“Is it not a little one?”
More than twenty years ago, the good ship “Orsino,” from Newcastle-on-Tyne, was drawing near the coast of Virginia. It was a fine night in August. We were up on deck, between two and three o’clock in the morning, for our first sight of the New World. We could just see two shore lights showing in the distance—those of Cape Henry and Cape Charles. How great was our delight during those early hours, after many days at sea, to watch the shoreline coming nearer and nearer, and to guess what the little points were which, as by magic, grew before our eyes into real things.
Before long, we were in and anchoring in the Hampton Roads. Then the boat was lowered, and we went on shore with the captain. Among the things that I remember, there are two that I should like to tell you of—a big thing and a little thing.
There were many sharks in that harbor, but none of them came near us. You know that a shark is a great, strong, cruel thing that can tear a man to pieces. But we were safe from them while we were in the boat. They were more afraid of us than we of them.
But there was a tiny thing, no bigger than a pin’s head, called a mosquito. It was the first time I had seen this gentleman. He had no fear. He came to us on the ship, as soon as we cast anchor; he came to us in the boat; and he came to us on the land. And he had a way of settling on your hand or on your neck, when you were thinking of something else. He alighted so gently, you did not notice him at all. The first thing you knew was a little stinging sensation. Then you saw a red, angry mark on the flesh where the mosquito had bitten you. The disagreeable little rascal had swiftly put a morsel of poison into you, which went on irritating you all day.
It is not always the big things that give the most trouble. Fierce Mr. Shark kept his distance, but Master Mosquito was a nuisance. You may think that if you steer clear of the big bad things, you are all right; that if you don’t tell lies, and don’t put another fellow’s ball in your pocket while you help him look for it, and don’t quarrel and fight with your brothers and sisters, you are very good. Well, I am not quite so sure that there are not some little things that hurt a great deal more. There are many little stinging words, and little bursts of nasty temper, and little careless actions, that you may think nothing of at the time, but that go on irritating other people and poisoning your pleasure all the day.
One Sunday afternoon, in May time, a southerly wind blew over the Bristol Channel, and brought into the docks at Cardiff, millions of flies.
Now, a fly is a little thing. But a fly can make himself a nuisance if he likes. Especially if he chooses to take an afternoon walk on your face when you want to go to sleep. And there’s nothing that a cheerful fly likes better than that. Well, these Cardiff flies were rather worse than usual. They had longer bodies, crawled very slowly, and bit very badly. And there were so many of them.
People were taking their Sunday afternoon stroll round the docks, but they soon gave up the idea. They found the flies too much for them. Next day, the dock workmen had to give up their work. And even the able-bodied policemen in charge of the gates had to take to their heels, and run into their watch-houses and shut the doors.
“What, they were not afraid of a fly?” No, they weren’t, but a swarm of flies is a different matter. There was nothing to be done, but to wait for a strong wind to blow them away again.
That southerly wind was like a nasty temper. It is of no use arguing with anyone in a nasty temper. You’ve just got to wait till it’s over. I’ve heard bad-tempered people excuse themselves in this way, “Why, I only said this, or I only said that; there was no harm in it; surely one can make a remark.”
Quite so, we are not afraid of a remark; but the remark that comes out of a nasty temper, we are afraid of. Because we know that if we answer that, there will be another one afterwards, and when that is done with, another one after that, without an end, and every one that comes rather worse than those that went before. And the only thing for us to do, if we don’t want to get into a nasty temper too, is to run away into silence, and shut the door, and wait for a good wind, which will blow all those biting flies into the sea.
Big things only happen now and then. Little things are always with us. Our life is made up of little things. And, therefore, it is the little things that give most pleasure, and it is the little things that can spoil it. Most of us are on the watch against having our heads broken, but we think very little of giving way to bad temper. Very few of us are likely to suffer from a broken head, but as to the other thing, well, I had rather not say.
It was only last year, I think, that there was a terrible explosion at a seed-crushing and oil-cake mill at Liverpool. It cost the lives of many workmen, and brought suffering to many more. And it was all caused by little particles of dust that had collected, and had been allowed to remain, instead of being cleared away. A driving belt on one of the engines broke, and carried away the top of a dust collector, and fused at the same time art electric wire. The flame caught the flying dust, and it exploded. Such an accident would not be likely to occur more than once in a hundred years. But what I want you to see is, that it could not have occurred even once, if it had not been for hundreds of thousands of little bits of dust that were flying through the air.
So, you may think that it was very unkind of your mother to be so angry with you yesterday for leaving your cap lying on the hall-floor. But that was not why she was angry. It was because, the day before yesterday, that same cap could not be found at all until it was found in the backyard; and because, the day before that, your boots were left at the top of the cellar steps instead of being taken down and cleaned, as you were told; and because, that same morning, you had to be pulled up for a dozen other little bits of carelessness and laziness.
It is not one little thing that hurts; it’s the swarm. It is not one particle of dust that makes the explosion, but it’s the tiny spark and the flying cloud of dust, together.