efforts, and they had amassed wealth their children began and
continued to worry. Not occupied with work that demands our unceasing
energy, we find ourselves occupied with trifles, worrying over our
health, our investments, our luxuries, our lap-dogs and our frivolous
occupations. Imagine the old-time pioneers of the forest, plain,
prairie and desert worrying about sitting in a draught, or taking cold
if they got wet, or wondering whether they could eat what would be set
before them at the next meal. They were out in the open, compelled to
take whatever weather came to them, rain or shine, hot or cold, sleet
or snow, and ready when the sunset hour came, to eat with relish and
appetite sauce, the rude and plain victuals placed upon the table.

Compare the lives of that class of men with the later generation of
"capitalists." I know one who used to live at Sherry's in New York.
His apartments were as luxurious as those of a monarch; he was
not happy, however, for worry rode him from morning to night. He
absolutely spent an hour or more each day consulting the menu, or
discussing with the steward what he could have to place upon his menu,
and died long before his time, cursed with his wealth, its resultant
idleness and the trifling worries that always come to such men. Had he
been reduced to poverty, compelled to go out and work on a farm, eat
oatmeal mush or starve for breakfast, bacon and greens for dinner,
and cold pork and potatoes or starve for supper, he would be alive and
happy to-day.

Take the fussy, nervous, irritable, worrying men and women of life,
who poke their noses into other people's affairs, retail all the
scandal, and hand on all the slander and gossip of empty and,
therefore, evil minds. They are invariably well to do and without any
work or responsibilities. They go gadding about restless and feverish
because of the empty vacuity of their lives, a prey to worry because
they have nothing else to do. If I were to put down and faithfully
report the conversations I have with such people; the fool worries
they are really distressed with; the labor, time and energy they spend
on following chimeras, will o' the wisps, mirages that beckon to them
and promise a little mental occupation,--and over which they cannot
help but worry, one could scarcely believe it.

As Dr. Walton forcefully says in his admirable booklet:

The present, then, is the age, and our contemporaries are the
people, that bring into prominence the little worries, that
cause the tempest in the teapot, that bring about the worship
of the intangible, and the magnification of the unessential.
If we had lived in another epoch we might have dreamt of the
eternal happiness of saving our neck, but in this one we fret
because our collar does not fit it, and because the button
that holds the collar has rolled under the bureau.[A]

[Footnote A: _Calm Yourself_. By George Lincoln Walton, M.D.,
Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston, Mass.]

I am not so foolish as to imagine for one moment that I can correct
the worrying tendency of the age, but I do want to be free from worry
myself, to show others that it is unnecessary and needless, and also,
that it is possible to live a life free from its demoralizing and
altogether injurious influences.




CHAPTER III

NERVOUS PROSTRATION AND WORRY.


Nervous prostration is generally understood to mean weakness of the
nerves. It invariably comes to those who have extra strong nerves,
but who do not know how to use them properly, as well as those whose
nervous system is naturally weak and easily disorganized. Nervous
prostration is a disease of overwork, mainly mental overwork, and in
ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, comes from worry. Worry is
the most senseless and insane form of mental work. It is as if a
bicycle-rider were so riding against time that, the moment after he
got off his machine to sit down to a meal he sprang up again, and
while eating were to work his arms and legs as if he were riding.
It is the slave-driver that stands over the slave and compels him to
continue his work, even though he is so exhausted that hands, arms and
legs cease to obey, and he falls asleep at his task.

The folly, as well as the pain and distress of this cruel
slave-driving is that we hold the whip over ourselves, have trained
ourselves to do it, and have done it so long that now we seem unable
to stop. In another chapter there is fully described (in Dorothy
Canfield's vivid words) the squirrel-cage whirligig of modern society
life. Modern business life is not much better. Men compel themselves
to the endless task of amassing money without knowing _why_ they amass
it. They make money, that they may enlarge their factories, to make
more ploughs, to get more money, to enlarge their factories, to make
more ploughs, to get more money, to enlarge more factories, to make
more ploughs, and so on, _ad infinitum_. Where is the sense of it.
Such conduct has well been termed money-madness. It is an obsession, a
disease, a form of hypnotism, a mental malady.

The tendency of the age is to drive. We drive our own children to
school; there they are driven for hours by one study after another;
even when they come home they bring lessons with them--the lovers of
study and over-conscientious because they want to do them, and the
laggards because they must, if they are to keep up with their classes.
If the parents of such children are not careful, they (the children)
soon learn to worry; they are behind-hand with their lessons; they
didn't get the highest mark yesterday; the class is going ahead of
them, etc., etc., until mental collapse comes.

For worrying is the worst kind of mental overwork. As Dr. Edward
Livingston Hunt, of Columbia University, New York, said in a paper
read by him early in 1912, before the Public Health Education
Committee of the Medical Society of the County of New York:

There is a form of overwork, exceedingly common and
exceedingly disastrous--one which equally accompanies great
intellectual labors and minor tasks. I allude to worry. When
we medical men speak of the workings of the brain we make
use of a term both expressive and characteristic. It is to
cerebrate. To cerebrate means to think, to reason, and to
reach conclusions; it means to concentrate and to work hard.
To think, then, is to cerebrate. To worry is to cerebrate
intensely.

Worry is overwork of the most disastrous kind; it means to
drive the mental machinery at an unreasonable and dangerous
rate. Worry gives the brain no rest, but rather keeps the
delicate cells in constant and continuous action. Work is
wear; worry is tear. Overwork, mental strain, and worry lead
to a diminution of nerve force and to a prostration of the
vital forces and causes a degeneracy of the blood vessels of
the brain.

Exhaustion, another name for fatigue, may show itself either
in the form of physical collapse, so that the patient lacks
resistance, and, becoming anemic and run down, falls a prey
to any and every little ailment, or in the form of mental
collapse. An exhausted brain then gives way to depression, to
fears, and to anxiety.

The vast majority of nervous breakdowns are avoidable; they
are the result of our own excesses and of the disregard we
show toward the ordinary laws of health and hygiene; they are
the results of the tremendous demands which are made upon us
by modern life; they are the result of the strenuous life.

From this analysis, made by an expert, it is evident that worry and
nervous prostration are but two points on the same circle. Nervous
prostration causes worry, and worry causes nervous prostration. Those
who overwork their bodies and minds--who drive themselves either with
the cares of business, the amassing of wealth, yielding to the demands
of society, the cravings of ambition, or the pursuit of pleasure, are
alike certain to suffer the results of mental overwork.

And here let me interject what to me has become a fundamental
principle upon which invariably I rely. It will be recalled what I
have said elsewhere of _selfish_ and _unselfish_ occupations. It is
the selfish occupations that produce nerve-exhaustion. Those that
are unselfish seldom result in the disturbance of the harmony or
equilibrium of our nature--whether we regard it as physical, mental,
or spiritual. This may seem to be a trancendental statement--perhaps
it is. But I am confidently assured of its essential truth. That man
or woman who is truly engaged in an unselfish work--a work that is for
the good of others--has a right to look for, to expect and to receive
from the great All Source of strength, power and serenity all that
is needed to keep the body, mind and soul in harmony, consequently in
perfect health and free from worry.

Hence the apparent paradox that, if you would care for yourself you
must disregard yourself in your loving care for others.

One great reason why worry produces nervous prostration is that it
induces insomnia.

Worry and sleeplessness are twin sisters. As one has well said:
"Refreshing sleep and vexing thoughts are deadly foes." Health and
happiness often disappear from those who fail to sleep, for sleep,
indeed, is "tired Nature's sweet restorer," as Young in his _Night
Thoughts_ termed it. Shakspere never wrote anything truer when he
said:

Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great Nature's second course,
Chief nourisher of life's feast.

Or, where he spoke of it as

Sleep that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye,
Steals me awhile from mine own company.

Even the Bible makes sleep one of the special blessings of God, for we
are told that "He giveth His beloved sleep." The sacred book contains
many references to sleeplessness and its causes.

Undoubtedly most potent among these causes is worry. The worrier
retires to his bed at the usual hour, but his brain is busy--it is
working overtime. What is it doing? Is it thinking over things
that are to be done, and planning for the future? If so, there is a
legitimate excuse, for as soon as the plan is laid, rest will come,
and he will sleep. Is he thinking over the mistakes of the past and
sensibly and wisely taking counsel from them? If so, he will speedily
come to a decision, and then sleep will bring grateful oblivion. Is
he thinking joyful thoughts? These will bring a natural feeling of
harmony with all things, and that is conducive to speedy sleep? Is
he thinking of how he may help others? That is equally soothing to
nerves, brain and body, and brings the refreshment of forgetfulness.

But no! the worrier has another method. He thinks the same thoughts
over and over again, without the slightest attempt to get anywhere. He
has thrashed them out before, so often that he can tell exactly what
each thought will lead to. His ideas go around in a circle like
the horse tied to the wheel. He is on a treadmill ever ascending,
tramping, up, up, up and up, and still up, but the wheel falls
down each time as far as he steps up, and after hours and hours of
unceasing, wracking, distressful mental labor, he has done absolutely
nothing, has not progressed one inch, is still in the clutch of the
same vicious treadmill. Brain weary, nerve weary, is there any wonder
that he rolls and tosses, throws over his pillow, kicks off the
clothes, groans, almost cries aloud in his agony of longing for rest.
Poor victim of worry and sleeplessness, how I long to help you get
rid of your evil habit and save others from falling into it. For both
worry and sleeplessness are habits, easily gained, and once gained
very hard to get rid of, yet both unnecessary, needless, and foolish.
The worry that produces sleeplessness is merciless; so merciless and
relentless that no fierce torture of a Black-hander can be described
that is worse in its long continuing and evil results. Lives are
wrecked, brains shattered, happiness destroyed by this monstrous evil,
and many a man and woman fastens it upon himself, herself,
through indulging in anxious thought, or by yielding to that equal
devil-dragon of self-pity.

David the psalmist graphically tells of his own case:

I am weary with my groaning;
Every night make I my bed to swim;
I water my couch with my tears,
Mine eye wasteth away because of grief. _Ps. VI_. 6:7.

At another time he cries

My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
Why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words
of my groaning?
Oh my God, I cry in the day time, but thou answereth not;
And in the night season, I am not silent. _Ps. XXII_. 1:2.

Yet God heard him not until his groaning and self-pity were cast
aside, until he rested in God, trusted in Him. Then came rest, as he
graphically expresses it:

I laid me down and slept;
I awaked; for Jehovah sustaineth me. _Ps. III. 5_.

In peace will I both lay me down and sleep:
For thou, Jehovah, alone maketh me dwell in safety. _Ps. IV. 8._

I will bless Jehovah, who hath given me counsel;
Yea, my heart instructeth me in the night seasons. _Ps. XVI. 7._

See the result of this confidence in God.

I have set Jehovah always before me:
Because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.
Therefore my heart is glad, and my glory rejoiceth:
My flesh also shall dwell in safety. _Ps. XVI. 8:9._

And where the heart is glad, and one rejoiceth in the sense of peace
and safety, sweet sleep lays its soothing hand upon the work-worn
brain and body, tired with the labors of the day, and brings rest,
repose, recuperation.




CHAPTER IV

HOLY WRIT, THE SAGES, AND WORRY


Our civilization is called a _Christian_ civilization. We are the
_Christian_ nations. Yet, as I have shown in Chapters I and II,
ours is the worrying civilization. That worry is dishonoring to our
civilization, and especially to our professions as Christians is
self-evident. Let us then look briefly in the book we call our Holy
Bible, our Guide of Life, our Director to Salvation, and see what the
sacred writers have to say upon this subject. If they commend it, we
may assume that it will be safe to worry. If they rebuke or reprobate
it we may be equally assured that we have no right to indulge in it.

St. Paul seemed to have a very clear idea of worry when he said:

Be careful--[full of care]--for nothing, but in everything by
prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, make your requests
known unto God. _Philippians_ 4:6.

How inclusive this is--full of care, anxiety, fretfulness, worry about
_nothing_, but in _everything_ presenting your case to God. And then
comes the promise:

And the peace of God which passeth all understanding shall
keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. _Phil_. IV. 7.

How clear, definite, full and satisfactory. What room for worry
is there in a heart full of the peace of God, which passeth all
understanding? And oh, how much to be desired is such an experience.

Browning, in his _Abt Vogler_, sings practically the same sweet song
where he says:

Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear,
Each sufferer says his says, his scheme of the weal and woe:
But God has a few of us whom He whispers in the ear;
The rest may reason and welcome; 'tis we musicians know.

If God whispers in the ear of the sufferer, the doubter, the
distressed, the worried, the peace must come; and if peace come, it
matters not what others' reasoning may bring to them, the knowledge
that God has whispered is enough; it brings satisfaction, content,
serenity, peace. The opposite of worry is rest, faith, trust, peace.
How full the Bible is of promises of rest to those who know and love
God and his ways of right-doing. Mendlessohn took the incitement of
the psalmist (Psalm 37:7), "Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for
him," and made of it one of the tenderest, sweetest songs of all time.
Full of yearning over the worried, the distressed, the music itself
seems to brood in sympathetic and soothing power, as a mother croons
to her fretful child: "Why fret, why worry,--No, no! rest, rest my
little one, in the love of the all-Father," and many a weary, fretful,
worried heart has found rest and peace while listening to this sweet
and beautiful song.

There is still another passage in holy writ that the perpetual worrier
should read and ponder. It is the prophet Isaiah's assurance that God
says to His children: "As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I
comfort you."

Who has not seen a fretful, sick child taken up by a loving mother,
yield to her soothing influence in a few minutes and drop off into
restful, healthful, restoring sleep. What a wonderful and forceful
figure of speech, illustrative of a never-ceasing fact that the Spirit
of all good, the supreme Force of Love and Power in the universe is
looking, watching, without slumber or sleep, untiring, unfailing, ever
ready to give soothing comfort as does the mother, to those who fret
and worry.

Then, when cause for worry seems to be ever present, why not call upon
this Loving Maternal Soothing Power? Why not rest in His arms, and
thus find peace, poise and serenity?

How much worry comes from fear as to the future. Men become hoarders,
savers, misers, or work themselves beyond healthful endurance, or shut
out the daily joys of existence in their business absorption, because
they dread poverty in their old age. "Wise provision" becomes a
driving monster, worrying them into a restless, fretful energy that
must be accumulating all the time.

Two thousand years ago this trait of human nature was so strongly
manifested that Christ felt called upon to restrain and rebuke it.
What a wonderful sermon He preached. It is worth while repeating it
here, and wise would that man, that woman be, who is worried about
to-morrow, were he, she, to read it daily. I give it in the revised
version:

I say unto you, Be not anxious for your life, what ye shall
eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye
shall put on. Is not the life more than the food, and the body
than the raiment? Behold the birds of the heaven, that they
sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; and your
Heavenly Father feedeth them. Are not ye of much more value
than they? And which of you by being anxious can add one cubit
unto his stature? And why are ye anxious concerning raiment?
Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil
not, neither do they spin; yet I say unto you, that even
Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
But if God doth so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day
is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much
more clothe you, O ye of little faith? Be not therefore
anxious, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink?
or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? For after all these
things do the Gentiles seek; for your heavenly Father knoweth
that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first his
kingdom, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be
added unto you. Be not therefore anxious for the morrow: for
the morrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient unto the day
is the evil thereof. _Matthew_, 6:25-34.

Here is the wisest philosophy. Anxiety is suicide, peace is life;
worry destroys, serenity upbuilds. As you want to live, to grow,
possess your souls in peace and serenity. Work, aye, work mightily,
powerfully, daily, but work for the joy of it, not because worry
drives you to it. Work persistently, consistently and worthily,
because no man can live--or ought to live--without it, but do not let
work be your slave driver, your relentless master, urging you on to
drudgery, bondage to your counter, ledger or factory, until you drop
exhausted and lifeless. Work for the real joy of it, and then, filled
with the blessed trust in God the all-Father expressed as above by
Christ, throw your cares to the winds, bid your worries depart, and
accept what comes with serenity, peace and thankfulness.

Many proverbs have been written about worry, which it may be well
to recall. Certainly it can do no harm to those who worry to see how
their mental habit has been regarded, and is still regarded, by the
concentrated wisdom of the ages.

An old proverb says: "It is not work, but worry, that kills." How true
this is. Congenial work is a health-bringer, a necessity for a normal
life, a joy; it keeps the body in order, promotes digestion, induces
the sleep of perfect restoration and is one of man's greatest
blessings. But worry brings dis-ease (want of ease), discomfort,
wretchedness, promotes evil secretions which upset the normal workings
of the body, and is a constant banisher and disturber of sleep.

Still another proverb says: "Worry killed the cat." Many people read
this and fail to see its profound significance. It must be remembered
that in "the good old days," when this proverb was most rife, the
superstitious held that a cat had _nine lives_. Now, surely, the deep
meaning of the proverb is made apparent. Though the cat were possessed
of nine lives, worry would surely kill them all--either one by one,
by its horrid and determined persistence; or all at once, by the
concentrated virulence of its power.

There are many proverbs to the effect that "When worry comes in,
wit flies out," and these are all true. Worry unsettles the mind,
unbalances the judgment, induces fever of the intellect, which
renders calm, cool weighing of matters impossible. No man of great
achievements ever worried during his period of greatness. Had he done
so his greatness could never have been achieved. Imagine a general
trying to solve the vexing problems of a great combat which is going
against him, with his mind beset by numberless worries. He must
concentrate _all his energies_ upon the one thing. If worry occupies
his attention, wit, sense, judgment, discretion, wisdom are crowded
out, have no place.

All the pictures given to us of Grant show him the most imperturbable
at the most trying times. When the fortunes of war seemed most against
him he was the most cheerful, the least disturbed. He had learned the
danger of worry, and compelled it to flee from him, that calm judgment
and clear-headed decisions might be his.

If, therefore, these great ones of earth found it essential to their
well-being to banish worry, how much more is it necessary that we of
the ordinary mass of mankind, of the commoner herd, apply ourselves to
the gaining of the same kind of wisdom.

An old countrywoman once said in my hearing: "Worry, and you hug a
hornet's nest." How suggestive both of the stinging that was sure to
come and the folly, the absurdity, the cruelty to oneself of the act.

The great Scotch philosopher, Blair, said: "Worry (or anxiety) is the
poison of human life," and how true it is. How biting, how corroding,
how destructive to life some poisons are, working speedily, suddenly,
awfully. Others there are that have a cumulative effect, until life
itself cannot bear the strain, and it goes out. Recently I was at a
home where a son was so worried over conditions that he felt ought not
to exist between his parents, that he totally collapsed, mentally,
and for a time was in danger of losing his reason. The folly of his
attitude is apparent to everyone but himself, though he now seeks in
the absorbing occupation of teaching, to free himself from the poison
of worry that was speedily destroying his reason.

Henry Labouchere, the sage who for so many years has edited the London
_Truth_, once wrote a couplet, that is as true as anything he ever
wrote:

They who live in a worry,
Invite death in a hurry.

I want to be ready for death when it comes, but as yet I am not
extending an invitation to the gentleman with the scythe. Are you, my
worrying reader, anxious to be mowed down before your time? Quit your
worrying, and don't urge the Master Reaper to harvest you in until He
is sure you are ready.

Another sage once said: "To worry about to-morrow is to be unhappy
to-day," and the same thought is put into: "Never howl till you are
hit," and the popular proverb attributed erroneously to Lincoln for it
was long in use before Lincoln's time: "Do not cross the stream until
you get to it." Christ put the same thought into his Sermon on the
Mount, when He said: "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."
How utterly foolish and wrong it is to spoil to-day by fretting and
worrying over the possible evils of to-morrow. Many a man in business
has ruined himself by allowing worries about to-morrow to prevent him
from doing the needful work of to-day. The rancher who sits down and
worries because he fears it will not rain to-morrow, or it will rain,
fails to do the work of to-day ready for whatever the morrow may bring
forth. The wise Roman, Seneca, expressed the same thing in other words
when he wrote: "He grieves more than is necessary who grieves before
it is necessary," and our own Lowell had a similar thought in mind
which he expressed as follows: "The misfortunes hardest to bear are
those which never come." Even the Chinese saw the folly of worrying
over events that have not yet transpired, for they have a saying: "To
what purpose should a person throw himself into the water before the
boat is cast away (wrecked)."

All these proverbs, therefore, show that the wisdom of the ages
is against worrying over things that have not yet transpired. Let
to-morrow take care of itself. Live to-day. As Cardinal Newman's
wonderful hymn expresses it:

I do not ask to see the distant scene,
One step enough for me.

Furthermore, the evil we dread for to-morrow may never come. Every
man's experience demonstrates this. The bill for which he has not
money in the bank is met by the unexpected payment of an account
overdue, or not yet due. Hence if fears come of the morrow, if we are
tempted to worry about a grief that seems to be approaching, let us
resolutely cast the temptation aside, and by a full occupation of
mind and body in the work of the "now," engage ourselves beyond the
possibility of hearing the voice of the tempter.

When one considers the words that are regarded as synonymous with
"worry," or that are related to it, he sees what cruelties lurk in the
facts behind the words. To grieve, fret, pine, mourn, bleed, chafe,
yearn, droop, sink, give way to despair, all belong to the category of
worry.

Phrases like "to sit on thorns," "to be on pins and needles," "to
drain the cup of misery to the dregs," show with graphic power the
folly and curse of worry. Why should one sit on thorns, or on pins
and needles? If one does so accidentally he arises in a hurry, yet
in worrying, one seems deliberately, with intent, to sit down upon
prickles in order to compel himself to discomfort, distress, and pain.
Is there any wisdom, when one has the cup of misery at his lips, in
deliberately keeping it there, and persistently drinking it to the
"very dregs"? One unconsciously feels like shouting to the drinker:
"Put it down, you fool!" and if the harsh command be not instantly
obeyed, rushing up and dashing it out of the drinker's hand.

Take a few more words and look at them, and see how closely they are
related to worry,--to be displeased, fretted, annoyed, incommoded,
discomposed, troubled, disquieted, crossed, teased, fretted, irked,
vexed, grieved, afflicted, distressed, plagued, bothered, pestered,
bored, harassed, perplexed, haunted. These things worry does to those
who yield themselves to its noxious power.

Worry deliberately pains, wounds, hurts, pinches, tweaks, grates upon,
galls, chafes, gnaws, pricks, lancinates, lacerates, pierces, cuts,
gravels, corrodes, mortifies, shocks, horrifies, twinges and gripes
its victims.

It smites, beats, punishes, wrings, harrows, torments, tortures,
racks, scarifies, crucifies, convulses, agonizes, irritates, provokes,
stings, nettles, maltreats, bites, snaps at, assails, badgers,
harries, persecutes, those who give it shelter.

Is it not apparent, then, that the only course open for a sensible man
or woman is to

QUIT WORRYING.




CHAPTER V

THE NEEDLESSNESS AND USELESSNESS OF WORRY


Of all the mental occupations fallen into, invented, or discovered by
man, the most needless, futile, and useless of all is the occupation
of worry. We have heard it said often, when one was speaking of
another's work, or something he had done: "He ought to be in a better
business." So, _in every case_, can it be said of the worrier: He's
in a bad business; a business that ought not to exist, one without a
single redeeming feature. If for no other reason the fact implied by
the title of this chapter ought to be sufficient to condemn it. Worry
is needless, useless, futile, of none effect. Why push a heavy rock up
a mountain side merely to have it roll down again? Yet one might find
good in the physical development that came from this needless uphill
work. And he might laugh, and sing, and be cheery while he was doing
it. But in the case of the worrier he not only pushes the rock up the
hill, but he is beset with the dread that, every moment, it is going
to roll back and kill him, and he thinks of nothing but the fear, and
the strain, and the distress.

When one calmly considers, it is almost too ridiculous to write
seriously about the needlessness and uselessness of worry; its
futility is so self-evident to an intelligent mind. Yet, because so
many otherwise intelligent and good people are cursed by it, it seems
necessary to show its utter uselessness. These say: "I would stop
worrying if I could; but I can't help it; I worry in spite of myself!"

Don't you believe it! You doubtless think your statement is true, but
it is nothing of the kind. Worry could find no place in your mind
if it was full to overflowing with something really useful and
beneficial. It is a proof either that your mind bosses you,--in other
words, that you cannot direct it to think upon something worth while,
that it is absolutely untrained, undisciplined, uncontrolled,--or that
it is so empty, it takes to worry as a refuge against its own vacuity.
The fact of worry implies either that the worrier has no control over
his mind, or has an empty mind.

Now no intelligent person will, for one moment, confess to such
weakness of mind that he has no control over it. An unoccupied
mind can always be occupied if one so wills. No human being is so
constituted that nothing appeals to him or interests him, so
every mind can be awakened and filled with contemplation of good
things--things that will help, benefit and bless, if he so desires.

In the Foreword I have referred to my own experience. Many who knew
some of the facts and saw the change that came over my life, have
asked me _how_ I succeeded in eliminating worry. I refused to allow my
mind to dwell upon harassing topics or events in my life. If I awoke
during the night, I turned on the light and picked up a book and
forced my thought into another channel. If the objectionable thoughts
obtruded during the day I did one of many things, as, for instance,
turned to my work with a frenzy of absorption; picked up my hat
and went for a walk; called upon friends; went to a concert; or a
vaudeville show; took in a lecture; stood and watched the crowds;
visited the railway stations--anything, everything, but dwell upon the
subjects that were tabooed.

Here was a simple and practical remedy, and I found it worked well.
But I can now see that there was a much better way. Where good is
substituted for evil one has "the perfect way," and the Apostle Paul
revealed himself a wise man of practical affairs, when he urged his
readers to "think on the things" that are lovely, pure, just, and of
good report. In my case I merely sought to prevent mental vacuity
so that the seven devils of worry could not rush into, and take
possession of, my empty mind; but I was indifferent, somewhat, to the
kind of thought or mental occupation that was to keep out the thoughts
of worry. A Nick Carter detective story was as good as a Browning
poem, and sometimes better; a cheap and absurd show than an uplifting
lecture or concert. How much better it would have been could I have
had my mind so thoroughly under control--and this control can surely
be gained by any and every man, woman, and child that lives,--that,
when worrying thoughts obtruded, I could have said immediately and
with authoritative power: I will to think on this thing, or that,
or the other. The result would have been an immediate and perfect
cessation of the worry that disturbed, fretted, and destroyed, for the
mind would have become engaged with something that was beneficial and
helpful. And remember this: God is good, and it is His pleasure to
help those who are seeking to help themselves. Or to put it in a way
that even our agnostic friends can receive, Nature is on the side of
the man or woman who is seeking to live naturally, that is, rightly.
Hence, substitute good thoughts for the worrying thoughts and the
latter will fade away as do the mist and fog before the morning sun.

Here, then, I had clearly demonstrated for myself the needlessness of
worry: _I could prevent it if I would_. And my readers cannot too soon
gain this positive assurance. They _can_, if they _will_. It is simply
a question of wanting to be free earnestly enough to work for freedom.
Is freedom from worry worth while; is it worth struggling for? To me,
it is one of the great blessings of life that worry is largely, if not
entirely, eliminated. I would not go back to the old worrying days for
all the wealth of Morgan, Rockefeller, and Carnegie combined.

As for the uselessness of worry; who is there, that has studied the
action of worry, that ever found any of the problems it was concerned
over improved by all the hours of worry devoted to it. Worry never
solved a problem yet; worry muddies the water still further instead of
clearing it; worry adds to the tangle instead of releasing it; worry
beclouds the mind, prevents sane judgment, confuses the reason, and
leads one to decisions that never ought to be made, and so to an
uncertainty, as vexatious and irritating as is the original problem
to be solved. If the worry pointed a way out of the difficulty I
would extol worry and regard it as a bitter draught of medicine, to be
swallowed in a hurry, but producing a beneficial result. But it never
does anything to help; it invariably hinders; it sets one chasing
shadows, produces _ignes fatui_ before the eyes, and ultimately leads
one into the bog.

Elsewhere I have referred to the Indians' attitude of mind. If a
matter can be changed, change it; if not grin and bear it without
complaint. Here is practical wisdom. But to worry over a thing that
can be changed, instead of changing it, is the height of folly, and if
a matter cannot be changed why worry over it? How utterly useless is
the worry. Then, too, worry is the parent of nagging. Nagging is
worry put into words,--the verbal expression of worry about or towards
individuals. The mother wishes her son would do differently. Can the
boy's actions be changed? Then go to work to change them--not to worry
over them. If they cannot be changed, why nag him, why irritate him,
why make a bad matter worse? Nagging, like worry, never once did one
iota of good; it has caused infinite harm, as it sets up an irritation
between those whose love might overcome the difficulty if it were let
alone. Nagging is the constant irritation of a wound, the rubbing of
a sore, the salting an abraded place, the giving a hungry man a tract,
religious advice or a bible, when all he craves is food.

Ah, mother! many a boy has run away from home because your worry led
you to nag him; many a girl to-day is on the streets because father
or mother nagged her; many a husband has "gone on a tear" because he
could not face his wife's "worry put into words," even though no one
would attempt to deny that boy, girl and husband alike were wrong
_in every particular_, and the "nagger" in the right, save in the one
thing of worry and its consequent nagging.

In watching the lives of men and women I have been astonished, again
and again, that the fruitlessness of their worry did not demonstrate
its uselessness to them. No good ever comes from it. Everybody who has
any perception sees this, agrees to it, confesses it. Then why still
persist in it? Yet they do, and at the same time expect to be regarded
as intelligent, sane, normal human beings, many of whom claim, as
members of churches, peculiar and close kinship with God, forgetful of
the fact that every moment spent in worry is dishonoring to God.

How much needless anxiety, care, and absolute torture some women
suffer in an insane desire to keep their homes spotlessly clean. The
house must be without a speck of dirt anywhere; the kitchen must be as
spotless as the parlor; the sink must be so immaculate that you could