ry, tend to injure one's inner nature.

Fortunately for Gunther, scientific studies and home influences always
lent him new vigor. But he was often alarmed lest he should fritter
away his life and gradually lose his individuality. To a certain
extent, he was perfectly willing to be uniformed; he even admitted that
it was both necessary and pleasing, since it represented a remnant of
that mental and political discipline which combines and utilizes
individuals who were otherwise incongruous and scattered. But, at the
same time, Gunther endeavored to prevent any change in himself. He
would often, and with special stress, remark that he who suffers any of
his essential traits to be thus changed has been subdued and killed by
the world, and has ceased to exist as himself.

When, with each succeeding day, he presented himself at court, he came,
as it were, from a strange and distant sphere. And it was this which
accounted for the severe and almost unbending manner, so often observed
in him. He was, nevertheless, forbearing toward the superficiality and
the mere desire to please, which he encountered at court, for he well
knew that where strength of character or depth of culture do not feed
the spring of life, there must needs be some provision for every
passing hour, and also an inevitable tendency to make all life center
about the daily affairs of a small and exclusive circle.

Gunther's so-called inflexibility also lay in the fact that he never
misplaced the center of gravity, and thus, when the prop seemed
withdrawn, he could yet stand his ground firmly and had no need to seek
for strength from without. And now, when the sudden, but by no means
unexpected, rupture took place, it was easy enough to lay aside the
privy councilor and remain the doctor. He had soon mastered every trace
of ill-feeling produced by his great and sudden fall. He regretted to
leave his many friends at the capital and the queen especially. He knew
that he could still have been of great benefit to her; "but then," said
he to himself, "it will be far better for her to seek and gain strength
from herself, and without the aid of others."

Thus Gunther left the capital, and, in doing so, realized a life-long
wish to return to his native town.

He had almost attained his seventieth year, and looked upon the remnant
of life yet accorded him as a peaceful evening of rest--the reward of a
well-spent manhood. He desired, as far as possible, to close his