them singly as they come.

The real way to fight them is to get together a treasure of interests
and hopes and beautiful visions and emotions, and above all to have
some definite work which lies apart from our daily work, to which we
can turn gladly in empty hours; because fears are born of inaction and
idleness, and melt insensibly away in the warmth of labour and duty.

Nothing can really hurt us except our own despair. But the problem
which is difficult is how to practise a real fulness of life, and yet
to keep a certain detachment, how to realise that what we do is small
and petty enough, but that the greatness lies in our energy and
briskness of action; we should try to be interested in life as we are
interested in a game, not believing too much in the importance of it,
but yet intensely concerned at the moment in playing it as well and
skilfully as possible. The happiest people of all are those who can
shift their interest rapidly from point to point, and throw themselves
into the act of the moment, whatever it may be. Of course this is
largely at first a matter of temperament, but temperament is not
unalterable; and self-discipline working along the lines of habit has a
great attractiveness, the moment we feel that life is beginning to
shape itself upon real lines.

XVI

FEAR OF LIFE

Let us divide our fears up into definite divisions, and see how it is
best to deal with them. Lowest and worst of all is the shapeless and
bodiless fear, which is a real disease of brain and nerves. I know no
more poignant description of this than in the strange book Lavengro:

"'What ails you, my child,' said a mother to her son, as he lay on a
couch under the influence of the dreadful one; 'what ails you? you seem
afraid!'

"Boy. And so I am; a dreadful fear is upon me.

"Mother. But of what? there is no one can harm you; of what are you
apprehensive?

"Boy. Of nothing that I can express; I know not what I am afraid of,
but afraid I am.

"Mother. Perhaps you see sights and visions; I knew a lady once who was
continually thinking that she saw an armed man threaten her, but it was
only an imagination, a phantom of the brain.

"Boy. No armed man threatens me; and 'tis not a thing that would cause
me any fear. Did an armed man threaten me, I would get up and fight
him; weak as I am, I would wish for nothing better, for then, perhaps,
I should lose this fear; mine is a dread of I know not what, and there
the ho