It all lies there like a great
surging sea, where we must plunge and dive and feel the breeze and breast
the waves. I stand shivering here on the brink, staring, longing,
wondering, charmed by the smell of the brine and yet afraid of the water.
The world beckons and smiles and calls, but a nameless influence from the
past, that I can neither wholly obey nor wholly resist, seems to hold me
back. I am full of impulses, but, somehow, I am not full of strength.
Life seems inspiring at certain moments, but it seems terrible and
unsafe; and I ask myself why I should wantonly measure myself with
merciless forces, when I have learned so well how to stand aside and let
them pass. Why shouldn't I turn my back upon it all and go home to--what
awaits me?--to that sightless, soundless country life, and long days
spent among old books? But if a man _is_ weak, he doesn't want to assent
beforehand to his weakness; he wants to taste whatever sweetness there
may be in paying for the knowledge. So it is that it comes back--this
irresistible impulse to take my plunge--to let myself swing, to go where
liberty leads me." He paused a moment, fixing me with his excited eyes,
and perhaps perceived in my own an irrepressible smile at his perplexity.
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