A Victorian Scrapbook

…. SELFISHNESS. – Nay, do not forsake your friend because you are aware of his weaknesses and defects. Try to think that he is good. Has he not some beautiful traits of character, some sweet affections springing up amidst the weeds and briars of error – some precious roots starting out from under the stumps of a neglected moral training?

Try to love him. Never mind his oddities; never mind if he is sometimes crusty, or severe, rune or cynical; shut your eyes as much as possible upon all his faults, and open them to acts which are the result of generous impulses – when he is harsh, forgive him; when he is gentle bless him. Oh! think of your own wayward moods, your own fretfulness, your own trespasses upon the rights of others, your own need of forgiveness both of man and God. Alas! Are we not all utterly selfish? Out rights must be respected; our weaknesses indulged, our plans furthered; our best interests studied by our neighbors – but why should we give a thought to theirs?

The poor man says –

“My neighbor is rich, he wants work done, and is now just at that turning point of his affairs that he cannot wait; I will bleed his plethoric purse by overcharging him for my labor – I must live.”

The rich man says –

“hundreds are suffering from destitution; now is my time to build and repair, and speculate in bread; labor is cheap, and mouths must be filled – poor fellows! I pity them; but I must think of my own interests first, they would treat me just as I do them were our circumstances reversed.”

So they wilfully defraud each other, forgetting that there is One over all who requires justice and mercy at their hands. O! earth would be a heaven if we could divest ourselves of even half our selfishness; and remember that the hearts of others are beating upon as sensitive chords as our own; and that their success in business is as dear to them as ours to us. Sorrow is the lot of all; why should we push forward our own interests over the crushed hopes and blighted prospects of those to whom life is equally dear, and the very “hairs of whose heads have been numbered” by the good Father, with the same kind care as our own.