never leaves Brixton.

It is something to have left Brixton. Most of us have not left
Brixton. We have not even taken a cab to Ludgate Circus and
inquired from Cook's the price of a conducted tour. And our excuse
to ourselves is that there are only twenty-four hours in the day.

If we further analyse our vague, uneasy aspiration, we shall, I
think, see that it springs from a fixed idea that we ought to do
something in addition to those things which we are loyally and
morally obliged to do. We are obliged, by various codes written and
unwritten, to maintain ourselves and our families (if any) in health
and comfort, to pay our debts, to save, to increase our prosperity
by increasing our efficiency. A task sufficiently difficult! A
task which very few of us achieve! A task often beyond our skill!
Yet, if we succeed in it, as we sometimes do, we are not satisfied;
the skeleton is still with us.

And even when we realise that the task is beyond our skill, that
our powers cannot cope with it, we feel that we should be less
discontented if we gave to our powers, already overtaxed, something
still further to do.

And such is, indeed, the fact. The wish to accomplish something
outside their formal programme is common to all men who in the
course of evolution have risen past a certain level.

Until an effort is made to satisfy that wish, the sense of uneasy
waiting for something to start which has not started will remain to
disturb the peace of the soul. That wish has been called by many