Pleasure.

We often speak of the "happiness of childhood." We may learn an important lesson by reflecting how far it is true, and why it is true. As contentment springs from the gratification of our wishes, evidently the fewer and less clamorous these are, the more easy it is to content them. The desires of early childhood are of so simple a character, that there can hardly be any difficulty about satisfying them: and if the parent wisely train the child to obedience, from the age when obedience costs nothing, it will never wish anything but what the parent wishes, and will thus be able to "have its own will" always. But if the child be spoiled by indulgence, it will be a torment to itself and others, by perpetually seeking for what it cannot have. It is well-known that the most obedient children are the most happy, and the most indulged are the most miserable. Hence, childhood is happy only inasmuch as its wants are few and its passions weak; and inasmuch as it affords the opportunity of laying the foundation of life-long happiness, by learning to Keep the wants few and the passions weak.

It is a well-known fact that there are no men and no women so happy as those who live in religious communities. Why? Because they carry out literally the precept of becoming like "little children." Childhood is poor, chaste, and obedient; and these are the three virtues which Religious vow. They call each other, "Father, Brother, Mother, Sister." They have all the pure loves and joys of home, and only the easily satisfied wants of the children of the family, and their whole lives are spent in keeping their passions under. The man of the world may look with equal contempt on the simple joys of childhood and religious life, but what are all the projects of World-lings—from the great crimes of the ambitious conqueror to the small meannesses of the man of pleasure—but so many straws floating in the stream? And what are the votaries of wealth, impurity, and ambition, but children, who—with all the folly, but without the innocence of childhood—stand eagerly watching upon the brink?

The Worldling, bent upon the pursuit of "wealth and the pleasures it affords," looks upon himself as free, because he will obey no one but himself; and upon the Religious as a slave, because he always obeys another; and he is mistaken in both judgments. The religious is free because he only obeys right reason, and the pleasure- page 17 seeker is a slave, because he serves his passions, the most unreasonable and savage of all masters. As the obedient child, by having no will but that of its parents, always does what it wills itself, so the Religious, having no will but that of God, follows the dictates of his own will when he obeys. As the supernatural joys of Heaven are man's last and ultimate perfection; the more man dilates his soul and increases its capacity to receive Almighty God, the more perfect he renders himself. On the contrary, as the joys of earth not only do not, of themselves, perfect him, but even tend to impede his perfection by persuading him to forget God for earth, he should be on his guard against even innocent pleasures. It is in this attachment to Heavenly things, and disengagement from earthly ones, that sanctity consists. Still the innocent pleasures are not without their use. "Heaven suffereth violence, and the violent bear it away" (Mt. xl. 12.); and moderate relaxation, by relieving the strain, helpsman to the attainment of perfection.

But woe to those who propose to themselves to avoid mortal sin indeed, but to "deny" themselves no lawful gratification. If so, where is their "self-denial?" And have they found out a way to Heaven that was unknown to our Saviour?

By way of illustrating, in a simple manner, the wisdom even from a merely human point of view, of not multiplying our earthly needs, let us take an enjoyment, usually looked on as harmless in itself,—smoking. The smoker creates a want and gratifies it. Is he happier than one who has no such gratification, but has also no desire for it? So far both seem on an equality, but if circumstances should prevent the smoker from satisfying his artificial need, his indulgence becomes a torment. ^*

It is a most important thing to know the difference between pleasure and contentment. Pleasure is a sweetmeat exciting the appetite unduly, and, when indulged in to the excess it has provoked, palling on the taste. Contentment is plain wholesome food, never provoking to excess, and never producing disgust. As therefore we should use sweetmeats in moderation, so should we beware of indulging too much even in the most innocent pleasures,—those which are not innocent are of course out of the question. It is well known that men who give way to the wildest mirth, are subject to fits of the deepest despondency. Their lives are not a gently undulating plain, but a succession of lofty mountains and profound depressions.

As we should not allow ourselves to be too much carried away by pleasure, so neither should we permit ourselves to be too much cast down by sorrow. Against the small annoyances of life there is a very homely but very effectual remedy; all thought of them should be put off till the next day. When we have slept over them, and said our prayers over them, we shall find that partly by natural, and partly by supernatural means, our pain will have calmed down, and that a trouble which yesterday seemed a very mountain, has dwindled to day to a mere speck. Some men are extremely sensitive to changes of the weather. On dull, cloudy, warm days they feel a depression actually painful. Let them understand whence there pain is and have courage. The sun will shine again.

But in the great sorrows of life, we should go to the Garden of Gethsemani, and learn how to bear them. If this were but well understood, how much misery and sin would be avoided. But it is unhappily only too common for men to give up all prayer at the very moment when they most need it: and many endeavor to avoid their afflictions by taking refuge in the shameful vice of drunkenness!

The mainspring of most men's actions is pleasure. It should be duty. The possession of an" iron will" is a precious gift of God, provided reason guides. This "iron will" under the guidance of passion made Napoleon a scourge of men, and under that of reason made Ignatius a Saint. Everyone should try to strengthen his will as much as possible by keeping constantly before his mind the motives of duty, and go steadily on, without ever swerving so much as a hair's-breadth to the right or left. ^†