But as Mr. FLETCHER declares, if men could take Forethought as their principle and guide they would obviate, anticipate or foresee and provide for so many evil contingencies and chances that we might secure even peace and happiness, and then man may become brave and genial, altruistic and earnest, in spite of it all, by willing away his Timidity.

I have not assumed a high philosophical or metaphysical position in this work; my efforts have been confined to indicating how by a very simple and well-nigh mechanical process, perfectly intelligible to every human being with an intellect, one may induce certain states of mind and thereby create a Will. But I quite agree with Mr. FLETCHER that Forethought is strong thought, and the point from which all projects must proceed. As I understand it, it is a kind of impulse or projection of will into the coming work. I may here illustrate this with a curious fact in physics. If the reader wished to ring a door-bell so as to produce as much sound as possible he would probably pull it as far back as he could and then let it go. But if he would in letting it go simply give it a tap with his forefinger he would actually redouble the noise.

Or, to shoot an arrow as far as possible, it is not enough to merely draw the bow to its utmost span or tension. If just as it goes you will give the bow a quick push, though the effort be trifling, the arrow will fly almost as far again as it would have done without it.

Or, if, as is well known, in wielding a very sharp saber, we make the draw-cut, that is if we add to the blow or chop, as with an axe, a certain slight pull and simultaneously, we can cut through a silk handkerchief or a sheep.

Forethought is the tap on the bell, the push of the bow, the draw on the saber. It is the deliberate yet rapid action of the mind when before falling to sleep or dismissing thought we bid the mind to subsequently respond. It is more than merely thinking what we are to do; it is the bidding or ordering self to fulfill a task before willing it.

Forethought in the senses employed or implied as here described means much more than mere previous consideration or reflection, which may be very feeble. It is, in fact, "constructive," which, as inventive, implies active thought. "Forethought stimulates, aids the success of honest aims." Therefore, as the active principle in mental work, I regard it as a kind of self-impulse, or that minor part in the division of the force employed which sets the major into action. Now, if we really understand this and can succeed in employing Forethought as the preparation for, and impulse to, Self-Suggestion, we shall greatly aid the success of the latter, because the former insures attention and interest. Forethought may be brief, but it should always be energetic. By cultivating it we acquire the enviable talent of those men who take in everything at a glance, and act promptly, like a NAPOLEON. This power is universally believed to be entirely innate or a gift; but it can be induced or developed in all minds in proportion to the will by practice.

Be it observed that as the experimenter progresses in the development of will by suggestion, he can gradually lay aside the latter, or all processes, especially if he work to such an end, anticipating it. Then he simply acts by clear will and strength, and Forethought constitutes all his stock-in-trade, process or aid. He preconceives and wills energetically at once, and by practice and repetition Forethought becomes a marvelous help on all occasions and emergencies.

To make it of avail the one who frequently practices self-suggestion, at first with, and then without sleep, will inevitably find ere long that to facilitate his work, or to succeed he must first write, as it were, or plan a preface, synopsis, or epitome of his proposed work, to start it and combine with it a resolve or decree that it must be done, the latter being the tap on the bell-knob. Now the habit of composing the plan as perfectly, yet as succinctly as possible, daily or nightly, combined with the energetic impulse to send it off, will ere long give the operator a conception of what I mean by Foresight which by description I cannot. And when grown familiar and really mastered its possessor will find that his power to think and act promptly in all the emergencies of life has greatly increased.

Therefore Forethought means a great deal more, as here employed, than seeing in advance, or deliberate prudence—it rather implies, like divination or foreknowledge, sagacity and mental action as well as mere perception. It will inevitably or assuredly grow with the practice of self-suggestion if the latter be devoted to mental improvement, but as it grows it will qualify the operator to lay aside the sleep and suggest to himself directly.

All men of great natural strength of mind, gifted with the will to do and dare, the beings of action and genius, act directly, and are like athletes who lift a tree by the simple exertion of the muscles. He who achieves his aim by self-culture, training, or suggestion, is like one who raises the weight by means of a lever, and if he practice it often enough he may in the end become as strong as the other.

There is a curious and very illustrative instance of Forethought in the sense in which I am endeavoring to explain it, given in a novel, the "Scalp-Hunters," by MAYNE REID, with whom I was well acquainted in bygone years. Not having the original, I translate from a French version:

"His aim with the rifle is infallible, and it would seem as if the ball obeyed his Will. There must be a kind of directing principle in his mind, independent of strength of nerve and sight. He and one other are the only men in whom I have observed this singular power."

This means simply the exercise in a second, as it were, of "the tap on the bell-knob," or the projection of the will into the proposed shot, and which may be applied to any act. Gymnasts, leapers and the like are all familiar with it. It springs from resolute confidence and self-impulse enforced; but it also creates them, and the growth is very great and rapid when the idea is much kept before the mind. In this latter lies most of the problem.

In Humanity, mind, and especially Forethought, or reflection, combined in one effort with will and energy, enters into all acts, though often unsuspected, for it is a kind of unconscious reflex action or cerebration. Thus I once discovered to my astonishment in a gymnasium that the extremely mechanical action of putting up a heavy weight from the ground to the shoulder and from the shoulder to the full reach of the arm above the head, became much easier after a little practice, although my muscles had not grown, nor my strength increased during the time. And I found that whatever the exertion might be there was always some trick or knack, however indescribable, by means of which the man with a brain could surpass a dolt at anything, though the latter were his equal in strength. But it sometimes happens that the trick can be taught and even improved on. And it is in all cases Forethought, even in the lifting of weights or the willing on the morrow to write a poem.

For this truly weird power—since "the weird sisters" in "Macbeth" means only the sisters who foresee—is, in fact, the energy which projects itself in some manner, which physiology can as yet only very weakly explain, and even if the explanation were perfect, it would amount in fact to no more than showing the machinery of a watch, when the main object for us is that it should keep time, and tell the hour, as well as exhibit the ingenuity of the maker—which thing is very much lost sight of, even by many very great thinkers, misled by the vanity of showing how much they know.

Yes, Foresight or Forethought projects itself in all things, and it is a serious consideration, or one of such immense value, that when really understood, and above all subjected to some practice—such as I have described, and which, as far as I can see, is necessary—one can bring it to bear intelligently on all the actions of life, that is to say, to much greater advantage than when we use it ignorantly, just as a genius endowed with strength can do far more with it than an ignoramus. For there is nothing requiring Thought in which it cannot aid us. I have alluded to Poetry. Now this does not mean that a man can become a SHAKESPEARE or SHELLEY by means of all the forethought and suggestion in the world, but they will, if well developed and directed, draw out from the mystic depths of mind such talent as he has—doubtless in some or all cases more than he has ever shown.

No one can say what is hidden in every memory; it is like the sounding ocean with its buried cities, and treasures and wondrous relics of the olden time. This much we may assume to know, that every image or idea or impression whichever reached us through any of our senses entered a cell when it was ready for it, where it sleeps or wakes, most images being in the former condition. In fact, every brain is like a monastery of the Middle Ages, or a beehive. But it is built on a gigantic scale, for it is thought that no man, however learned or experienced he might be, ever contrived during all his life to so much as even half fill the cells of his memory. And if any reader should be apprehensive lest it come to pass with him in this age of unlimited supply of cheap knowledge that he will fill all his cells let him console himself with the reflection that it is supposed that Nature, in such a case, will have a further supply of new cells ready, she never, as yet, having failed in such rough hospitality, though it often leaves much to be desired!

Yes, they are all there—every image of the past, every face which ever smiled on us—the hopes and fears of bygone years—the rustling of grass and flowers and the roar of the sea—the sound of trumpets in processions grand—the voices of the great and good among mankind—or what you will. Every line ever read in print, every picture and face and house is there. Many an experiment has shown this to be true; also that by mesmerizing or hypnotizing processes the most hidden images or memories can be awakened. In fact, the idea has lost much of its wonder since the time of Coleridge, now that every sound can be recorded, laid away and reproduced, and we are touching closely on an age when all that lies perdu in any mind can or will be set forth visibly, and all that a man has ever seen be shown to the world. For this is no whit more wonderful than that we can convey images or pictures by telegraph, and when I close my eyes and recall or imagine a form it does not seem strange that there might be some process by means of which it might be photographed.

And here we touch upon the Materialization of Thought, which conception loses a part of the absurdity with which Spiritualists and Occultists have invested it, if we regard all nature as one substance. For, in truth, all that was ever perceived, even to the shadow of a dream by a lunatic, had as real an existence while it lasted as the Pyramids of Egypt, else it could not have been perceived. Sense cannot, even in dreams, observe what is not for the time an effect on matter. If a man imagines or makes believe to himself that he has a fairy attendant, or a dog, and fancies that he sees it, that man does really see something, though it be invisible to others. There is some kind of creative brain-action going on, some employment of atoms and forces, and, if this be so, we may enter it among the Possibilities of the Future that the Material in any form whatever may be advanced, or further materialized or made real.

It is curious that this idea has long been familiar to believers in magic. In more than one Italian legend which I have collected a sorceress or goddess evolves a life from her own soul, as a fire emits a spark. In fact, the fancy occurs in some form in all mythologies, great or small. In one old Irish legend a wizard turns a Thought into a watch-dog. The history of genius and of Invention is that of realizing ideas, of making them clearer and stronger and more comprehensive. Thus it seems to me that the word Forethought as generally loosely understood, when compared to what it has been shown capable of expressing, is almost as much advanced as if like the fairy HERMELINA, chronicled by GROSIUS, it had been originally a vapor or mere fantasy, and gradually advanced to fairy life so as to become the companion of a wizard.

If an artist, say a painter, will take forethought for a certain picture, whether the subject be determined or not, bringing himself to that state of easy, assured confidence, as a matter of course that he will retain the subject he will, if not at the first effort, almost certainly at last find himself possessed of it. Let him beware of haste, or of forcing the work. When he shall have secured suggestive Interest let him will that Ingenuity shall be bolder and his spirit draw from the stores of memory more abundant material. Thus our powers may be gradually and gently drawn into our service. Truly it would seem as if there were no limit to what a man can evolve out of himself if he will take Thought thereto.

Forethought can be of vast practical use in cases where confidence is required. Many a young clergyman and lawyer has been literally frightened out of a career, and many an actor ruined for want of a very little knowledge, and in this I speak from personal experience. Let the aspirant who is to appear in public, or pass an examination, and is alarmed, base his forethought on such ideas as this, that he would not be afraid to repeat his speech to one person or two—why should he fear a hundred? There are some who can repeat this idea to themselves till it takes hold strongly, and they rise almost feeling contempt for all in court—as did the old lady in Saint Louis, who felt so relieved when a witness at not feeling frightened that she bade judge and jury cease looking at her in that impudent way.

Having read the foregoing to a friend he asked me whether I believed that by Forethought and Suggestion a gentleman could be induced without diffidence to offer himself in marriage, since, as is well known, that the most eligible young men often put off wedding for years because they cannot summon up courage to propose. To which I replied that I had no great experience of such cases, but as regarded the method I was like the Scotch clergyman who, being asked by a wealthy man if he thought that the gift of a thousand pounds to the Kirk would save the donor's soul, replied: "I'm na prepairet to preceesly answer thot question—but I wad vara warmly advise ye to try it."

It must be remembered that for the very great majority of cases, if really not for all, the practicer of this process must be of temperate habits, and never attempt after a hearty meal, or drinking freely, to exercise Forethought or Self-Suggestion. Peaceful mental action during sleep requires that there shall be very light labor of digestion, and disturbed or troublesome dreams are utterly incompatible with really successful results. Nor will a single day's temperance suffice. It requires many days to bring the whole frame and constitution into good fit order. Here there can be no evasion, for more than ordinary temperance in food and drink is absolutely indispensable.

It is a principle, recognized by all physiologists, that digestion and fixed thought cannot go on together; it is even unadvisable to read while eating. Thus in all the old magical operations, which were, in fact, self-hypnotism, a perfect fast is insisted on with reason. This is all so self-evident that I need not dwell on it. It will be needless for anyone to take up this subject as a trifling pastime, or attempt self-suggestion and development of will with as little earnestness as one would give to a game of cards; for in such a half-way effort time will be lost and nothing come of it. Unless entered on with the most serious resolve to persevere, and make greater effort and more earnestly at every step, it had better be let alone.

All who will persevere with calm determination cannot fail ere long to gain a certain success, and this achieved, the second step is much easier. However, there are many people who after doing all in their power to get to the gold or diamond mines, hasten away even when in the full tide of success, because they are fickle—and it is precisely such people who easily tire who are most easily attracted, be it to mesmerism, hypnotism, or any other wonder. And they are more wearisome and greater foes to true Science than the utterly indifferent or the ignorant.

This work will not have been written in vain should it induce the reader to reflect on what is implied by patient repetition or perseverance, and what an incredible and varied power that man acquires who masters it. He who can lead himself, or others, into a habit can do anything. Even Religion is, in fact, nothing else. "Religion," said the reviewer of "The Evolution of the Idea of God," by GRANT ALLEN, "he defines as Custom or Practice—not theory, not theology, not ethics, not spiritual aspirations, but a certain set of more or less similar observances: propitiation, prayer, praise, offerings, the request for Divine favors, the deprecation of Divine anger, or other misfortunes"—in short, Ritual. That is to say, it is the aggregate of the different parts of religion, of which many take one for the whole. But this aggregation was the result of earnest patience and had good results. And it is by the careful analysis and all-round examination of Ideas that we acquire valuable knowledge, and may learn how very few there are current which are more than very superficially understood—as I have shown in what I have said of the Will, the Imagination, Forethought, and many other faculties which are flippantly used to explain a thousand problems by people who can hardly define the things themselves.



CHAPTER V.

WILL AND CHARACTER.

"And I have felt A Presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts, a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interposed, Whose dwelling is . . . all in the mind of man; A motion and a spirit that impels All thinking things."—Wordsworth.

As the vast majority of people are not agreed as to what really constitutes a Gentleman, while a great many seem to be practically, at least, very much abroad as to the nature of a Christian, so it will be found that, in fact, there is a great deal of difference as regards the Will. I have known many men, and some women, to be credited by others, and who very much credited themselves, with having iron wills, when, in fact, their every deed, which was supposed to prove it, was based on brazen want of conscience. Mere want of principle or unscrupulousness passes with many, especially its possessors, for strong will. And even decision of character itself, as MAGINN remarks, is often confounded with talent. "A bold woman always gets the name of clever"—among fools—"though her intellect may be of a humble order, and her knowledge contemptible." Among the vulgar, especially those of greedy, griping race and blood, the children of the thief, a robber of the widow and orphan, the scamp of the syndicate, and soulless "promoter" in South or North America, bold robbery, or Selfishness without scruple or timidity always appears as Will. But it is not the whole of the real thing, or real will in itself. When MUTIUS CAIUS SCAEVOLA thrust his hand into the flames no one would have greatly admired his endurance if it had been found that the hand was naturally insensible and felt no pain. Nor would there have been any plaudits for MARCUS CURTIUS when he leapt into the gulf, had he been so drunk as not to know what he was about. The will which depends on unscrupulousness is like the benumbed hand or intoxicated soul. Quench conscience, as a sense of right and obligation, and you can, of course, do a great deal from which another would shrink—and therefore be called "weak-minded" by the fools.

There is another type of person who imposes on the world and on self as being strong-minded and gifted with Will. It is the imperturbable cool being, always self-possessed, with little sympathy for emotion. In most cases such minds result from artificial training, and they break down in real trials. I do not say that they cannot weather a storm or a duel, or stand fire, or get through what novelists regard as superlative stage trials; but, in a moral crisis, the gentleman or lady whose face is all Corinthian brass is apt like that brass in a fire to turn pale. These folk get an immense amount of undeserved admiration as having Will or self-command, when they owe what staying quality they have (like the preceding class) rather to a lack of good qualities than their inspiration.

There are, alas! not a few who regard Will as simply identical with mere obstinacy, or stubbornness, the immovability of the Ass, or Bull, or Bear—that is, they reduce it to an animal power. But, as this often or generally amounts in animal or man to mere insensible sulkiness—as far remote as possible from enlightened mental action, it is surely unjust to couple it with the Voluntary or pure intelligent Will, by which all must understand the very acme of active Intellect.

Therefore it follows, that the errors, mistakes, and perversions which have grown about Will in popular opinion, like those which have accumulated round Christianity, are too often mistaken for the truth. Pure Will is, and must be by its very nature, perfectly free, for the more it is hindered, or hampered, or controlled in any way, the less is it independent volition. Therefore, pare Will, free from all restraint can only act in, or as, Moral Law. Acting in accordance with very mean, immoral, obstinate motives is, so to speak, obeying as a slave the devil. The purer the motive the purer the Will, and in very truth the purer the stronger, or firmer. Every man has his own idea of Will according to his morality—even as it is said that every man's conception of God is himself infinitely magnified—or, as SYDNEY SMITH declared, that a certain small clergyman believed that Saint Paul was five feet two inches in height, and wore a shovel-hat. And here we may note that if the fundamental definition of a gentleman be "a man of perfect integrity," or one who always does simply what is right, he is also one who possesses Will in its integrity.

Therefore it follows that if the pure will, which is the basis of all firm and determined action, be a matter of moral conviction, it should take the first place as such. Napoleon the First was an exemplar of a selfish corrupted will, CHRIST the perfection of Will in its purity. And if I can make my meaning clear, I would declare that he who would create within himself a strong and vigorous will by hypnotism or any other process, will be most likely to succeed, if, instead of aiming at developing a power by which he may subdue others, and make all things yield to him, or similar selfish aims, he shall, before all, seriously reflect on how he may use it to do good. For I am absolutely persuaded from what I know, that he who makes Altruism and the happiness of others a familiar thought to be coupled with every effort (even as a lamb is always painted with, or appointed unto, St. John), will be the most likely to succeed. There is something in moral conviction or the consciousness of right which gives a sense of security or a faith in success which goes far to secure it. Hence the willing the mind on the following day to be at peace, not to yield to irritability or temptations to quarrel, to be pleasing and cheerful; in short to develop good qualities is the most easily effected process, because where there is such self-moral-suasion to a good aim or end, we feel, and very justly, that we ought to be aided by the Deus in nobis, or an over-ruling Providence, whatever its form or nature may be. And the experimenter may be assured that if we can by any means will or exorcise all envy, vanity, folly, irritability, vindictiveness—in short all evil—out of ourselves, and supply their place with Love, we shall take the most effective means to secure our own happiness, as well as that of others.

All of this has been repeated very often of late years by Altruists; but, while the doctrine is accepted both by Agnostics and Christians as perfect, there has been little done to show men how to practically realize it. But I have ever noted that in this Pilgrim's Progress of our life, those are most likely to attain to the Celestial City, and all its golden glories, who, like CHRISTIAN, start from the lowliest beginnings; and as the learning our letters leads to reading the greatest books, so the simplest method of directing the attention and the most mechanical means of developing Will, may promptly lead to the highest mental and moral effect.

Prayer is generally regarded as nothing else but an asking or begging from a superior power. But it is also something which is really very different from this. It is a formula by means of which man realizes his faith and will. Tradition, and habit (of whose power I have spoken) or repetition, have given it the influence or prestige of a charm. In fact it is a spell, he who utters it feels assured that if seriously repeated it will be listened to, and that the Power to whom it is addressed will hear it. The Florentines all round me as I write, who repeat daily, "Pate nostro quis in cell, santi ficeturie nome tumme!" in words which they do not understand, do not pray for daily bread or anything else in the formula; they only realize that they commune with God, and are being good. An intelligent prayer in this light is the concentration of thought on a subject, or a definite realization. Therefore if when willing that tomorrow I shall be calm all day or void of irritation, I put the will or wish into a brief and clear form, it will aid me to promptly realize or feel what I want. And it will be a prayer in its reality, addressed to the Unknown Power or to the Will within us—an invocation, or a spell, according to the mind of him who makes it.

Thus a seeker may repeat: "I will, earnestly and deeply, that during all tomorrow I may be in a calm and peaceful state of mind. I will with all my heart that if irritating or annoying memories or images, or thoughts of any kind are in any way awakened, that they may be promptly forgotten and fade away!"

I would advise that such a formula be got by heart till very familiar, to be repeated, but not mechanically, before falling to sleeps What is of the very utmost importance is that the operator shall feel its meaning and at the same time give it the impulse of Will by the dual process before described. This, if successfully achieved, will not fail (at least with most minds) to induce success.

This formula, or "spell," will be sufficient for some time. When we feel that it is really beginning to have an effect, we may add to it other wishes. That is to say, be it clearly understood, that by repeating the will to be calm and peaceful, day after day, it will assuredly begin to come of itself, even as a pigeon which hath been "tolled" every day at a certain hour to find corn or crumbs in a certain place, will continue to go there even if the food cease. However, you may renew the first formula if you will. Then we may add gradually the wish to be in a bold or courageous frame of mind, so as to face trials, as follows:

"I will with all my soul, earnestly and truly, that I may be on the morrow and all the day deeply inspired with courage and energy, with self-confidence and hope! May it lighten my heart and make me heedless of all annoyances and vexations which may arise! Should such come in my way, may I hold them at no more than their real value, or laugh them aside!"

Proceed gradually and firmly through the series, never trying anything new, until the old has fully succeeded. This is essential, for failure leads to discouragement. Then, in time, fully realizing all its deepest meaning, so as to impress the Imagination one may will as follows:

"May my quickness of Perception, or Intuition, aid me in the business which I expect to undertake tomorrow. I will that my faculty of grasping at details and understanding their relations shall be active. May it draw from my memory the hidden things which will aid it!"

The artist or literary man, or poet, may in time earnestly will to this effect:

"I desire that my genius, my imagination, the power which enables man to combine and create; the poetic (or artist) spirit, whatever it be, may act in me tomorrow, awakening great thoughts and suggesting for them beautiful forms."

He who expects to appear in public as an orator, as a lawyer pleading a case, or as a witness, will do much to win success, if after careful forethought or reflecting on what it is that he really wants, he will repeat:

"I will that tomorrow I may speak or plead, with perfect self-possession and absence of all timidity or fear!"

Finally, we may after long and earnest reflection on all which I have said, and truly not till then, resolve on the Masterspell to awaken the Will itself in such a form that it will fill our soul, as it were, unto which intent it is necessary to understand what Will really means to us in its purity and integrity. The formula may be:

"I will that I may feel inspired with the power, aided by calm determination, to do what I desire, aided by a sense of right and justice to all. May my will be strong and sustain me in all trials. May it inspire that sense of independence of strength which, allied to a pure conscience, is the greatest source of happiness on earth!"

If the reader can master this last, he can by its aid progress infinitely. And with the few spells which I have given he will need no more, since in these lie the knowledge, and key, and suggestion to all which may be required.

Now it will appear clearly to most, that no man can long and steadily occupy himself with such pursuits, without morally benefiting by them in his waking hours, even if auto-hypnotism were all "mere imagination," in the most frivolous sense of the word. For he who will himself not to yield to irritability, can hardly avoid paying attention to the subject, and thinking thereon, check himself when vexed. And as I have said, what we summon by Will ere long remains as Habit, even as the Elves, called by a spell, remain in the Tower.

Therefore it is of great importance for all people who take up and pursue to any degree of success this Art or Science, that they shall be actuated by moral and unselfish motives, since achieved with any other intent the end can only be the bringing of evil and suffering into the soul. For as the good by strengthening the Will make themselves promptly better and holier, so he who increases it merely to make others feel his power will become with it wickeder, yea, and thrice accursed, for what is the greatest remedy is often the strongest poison.

Step by step Science has advanced of late to the declaration that man thinks all over his body, or at least experiences those reflected sensations or emotions which are so strangely balanced between intellectual sense and sensation that we hardly know where or how to class them. "The sensitive plexi of our whole organism are all either isolated or thrown into simultaneous vibration when acted on by Thought." So the Will may be found acting unconsciously as an emotion or instinct, or developed with the highest forms of conscious reflection. Last of all we find it, probably as the result of all associated functions or powers, at the head of all, their Executive president. But is it "the exponent of correlated forces?" There indeed doctors differ.

There is a very curious Italian verb, Invogliare, which is thus described in a Dictionary of Idioms: "Invogliare is to inspire a will or desire, cupiditatem injicere a movere. To invogliare anyone is to awake in him the will or the ability or capacity, an earnest longing or appetite, an ardent wish—alicujus rei cupiditatem a desiderium alicni movere—to bring into action a man's hankering, solicitude, anxiety, yearning, ardor, predilection, love, fondness and relish, or aught which savors of Willing." Our English word, Inveigle, is derived from it, but we have none precisely corresponding to it which so generally sets forth the idea of inspiring a will in another person. "Suggestion" is far more general and vague. Now if a man could thus in-will himself to good or moral purpose, he would assume a new position in life. We all admit that most human beings have defects or faults of which they would gladly be freed (however incorrigible they appear to be), but they have not the patience to effect a cure, to keep to the resolve, or prevent it from fading out of sight. For a vast proportion of all minor sins, or those within the law, there is no cure sought. The offender says and believes, "It is too strong for me"—and yet these small unpunished offenses cause a thousand times more suffering than all the great crimes.

Within a generation, owing to the great increase of population, prosperity and personal comfort, nervous susceptibility has also gained in extent, but there has been no check to petty abuse of power, selfishness, which always comes out in some form of injustice or wrong, or similar vexations. Nay, what with the disproportionate growth of vulgar wealth, this element has rapidly increased, and it would really seem as if the plague must spread ad infinitum, unless some means can be found to invogliare and inspire the offenders with a sense of their sins, and move them to reform. And it is more than probable that if all who are at heart sincerely willing to reform their morals and manners could be brought to keep their delinquencies before their consciousness in the very simple manner which I have indicated, the fashion or mode might at least be inaugurated. For it is not so much a moral conviction, or an appeal to common sense, which is needed (as writers on ethics all seem to think), but some practical art of keeping men up to the mark in endeavoring to reform, or to make them remember it all day long, since "out of sight out of mind" is the devil's greatest help with weak minds.



CHAPTER VI.

SUGGESTION AND INSTINCT.

"Anima non nascitur sed fit," ut ait.—TERTULLIANUS.

"Post quam loquuti sumus de anima rationali, intellectuali (immortali) et quia ad inferiores descendimus jam gradus animae, scilicet animae mortalis quae animalium est." —PETRUS GREGORIUS THOLOSANUS.

It must have struck many readers that the action of a mind under hypnotic influence, be it of another or of self, involves strange questions as regards Consciousness. For it is very evident from recorded facts, that people can actually reason and act without waking consciousness, in a state of mind which resembles instinct, which is a kind of cerebration, or acting under habits and impressions supplied by memory and formed by practice, but not according to what we understand by Reason or Judgment.

All things in nature have their sleep or rest, night is the sleep of the world, death the repose of Nature or Life—the solid temples, the great globe itself, dissolve to awaken again; so man hath in him, as it were, a company of workmen, some of whom labor by day, while others watch by night, during which time they, unseen, have their fantastic frolics known as dreams. The Guardian or Master of the daily hours, appears in a great measure to conform his action closely to average duties of life, in accordance with those of all other men. He picks out from the millions of images or ideas in the memory, uses and becomes familiar with a certain number, and lets the rest sleep. This master or active agent is probably himself a Master-Idea—the result of the correlative action of all the others, a kind of consensus made personal, an elected Queen Bee, as I have otherwise described him or her.

But he is not the only thinker—there are all over the body ganglions which act by a kind of fluid instinct, born of repetition, and when the tired master even drowses or nods, or falls into a brown study, then a marvelously curious mental action begins to show itself, for dreams at once flicker and peer and steal dimly about him. This is because the waking consciousness is beginning to shut out the world— and its set of ideas.

So consistent is the system that even if Waking Reason abstract itself, not to sleep, but to think on one subject such as writing a poem or inventing a machine, certain affinities will sleep or dreams begin to show themselves. When Genius is really at work, it sweeps along, as it were, in a current, albeit it has enough reason left to also use the rudder and oars, or spread and manage a sail. The reason for the greater fullness of unusual images and associations (i. e., the action of genius) during the time when one is bent on intellectual invention is that the more the waking conscious Reason drowses or approaches to sleep, the more do many images in Memory awaken and begin to shyly open the doors of their cells and peep out.

In the dream we also proceed, or rather drift, loosely on a current, but are without oars, rudder or sail. We are hurtled against, or hurried away from the islands of Images or Ideas, that is to say, all kinds of memories, and our course is managed or impelled, or guided by tricky water-sprites, whose minds are all on mischief bent or only idle merriment. In any case they conduct us blindly and wildly from isle to isle, sometimes obeying a far cry which comes to them through the mist—some echoing signal of our waking hours. So in a vision ever on we go!

That is to say that even while we dream there is an unconscious cerebration or voluntarily exerted power loosely and irregularly imitating by habit, something like the action of our waking hours, especially its brown studies and fancies in drowsy reveries or play.

It seems to me as if this sleep-master or mistress—I prefer the latter—who attends to our dreams may be regarded as Instinct on the loose, for like instinct she acts without conscious reasoning. She carries out, or realizes, trains of thought, or sequences with little comparison or deduction. Yet within her limits she can do great work, and when we consider, we shall find that by following mere Law she has effected a great, nay, an immense, deal, which we attribute entirely to forethought or Reason. As all this is closely allied to the action of the mind when hypnotized, it deserves further study.

Now it is a wonderful reflection that as we go back in animated nature from man to insects, we find self-conscious Intellect or Reason based on Reflection disappear, and Instinct taking its place. Yet Instinct in its marvelous results, such as ingenuity of adaptation, often far surpasses what semi-civilized man could do. Or it does the same things as man, only in an entirely different way which is not as yet understood. Only from time to time some one tells a wonderful story of a bird, a dog or a cat, and then asks, "Was not this reason?"

What it was, in a great measure, was an unconscious application of memory or experience. Bees and ants and birds often far outdo savage men in ingenuity of construction. The red Indians in their persistent use of flimsy, cheerless bark wigwams, were far behind the beaver or oriole as regards dwellings; in this respect the Indian indicated mere instinct of a low order, as all do who live in circles of mere tradition.

Now to advance what seems a paradox, it is evident that even what we regard as inspired genius comes to man in a great measure from Instinct, though as I noted before it is aided by reflection. As the young bird listens to its mother and then sings till as a grown nightingale it pours forth a rich flood of varying melody; so the poet or musician follows masters and models, and then, like them, creates, often progressing, but is never entirely spontaneous or original. When the artist thinks too little he lacks sense, when he thinks too much he loses fire. In the very highest and most strangely mysterious poetical flights of SHELLEY and KEATS, or WORDSWORTH, I find the very same Instinct which inspires the skylark and nightingale, but more or less allied to and strengthened by Thought or Consciousness. If human Will or Wisdom alone directed all our work, then every man who had mere patience might be a great original genius, and it is indeed true that Man can do inconceivably more in following and imitating genius than has ever been imagined. However, thus far the talent which enables a man to write such a passage as that of TENNYSON,

"The tides of Music's golden sea Setting towards Eternity,"

results from a development of Instinct, or an intuitive perception of the Beautiful, such as Wordsworth believed existed in all things which enjoy sunshine, life, and air. The poet himself cannot explain the processes, though he may be able to analyze in detail how or why he made or found a thousand other things.

It is not only true that Genius originates in something antecedent to conscious reflection or intellect, but also that men have produced marvelous works of art almost without knowing it, while others have shown the greatest incapacity to do so after they had developed an incredible amount of knowledge. Thus Mr. WHISTLER reminded RUSKIN that when the world had its greatest artists, there were no critics.

And it is well to remember that while the Greeks in all their glory of Art and Poetry were unquestionably rational or consciously intelligent, there was not among them the thousandth part of the anxious worrying, the sentimental self-seeking and examination, or the Introversion which worms itself in and out of, and through and through, all modern work, action and thought, even as mercury in an air-pump will permeate the hardest wood. For the Greeks worked more in the spirit of Instinct; that is, more according to certain transmitted laws and ideas than we realize—albeit this tradition was of a very high order. We have lost Art because we have not developed tradition, but have immensely increased consciousness, or reflection, out of proportion to art It was from India and Egypt in a positive form that Man drew the poison of sentimental Egoism which became comparative in the Middle Ages and superlative in this our time.

It is very evident that as soon as men become self-conscious of great work, or cease to work for the sake of enjoying Art, or its results, and turn all their attention to the genius or cleverness, or character or style, self, et cetera, of the artist, or of themselves, a decadence sets in, as there did after the Renaissance, when knowledge or enjoyment of Art was limited, and guided by familiarity with names and schools and "manners," or the like, far more than by real beauty in itself.

Now, out of all this which I have said on Art, strange conclusions may be drawn, the first being that even without self-conscious Thought or excess of Intellect, there can be a Sense of Enjoyment in any or every organism, also a further development of memory of that enjoyment, and finally a creation of buildings, music and song, with no reflection, in animals, and very little in Man. And when Man gets beyond working with simple Nature and begins to think chiefly about himself, his Art, as regards harmony with Nature, deteriorates.

We do not sufficiently reflect on the fact that Natura naturans, or the action of Nature (or simply following Tradition), may, as is the case of Transition Architecture, involve the creation of marvelously ingenious and beautiful works, and the great enjoyment of them by Instinct alone. It is not possible for ordinary man to even understand this now in all its fullness. He is indeed trying to do so—but it is too new for his comprehension. But a time will come when he will perceive that his best work has been done unconsciously, or under influences of which he was ignorant.

Hypnotism acts entirely by suggestion, and he who paints or does other work entirely according to Tradition, also carries out what is or has been suggested to him. Men of earlier times who thus worked for thousands of years like the Egyptians in one style, were guided by the faith that it had been begun by the Creator or God.

For men cannot conceive of creation as separate from pre-determined plan or end, and all because they cannot understand that Creative innate force, potentia, must have some result, or that the simplest Law once set agoing awakens, acquires strength in going and develops great Laws, which, with an all-susceptible or capable material to work on, may, or must, create infinite ingenuities, so that in time there may be an organic principle with sentiency, and yet no Will, save in its exponents, or working to end or aim, but ever tending to further unfolding "a seizing and giving the fire of the living" ever onwards into Eternity, in which there may be a million times more perfect "mind" than we can now grasp.

Now, having for many years attempted at least to familiarize myself with the aspect or sound, of this problem, though I could not solve it, it seems at last to be natural enough that even matter (which so many persist in regarding as a kind of dust or something resistant to the touch, but which I regard as infinite millions of degrees more subtle), may think just as well as it may act in Instinct. It is, indeed, absurd to admit souls to idiots or savages, who have not the sense to live as comfortably as many animals, and yet deny it to the latter. When we really become familiar with the idea, it appears sensible enough. But its opponents do not become familiar with it, it irritates them, they call it Atheistic, although it is nothing of the kind, just as if we were to say that a man who bravely and nobly pursued his way in life, doing his duty because it was his duty, and giving no thought as to future reward or punishment, must needs want soul or be an Atheist.

If all men were perfectly good, they would act morally and instinctively, without consciousness of behaving well, and if we felt a high ideal of Art it would be just the same. When Art was natural men never signed their names to their work, but now the Name takes precedence of the picture.

Therefore, as we go backward into the night of things, we find, though we forget it all the time, that Instinct or the living in the Spirit of Law, had its stars or planets which shone more brilliantly than now, at least in Faith. Thus, there are two sources of Creation or Action, both based on Evolution, one being unconscious and guided by Natural Law, and the other which is conscious and grows out of the first. Hence cognito ergo sum, which well-nigh all men really understand as cogito, ergo sum Deus. Or we may say that they assume

"Because I think, then God must think like me!"

Now to come to Hypnotic thought, or suggested mental action. I would infer that, according to what I have said, there may be two kinds of mentality, or working of the mind—the one under certain conditions as effective or resultant as the other; the first being—as it was in the order of time—Unconscious or Instinctive; the other, conscious and self-observant.

For the man who built a Romanesque Cathedral worked by the suggestiveness of minds which went before him, or Tradition. He was truly, as it were, in a kind of slumber; indeed, all life was more or less of a waking dream in those dim, strange days. "Millions marched forth to death scarce knowing why," all because they were told to do so—they felt that they must do it, and they did it. "Like turkeys led by a red rag," says CARLYLE. And the red rag and the turkey is an illustration of Hypnotism in one of the books thereon. Instinct is Hypnotism.

Now I have found that by suggesting to oneself before sleep, or inducing self by Will or Forethought to work gladly and unweariedly the next day, we do not think about self or the quality of what we do to any degree like what we would in working under ordinary conditions. Truly it is not thoroughgoing or infallible in all cases, but then it must be helped by a little wide-awake self-conscious will. But this is certainly true, that we can turn out better work when we urge our creative power to awake in the morn and act or aid, than if we do not.

"For there are many angels at our call, And many blessed spirits who are bound To lend their aid in every strait and turn; And elves to fly the errands of the soul, And fairies all too glad to give us help, If we but know how to pronounce the spell Which calls them unto us in every need."

That spell I have shown or explained clearly enough.

And, finally, to recapitulate, Instinct in its earlier or simpler form is the following laws of Nature which are themselves formed by motive laws. In Man the living according to Tradition is instinct of a higher order, and the one or the other is merely being ruled by Suggestion. The more free Will is developed and guided by reflection, or varied tradition and experience, the less instinct and the more intellect will there be.



CHAPTER VII.

MEMORY CULTURE.

'Twas wisely said by Plato, when he called Memory "the mother of the Intellect," For knowledge is to wisdom what his realm Is to a monarch—that o'er which he rules; And he who hath the Will can ever win Such empire to himself—Will can do all.

There is nothing in which the might of the Will can be so clearly set forth as in the making of memory. By means of it, as is fully proved by millions of examples, man can render his power of recollection almost infinite. And lest the reader may think that I here exaggerate, I distinctly assert that I never knew a man of science, familiar with certain facts which I shall repeat, who ever denied its literal truth.

As I have already stated, there are two methods, and only two, by means of which we can retain images, facts or ideas. One of these is that which in many varied forms, which are all the same in fact, is described in the old Artes Memorandi, or Arts of Memory. There are several hundreds of these, and to the present day there are professors who give instructions according to systems of the same kind. These are all extremely plausible, being based on Association of ideas, and in most cases the pupil makes great progress for a short time. Thus, we can remember the French for bread, pain, Italian Pane, by thinking of the pan in which bread is baked, or the difficult name of the inventor, SSCZEPANIK (pronounced nearly she-panic) by thinking of a crowd of frightened women, and which I remembered by the fact that pane is the Slavonian for Mr. or Sir. For there is such a tendency of ideas to agglutinate, and so become more prominent, as we can see two bubbles together in a pool more readily than one that we can very soon learn to recall many images in this way.

But after a time a certain limit is reached which most minds cannot transgress. VOLAPUK was easy so long as, like Pidgin-English, it contained only a few hundred words and no grammar. But now that it has a dictionary of 4,000 terms and a complete grammar it is as hard to learn as Spanish. It invariably comes to pass in learning to remember by the Associative method that after a time images are referred to images, and these to others again, so that they form entire categories in which the most vigorous mind gets lost.

The other method is that of direct Memory guided by Will, in which no regard is paid to Association, especially in the beginning. Thus to remember anything, or rather to learn how to do so, we take something which is very easy to retain—the easier the better—be it a jingling nursery rhyme, a proverb, or a text. Let this be learned to perfection, backwards and forwards, or by permutation of words, and repeated the next day. Note that the repetition or reviewing is of more importance than aught else.

On the second day add another proverb or verse to the preceding, and so on, day by day, always reviewing and never learning another syllable until you are sure that you perfectly or most familiarly retain all which you have memorized. The result will be, if you persevere, that before long you will begin to find it easier to remember anything. This is markedly the case as regards the practice of reviewing, which is invariably hard at first, but which becomes ere long habitual and then easy.

I cannot impress it too vividly on the mind of the reader, that he cannot make his exercises too easy. If he finds that ten lines a day are too much, let him reduce them to five, or two, or one, or even a single word, but learn that, and persevere. When the memory begins to improve under this process, the tasks may, of course, be gradually increased.

An uncle of the present Khedive of Egypt told me that when he was learning English, he at first committed to memory fifty words a day, but soon felt himself compelled to very much reduce the number in order to permanently remember what he acquired. One should never overdrive a willing horse.

Where there is a teacher with youthful pupils, he can greatly aid the process of mere memorizing, by explaining the text, putting questions as to its meaning, or otherwise awaking an interest in it. After a time the pupils may proceed to verbal memorizing, which consists of having the text simply read or repeated to them. In this way, after a year or eighteen months of practice, most people can actually remember a sermon or lecture, word for word.

This was the process which was discovered, I may say simultaneously, by DAVID KAY and myself, as our books upon it appeared at almost the same time. But since then I have modified my plan, and made it infinitely easier, and far more valuable, as will be apparent to all, by the application of the principles laid down in this book. For while, according to the original views, Memory depended on Will and Perseverance, there was no method indicated by any writer how these were to be created, nor was energetic Forethought considered as amounting to more than mere Intention.

Now I would say that having the task selected, first give energetic forethought, or a considerate determination to master this should precede all attempts to learn, by everybody, young or old. And when the lesson is mastered, let it be repeated with earnestness and serious attention before going to sleep, with the Will that it shall be remembered on the morrow. And it will be found that this process not only secures the memory desired, but also greatly facilitates the whole course and process.

It is to be noted that by this, or any process, we do not remember everything, but only what is first considered and measured by Forethought. Also that by it the Memory is never overcharged at the expense of Intellect, for the exertion of will in any way strengthens the mind. To explain the immense power which this all implies, I observe:

That previous to the invention of printing, it was usual for students to get their text-books by heart. Thus in India, according to MAX MULLER, the entire text and glosses of PANINI'S Sanskrit grammar were handed down orally for 350 years before being committed to writing. This work is about equal in size to the Bible.

There are Indian priests now living who can repeat accurately the whole poems of the Mahabarata of 300,000 slokas or lines.

That these incredible feats were the result of a system of memorizing similar to what I have explained.

That the Guzlas or Slavonian minstrels of the present day have by heart with remarkable accuracy immensely long epic poems. I have found the same among Algonkin Indians, whose sagas or mythic legends are interminable, and yet are committed word by word accurately.

I have heard in England of a lady ninety years of age whose memory was miraculous, and of which extraordinary instances are narrated by her friends. She attributed it to the fact that when young she had been made to learn a verse from the Bible every day, and then constantly review it. As her memory improved, she learned more, the result being that in the end she could repeat from memory any verse or chapter called for in the whole Scripture. The habit had marvelously developed her intelligence as well as memory.

Now I confidently declare that if this lady had submitted what she learned to the suggestive-will process she could have spared herself half the labor. And it is to be observed that as in time the labor of reviewing and the faculty of promptly recalling becomes easier and easier till it is simply mechanical, so the memorizing by suggestion becomes more facile until it is, so to speak, only a form. And as it becomes easier the foresight strengthens till it wields an absolute power.

If the reader is interested in this subject of developing the memory, I would refer him to my work on Practical Education in which it is discussed with reference to recalling objects through all the Senses.

No one who has made even a very slight trial of the process of impressing on the mind before sleep something which must be remembered, can fail to be convinced ere long of the truth that there is in it a marvelous power which will with easy and continued practice enable him to recall whatever he pleases. It follows as a matter of course, that this would be of incredible value in education, but notwithstanding the vast discussion of this subject which is ever going on, it does not seem to occur to a living man that we should develop and train the mental faculties, such as memory and quickness of perception, as well as set them to hard work.

It is also safe to say that there is not a man living who was educated from boyhood upon this principle, and yet I am confident that no scientist in existence, knowing the facts on which my statement is based, will deny that it is as easy to develop the mental factors alluded to, as to learn a language or play on the piano. It is not a matter of theory but of facts. Millions of men have in the past acquired the faculty of being able to repeat and remember whatever they heard, if they earnestly attended to it. Earnest attention in this case means a strong exercise of forethought, or determination to an end or given purpose. In Iceland, that which has since become the English common law, was at an early date very fully developed, without any books or writing. And there were lawyers who had by heart all the laws, and incredible numbers of precedents, as appears from several sagas, among others, that of The Burnt Njall.

Our present system of Education is that of building houses without foundations. No one suspects or dreams what mighty powers there are latent in us all, or how easily they may be developed. It would not be so reprehensible if men entirely neglected the subject, but they are always working hard and spending millions on the old system, and will not even make the least experiment to test a new theory. One reason for this is the old belief that we are all born with a certain quantum of "gifts," as for example memory, capacity, patience, et cetera, all more or less limited, and in reality not to be enlarged or improved. The idea is natural, because we see that there are very great differences, hereditary or otherwise, in children. But it is false. So we go to work to fill up the quantum of memory as soon as possible by violent cramming, and in like manner tax to the utmost all the mental faculties without making the least effort to prepare, enlarge or strengthen them.

I shall not live to see it, but a time will come when this preparation of the mental faculties will be regarded as the basis of all education.

To recapitulate in a few words. When we desire to fix anything in the memory we can do so by repeating it to ourselves before we go to sleep, accompanying it with the resolution to remember it in future. We must not in the beginning set ourselves any but very easy tasks, and the practice must be steadily continued.

It has been often said that a perfect memory is less of a blessing than the power of oblivion. Thus THEMISTOCLES (who, according to CATO, as cited by CICERO, knew the names and faces of every man in Athens) having offered to teach some one the art of memory, received for reply, "Rather teach me how to forget"—esse facturum si se oblivisci quae vellet, quam si meminisse docuisset. And CLAUDIUS had such an enviable power in the latter respect that immediately after he had put to death his wife MESSALINA, he forgot all about it, asking, "Cur domina non veniret?"—"Why the Missus didn't come?"—while on the following day, after condemning several friends to death, he sent invitations to them to come and dine with him. And again, there are people who have, as it were, two memories, one good, the other bad, as was the case with CALVISIUS SABRINUS, who could recall anything in literature, but never remembered the names of his own servants, or even his friends. But he got over the difficulty by naming his nine attendants after the nine Muses, while he called his intimates Homer, Hesiod, and so on. This scholar would truly seem to have drunk of the two fountains sacred to Trophonius, by the river Orchomenus in Boeotia, one of which bestowed memory and the other oblivion. And like unto them is the power of the Will, aided by Forethought and Suggestion, for while it properly directs and aids us to remember what we will, it per contra also helps us to forget.



CHAPTER VIII.

THE CONSTRUCTIVE FACULTIES.

"He who hath learned a single art, Can thrive, I ween, in any part." —German Proverb.

"He would have taught you how you might employ Yourself; and many did to him repair, And, certes, not in vain; he had inventions rare." —WORDSWORTH.

When I had, after many years of study and research in England and on the Continent, developed the theory that all practical, technical education of youth should be preceded by a light or easy training on an aesthetic basis, or the minor arts, I for four years, to test the scheme, was engaged in teaching in the city of Philadelphia, every week in separate classes, two hundred children, besides a number of ladies. These were from the public schools of the city. The total number of these public pupils was then 110,000.

My pupils were taught, firstly, simple outline decorative design with drawing at the same time; after this, according to sex, easy embroidery, wood carving, modeling in clay, leather-work, carpentering, inlaying, repousse modeling in clay, porcelain painting, and other small arts. Nearly all of the pupils, who were from ten to sixteen years of age, acquired two or three, if not all, of these arts, and then very easily found employment in factories or fabrics, etc.

Many people believed that this was all waste of money and time, and, quite unknown to me, at their instigation an inquiry was made of all the teachers in the public schools as to the standing of my art pupils in their other classes, it being confidently anticipated that they would be found to have fallen behind. And the result of the investigation was that the two hundred were in advance of the one hundred and ten thousand in every branch—geography, arithmetic, history, and so on.

It was not remarkable, because boys and girls who had, at an average age of twelve or thirteen, learned the principles of design and its practical application to several kinds of handiwork, and knew the differences and characteristics of Gothic, Arabesque, or Greek patterns, all developed a far greater intelligence in general thought and conversation than others. They had at least one topic on which they could converse intelligently with any grown-up person, and in which they were really superior to most. They soon found this out. I have often been astonished in listening to their conversation among themselves to hear how well they discussed art. They all well knew at least one thing, which is far from being known among aesthetes in London, which is that in Decorative Art, however you may end in all kinds of mixtures of styles, you must at least begin with organic development, and not put roots or flowers at both ends of a branch or vine.

The secret of it all is that those who from an early age develop the constructive faculty (especially if this be done in a pleasing, easy manner, with agreeable work) also develop with it the Intellect, and that very rapidly to a very remarkable degree. There are reasons for this. Drawing when properly taught stimulates visual perception or eye memory; this is strikingly the case when the pupil has a model placed in one room, and, after studying it, goes into another room to reproduce it from memory. Original design, which when properly taught is learned with incredible ease by all children, stimulates observation to a remarkable degree. The result of such education is to develop a great general quickness of perception and thought.

Now, be it observed, that if anyone desires to learn design or any art, it may be greatly facilitated by the application to it of Will and Foresight, and in the beginning, Self-Suggestion. He who understands the three as one, sees in it a higher or more energetic kind of self-discipline than most people practise. In the end they come to the same as a vigorous effort of the Will.

Thus, having mastered the very easy principles of design which govern all organic development or vegetable growth (as set forth in a plant with roots, offshoots, or crochets, and end ornaments, flowers, or finials, with the circle, spiral, and offshooting ornaments; rings made into vines and wave patterns; all of which can be understood in an hour with diagrams), let the beginner attempt a design, the simpler the better, and reproduce it from memory. If on going to bed he will impress it on his mind that on the morrow he would like to make more designs, or that it must be done, he will probably feel the impulse and succeed. This is the more likely because patterns impress themselves very vividly on the memory or imagination, and when studied are easily recalled after a little practice.

The manner in which most artists form an idea, or project their minds to a plan or invention, be it a statue or picture; and the way they think it over and anticipate it—very often actually seeing the picture in a finished state in imagination—all amounts to foresight and hypnotic preparation in a crude, imperfect form. If any artist who is gifted with resolution and perseverance will simply make trial of the method here recommended, he will assuredly find that it is a great aid to Invention.

It is probable that half the general average cleverness of men is due to their having learned, as boys, games, or the art of making something, or mending and repairing. In any case, if they had learned to use their hands and their inventiveness or adaptability, they would have been the better for it. That the innumerable multitude of people who can do nothing of the kind, and who take no real interest in anything except spending money and gossiping, are to be really pitied, is true. Some of them once had minds—and these are the most pitiful or pitiable of all. It is to be regretted that novels are, with rare exceptions, written to amuse this class, and limit themselves strictly to "life," never describing with real skill, so as to interest anything which would make life worth living for—except love—which is good to a certain extent, but not absolutely all in all, save to the eroto-maniac. And as most novelists now pretend to instruct and convey ideas, beyond mere story-telling, or even being "interesting," which means the love or detective business, I would suggest to some of these writers that the marvelous latent powers of the human mind, and also some art which does not consist of the names and guide-book praises of a few great painters and the Renaissance rechauffee would be a refreshing novelty.

The ancient Romans were thoroughly persuaded that Exercitatione et usu (by exercising the physical faculties in every way; by which they meant arts as well as gymnastics; and by making such practice habitual) they could develop intellect, in illustration of which Lycurgus once took two puppies of the same litter, and had the one brought up to hunt, while the other was nursed at home in all luxury; and when grown, and let loose, the one caught a hare, while the other yelped and ran away. So the word handy, in old English hend, meaning quick, alert, or gifted with prompt perception, is derived from knowing how to use the hands. BRUSONIUS ("Facetiae," Lyons, 1562) has collected a great number of classic anecdotes to illustrate this saying.

Recapitulation. Those who desire to become artists, can greatly facilitate their work, if beginning for example with very simple outline decorative designs, and having learned the principles on which they are constructed, they would repeat or revise them to themselves before sleep, resolving to remember them. The same principle is applicable to all kinds of designs, with the proviso that they be at first very easy. This is generally a very successful process.

Fore thought, or the projection of conception or attention with will, is a marvelous preparation for all kinds of art work. He who can form the habit of seeing a picture mentally before he paints it, has an incredible advantage, and will spare himself much labor and painting out.



CHAPTER IX.

FASCINATION.

"Quaerit Franciscus Valesius, Delrio, Gutierrus, et alii, unde vulgaris ilia fascini nata sit opinio de oculo fascinante visione et ore fascinando laudando."—De Faseinatione Fatatus. A. D. 1677.

I have in Chapter Fifth mentioned several of the subjects to attain which the Will may be directed by the aid of self-hypnotism, preceded by Forethought. If the reader has carefully studied what I have said and not merely skimmed it, he must have perceived that if the power be fully acquired, it makes, as it were, new existence for its possessor, opening to him boundless fields of action by giving him the enviable power to acquire interest—that is to say agreeable or profitable occupation—in whatever he pleases. In further illustration of which I add the following:

To recall bygone memories or imperfectly remembered sensations, scenes and experiences or images.

This is a difficult thing to describe, and no wonder, since it forms the greatest and most trying task of all poets to depict that which really depends for its charm on association, emotion and a chiaroscuro of the feelings. We have all delightful reminiscences which make ridiculous Dante's assertion that

"There is no greater grief than to recall in pain The happy days gone by;"

which, if true, would make it a matter of regret that we ever had a happy hour. However, I assume that it is a great pleasure to recall, even in grief, beautiful bygone scenes and joys, and trust that the reader has a mind healthy and cheerful enough to do the same.

What constitutes a charm in many memories is often extremely varied. Darkly shaded rooms with shutters closed in on an intensely hot American summer day. Chinese matting on the floors—the mirrors and picture frames covered with tulle—silence—the scent of magnolias all over the house—the presence of loved ones now long dead and gone—all of these combined form to me memory-pictures in which nothing can be spared. The very scent of the flowers is like musk in a perfume or "bouquet" of odors—it fixes them well, or renders them permanent. And it is all like a beautiful vivid dream. If I had my life to live over again I would do frequently and with great care, what I thought of too late, and now practice feebly—I would strongly impress on my mind and very often recall, many such scenes, pictures, times or memories. Very few people do this. Hence in all novels and poems, especially the French, description generally smacks of imitation and mere manufacture. It passes for "beautiful writing," but there is always something in really unaffected truth from nature which is caught by the true critic. I read lately a French romance which is much admired, of this manufactured or second-hand kind. Every third page was filled with the usual botany, rocks, skies, colors, fore and backgrounds—"all very fine"—but in the whole of it not one of those little touches of truth which stir us so in SHAKESPEARE, make us smile in HERRICK or naive PEPYS, or raise our hearts in WORDSWORTH. These were true men.

To be true we must be far more familiar with Nature than with scene painting or photographs, and to do this we must, so to speak, fascinate ourselves with pictures in life, glad memories of golden hours, rock and river and greenwood tree. We must also banish resolutely from our past all recollections of enemies and wrongs, troubles and trials, and throw all our heart into doing so. Forgive and forget all enmities—those of Misfortune and Fate being included. Depend upon it that the brighter you can make your Past the pleasanter will be your Future.

This is just the opposite to what most people do, hence the frequent and fond quotation of pessimistic poetry. It is all folly, and worse. One result is that in modern books of travel the only truthful or vivid descriptions are of sufferings of all kinds, even down to inferior luncheons and lost hair brushes. Their joys they sketch with an indifferent skill, like HEINE'S monk, who made rather a poor description of Heaven, but was "gifted in Hell," which he depicted with dreadful vigor.

I find it a great aid to recall what I can of bygone beautiful associations, and then sleep on them with a resolve that they shall recur in complete condition. He who will thus resolutely clean up his past life and clear away from it all sorrow as well as he can, and refurnish it with beautiful memories, or make it better, coute que coute, will do himself more good than many a doleful moral adviser ever dreamed of. This is what I mean by self-fascination—the making, as it were, by magic art, one's own past and self more charming than we ever deemed it possible to be. We thus fascinate ourselves. Those who believe that everything which is bygone has gone to the devil are in a wretched error. The future is based on the past—yes, made from it, and that which was never dies, but returns to bless or grieve. We mostly wrong our past bitterly, and bitterly does it revenge itself. But it is like the lion of ANDROCLES, it remembers those who treat it kindly. "And lo! when ANDROCLES was thrown to the lion to be devoured, the beast lay down at his feet, and licked his hands." Yes, we have all our lions!

To master difficult meanings. It has often befallen me, when I was at the University, or later when studying law, to exert my mind to grasp, and all in vain, some problem in mathematics or a puzzling legal question, or even to remember some refractory word in a foreign language which would not remain in the memory. After a certain amount of effort in many of these cases, further exertion is injurious, the mind or receptive power seems to be seized—as if nauseated—with spasmodic rejections. In such a case pass the question by, but on going to bed, think it over and will to understand it on the morrow. It will often suffice to merely desire that it shall recur in more intelligible form—in which case, nota bene—if let alone it will obey. This is as if we had a call to make tomorrow, when, as we know, the memory will come at its right time of itself, especially if we employ Forethought or special pressure.

When I reflect on what I once endured from this cause, and how greatly it could have been relieved or alleviated, I feel as if I could beg, with all my heart, every student or teacher of youth to seriously experiment on what I set forth in this book. It is also to be observed, especially by metaphysicians and mental philosophers, that a youth who has shown great indifference to, let us say mathematics, if he has manifested an aptitude for philosophy or languages, will be in all cases certain to excel in the former, if he can be brought to make a good beginning in it. A great many cases of bad, i. e., indifferent scholarship, are due to bad teaching of the rudiments by adults who took no interest in their pupils, and therefore inspired none.

To determine what course to follow in any Emergency. Many a man often wishes with all his heart that he had some wise friend to consult in his perplexities. What to do in a business trouble when we are certain that there is an exit if we could only find it—a sure way to tame an unruly horse if we had the secret—to do or not to do whate'er the question—truly all this causes great trouble in life. But, it is within the power of man to be his own friend, yes, and companion, to a degree of which none have ever dreamed, and which borders on the weird, or that which forebodes or suggests mysteries to come. For it may come to pass that he who has trained himself to it, may commune with his spirit as with a companion.

This is, of course, done by just setting the problem, or question, or dilemma, before ourselves as clearly as we can, so as to know our own minds as well as possible. This done, sleep on it, with the resolute will to have it recur on the morrow in a clear and solved form. And should this occur, do not proceed to pull it to pieces again, by way of improvement, but rather submit it to another night's rest. I would here say that many lawyers and judges are perfectly familiar with this process, and use it habitually, without being aware of its connection with hypnotism or will. But they could aid it, if they would add this peculiar impulse to the action.

What I will now discuss approaches the miraculous, or seems to do so because it has been attempted or treated in manifold ways by sorcerers and witches. The Voodoos, or black wizards in America, profess to be able to awaken love in one person for another by means of incantations, but admit that it is the most difficult of their feats. Nor do I think that there is any infallible recipe for it, but that there are means of honestly aiding such affection can hardly be denied. In the first place, he who would be loved must love—for that is no honest love which is not sincere. And having thus inspired himself, and made himself as familiar as possible, by quietly observing as dispassionately as may be all the mental characteristics of the one loved, let him with an earnest desire to know how to secure a return, go to sleep, and see whether the next day will bring a suggestion. And as the old proverb declares that luck comes to many when least hoped for, so will it often happen that forethought is thus fore-bought or secured.

It is known that gifts pass between friends or lovers, to cause the receiver to think of the giver, thus they are in a sense amulets. If we believe, as HEINE prettily suggests, that something of the life or the being of the owner or wearer has passed into the talisman, we are not far off from the suggestion that our feelings are allied. All over Italy, or over the world, pebbles of precious stone, flint or amber, rough topaz or agate, are esteemed as lucky; all things of the kind lead to suggestiveness, and may be employed in suggestion.

What was originally known as Fascination, of which the German, FROMANN, wrote a very large volume which I possess, is simply Hypnotism without the putting to sleep. It is direct Suggestion. Where there is a natural sympathy of like to like, soul answering soul, such suggestion is easily established. Among people of a common, average, worldly type who are habitually sarcastic, jeering, chaffing, and trifling, or those whose idea of genial or agreeable companionship is to "get a rise" out of all who will give and take irritations equally, there can be no sympathy of gentle or refined emotions. Experiments, whose whole nature presupposes earnest thought, cannot be tried with any success by those who live habitually in an atmosphere of small talk and "rubbishy" associations. Fascination should be mutual; to attempt to exert it on anyone who is not naturally in sympathy is a crime, and I believe that all such cases lead to suffering and remorse.

But where we perceive that there is an undoubted mutual liking and good reason for it, fascination, when perfectly understood and sympathetically used, facilitates and increases love and friendship, and may be most worthily and advantageously employed. Unto anyone who could, for example, merely skim over all that I have written, catching an idea here and there, and then expect to master all, I can clearly say that I can give him or her no definite idea of fascination. For Fascination really is effectively what the old philosophers, who had given immense study and research to the subject in ages when susceptibility to suggestiveness went far beyond anything now known, all knew and declared; that is to say, it existed, but that it required a peculiar mind, and very certainly one which is not frivolous, to understand its nature, and much more to master it.

He who has by foresight, or previous consideration of a subject or desire, allied to a vigorous resolution (which is a kind of projection of the mind by will—and then submitting it to sleep), learned how to bring about a wished-for state of mind, has, in a curious manner, made as it were of his hidden self a conquest yet a friend. He has brought to life within himself a Spirit, gifted with greater powers than those possessed by Conscious Intellect. By his astonishing and unsuspected latent power, Man can imagine and then create, even a spirit within the soul. We make at first the sketch, then model it in clay, then cast it in gypsum, and finally sculpture it in marble.

I read lately, in a French novel, a description of a young lady, by herself, in which she assumed to have within her two souls, one good, of which she evidently thought very little, and another brilliantly diabolical, capricious, vividly dramatic and interesting esprit—to which she gave a great deal of attention. He who will begin by merely imagining that he has within him a spirit of beauty and light, which is to subdue and extinguish the other or all that is in him of what is low, commonplace, and mean, may bring this idea to exert a marvelous influence. He can increase the conception, and give it reality, by treating it with forethought and will, by suggestion, until it gives marvellous result. This better self may be regarded as a guardian angel, in any case it is a power by means of which we can learn mysteries. It is also our Conscience, born of the perception of Ideals.

The Ideal or Spirit thus evolved should be morally pure, else the experimenter will find, as did the magicians of old, that all who dealt with any but good spirits, fell into the hands of devils, just as ALLAN KARDEC says is the case with Spiritualists. But to speak as clearly as I can, he who succeeds in winning or creating a higher Self within himself, and fascinating it by sympathy, will find that he has, within moral limits, a strange power of fascinating those who are in sympathy with him.

Whereupon many will say "of course." Like and like together strike. Birds of a feather flock together. Similis similibus. But it often happens in this life, though they meet they do not pair off. Very often indeed they meet, but to part. There must be, even where the affinity exists, consideration and forethought to test the affinity. It requires long practice even for keen eyes to recognize the amethyst or topaz, or many other gems, in their natural state as sea-worn pebbles. Now, it is not a matter of fancy, of romance, or imagination, that there are men and women who really have, deeply hidden in their souls, or more objectively manifested, peculiar or beautiful characteristics, or a spirit. I would not speak here merely of naivete or tenderness—a natural affinity for poetry, art, or beauty, but the peculiar tone and manner of it, which is sympathetic to ours. For two people may love music, yet be widely removed from all agreement if one be a Wagnerian, and the other of an older school. Suffice it to say that such similarities of mind or mood, of intellect or emotion do exist, and when they are real, and not imaginary, or merely the result of passional attraction, they suggest and may well attract the use of Fascination.

Those who actually develop within themselves such a spirit, regarding it as one, that is a self beyond self, attain to a power which few understand, which is practical, positive, and real, and not at all a superstitious fancy. It may begin in imagining or fancy, but as the veriest dream is material and may be repeated till we see it visibly and can then copy it, so can we create in ourselves a being, a segregation of our noblest thoughts, a superb abstraction of soul which looks from its sunny mountain height down on the dark and noisome valley which forms our worldly common intellect or mind, or the only one known to by far the majority of mankind, albeit they may have therein glimpses of light and truth. But it is to him who makes for himself, by earnest Will and Thought, a separate and better Life or Self that a better life is given.

Those who possess genius or peculiarly cultivated minds of a highly moral caste, gifted with pure integrity, and above vulgarity and worldly commonplace habits, should never form a tie in friendship or love without much forethought. And then if the active agent has disciplined his mind by self-hypnotism until he can control or manage his Will with ease, he will know without further instruction how to fascinate, and that properly and legitimately.

Those who now acquire this power are few and far between, and when they really possess it they make no boast nor parade, but rather keep it carefully to themselves, perfectly content with what it yields for reward. And here I may declare something in which I firmly believe, yet which very few I fear will understand as I mean it. If this fascination and other faculties like it may be called Magical (albeit all is within the limits of science and matter), then there are assuredly in this world magicians whom we meet without dreaming that they are such. Here and there, however rare, there is mortal who has studied deeply—but

"Softened all and tempered into beauty; And blended with lone thoughts and wanderings, The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind To love the universe."

Such beings do not come before the world, but hide their lights, knowing well that their magic would defeat itself, and perish if it were made common. Any person of the average worldly cast who could work any miracles, however small, would in the end bitterly regret it if he allowed it to be known. Thus I have read ingenious stories, as for instance one by HOOD, showing what terrible troubles a man fell into by being able to make himself invisible. Also another setting forth the miseries of a successful alchemist. The Algonkin Indians have a legend of a man who came to grief and death through his power of making all girls love him. But the magic of which I speak is of a far more subtle and deeply refined nature, and those who possess it are alone in life, save when by some rare chance they meet their kind. Those who are deeply and mysteriously interested in any pursuit for which the great multitude of all-alike people have no sympathy, who have peculiar studies and subjects of thought, partake a little of the nature of the magus. Magic, as popularly understood, has no existence, it is a literal myth—for it means nothing but what amazes or amuses for a short time. No miracle would be one if it became common. Nature is infinite, therefore its laws cannot be violated—ergo, there is no magic if we mean by that an inexplicable contravention of law.

But that there are minds who have simply advanced in knowledge beyond the multitude in certain things which cannot at once be made common property is true, for there is a great deal of marvelous truth not as yet dreamed of even by HERBERT SPENCERS or EDISONS, by RONTGENS or other scientists. And yet herein is hidden the greatest secret of future human happenings.

"What I was is passed by, What I am away doth fly; What I shall be none do see, Yet in that my glories be."

Now to illustrate this more clearly. Some of these persons who are more or less secretly addicted to magic (I say secretly, because they cannot make it known if they would), take the direction of feeling or living with inexpressible enjoyment in the beauties of nature. That, they attain to something almost or quite equal to life in Fairyland, is conclusively proved by the fact that only very rarely, here and there in their best passages, do the greatest poets more than imperfectly and briefly convey some broken idea or reflection of the feelings which are excited by thousands of subjects in nature in many. The Mariana of TENNYSON surpasses anything known to me in any language as conveying the reality of feeling alone in a silent old house, where everything is a dim, uncanny manner, recalled the past—yet suggested a kind of mysterious presence—as in the passage:

"All day within the dreary house The doors upon their hinges creaked, The blue fly sang in the pane, the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked, Or from the crevice peered about; Old faces glimmered thro' the doors, Old footsteps trod the upper floors, Old voices called her from without."

Yet even this unsurpassed poem does no more than partially revive and recall the reality to me of similar memories of long, long ago, when an invalid child I was often left in a house entirely alone, from which even the servants had absented themselves. Then I can remember how after reading the Arabian Nights or some such unearthly romance, as was the mode in the Thirties, the very sunshine stealing craftily and silently like a living thing, in a bar through the shutter, twinkling with dust, as with infinitely small stars, living and dying like sparks, the buzzing of the flies who were little blue imps, with now and then a larger Beelzebub—a strange imagined voice ever about, which seemed to say something without words—and the very furniture, wherein the chairs were as goblins, and the broom a tall young woman, and the looking-glass a kind of other self-life—all of this as I recall it appears to me as a picture of the absence of human beings as described by TENNYSON, plus a strange personality in every object— which the poet does not attempt to convey. This is, however, a very small or inferior illustration; there are far more remarkable and deeply spiritual or aesthetically-suggestive subjects than this, and that in abundance, which Art has indeed so reproduced as to amaze the many who have only had snatches of such observation themselves.

But the magicians, SHELLEY, or KEATS, or WORDSWORTH, only convey partial echoes of certain subjects, or of their specialties. It is indeed beautiful to feel what Art can do, but the original is worth far more. And if the reader would be such a magician, let him give his heart and will to taking an interest in all that is beautiful, good and true—or honest. For that it really can be done in all fullness is true beyond a dream of doubt. By the ordinary methods of learning one may indeed acquire an exact, mechanically drawn picture, which we modify with what beauty chance bestows. But he who will learn by the process which I have endeavored to describe, or by studying with the will, cannot fail to experience a strange enchantment in so doing, as I have read in an Italian tale of a youth who was sadly weary of his lessons, but who, being taken daily by certain kind fairies into their school on a hill, found all difficulties disappear and the pursuit of knowledge as joyful as that of pleasure.

I have heard hypnotism, with regard to fascination, spoken of with great apprehension. "It is dreadful," said one to me, "to think of anybody's being able to exercise such an influence on anyone." And yet, widely known as it is, instances of its abuse are very rare. Thus, when Cremation was first discussed, it was warmly opposed, because somebody might be poisoned, and then, the body being burned, there could be no autopsy! Nature has decreed some drawback to the best things; nothing is perfect. But to balance the immense benefits latent in suggestion against the problematic abuses is like condemning the ship because a bucket of tar has been spilt on the deck.

Sincere kindness and respect, which are allied unto identity, are the best or surest key to love, and they in turn are allied to fascination. Here I might observe that the action of the eye, which is a silent speech of emotion, has always been regarded as powerful in fascination, but those who are not by nature gifted with it cannot use it to much good purpose. That emotional, susceptible subjects ready to receive suggestion can be put to sleep or made to imagine anything terrible regarding anybody's glance is very true, just as an ignorant Italian will believe of any man that he has the malocchio if he be told so, whence came the idea that Pope Gregory XVI had the evil eye. But where there is sincere kindly feeling it makes itself felt in a sympathetic nature by what is popularly called magic, only because it is not understood. The enchantment lies in this, that unconscious cerebration, or the power (or powers), who are always acting in us, effect many curious and very subtle mental phenomena, all of which they do not confide to the common-sense waking judgment or Reason, simply because the latter is almost entirely occupied with common worldly subjects. It is as if someone whose whole attention and interest had been at all times given to some plain hard drudgery, should be called on to review or write a book of exquisitely subtle poetry. It is, indeed, almost sadly touching to reflect how this innocent and beautiful faculty of recognizing what is good, is really acting perhaps in evil and merely worldly minds all in vain, and all unknown to them. The more the conscious waking-judgment has been trained to recognize goodness, the more will the hidden water-fairies rise above the surface, as it were, to the sunshine. So it comes that true kindly feeling is recognized by sympathy, and those who would be loved, cannot do better than make themselves truly and perfectly kind by forethought and will, and with this the process of self-hypnotism will be a great aid. For it is not more by winning others to us, than in willing ourselves to them that true Love consists.

Love or trusting sympathy from any human being, however humble, is the most charming thing in life, and it ought to be the main object of existence. Yet there are thousands all round us, yes, many among our friends or acquaintances, who live and die without ever having known it, because in their egotism and folly they conceive of close relations as founded on personal power, interest or the weakness of others. The only fascination which such people can ever exercise is that of the low and devilish kind, the influence of the cat on the mouse, the eye of the snake on the bird, which in the end degrades them into deeper evil. That there are such people, and that they really make captive and oppress weaker minds, by suggestion, is true; the marvel being that so few find it out.