focus for thought, an intellectual Rome bestriding and uniting the
Seven Hills of Unbelief."

He lighted his pipe and stared at me complacently.

Whilst I had greatly revised my first estimate of the man, my revisions
had been all in his favour. Respecting his genius my first impression
was confirmed. That he was ahead of his generation, perhaps a new
Galileo, I was prepared to believe. He had a pride of bearing which I
think was partly racial, but which in part, too, was the insignia of
intellectual superiority. He stood above the commonplace, caring little
for the views of those around and beneath him. From vanity he was
utterly free. His was strangely like the egotism of true genius.

"Now, sir," he continued, puffing furiously at his corn-cob, "I
observed you glancing a moment ago at this volume of the 'Golden
Bough.'" He pointed to the scarred book which I have already mentioned.
"It is a work of profound scholarship. But having perused its hundreds
of pages, what has the student learned? Does he know why the twenty-
sixth chapter of the 'Book of the dead' was written upon lapis-lazuli,
the twenty-seventh upon green felspar, the twenty-ninth upon cornelian,
and the thirtieth upon serpentine? He does not. Having studied Part
Four, has he learned the secret of why Osiris was a black god, although
he typified the Sun? Has he learned why modern Christianity is losing
its hold upon the nations, whilst Buddhism, so called, counts its
disciples by millions? He has not. This is because the scholar is
rarely the seer."

"I quite agree with you," I said, thinking that I detected the drift of
his argument.