the sort; of the satiety of Vathek, turning sickly away from his
earthly paradise at Cintra; nor of the graceful towers I have seen
rising from a woody cliff above a summer sea, and of the story
told me of their builder, who, after rearing them, lost interest
in them, and in sad disappointment left them to others, and went
back to the busy town wherein he had made his wealth. I think of
men, more than one or two, who rented their acre of land by the
sea-side, and built their pretty cottage, made their grassplots and
trained their roses, and then in unaccustomed idleness grew weary
of the whole and sold their place to some keen bargain-maker for
a tithe of what it cost them.

Why is it that failure in attaining ambitious ends is so painful?
When one has honestly done one's best, and is beaten after all,
conscience must be satisfied: the wound is solely to self-love;
and is it not to the discredit of our nature that that should imply
such a weary, blank, bitter feeling as it often does? Is it that
every man has within his heart a lurking belief that, notwithstanding
the world's ignorance of the fact, there never was in the world
anybody so remarkable as himself? I think that many mortals need
daily to be putting down a vague feeling which really comes to that.
You who have had experience of many men, know that you can hardly
over-estimate the extent and depth of human vanity. Never be afraid
but that nine men out of ten will swallow with avidity flattery,
however gross; especially if it ascribe to them those qualities of
which they are most manifestly deficient.

A disappointed man looks with great interest at the man who has
obtained what he himself wanted. Your mother, reader, says that
her ambition for you would be entirely gratified if you could but