gh the subject consciously wishes to be hypnotized. Unconsciously, there may be a poor interrelationship with the hypnotist which can create an unfavorable climate for hypnosis. When this is the case, the subject doesn't respond until such time that he relates well to the hypnotist. Even the most calculated procedures will fail until a positive transference relationship is established. I am sure that you sometimes have said, "For some reason I don't like that person." If pressed for an answer, you'll usually reply, "I can't explain it, but I just have a feeling about him." Actually, your subconscious reactions are influencing your thinking and you "feel" a certain way. The same thing takes place in business transactions. You either like or dislike the proposition presented to you. You may say, "I have a certain feeling about this deal." You may not be conscious of the reasons, but your subconscious has reacted automatically because of previous experience along similar lines.
In giving you some insight
Kathlyn with evasions. Frowning,he replaced the order in the box, which he put away in a drawer. Itwas all arrant nonsense, anyhow; nothing could possibly happen; ifthere did, he would feel certain that he no longer dwelt in a realworkaday world. The idle whim of a sardonic old man; nothing more thanthat.
"Father, is the king dead?"
"Dead! What makes you ask that, Kit?"
"The past tense; you said he was, not is."
"Yes, he's dead, and the news came this morning. Hence, the yarn."
"Will there be any danger in returning?"
"My girl, whenever I pack my luggage there is danger. A cartridge maystick; a man may stumble; a man you rely on may fail you. As for that,there's always danger. It's the penalty of being alive."
On the way to the dining-room Kathlyn thought deeply. Why had herfather asked them if they loved him? Why did he speak of the Big Trek?There was something more than this glittering medal, something morethan this simple tale of bravery. What? Well, if he declin
before. Mr. Crabbe was as dead as mutton, but Mr. Crabbe continued to write moral stories in rhymed couplets. I have read desultorily the writings of the younger generation. It may be that among them a more fervid Keats, a more ethereal Shelley, has already published numbers the world will willingly remember. I cannot tell. I admire their polish -- their youth is already so accomplished that it seems absurd to speak of promise -- I marvel at the felicity of their style; but with all their copiousness (their vocabulary suggests that they fingered Roget's Thesaurus in their cradles) they say nothing to me: to my mind they know too much and feel too obviously; I cannot stomach the heartiness with which they slap me on the back or the emotion with which they hurl themselves on my bosom; their passion seems to me a little anaemic and their dreams a trifle dull. I do not like them. I am on the shelf. I will continue to write moral stories in rhymed couplets. But I should be thrice a fool if I did it for a
an and ends in a muscle. This statement represents the general scheme well enough, but leaves out an important detail. The nerve does not extend directly to a muscle, but ordinarily goes by way of the brain. The brain is merely a great group of nerve cells and fibers which have developed as a central organ where a stimulation may pass from almost any sense organ to almost any muscle.
But another importance attaches to the brain. When a sense organ is stimulated and this stimulation passes on to the brain and agitates a cell or group of cells there, we are conscious. Consciousness shifts and changes with every shift and change of the stimulation.
The brain has still another important characteristic. After it has been stimulated through sense organ and nerve, a similar brain activity can be revived later, and this revival is the basis of memory. When the brain is agitated through the medium of a sense organ, we have sensation; when this agitation is revived later, we hav
Bracing himself, Thomas stepped through the ward and onto the first step, and had to steady himself against the wall as the effect faded. He shook his head and started up the stairs.
The banister was carved with roses which swayed under a sorcerous breeze only they could sense. Thomas climbed slowly, looking for the next trap. When he stopped at the first landing, he could see that the top of the stairs opened into a long gallery, lit by dozens of candles in mirror-backed sconces. Red draperies framed mythological paintings and classical landscapes. At the far end was a door, guarded on either side by a man-sized statuary niche. One niche held an angel with flowing locks, wings, and a beatific smile. The other niche was empty.
Thomas climbed almost to the head of the stairs, looking up at the archway that was the entrance to the room. Something suspiciously like plaster dust drifted down from the carved bunting.
A tactical error, Thomas thought. Whatever was hiding
interpreted dreams, and the gods have laughed. One man with Oriental eyes has said that all time and space are relative, and men have laughed. But even that man with Oriental eyes has done no more than suspect. I had wished and tried to do more than suspect, and my friend had tried and partly succeeded. Then we both tried together, and with exotic drugs courted terrible and forbidden dreams in the tower studio chamber of the old manor-house in hoary Kent.
Among the agonies of these after days is that chief of torments- inarticulateness. What I learned and saw in those hours of impious exploration can never be told- for want of symbols or suggestions in any language. I say this because from first to last our discoveries partook only of the nature of sensations; sensations correlated with no impression which the nervous system of normal humanity is capable of receiving. They were sensations, yet within them lay unbelievable elements of time and space- things which at bottom possess no distinct and definite existence. Human utterance can best convey the general character of our experiences by calling them plungings or soarings; for in every period of revelation some part of our minds broke boldly away from all that is real and present, rushing aerially along shocking, unlighted, and fear-haunted abysses,
g More's lifetime. Its first publication in this country was in the English translation, made in Edward's VI.'s reign (1551) by Ralph Robinson. It was translated with more literary skill by Gilbert Burnet, in 1684, soon after he had conducted the defence of his friend Lord William Russell, attended his execution, vindicated his memory, and been spitefully deprived by James II. of his lectureship at St. Clement's. Burnet was drawn to the translation of "Utopia" by the same sense of unreason in high places that caused More to write the book. Burnet's is the translation given in this volume.
The name of the book has given an adjective to our language--we call an impracticable scheme Utopian. Yet, under the veil of a playful fiction, the talk is intensely earnest, and abounds in practical suggestion. It is the work of a scholarly and witty Englishman, who attacks in his own way the chief political and social evils of his time. Beginning with fact, More tells how he was sent into Flanders with Cuthbert Tuns
nt pasture for dairy-farming and water-power for both tramway and funicular, and where the necessary capital could be borrowed; and the other one hunted about for marks of stratification and upheaval, and ransacked his memory for historical data about the various tribes originally inhabiting that country.
"I suppose you're a painter and regretting you haven't brought your sketching materials?" said the scientific man, always interested in the causes of phenomena, even such trifling ones as a man remaining quiet before a landscape.
"I reckon you are one of those literary fellows, and are planning out where you can use up a description of this place"--corrected the rapid insight of the practical man, accustomed to weigh people's motives in case they may be turned to use.
"I am not a painter, and I'm not a writer"--exclaimed the third traveller, "and I thank Heaven I'm not! For if I were I might be trying to engineer a picture or to match adjectives, instead of merely enjoy
"Him fella my brother belong me," was the answer. "Him fella dietoo much."
"You sing out, him fella brother belong you die too much," thewhite man went on in threatening tones. "I cross too much alongyou. What name you sing out, eh? You fat-head make um brotherbelong you die dose up too much. You fella finish sing out,savvee? You fella no finish sing out I make finish damn quick."
He threatened the wailer with his fist, and the black cowered down,glaring at him with sullen eyes.
"Sing out no good little bit," the white man went on, more gently."You no sing out. You chase um fella fly. Too much strong fellafly. You catch water, washee brother belong you; washee plenty toomuch, bime bye brother belong you all right. Jump!" he shoutedfiercely at the end, his will penetrating the low intelligence ofthe black with dynamic force that made him jump to the task ofbrushing the loathsome swarms of flies away.
Again he rode out into the reeking heat. He clutched the black'sneck ti
F A LETTER
The mechanical construction of a letter, whether social, friendly, or business, falls into six or seven parts. This arrangement has become established by the best custom. The divisions are as follows:
1. Heading 2. Inside address (Always used in business letters but omitted in social and friendly letters) 3. Salutation 4. Body 5. Complimentary close 6. Signature 7. Superscription
1. THE HEADING
The heading of a letter contains the street address, city, state, and the date. The examples below will illustrate:
2018 Calumet Street or 1429 Eighth Avenue Chicago, Ill. New York, N.Y. May 12, 1921 March 8, 1922
[Illustration: In the business letterhead appear the name of the firm, its address, and the kind of business engaged in]
When the heading is typewritten or written by hand, it is placed at the top of the first letter sheet close to the right-hand margin. It should begin about in the center, that is, it should extend no farther to the left than the ce
gh the subject consciously wishes to be hypnotized. Unconsciously, there may be a poor interrelationship with the hypnotist which can create an unfavorable climate for hypnosis. When this is the case, the subject doesn't respond until such time that he relates well to the hypnotist. Even the most calculated procedures will fail until a positive transference relationship is established. I am sure that you sometimes have said, "For some reason I don't like that person." If pressed for an answer, you'll usually reply, "I can't explain it, but I just have a feeling about him." Actually, your subconscious reactions are influencing your thinking and you "feel" a certain way. The same thing takes place in business transactions. You either like or dislike the proposition presented to you. You may say, "I have a certain feeling about this deal." You may not be conscious of the reasons, but your subconscious has reacted automatically because of previous experience along similar lines.
In giving you some insight
Kathlyn with evasions. Frowning,he replaced the order in the box, which he put away in a drawer. Itwas all arrant nonsense, anyhow; nothing could possibly happen; ifthere did, he would feel certain that he no longer dwelt in a realworkaday world. The idle whim of a sardonic old man; nothing more thanthat.
"Father, is the king dead?"
"Dead! What makes you ask that, Kit?"
"The past tense; you said he was, not is."
"Yes, he's dead, and the news came this morning. Hence, the yarn."
"Will there be any danger in returning?"
"My girl, whenever I pack my luggage there is danger. A cartridge maystick; a man may stumble; a man you rely on may fail you. As for that,there's always danger. It's the penalty of being alive."
On the way to the dining-room Kathlyn thought deeply. Why had herfather asked them if they loved him? Why did he speak of the Big Trek?There was something more than this glittering medal, something morethan this simple tale of bravery. What? Well, if he declin
before. Mr. Crabbe was as dead as mutton, but Mr. Crabbe continued to write moral stories in rhymed couplets. I have read desultorily the writings of the younger generation. It may be that among them a more fervid Keats, a more ethereal Shelley, has already published numbers the world will willingly remember. I cannot tell. I admire their polish -- their youth is already so accomplished that it seems absurd to speak of promise -- I marvel at the felicity of their style; but with all their copiousness (their vocabulary suggests that they fingered Roget's Thesaurus in their cradles) they say nothing to me: to my mind they know too much and feel too obviously; I cannot stomach the heartiness with which they slap me on the back or the emotion with which they hurl themselves on my bosom; their passion seems to me a little anaemic and their dreams a trifle dull. I do not like them. I am on the shelf. I will continue to write moral stories in rhymed couplets. But I should be thrice a fool if I did it for a
an and ends in a muscle. This statement represents the general scheme well enough, but leaves out an important detail. The nerve does not extend directly to a muscle, but ordinarily goes by way of the brain. The brain is merely a great group of nerve cells and fibers which have developed as a central organ where a stimulation may pass from almost any sense organ to almost any muscle.
But another importance attaches to the brain. When a sense organ is stimulated and this stimulation passes on to the brain and agitates a cell or group of cells there, we are conscious. Consciousness shifts and changes with every shift and change of the stimulation.
The brain has still another important characteristic. After it has been stimulated through sense organ and nerve, a similar brain activity can be revived later, and this revival is the basis of memory. When the brain is agitated through the medium of a sense organ, we have sensation; when this agitation is revived later, we hav
Bracing himself, Thomas stepped through the ward and onto the first step, and had to steady himself against the wall as the effect faded. He shook his head and started up the stairs.
The banister was carved with roses which swayed under a sorcerous breeze only they could sense. Thomas climbed slowly, looking for the next trap. When he stopped at the first landing, he could see that the top of the stairs opened into a long gallery, lit by dozens of candles in mirror-backed sconces. Red draperies framed mythological paintings and classical landscapes. At the far end was a door, guarded on either side by a man-sized statuary niche. One niche held an angel with flowing locks, wings, and a beatific smile. The other niche was empty.
Thomas climbed almost to the head of the stairs, looking up at the archway that was the entrance to the room. Something suspiciously like plaster dust drifted down from the carved bunting.
A tactical error, Thomas thought. Whatever was hiding
interpreted dreams, and the gods have laughed. One man with Oriental eyes has said that all time and space are relative, and men have laughed. But even that man with Oriental eyes has done no more than suspect. I had wished and tried to do more than suspect, and my friend had tried and partly succeeded. Then we both tried together, and with exotic drugs courted terrible and forbidden dreams in the tower studio chamber of the old manor-house in hoary Kent.
Among the agonies of these after days is that chief of torments- inarticulateness. What I learned and saw in those hours of impious exploration can never be told- for want of symbols or suggestions in any language. I say this because from first to last our discoveries partook only of the nature of sensations; sensations correlated with no impression which the nervous system of normal humanity is capable of receiving. They were sensations, yet within them lay unbelievable elements of time and space- things which at bottom possess no distinct and definite existence. Human utterance can best convey the general character of our experiences by calling them plungings or soarings; for in every period of revelation some part of our minds broke boldly away from all that is real and present, rushing aerially along shocking, unlighted, and fear-haunted abysses,
g More's lifetime. Its first publication in this country was in the English translation, made in Edward's VI.'s reign (1551) by Ralph Robinson. It was translated with more literary skill by Gilbert Burnet, in 1684, soon after he had conducted the defence of his friend Lord William Russell, attended his execution, vindicated his memory, and been spitefully deprived by James II. of his lectureship at St. Clement's. Burnet was drawn to the translation of "Utopia" by the same sense of unreason in high places that caused More to write the book. Burnet's is the translation given in this volume.
The name of the book has given an adjective to our language--we call an impracticable scheme Utopian. Yet, under the veil of a playful fiction, the talk is intensely earnest, and abounds in practical suggestion. It is the work of a scholarly and witty Englishman, who attacks in his own way the chief political and social evils of his time. Beginning with fact, More tells how he was sent into Flanders with Cuthbert Tuns
nt pasture for dairy-farming and water-power for both tramway and funicular, and where the necessary capital could be borrowed; and the other one hunted about for marks of stratification and upheaval, and ransacked his memory for historical data about the various tribes originally inhabiting that country.
"I suppose you're a painter and regretting you haven't brought your sketching materials?" said the scientific man, always interested in the causes of phenomena, even such trifling ones as a man remaining quiet before a landscape.
"I reckon you are one of those literary fellows, and are planning out where you can use up a description of this place"--corrected the rapid insight of the practical man, accustomed to weigh people's motives in case they may be turned to use.
"I am not a painter, and I'm not a writer"--exclaimed the third traveller, "and I thank Heaven I'm not! For if I were I might be trying to engineer a picture or to match adjectives, instead of merely enjoy
"Him fella my brother belong me," was the answer. "Him fella dietoo much."
"You sing out, him fella brother belong you die too much," thewhite man went on in threatening tones. "I cross too much alongyou. What name you sing out, eh? You fat-head make um brotherbelong you die dose up too much. You fella finish sing out,savvee? You fella no finish sing out I make finish damn quick."
He threatened the wailer with his fist, and the black cowered down,glaring at him with sullen eyes.
"Sing out no good little bit," the white man went on, more gently."You no sing out. You chase um fella fly. Too much strong fellafly. You catch water, washee brother belong you; washee plenty toomuch, bime bye brother belong you all right. Jump!" he shoutedfiercely at the end, his will penetrating the low intelligence ofthe black with dynamic force that made him jump to the task ofbrushing the loathsome swarms of flies away.
Again he rode out into the reeking heat. He clutched the black'sneck ti
F A LETTER
The mechanical construction of a letter, whether social, friendly, or business, falls into six or seven parts. This arrangement has become established by the best custom. The divisions are as follows:
1. Heading 2. Inside address (Always used in business letters but omitted in social and friendly letters) 3. Salutation 4. Body 5. Complimentary close 6. Signature 7. Superscription
1. THE HEADING
The heading of a letter contains the street address, city, state, and the date. The examples below will illustrate:
2018 Calumet Street or 1429 Eighth Avenue Chicago, Ill. New York, N.Y. May 12, 1921 March 8, 1922
[Illustration: In the business letterhead appear the name of the firm, its address, and the kind of business engaged in]
When the heading is typewritten or written by hand, it is placed at the top of the first letter sheet close to the right-hand margin. It should begin about in the center, that is, it should extend no farther to the left than the ce