And the loveliest thing of all about this bright, blessed old world is
that there is not a man, woman or child in it who cannot _change_ his
environment if he doesn't like the one he now occupies. He can THINK his
way into anything.

A real, deep, tender feeling will prompt one to do all he can to
alleviate distress or add to the world's joy. _Real_ feeling prompts to
action. But this sentimental slush which slops over on anything and
everything in general is nothing but an imitation of the real thing. To
sympathize to the extent of _acting_ is good; to harrow up the feelings
when you cannot or will not act, is simply weakness.

"Feeling" is subject to the same law as water. Take away its banks and
it spreads all over creation and becomes a stagnant slough of despond.
Confine it by banks of _common-sense_ and _will_ and it grows deep and
tender and powerful, and bears blessings on its bosom.

The professional pity-er is adding to the sum total of the world's
misery.

The world is like "sweet Alice Ben Bolt"; it laughs with delight when
you give it a smile, and gets out its pocket handkerchief to weep with
you when you call it "Poor thing!"

Then it cuts its call short and runs around the corner to tell your
neighbor what a tiresome old thing you are anyway.

Never you mind the tribulations you can't help, dearie. Just wake up and
_be_ the brightest, happiest, sweetest thing you know how to be, and the
world will-be that much better off.