yne knew that he had lost me....

I pass over the rest of my college course, and the years I spent at the
Harvard Law School, where were instilled into me without difficulty the
dictums that the law was the most important of all professions, that
those who entered it were a priestly class set aside to guard from
profanation that Ark of the Covenant, the Constitution of the United
States. In short, I was taught law precisely as I had been taught
religion,--scriptural infallibility over again,--a static law and a
static theology,--a set of concepts that were supposed to be equal to
any problems civilization would have to meet until the millennium.
What we are wont to call wisdom is often naively innocent of impending
change. It has no barometric properties.

I shall content myself with relating one incident only of this period.
In the January of my last year I went with a party of young men and
girls to stay over Sunday at Beverly Farms, where Mrs. Fremantle--a
young Boston matron had opened her cottage for the occasion. This
"cottage," a roomy, gabled structure, stood on a cliff, at the foot of
which roared the wintry Atlantic, while we danced and popped corn before
the open fires. During the daylight hours we drove about the country in
sleighs, or made ridiculous attempts to walk on snow-shoes.

On Sunday afternoon, left temporarily to my own devices, I wandered
along the cliff, crossing into the adjoining property. The wind had
fallen; the waves, much subdued, broke rhythmically against the rocks;
during the night a new mantle of snow had been spread, and the
clouds were still low and menacing. As I strolled I became aware of a
motionless figure ahead of me,--one that seemed oddly familiar; the set
of the shabby overcoat on the stooping shoulders, the unconscious pose
contributed to a certain sharpness of individuality; in the act of
challenging my memory, I halted. The man was gazing at the seascape,
and his very absorption gave me a sudden and unfamiliar thrill. The word
absorption precisely expresses my meaning, for he seemed indeed to have
become a part of his surroundings,--an harmonious part. Presently
he swung about and looked at me as though he had expected to find me
there--and greeted me by name.

"Krebs!" I exclaimed.

He smiled, and flung out his arm, indicating the scene. His eyes at that
moment seemed to reflect the sea,--they made the gaunt face suddenly
beautiful.

"This reminds me of a Japanese