The state of being permanently wealthy is one that opens new horizons, hitherto closed. The doing of good, charity, the desire to better the condition of those who still have to struggle, these will constitute a higher and a no less attractive ideal.
This does not take into consideration the instinct, innate in every heart--and that the genius of the race has made a part of every one of us--the desire of progressing.
It is this desire that forms the ideal of fathers of families, building up the futures of their children, in whom they see not only their immediate successors, but those who are to continue their race, which they wish to be a strong and virile one, in obedience to the eternal desire for perpetuating themselves that haunts the hearts of men.
It is quite evident that each gain has no need of being complete to bear fruit. The thing to do is to multiply it, to make something more of it, and to take it home to ourselves, in order to achieve the ultimate result that is termed success.
The man of resolution appreciates this fact perfectly, rejoicing in every victory and taking each defeat as a means for gaining experience that he will be able to use to his advantage when the occasion arises.
The man of timidity, on the other hand, haunted by this desire for perfection, cut off by his very aloofness from all chance of learning the lesson of events, will be so thoroughly discouraged at the first check, that he will draw back from any similar experience, preferring to take refuge in puerile grumbling against the contrariety of things in general.
This attitude of mind can not outlast a few minutes of sensible reflection.
We wish to convey by the use of this term the idea of a process of thought quite free from those vague dreams which are the sure indications of feebleness, reveries in which things appear to us in a guise which is by no means that which they really possess.
The main characteristic of this state of mind is to exaggerate one's disappointments while ignoring one's moments of happiness.
It approximates very closely to the old fable of the crumpled rose-leaf breaking the rest of the sybarite on his couch of silk.