DISCONTENT A BLESSING. 153 



astic in my aid. Ever in my soul is a longing 

 for, I know not what. Not for religion, for I 

 have my own; not for love eternal, for it does 

 not exist ; not for great wealth, for it brings only 

 a certainty of to-morrow's food and shelter, and 

 to-morrow is ever unborn. The richest man on 

 earth can only eat so much, can only sleep in 

 one bed at a time, can only be sheltered from 

 the storm, can only have about him a few things 

 to his liking, and all these have I. This long- 

 ing for the undefinable, the unattainable, has 

 been with me from my earliest conception of 

 life and will remain alway. To it I owe what of 

 success I have had, for without its presence to 

 prod me on I long ago would have settled down 

 in that slough of despair or content where my 

 companions of youth do mostly dwell. Often 

 do I wonder if every man whose name is known 

 beyond the pale of the county wherein he re- 

 sides has this same unsatisfied longing within 

 his soul. If so, perhaps to it he owes what little 

 of so-called "success" has been his portion here 

 on earth. 



A strenuous day has it been, a day in which 

 the mercury stood at 95 degrees or more from 

 nine o'clock till nearly sundown. When sitting 

 still one could keep fairly cool, for the breezes, 

 unimpeded by underbrush or highlands, play 

 freely about the tent. At seven A. M. I started 

 from the old farm house with all my outfit in a 



