heery. His pride in himself, his sincere admiration of
himself, his joy in what he supposed were his own and unassisted
achievements, and his exultation over the praise and applause which they
evoked--these have exalted him, enthused him, ambitioned him to higher
and higher flights; in a word, made his life worth the living. But by
your scheme, all this is abolished; he is degraded to a machine, he is
a nobody, his noble prides wither to mere vanities; let him strive as
he may, he can never be any better than his humblest and stupidest
neighbor; he would never be cheerful again, his life would not be worth
the living.

O.M. You really think that?

Y.M. I certainly do.

O.M. Have you ever seen me uncheerful, unhappy.

Y.M. No.

O.M. Well, _I_ believe these things. Why have they not made me unhappy?

Y.M. Oh, well--temperament, of course! You never let THAT escape from
your scheme.

O.M. That is correct. If a man is born with an unhappy temperament,
nothing can make him happy; if he is born with a happy temperament,
nothing can make him unhappy.

Y.M. What--not even a degrading and heart-chilling system of beliefs?

O.M. Beliefs? Mere beliefs? Mere convictions? They are powerless. They
strive in vain against inborn temperament.

Y.M. I can't believe that, and I don't.

O.M. Now you are speaking hastily. It shows that you have not studiously
examined the facts. Of all your intimates, which one is the happiest?
Isn't it Burgess?

Y.M. Easily.

O.M. And which one is the unhappiest? Henry Adams?

Y.M. Without a question!

O.M. I know them well. They are extremes, abnormals; their temperaments
are as opposite as the poles. Their life-histories are about alike--but
look at the results! Their ages are about the same--about around fifty.
Burgess had always been buoyant, hopeful, happy; Adams has always been
cheerless, hopeless, despondent. As young fellows both tried country
journalism--and failed. Burgess didn't seem to mind it; Adams couldn't
smile, he could only mourn and groan over what had happened and torture
himself with vain regrets for not having done so and so instead of so
and so--THEN he would have succeeded. They tried the law--and failed.
Burgess remained happy--because he couldn't help it. Adams was
wretched--because he couldn't help it. From that day to this, those two
men have gone on trying things and failing: Burgess has come out happy
and cheerful every time; Adams the reverse. And we do ab