"Quaerit Franciscus Valesius, Delrio, Gutierrus et alii, undo vulgaris illa fascini nata sit opinio de oculo fascinante visione et ore faeoinando laudando." - "De Fascinatione 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 by-gone 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 then 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 by-gone 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 odours - 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 practise-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, colours, fore and back grounds - "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 of 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 vigour.

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 memo-ries, 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 mererly 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 to-morrow, when, as we know, the memory will come at its right time of itself, especially if we employ Forethought or special pressure.