habit of keeping the eyes half-closed.  The long years in India had also made a deep impression on his character, and many things about him would have appeared strange and odd in a European.  They amounted to sheer contradictions, but their explanation was to be looked for in the environment of his life.  Physically he was still young, but his mind seemed very old, and had that appearance of dwelling quietly apart which is the privilege of wise minds who have done with life, and who look on at the close of the comedy free from illusions.  His eyes often flashed with enthusiasm, but his speech was always gentle and quiet.  In his relations with other men he had the decided manner of one who was accustomed to command, and at the same time the kindness of a patriarch for his children.  He was a moderate sceptic, nevertheless he combined with it a mysticism which a superficial judge might have denounced as superstition.  He believed, for instance, that many persons had power over wild animals; that they could raise themselves into the air; that they could interrupt the duration of their lives for months, or even for years, and then resume it again; that they could read the thoughts of others, and communicate without help the speech of others over unlimited distances.  All these things he averred he had himself seen, and if people asked him how they were possible, he answered simply, “I can no more explain these phenomena than I can explain the law of gravitation, or the transformation of a caterpillar into a moth.  The first principles of everything are inexplicable.  The difference in our surroundings is only that some things are frequently observed, and others only seldom.”

His philosophy, which he had learned from the Brahmins, attracted Wilhelm greatly; it made many things clear to him which he himself had vaguely felt possible ever since he had learned to think.  “The phenomenon of things on this earth,” said Dr. Schrotter, “is a riddle which we try to read in vain.  We are borne away by a flood, whose source and whose mouth are equally hidden from us.  It is of no avail when we anxiously cry, ’Whence have we come, and whither are we going?’ The wisest course for us is to lie quietly by the banks and let ourselves drift—­the blue sky above us, and the breaking of the waves beneath us.  From time to time we come to some fragrant lotus-flower, which we may gather.”  And when Wilhelm complained that the philosophy of the world is so egoistic, Dr. Schrotter answered, “Egoism is a word.  It depends on what meaning is attached to it.  Every living being strives after something he calls happiness, and all happiness is only a spur goading us on to the search.  It belongs to the peculiar organism of a healthy being that he should be moved by sympathy.  He cannot be happy if he sees others suffering.  The more highly developed a human being is the deeper is this feeling, and the mere idea of the suffering of others precludes happiness.  The egoism of mankind is seen in this; he searches for the suffering of others, and tries to alleviate it, and in the combat with pain he insures his own happiness.  A Catholic would say of St. Vincent de Paul or St. Charles Borromeo, ‘He was a great saint.’  I would say, ‘He was a great egoist.’  Let us render love to those who are swimming with us down the stream of life, and without pricking of conscience take joy in being egoists.”