CHAPTER XVI DISCONTENT AND WORRY Closely allied to envy is discontent. These are blood relations, and both are prolific sources of worry. And lest there are those who think because I have revealed, in the preceding chapter, the demon of worry--envy--as one that attacks the minds of the great and mighty, it does not enter the hearts of everyday people, let me quote, entire, an article and a poem recently written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox in The Los Angeles Examiner. The discontent referred to clearly comes from envy. Some one has blond tresses, while she has black. This arouses her envy. She is envious because another's eyes are blue, while hers are brown; another is tall, while she is small; etc., etc. There is nothing, indeed, that she cannot weep and worry over:
There is a certain girl I know, a pretty little elf, Who spends almost her entire thoughts in pity for herself.
Her glossy tresses, raven black, cause her to weep a pond-- She is so sorry for herself because they are not blond.
Her eyes, when dry, are very bright and very brown, 'tis true, But they are almost always wet, because they are not blue.
She is of medium height, and when she sees one quite tall She weeps all day in keenest pain because she is so small.
But if she meets some tiny girl whom she considers fair, Then that she is so big herself she sobs in great despair.
When out upon a promenade her tears she cannot hide, To think she is obliged to walk while other folks can ride.
But if she drives, why then she weeps--it is so hard to be Perched stiffly in a carriage seat while other girls run free.
She used to cry herself quite sick to think she had to go Month after month to dreary schools; that was her constant woe.
But on her graduating day, my, how her tears did run! It seemed so sorrowful to know that her school life was done.
One day she wept because she saw a funeral train go by-- It was so sad that she must live while other folks could die.
And really all her friends will soon join with her in those tears Unless she takes a brighter view of life ere many years.
The conceited girl or woman is tiresome and unpleasant as a companion, but the morbidly discontented woman is far worse. Perhaps you have met her, with her eternal complaint of the injustice of Fate toward her.
She feels that she is born for better things than have befallen her; her family does not understand her; her friends misjudge her; the public slights her.
If she is married she finds herself superior to her husband and to her associates. She is eternally longing for what she has not, and when she gets it is dissatisfied.
The sorrowful side of life alone appeals to her.
This she believes is due to her "artistic nature." The injustice of fortune and the unkindness of society are topics dear to her heart. She finds her only rapture in misery.
