thought himself into a most suggestive way of dealing with the
problems of matter and spirit, a way which, besides being
suggestive, bore a great resemblance to some theories of the same
nature, current in ancient India. Consequently Mr. Willson was
offered, for the first time in his life, a chance of expressing
his views on matter and spirit in as many articles and in as
extensive a shape as he chose. The way he received this tardy
recognition of the fact that he had something to say was highly
instructive. He did not put on airs of unrecognized greatness,
though, I own, the occasion was propitious; he did not say, "I
told you so;" he simply and frankly was glad, in, the most
childlike way.

And now that I have used the word, it occurs to me that
"childlike" is an adjective the best applied to this man, in
spite of his portliness, and his three score and more winters.

Many a pleasant hour I have spent in the small bookroom of the
great "World" building. With Mr. Willson talk never flagged. We
discussed the past and the future of our planetary chain, we
built plans for the true and wholesome relation of sexes, we
tried to find out--and needless to say never did--the exact
limit where matter stopped being matter and became spirit; we
also read the latest comic poems and also, from time to time, we
took a header into the stormy sea of American literature in order
to find out what various wise heads had to say, consciously or
unconsciously, in favour of our beloved Theosophical views. And
all this, being interrupted every three minutes or so by some
weary apparition from some workroom in the "World" with some such
question: "Mr. Willson, how am I to find out the present