While carving the meat， he did something wrong. I didn’t noticeit； and I wouldn’t have cared even if I had noticed it. But his wifesaw it and jumped down his throat right in front of us. “John，”
she cried， “watch what you are doing！ Can’t you ever learn toserve properly！”
Then she said to us： “He is always making mistakes. He justdoesn’t try.” Maybe he didn’t try to carve； but I certainly givehim credit for trying to live with her for twenty years. Frankly， Iwould rather have eaten a couple of hot dogs with mustard—inan atmosphere of peace—than to have dined on Peking duck andshark fins while listening to her scolding.
Shortly after that experience， Mrs. Carnegie and I had somefriends at our home for dinner. Just before they arrived， Mrs.
Carnegie found that three of the napkins didn’t match thetablecloth.
“I rushed to the cook，” she told me later， “and found that theother three napkins had gone to the laundry. The guests were atthe door. There was no time to change. I felt like bursting intotears！ All I could think was： ‘Why did this stupid mistake have to spoil my whole evening？’ then I thought—well—why let it？ I wentin to dinner， determined to have a good time. And I did. I wouldmuch rather our friends think I was a sloppy housekeeper，” shetold me， “than a nervous， bad-tempered one. And anyhow， as faras I could make out， no one noticed the napkins！”
A well-known legal maxim says： De minimis non curat lex—“the law does not concern itself with trifles.” And neither shouldthe worrier—if he wants peace of mind.
Much of the time， all we need to overcome the annoyanceof trifles is to affect a shifting of emphasis—set up a new， andpleasurable point of view in the mind. My friend Homer Croy，who wrote They Had to See Paris and a dozen other books， givesa wonderful example of how this can be done. He used to bedriven half crazy， while working on a book， by the rattling of theradiators in his New York apartment. The steam would bang andsizzle—and he would sizzle with irritation as he sat at his desk.
“Then，” says Homer Croy， “I went with some friends on acamping expedition. While listening to the limbs crackling in theroaring fire， I thought how much they sounded like the cracklingof the radiators. Why should I like one and hate the other？ WhenI went home I said to myself： ‘the crackling of the limbs in thefire was a pleasant sound； the sound of the radiators is about thesame—I’ll go to sleep and not worry about the noise.’ And I did.
For a few days I was conscious of the radiators； but soon I forgotall about them.
“And so it is with many petty worries. We dislike them and getinto a stew， all because we exaggerate their importance....”
Disraeli said： “Life is too short to be little.” “Those words，”
said Andre Maurois in This Week magazine， “have helped methrough many a painful experience：often we allow ourselves tobe upset by small things we should despise and forget.... Here we are on this earth， with only a few more decades to live， and welose many irreplaceable hours brooding over grievances that， ina year’s time， will be forgotten by us and by everybody. No， letus devote our life to worth-while actions and feelings， to greatthoughts， real affections and enduring undertakings. For life istoo short to be little.”
Even so illustrious a figure as Rudyard Kipling forgot attimes that “Life is too short to be little”. The result？ He and hisbrother-in-law fought the most famous court battle in the historyof Vermont—a battle so celebrated that a book has been writtenabout it： Rudyard Kipling’s Vermont Feud.
