however, who seem to doubt whether it is right that we should try to be
happy ourselves. Our own happiness ought not, of course, to be our main
object, nor indeed will it ever be secured if selfishly sought. We may
have many pleasures in life, but must not let them have rule over us, or
they will soon hand us over to sorrow; and "into what dangerous and
miserable servitude doth he fall who suffereth pleasures and sorrows (two
unfaithful and cruel commanders) to possess him successively?" [1]

I cannot, however, but think that the world would be better and brighter
if our teachers would dwell on the Duty of Happiness as well as on the
Happiness of Duty, for we ought to be as cheerful as we can, if only
because to be happy ourselves, is a most effectual contribution to the
happiness of others.

Every one must have felt that a cheerful friend is like a sunny day, which
sheds its brightness on all around; and most of us can, as we choose, make
of this world either a palace or a prison.

There is no doubt some selfish satisfaction in yielding to melancholy, and
fancying that we are victims of fate; in brooding over grievances,
especially if more or less imaginary. To be bright and cheerful often
requires an effort; there is a certain art in keeping ourselves happy; and
in this respect, as in others, we require to watch over and manage
ourselves, almost as if we were somebody else.

Sorrow and joy, indeed, are strangely interwoven. Too often

"We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter