And yet it is only a few years since the majority of us knew no more about psychology than the Long Island fisherman who was beating his way against the wind to a favorite place for bluefish. A hasty motor launch passed him and he spelled out the name on the bow.
"P-s-y-c-h-e," he spelled. Then he spat into the brine and exclaimed disgustedly:
"Well, if that isn't the doggondest way to spell fish I ever seen!"
If that fisherman is still alive he probably claims to understand the psychology of bluefish and chooses with scientific exactness the right kind of bait to use in dumming for them.
"Surely this is not the sun-bright
Psyche, hoar with years and hurled
From the Northern shore of Lethe
On this wan auroral world."
All of which goes to prove that the world is now passing through a psychological phase—though it is infinitely more in need of potatoes than of psychology. "We that have good wits have much to answer for" if we do not correct this folly. But of course we must go about it in a proper psychological way. We must affirm the world-healing quality of potatoes, repeat it on all occasions in season and out, have our campaign endorsed by men of power and authority—and then perhaps everybody will be infected by a longing for potatoes and will see the need of planting and hoeing the potatoes themselves. If they will have psychology let them have a surfeit of it—and then perhaps they will get back to the simple, everyday things of life that alone are of importance.