Speaker 1: The human wet blanket sees no good in anything, expects
the bad and gets it, attracts it to him, depresses everything,
and every one carries an aura of negative, depressing thought.
Clammy puts out the fire of energy. Take warning, did
you ever meet the human wet blanket? To start with?
He sees no good in anything? To him, every man
is a rogue, every woman a schemer trying to pull
the wool over the eyes of some man. He looks
for the bad, expects to find it, and find that
he does. One generally gets what he looks for. He
attracts to him that for which he looks, and he
cannot see any other qualities than those possessed by himself.
Everyone is trying to cheat him outwit him, so he thinks,
and I have no doubt that the law brings him
a fair share of people of this kind. In order
to prevent other people from taking advantage of him, he
endeavors to take advantage of them in the same small
way that he fears they will use on him. The
consequence is the people with whom he has dealings are
apt to give him a doze of his own medicine.
He trusts no man he's so shrewd that he measures
of this pool of threat in order to be sure
that the storekeeper has not robbed him of a yard
or two. And the funny thing is that he sets
in motion the law which causes the one short measure's
pool in the case to fall into his hands. He
just draws these things to him. He thinks himself a
marvel of cunning and endeavors to manifest it in practices,
the result being that he attracts to himself all the
little schemers and some of the big ones who happen
to be within the radius of his attracting power, while
the other type of people are repelled by his mental
attitude and thought force. Funny, isn't it. Then he sees
nothing but disaster ahead in any plan, and sure enough,
if he gets near enough to the plan to contaminate it,
trouble is sure to happen. As an attractor of negative thought,
he is the glittering success. He seems to have a
positive genius for doing things the wrong way, and yet
he doesn't believe in the attractive power of thought or
any such nonsense. He's too shrewd to take any stock
in such ridiculous theories. Although he exhibits in his life
a most con vincing proof of the truth of new
thought teachings, he never says I can and I will.
And if he hears anyone around him indulging in such
heretical notions, he promptly proceeds to squalsh him by a
few supposings but what ifs, and two or three gloomy
shakes of the head and a few sighs. His motto
seems to be there's no use trying. You can't do
it with him. The country seems always to be going
to the dogs, and the poor house is constantly looming
up before him. I need scarcely add that fear, worry, jealousy,
and suspicion are his bosom friends. He holds these thoughts constantly,
and they and the rest of the negative brood are
devouring him. They are making their home in his mentality
and are increasing rapidly, besides frequently inviting their friends for
a visit. Of course, it's nobody's business if he likes
this sort of thing, but it is not pleasant to
come in contact with him. He is surrounded with an
aura of a negative, depressing, gloomy thought forth, which is
manifest to all with whom he comes in contact. Turn
him loose in a roomful of cheerful people, and in
a few minutes the conversation has lacked. The warmth of
love and friendship has disappeared, and things begin to feel
damn and chilly, and someone will begin to make inquiry
regarding the furnace or the stream radiators, and wondering why
the janitor does not keep up the fire on such
a day. Approach him when you feel fired with energy, ambition,
and push, when you feel that you can go out
and conquer any obstacle, and you will feel the clammy
wet blanket thrown over you, putting out your fire of energy,
And in a moment or two he will wonder, what's
the use that is, unless you understand your business and
know how to throw off the influence of the negative
thought waves emanating from this man. Look out for him
from the bottom of my heart. I pity this man
and his kind. He gets none of the sweet things
of life, he doesn't see them lying around. He misses
the joy of living. He sees everything through jaundice eyes.
He knows nothing of the happiness of the clear head,
warm heart, and brotherly hand. He's so occupied in looking
for the spoiled fruit on the ground that he does
not see the perfect foot on the branches above his head,
begging to be picked. He is so much engroast in
the mud upon the road that he does not see
the bright blue sky above his head, the beautiful landscape,
the children playing on the grass, the mother nursing her babe,
the old couple trudging a long hand in hand. These
things do not exist for him. His mind is full
of fear, suspicion, distrust, in a pity spite that love
finds no room. But even this is good, for many
find their way to optimism only by first sinking to
the depths of extreme pessifism. They reach the celestial city
by the road that winds through the valley of the
shadow of Death. Even these things shall pass away. All's
well