sponsible position, it would probably work in our less important places. Most of us spend our strength for that which is naught, largely because we do not examine the nature of the "duty" which presents itself to us. We should probably find that our duties are not worth doing, or else that another could do them as well. Rest brings sleep more than sleep brings rest.

CHAPTER XLIII

66 LETTING GO "

In sleep's sweet fetters bound.

LORD NEAVES.

AFREQUENT cause of suffering among

men and women is their idea that they are necessary to the running of things. Usually they find themselves mistaken. The head of a firm was once warned by a physician that he must take a rest to avert a breakdown, but the man declared it to be an impossibility for him to get away from the office for even a week. He gripped his business so tight that he could not let go, nor could he see that others could do it as well as he could. In such a state of mind the doctor's warning added another worry, fear for himself, so at last the predicted breakdown came. He had reached the point where he had to let go, for his grip, both physical and mental, was gone. For six months he could not concern himself with business affairs, the necessity of fighting for life and renewed health occupying all his faculties. He refused to let himself think of the outcome, but put his attention upon getting well.

When he returned to his business, with his mind braced to stand any disasters that he might discover, he was astonished to find everything in perfect condition, and that his assistant had even corrected the errors he had himself made in the last weeks of overworked body and fagged brain. It was at first a blow to his pride that he was not essential to the success of his own business, but, as he realized how big a price he had paid to learn this simple lesson, he made a decision that showed how far he had advanced beyond his former condition.

Turning to his assistant, he said: " Smith, as you can carry on this business so well, I shall take three months' vacation every year, and have no more expensive breakdowns; and, as I want you to continue to carry it on as well while I am away, you would better take three months' vacation every year, too, so there shall be no breakdowns for you." He had really learned two lessons in one-what things were not worth doing, and what things could be done by somebody else. He still had left "the things that were quite enough for any man to attempt.”

No man is really indispensable to any undertaking, however much it may seem so to him. When James Alexander controlled the Equitable Life Assurance Society, he made it his rule to discharge anybody who seemed to

be indispensable. His reason for this was that, the longer such a man was retained, the more indispensable he would become, until the association would be in danger of going to smash if anything happened to that one man. Common prudence dictated the advisability of getting rid of him while the company could manage to get along somehow without him.

There was once a Dutchman who was of much the same opinion as Mr. Alexander. His manager applied for an increase of salary.

"I t'ink I buys you bretty dear, alretty, Hans." "Yes," said Hans, "I get a good salary, but then I am worth it. I know everything and do everything about the business; in fact, you couldn't get along without me."

"Ach, ish dot so? Vell; vat I do if you vas deat, Hans?",

66

Oh, well! if I were dead, you'd have to get along without me."

"Ach!" replied the Dutchman, slowly, "den, Hans, I t'inks we gonsiders you deat."

It is well to think sometimes of how nicely the world got along before we came to it, and how likely it is to do just as well after we have left it. If, when we are rushing around, weighed down by anxiety and a feeling of our own importance, we should "consider ourselves dead" for a few moments, we might find that the fever of life had subsided.

We should have to admit that, judging from

the past, the world would not even slip a cog if we were to pass from it. And even if we were ready to claim that no one heretofore had been so important, and no one could ever again be so necessary, even then it were the part of wisdom to cease hurrying and worrying. For, as the human frame can be exhausted by overwork and overworry, it behooves the indispensable person to preserve himself as long as possible, so as to save the world from the catastrophe of his loss. The very thing he aims to do-save the world-he defeats by his anxiety and haste.

Proper prudence tends to prevent trouble, not to prevent worry. No amount of precaution and care will cure worry. In fact, the prudence and care help to fix the thought on all the mischances, however improbable or impossible, that may be imagined.

Elaborate precautions often defeat themselves, like a corporal who kept all his squad out as pickets till they were cut off one by one.

I once saw a family going off to the country, five "masters" and three servants, eight handpackages, coachman, footman, and an extra servant, and the family doctor to get them off. The cautious doctor got the tickets days before, and even got checks for the trunks. An extra trunk, taken at the last hour to hold some extra things that might be needed, upset all that arranging.