bears on the matter would seem to justify my refusing to have anything to do with it all.  When the two men came to Christ about a question of an inheritance, he would not do what they asked him.  He said, “Man, who made me a judge or a divider between you?” Again, I do not do it as a gentleman, because there is no question of personal honour involved.  I only do it, I think, because I do hot like refusing to do what I am asked to do, because I wish to please people—­a muddled sort of kindliness.

But the whole question goes deeper than that.  I suppose that tasks such as these fall in the way of all human beings, whatever their motives for undertaking them may be.  How can one do them, and yet not let them disturb one’s tranquillity?  The ordinary moralist says, “Do what you think to be right, and never mind what people say or think.”  But unfortunately I do mind very much.  I hate coldnesses and misunderstandings.  They leave me with a sore and sensitive feeling about my heart, which no amount of ingenious argument can take away.  I suppose that one ought to conclude that these things are somehow or other good for one, that they train one in patience and wisdom.  But when, as is the case with all these episodes, the original dispute ought never to have occurred; when the questions at issue are mean, pitiful, and sordid; when, if the people concerned were only themselves wise, patient, and kind, the situation would never have occurred, what then?  If my acquaintance, in the first case, had not taken a mean pleasure in tale-bearing and causing pain, if in the second case my two relatives had not been grasping and selfish, if in the third case my friend’s widow had not allowed her own sense of affection to supersede her judgment, if in the fourth case my friend had been content to let his merits speak for themselves instead of relying upon personal influences, these little crises would never have occurred; it seems unfair that the pain and discomfort of these paltry situations should be transferred to the shoulders of one who has no particular personal interest in the matter.  Besides, I cannot honestly trace in my own case the beneficial results of the process.  These rubs only make me resolve that in the future I will not have anything to do with such matters at all.  It is true that I shall not keep my resolution; but that does not mend matters appreciably.

Moreover, instead of giving me a wholesome sense of hopefulness and confidence, it only makes me feel acutely the dreary and sordid elements which seem inextricably intermingled with life, which might otherwise be calm, serene, and beautiful.  I do not see that any of the people concerned are the better for any of the incidents which have occurred—­indeed, I think that they are all the worse for them.  It is not encouraging or inspiring to have the meanness and pettiness of human nature brought before one, and to feel conscious of one’s own weakness and feebleness as well.  Some sorrows and losses purge, brace, and strengthen.  Such trials as these stain, perplex, enfeeble.