A rich man who finds that there is nothing in life worth living for, is worse off than is a poor man in similar circumstances, for the poor man may he stricken with ambition, and in a last effort to attain fame and fortune, redeems himself. But what is a man to do if he has wealth, health, all the fame he desires, and yet looks at life through blue spectacles? A man of this stamp is yawning out an utterly purposeless existence. He is comparatively young. There are no business cares to vex him; he has money enough to insure comfort, and yet he is thoroughly unhappy. He visits a winter resort down South, not for the benefit of his health. He has no chums there; his friends simply endure him, and he is as thoroughly unhappy as he had been in Europe or in the North. Perhaps some kind fairy took pity upon him, and induced him to go out rowing all alone, for he lost his oars and drifted about aimlessly all night, believing that his last hour had come. The good fairy so directed the boat ...
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