e world about them.

The magnanimity of these expansive natures is often touching
indeed. Such persons can feel a sort of delicate rapture in thinking
that, however sick, ill-favored, mean-conditioned, and generally
forsaken they may be, they are yet integral parts of the whole of this
brave world, have a fellow's share in the strength of the dairy horses,
the happiness of the young people, the wisdom of the wise ones, and
are not altogether without part or lot in the good fortunes of the
Vanderbilts and the Hohenzollerns themselves.[1]

[Footnote 1: James: _loc. cit._, vol. I, p. 313 (written in 1890).]

In some men a modicum of success will give a disproportionate
sense of confidence and power. The man to whom success
has always come easily is not baffled by problems that
would appall those who, in middle life, "lie among the failures
at the foot of the hill." As Goethe, who had always been
miraculously successful, said to one who came to complain
to him about the difficulty of an undertaking: "You have
but to blow on your hands." In a crowd one can hardly fail
to note the easy air of competence and confidence that
distinguishes the successful man of affairs.

THE CONTRAST BETWEEN THE SELF AND OTHERS. The consciousness
of self increases with the expression of personal opinion
and power. The man whose books are translated into half a
dozen languages, to whose lectures people come from all parts
of the world, cannot help feeling an increased sense of
importance, although he may combine this consciousness with a
sense of personal humility. In the same way a man who
exerts great social power, who controls the economic lives of
thousands of employees, or whose benefactions in the way of
libraries and charitable institutions dot the land, develops
inevitably a sense of his own selfhood as over against that of the
group. He begins to realize that he does make a significant
difference in the world. This was curiously illustrated in a
speech delivered by Andrew Carnegie when, after a prolonged
absence in Europe, he came back to the opening of the Carnegie
Institute, the building of which had cost him six million
dollars:

He said he could not bring himself to a realization of what had
been done. He felt like Aladdin when he saw this building and was
aware that he had put it up, but he could not bring himself to
consciousness of having done it any more than if he had produced the
same effect by rubbing a lamp. He could