ection, he will
be but a dry scholar, a dealer in words, a proficient
in mechanical thought, and a mere wheel
of memory. And the man who has this positive
quality in him will rise in spite of adverse circumstances,
will recognise and seize upon the
tide of thought which is his natural food, and
will stand as a giant at last in the place he
willed to reach. We see this practically every
day in all walks of life. Wherefore it does not
seem possible that the man who has simply
succeeded through the passions in wrecking the
dogmatic and narrow part of his nature should
pass through those great Gates. But as he is
not blinded by prejudice, nor has fastened
himself to any treadmill of thought, nor
caught the wheel of his soul in any deep rut
of life, it would seem that if once the positive
will might be born within him, he could at
some time not hopelessly far distant lift his
hand to the latch.

Undoubtedly it is the hardest task we have
yet seen set us in life, that which we are now
talking of,--to free a man of all prejudice,
of all crystallized thought or feeling, of all
limitations, yet develop within him the positive
will. It seems too much of a miracle; for in
ordinary life positive will is always associated
with crystallized ideas. But many things which
have appeared to be too much of a miracle for
accomplishment have yet been done, even in
the narrow experience of life given to our
present humanity. All the past shows us that
difficulty is no excuse for dejection, much less
for despair; else the world would have been
without the many wonders of civilization. Let
us consider the thing more seriously, therefore,
having once used our minds to the idea
that it is not impossible.

The great initial difficulty is that of fastening
the interest on that which is unseen. Yet,
this is done every day, and we have only to
observe how it is done in order to guide our
own conduct. Every inventor fastens his interest
firmly on the unseen; and it entirely
depends on the firmness of that attachment
whether he is successful or whether he fails.
The poet who looks on to his moment of
creation as that for which he lives, sees that
which is invisible and hears that which is
soundless.

Probably in this last analogy there is a
clew as to the mode by which success in this
voyage to the unknown bourn ("whence,"
indeed, "no traveller returns") is attained. It
applies also to the inventor and to all who
reach out beyond