n he attained distinction.

Yet always the problems of science and philosophy claimed his chief
devotion. From the study of stars and minerals he passed to the
contemplation of other marvels of nature as revealed in man himself. And
now behold him turned chemist, anatomist, physiologist, and
psychologist, and repeating in these fields of research his former
triumphs. Still, indomitable man, he refused to stop. He would press
on, far beyond the confines of what his generation held to be the
knowable. "The end of the senses," to quote his own words, "is that God
may be seen." He would peer into the innermost recesses of man's being,
to discern the soul of man, mayhap to discern God himself.

But, if he were scientist and metaphysician, he was also human, and that
pleasant April afternoon the humanity in him bulked large when he
finally turned from the window and took his seat at the bountifully
heaped table. He was, as he had told the innkeeper, very hungry, and he
ate with a zest that abundantly confirmed his statement. How pleasant
the odors from this dish and that--how agreeable the flavor of
everything! Surely he had never enjoyed meal more, and surely he was no
longer "in the clouds"; but was instead recalling pleasant reminiscences
of his doings in one and another of the gay capitals of Europe! There
would be not a little to bring a twinkle of delight to his beaming eyes,
not a little to soften his scholastic lips into a gentle smile. And so,
in solitary state, he ate and drank, with nothing to warn him of the
impending and momentous change that was to shape anew his career and
his view-point.

Conceive his astonishment, therefore, when, his dinner still unfinished,
he felt a strange languor creeping over him and a mysterious obscurity
dimming his eyes. Conceive, further, his horror at sight of the floor
about him covered with frogs and toads and snakes and creeping things.
And picture, finally, his amazement when, the darkness that enveloped
him suddenly clearing, he beheld a man sitting in the far corner of the
room and eying him, as it seemed, reproachfully, even disdainfully.

In vain, he essayed to rise, to lift his hand, to speak. Invisible bonds
held him in his chair, an unseen power kept him mute. For an instant he
fancied that he must be dreaming; but the noises from outdoors and the
sight of the table and food before him brought conviction that he was in
full possession of his senses. Now his visitor sp