think it becomes pretty plain to most of us, by the time we reach years of discretion, what we can do and what we cannot.  I don’t mean that life ought to be lived in blank selfishness, without reference to anyone else.  Most of us can’t do that, anyhow—­it requires extraordinary concentration of will.  But I think that our lives ought to be intensive—­that is to say, I don’t think we ought to concern ourselves with getting rid of our deficiencies, so much as by concentrating and emphasizing our powers and faculties.  We ought all of us to have a certain circle in mind—­I believe very much in circles.  We are very much limited, and our power of affecting people for good and evil is very small; our chance of helping is small.  The moment we try to extend our circle very much, to widen our influence, we become like a juggler who keeps a dozen plates spinning all at once—­it is mere legerdemain.  But we most of us live really with about a score of people.  We can’t choose our circle altogether, and there are generally certain persons in it whom we should wish away.  I think we ought to devote ourselves to our work, whatever it is, and outside of that to getting a real, intimate, and vital understanding with the people round us.  That is a problem which is amply big enough for most of us.  Then I think we ought to go seriously to work, not arguing or finding fault, not pushing or shoving people about, but just living on the finest lines we can.  The only real chance of converting other people to our principles or own ideas, is to live in such a way that it is obvious that our ideas bring us real and vital happiness.  You may depend upon it, that is the only way to live—­the positive way.  We simply must not quarrel with our associates:  we must be patient and sympathetic and imaginative.”

“But are there no exceptions?” said I.  “I have heard you say that a man must be prepared to lose friends on occasions.”

“Yes,” said Father Payne, “the circle shifts and changes a little, no doubt.  I admit that it becomes clear occasionally that you cannot live with a particular person.  But if you have alienated him or her by your censoriousness and your want of sympathy, you have to be ashamed of yourself.  If it is the other way, and you are being tyrannised over, deflected, hindered, then it may be necessary to break away—­though, mind you, I think it is finer still if you do not break away.  But you must have your liberty, and I don’t believe in sacrificing that, because then you live an unreal life—­and, whatever happens, you must not do that.”

“But what is to be done when people are tied up by relationships, and can’t get away?” said I.

“Yes, there are such cases,” said Father Payne; “I don’t deny it.  If there is really no escape possible, then you must tackle it, and make the finest thing you can out of the situation.  Fulness of life, that is what we must aim at.  Of course people are hemmed in in other ways too—­by health, poverty, circumstances of various kinds.  But, however small your saucepan is, it ought to be on the boil.”