not give him a couple of yards of blue or green ribbon. And it is
curious in how many cases worldly-successful men mount, step after
step, into a new series of wants, implying a new set of mortifications
and disappointments. A person begins as a small tradesman; all he
aims at is a maintenance for him and his. That is his first aim.
Say he succeeds in reaching it. A little ago he thought he would
have been quite content could he only do that. But from his new
level he sees afar a new peak to climb; now he aims at a fortune.
That is his next aim. Say he reaches it. Now he buys an estate;
now he aims at being received and admitted as a country gentleman;
and the remainder of his life is given to striving for social
recognition in the county. How he schemes to get the baronet to dine
with him, and the baronet's lady to call upon his homely spouse!
And every one has remarked with amusement the hive of petty
mortifications, failures, and disappointments, through which he
fights his way, till, as it may chance, he actually gains a dubious
footing in the society he seeks, or gives up the endeavour as a
final failure. Who shall say that any one of the successive wants
the man has felt is more fanciful, less real, than any other? To
Mr. Oddbody, living in his fine house, it is just as serious an
aim to get asked to the Duke's ball, as in former days it was to
Jack Oddbody to carry home on Saturday night the shillings which
were to buy his bread and cheese.

And another shade of disappointment which keeps pace with all material
success is that which arises, not from failing to get a thing, but
from getting it and then discovering that it is not what we had
fancied--that it will not make us happy. Is not this disappointment
ft It everywhere? When the writer was a little boy, he was promised
that on a certain birthday a donkey should be bought for his future