The water
fowl flies through night and storm, lone wandering but not lost,
straight to the south with instinct for mild airs, food, and a nest
among the rushes. It is not disappointed.
Man has an instinct for dominion which cannot be gratified here. He
weeps for more worlds to conquer. He is only a boy yet, getting a grip
on the hilt of the sword of conquest, feeling for some Prospero's wand
that is able to command the tempest. When he gets the proper pitch of
power, take away his body, and he is, as Richter says, no more afraid,
and he is also free from the binding effect of gravitation. Then there
are worlds enough, and every one a lighthouse to guide him to its
harbor. They all seek a Columbus with more allurements than America
did hers. Dominion over ten cities is the reward for faithfulness in
the use of a single talent.
Man has an instinct for travel and speed. To travel a couple of months
is a sufficient reward for a thousand toilful days. He earnestly
desires speed, develops race horses and bicycles to surpass them,
yachts, and engines. Not satisfied with this, he harnesses lightning
that takes his mind, his thought, to the ends of the earth in a
twinkling. But he is stopped there. How he yearns to go to the moon,
the sun, and stars! But he could not take his present body through the
temperatures of space three or four hundred degrees below zero.
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