A
noble lord was going for a ride with another
noble—none other than the Archbishop of Canterbury. My lord’s horse, when he went to mount him,
was restive. A groom, holding on to the
bridle, was swung off his legs as the horse reared and danced. At last the horse was mounted, and the rider
cried to the groom: “Let go.” But the
groom, as the horse was still rearing, clung to the reins, having been pulled
off his balance. “You fool!” exclaimed
my lord—snatched the reins free—and galloped off. A minute later he pulled up. “Now, why did I call that man a fool?” he
said. “I daresay he is not so great a
fool as I am. I shall go back and
apologize.” “I would,” agreed the
Archbishop.
And
the nobleman returned to the stables, and made his peace with the man for
calling him a fool, and gave him half a crown into the bargain. This story illustrates an idea for keeping
down bad temper I want to tell you about.
When you feel your gorge rising, and your temper about to explode, just
think to yourself: “It is I who am to blame.”
That’s all—just think that, and it will save you many a burst of
temper. Nearly always the man who gets
cross is the man at fault.
About
the only people who never lose their tempers are the Esquimaux.[1] They have a rule of life which they have
packed into this saying: “Be not angry with a child or a fool.” The little Esquimaux romps about the
snow-house and upsets the only oil lamp for the seventh time. No one is angry with him. “He will learn better,” says his mother, “It
is all my fault for letting him romp.” And
as he grows up he sees how foolish it is to upset lamps.
[1] Eskimo
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