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the example I was unconsciously seeking. He was an inconspicuous man, slight in build and somehow old-fashioned in appearance as if he had stepped out of a rather faded photograph. He spoke very little English, and with an accent which I didn't recognize at first, and it wasn't until we were a day or two out at sea from Bremen that I found out that the occupant of the steamer chair next to mine was a Swedish radiologist chief, in fact, of the Radicine Hemmet in Stockholm. He spent much of the time in his cabin, but we had many long talks during the passage. My own training had been in the arts, and his world seemed very far removed from mine, and yet the life which we were living in common came to seem amazingly deep, and I got to be very fond of him. I even told him about the experience of the marching feet, wondering whether I had exaggerated the whole thing. "Did you notice that when you were last in Germany, or am I conjuring up devils where they don't exist?" "You are not mistaken. The evils exist. And they march in the streets - you were quite right." "How about Sweden? Nobody marches there, do they?" I asked him. "In Sweden," he answered "we make a universal life work of peace. We profess it and we practice it. We are a small country, and we can't afford to do anything else."

  One day he gave me an informal lecture on pathology,

a curiously impressive description of a tubacle: I had always felt a certain impatience, even disdain for specific facts, because I thought that there were infinite numbers of them and that they were of no account unless you could deduce some underlying truth from them. For this reason I had no notion of the grandeur of the biological sciences and was amazed to find myself in the presence of a great monument where Dr. Elis Breven first described to me the reaction of the host to an invasion of Koch's bacillus. I didn't know at the time who Koch was or for that matter, what a