GEORGE ROBERTSON AND CO.
PRINTERS
MELBOURNE, SYDNEY, ADELAIDE, BRISBANE
AND LONDON
FROM OCEAN TO OCEAN.
A vague longing to do something first flattered, then irritated, then oppressed me. In vain I tried to argumentatively brush it aside, to pooh-pooh it, to laugh it out of countenance. My arsenal of trite well-worn sayings (so commonly the accompaniment of a weak argument) was ransacked for ammunition to once and for all lay out this absurd restlessness. For instance, I resolutely endeavored to persuade myself that of course the maxim was true that "There is nothing new under the sun." I argued that that was as absolutely convincing in my case as a Maxim is in some others. Then I went to sleep, dreamily reflecting that that was settled, anyway. In the morning, I was witness that one saying, at any rate, was true: I had convinced myself against my will, and was in reality still longing for that formless something.
So I made a bargain with myself to strive to give my longing a local habitation and a name—to set about discovering something to be done that no man had yet even dared.
In my quest of a world to conquer, I bought a book of "Human Records" (which is not to be confounded with "A Human Document") so I might know what spheres had been already vanquished. There inscribed were the names of the heroes who had sucked the most eggs, eaten the most dumplings, drunk the most liquor, chopped the biggest tree, drawn the most teeth, vaulted the most horses.
I passed these dizzy heights with a sigh. They were far above me. Besides, cui bono?