnected and unfit for publication. He had stepped on the tack again — and not with the foot that wa6 in the shoe.