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Duality of Man's Nature

I.—DUALITY OF VOICE

DUALITY OF VOICE
AN OUTLINE OF ORIGINAL RESEARCH

BY

EMIL SUTRO

AUTHOR OF "THE BASIC LAW OF VOCAL UTTERANCE."

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1899

Copyright, 1899 BY EMIL SUTRO

Entered at Stationers' Hall, London.

The Knickerbocker Press, New York

"There is nothing in our composition either purely material or purely spiritual."—Montaigne.

CONTENTS

DUALITY OF VOICE

DUALITY OF VOICE

AN OUTLINE OF ORIGINAL RESEARCH

INTRODUCTION

By the time this book will appear, nearly six years will have elapsed since I discovered the voice of the œsophagus, and almost five since I published a preliminary account of this discovery in a book entitled The Basic Law of Vocal Utterance.[1] This discovery, though the most comprehensive and far-reaching of any that has ever been made, not only in regard to the voice, but in regard to the better comprehension of our nature and our entire human existence, has remained as unknown to the world as if it had never been made. Yet some day, when its importance is recognized, it will take rank in the annals of the history of the human race as second to no other discovery that has influenced and shaped human thought in the proper recognition of the origin and the nature of man, spiritual as well as physical, his abilities and his limits, and his relative position, influence, and destiny in the economy of the universe.

[1] Edgar S. Werner. New York, 1894.

I have spent so many years of arduous labor on these investigations, and have become so thoroughly convinced of their truth, that I have ventured to make these assertions without the slightest compunction, or fear of final contradiction. Although the facts involved in these matters entitle me to these declarations, I would not have overstepped the bounds of modesty in so far as to make them had not my first experience forced upon me the conviction that the path of modesty in matters of this kind is not the one to success. I was so impressed with the exalted position of science, and so apprehensive of my own powers, that in my former publication I as much as apologized for my temerity in telling the scientific world things of which it did not have any previous knowledge. These last four years, however, have so enlarged my views and given me such a firm grasp and insight, that I no longer fear any man's judgment. I would, on the contrary, heartily welcome honest and competent criticism, being convinced that the same would not and could not but strengthen my position.

As a matter of personal gratification, I am indifferent to success; but I think the time has come when these matters should not continue to remain with me alone, but should become the property of all, not for my sake, nor simply for that of science, but for the sake of truth, and the benefit of mankind. Had my previous statements been given the consideration they deserved, other persons, in all probability, would have made some of the many discoveries, at least, that it has now been my privilege to make single-handed. Still, the field is inexhaustible; that which I have discovered being but an index hand to that which is still to be discovered. Having no reason to doubt but that I am a properly organized member of the human family, I consider myself entitled to speak of my personal experience as in like manner applicable to every other member of that family.

Having found it expedient to frequently address the reader in a "direct" manner, using the personal pronoun "you" in so doing, I must ask his pardon for this liberty. In thus addressing him, I trust we shall be in better rapport; all I shall have to say thus becoming, in a manner, a confession as from author to reader. While I confide in him and make him participate in these vital discoveries, I want him to confide in me, in so far as to take it for granted that all I shall say is truthfully meant, and that it has been arrived at, not superficially, but only after the most searching and long-continued investigations. We will thus become partners in a research as great as any that has ever agitated man's mind, or filled his soul with things of great moment. Having penetrated into matters which have heretofore been considered as occult, or inaccessible to man, my mode of proceeding will be found interesting as a guide to others wanting to pursue similar investigations.

In the beginning, it was all brought about by my simple desire, being a German, to speak the English language in the precise manner in which native-born persons speak it. For this purpose, I unwittingly pursued the same course which has been pursued by many others under similar circumstances; namely, that of introspection. Having been indefatigable in this course (which others must not have been), after pursuing the same for some time I was startled by unforeseen discoveries. They were phenomenal, and far beyond any previous design, hope, or expectation. After this, my original endeavor to speak the English language idiomatically correct became a matter of secondary importance. My eyes once opened, I continued to persevere in this course, and thus succeeded in penetrating deeper and deeper into matters heretofore deemed inaccessible to man.

Having pursued investigations by means of introspection now for a number of years, it has become an easy habit with me, and I can recognize and pursue processes by which results are obtained through inner motive powers, almost as plainly as such by which results are obtained through visible and tangible means. The facts thus observed and recognized as truths have become so numerous as to be almost overwhelming, in number no less than in importance; so much so, that I scarcely know where to turn or where to commence, to be able to communicate them all to others in due form and sequence. These facts are not temporary, but are constant; in so far as they can be conjured up at any time and under any circumstances, and are always of the same nature. They are of an entirely reasonable, practical, and, for the most part, mechanical nature; and are explanatory of the exercise of our faculties and functions, spiritually as well as materially. That these observations mirror actual proceedings going on within us for the production of vocal utterance, of breathing, motion, and locomotion, and the exercise of various other faculties and functions, it will be my endeavor, by actual demonstration, to prove through this and future publications.

For the purpose of enabling others to pursue a similar course of studies, I shall take especial pains to point out my course of proceeding as plainly as I can—such course with me having been entirely rational, positive, and direct, and without in any sense disturbing my ordinary mode of existence. The course pursued in physiologico-psychological studies, in fact, does not differ greatly from that pursued in the study of purely psychological subjects, which is also carried on by means of introspection, though it is of a more positive nature.

When the following was first written (it is nearly two years ago now), I intended, at an early date, to publish a short treatise on the subject of the voice only. Since then, however, the same has assumed greater and greater proportions, embracing many other subjects. Still I have deemed it best not to change this introduction in consequence thereof.

Though not quite ready for another publication (the subject is so great and my knowledge so inadequate), I do not know that I should have ever been quite ready, but for several incidents, all happening about the same time, which have induced me to break the silence I have observed since the publication of my book, The Basic Law of Vocal Utterance. These incidents, though in themselves apparently insignificant, have impressed me with the belief that I owe it to the public and myself to say something in explanation of what I have already said, and to add thereto (partly, at least) what has since been ascertained.

In the November, 1896, number of Werner's Magazine, I noticed the following:

"A good example of the inadequacy of expressional terms in discussing vocal topics is shown by Mme. Clara Brinkerhoff and Mr. Emil Sutro. Mme. Brinkerhoff has been a contributor to this magazine, and has addressed musical bodies, for many years. Mr. Sutro is author of the book, The Basic Law of Vocal Utterance. Both of them maintain that the voice is something more or other than an expiratory current of air set into vibration by purely physical agencies. Mme. Brinkerhoff thinks that the voice is the utterance of the soul, and that the soul has its seat in the solar plexus. Mr. Sutro scoffs at the theory that the voice is only out-coming air vibrated at or by the cords situated in the larynx. He thinks that the ligaments under the tongue also serve as vocal cords, and that speech is the product of vibrating ingoing air as well as vibrating out-coming air. Just what they think the voice is neither of these persons makes clear to others. Their failure to express their thoughts, however, should not be taken as proof that they have not caught glimpses of truths of the greatest importance. Still, our impression is that their concepts are too vague to be put into intelligible language even if the expressional terms at hand were adequate. But, all things considered, the fact still remains that discussion will continue to be largely useless so long as one person does not know what the other person is talking about."

In addition to all this, the proceedings of various societies in New York alone, judging by their reports also contained in the November, 1896, number of Werner's Magazine, which is of unusual interest throughout, show how great is the interest which, at the present time, centres around this matter of the voice. In place of saying the "truth" in matters of the voice, as contained in my book, it would, perhaps, be more correct to have said, "the first ray of light that has ever penetrated the gloom and the mystery surrounding the nature of the voice." In Werner's Magazine it is stated:

"If Mr. Emil Sutro's book, The Basic Law of Vocal Utterance, be right, then other writers on vocal science are wrong. His statements are startling and revolutionary. He claims to have discovered a new vocal cord and to be able to prove that speech sounds are the product of inspiration as well as expiration. The significance of this is apparent when it is realized that all vocal authorities, heretofore, have taught that voice is vocalized expiration, and that speech is this vocalized expiration articulated into words.

"The author draws a sharp distinction between the air taken for life-purposes and the air taken for speech-purposes. He says that vital breathing can and should go on independent of artistic breathing, and that the two processes need not and should not disturb nor conflict with one another. He combats the theory that the lungs are a reservoir of air, which in the vocal act is pressed against the vocal cords of the larynx, thereby producing tone, which is resonated and modified by the parts above the glottis. He maintains that it is a physical impossibility to give sufficient force and rapidity to the lung air to put muscular and cartilaginous tissue into tonal vibration,—that this force and this rapidity can come only from the internal atmospheric pressure, and that, therefore, preparatory lung inhalation for voice-purposes obstructs rather than aids the vocal act. He gives a new explanation of the formation of speech sounds, and offers various novel theories.

"Many readers will hesitate to accept his views, yet as long as vocal science is still in a formative condition and involved in so much chaos and uncertainty, any attempt at a solution should receive careful consideration."

I have cited this able review in full, written by one whose life has been one act of devotion to the solution of these questions, as it will at once introduce the reader into the drift of my investigations as far as they had advanced up to that time.

I have continued to steadily devote myself to the further prosecution of my investigations, never publishing anything, scarcely ever speaking on this subject to any one. The subject appeared to me so great and so far above my ability to master it that I, at first, looked around for assistance among those I deemed most likely to be able to render it. But no one had any assistance to offer, no one scarcely seemed even to comprehend what I was after. Thus, at last, almost in despair, I made up my mind that I must undertake this task single-handed; and I have been at it, scarcely without interruption, ever since.

Meanwhile, the play of "Much Ado about Nothing," or "The Farce about the Larynx," continued to go on bravely all over the world. I have watched it with a sense of pity, rather than amusement. It appeared to me, more than anything else, like a game of blind man's buff, in which all the participants were blindfolded; my own horizon, meanwhile, being illumined by roseate tints representing continuous new discoveries, like a May morn before the rising of the sun.

The voice has been treated as a separate mechanical issue, while it is the outcome of a series of both physical and spiritual issues. While the old school is reproducing, in its minutest details, the dead branch of a tree, I am portraying, in its majestic proportions, the broad expanse of a living oak.

These anatomical details may interest scientists; they are valueless to the singer, as he has no control over the movements of the larynx. He need but "attack" his note in the right way, and all these muscles, sinews, cartilaginous tissues, etc., will fall into line, involuntarily and unsolicited.

Now that I am offering innumerable proofs in corroboration of my assertions, I want scientists to take these matters seriously, and not to look upon this book, also, as some may possibly have felt inclined to do in regard to my previous publication, as a "scientific curiosity" merely. There are no greater problems before the world to-day than are treated here.

During all these years of unrequited labor, which extend far beyond the day on which I made my memorable discovery, my personal affairs meanwhile constantly suffering, with but one notable exception no hand was held out to me in succor. In view of this fact (and it is the experience of many who, in the privacy of their souls, are struggling after the light), I want to ask this question: With all the noble institutions for learning, why are there none to assist those who are attempting to solve questions to be taught for the benefit and advancement of mankind? True, there are scholarships and fellowships for students, but they are not available to persons advanced in years who have duties to perform and families to support. When successful in the end, their reward—if there is any—often comes too late to be of any practical value.

Such would be the case with me should any material acknowledgment come to me now, having of late attained to the leisure I had so much longed for, thanks to my previous labor and a brave son's devotion and valued aid and assistance. No man, however, will ever know how long I have been kept under the ban of purely materialistic endeavors, while these higher things were occupying my mind and clamoring for recognition. A sum equal to that representing a single day's expenditure for falsely teaching matters connected with the voice, alone, the world over, not to speak of other matters of still greater importance, would have sufficed for a number of years, if not for a lifetime, to place me in a position to devote myself exclusively to the exposition of the correct principles underlying these important subjects. As it has been with me, no doubt it is and always has been with many others in different fields of research.

Since the publication of my previous book, I have had four years of continuous experience, during which the statements therein made have been strengthened and enlarged, so that I am now ready to support them with an endless array of proof. That book, however, was the beginning of what some day will be regarded as a greater movement in the right direction than any previous one, for attaining an insight into nature's occult work in creating, developing, and sustaining the living organism, and the exercise of its faculties and functions, more especially man's faculties and functions. The subject, however, is of so subtle a nature that it cannot be treated like a mathematical problem or a chemical analysis; still, I shall do the best I can with such means as are at my command.

Recently an acquaintance who is interested in vocal culture asked me how I was getting along, and I answered, telling him something like what I have said in the preceding. He replied:

"That is the trouble with you Germans. This is a live world, a practical world; we want facts, results—something we can turn to account and make use of."

This impatience (and who can blame those who are suffering, or those who, being young and talented, want to be led into the right path) throws the door wide open to all kinds of charlatanism—charlatanism which is honest and charlatanism which is dishonest, the former, being more readily trusted, often working the greater harm. The best teaching for the present, in default of a science, is that which is based simply on experience; the pseudo-science now being taught being worse than no science at all.

While the exercise of speech is next to universal with all men, no one has any idea of how it is exercised; the wisest being as much in the dark as the least informed.

This is what so eminent a man as Oliver Wendell Holmes had to say on the subject in one of his lectures, delivered not many years before his death:

"Talking has been clearly explained and successfully imitated by artificial contrivances. We know that the moist membranous edges of a narrow crevice (the glottis) vibrate as the reed of a clarionet vibrates, and thus produce the human bleat. We narrow or widen, or check or stop the flow of this sound by the lips, the tongue, the teeth, and thus articulate, or break into joints, the even current of sound. The sound varies with the degree and kind of interruption, as the 'babble' of the brook with the shape and size of its impediments—pebbles, or rocks, or dams. To whisper, is to articulate without bleating, or vocalizing; to coo, as babies do, is to bleat, or vocalize, without articulating. Machines are easily made that bleat not unlike human beings. A bit of India-rubber tube tied around a piece of glass tube, is one of the simplest voice-uttering contrivances. To make a machine that articulates, is not so easy." [The Italics are Dr. Holmes's.]

It is not the humorist Holmes, however, who has said this, as one would suppose that it was, but it is the writer, scientist, and thinker, who was in dead earnest when he gave unto the world this "definition of the gift of speech."

Any comment on my part would but weaken the sense of the ludicrous this "explanation" of so great a subject, even from a mere mechanical standpoint, must arouse in the reader. Yet Dr. Holmes's "explanation" is not any more preposterous than that of many other scientists of the present day.

Teachers have said that, not being a teacher, I could not know anything about the voice. As if they had the sole patent right to the voice, and others held their voices but from them, in fee! I, however, took the liberty of looking into my own voice and trying to find out whence it came and what it was made of. It is not much of a voice, to be sure; yet it has the common attributes of all voices. Besides, I should like to know who, in truth, is a teacher. He who over a narrow path follows the footsteps of others, or he who strikes out boldly for the root and the truth of a matter, and, disregarding precedents, goes down to the very bowels of the earth, if need be, to bring it to the surface?

The knowledge of even the best of us is not much more than some froth on the surface of the well of truth. Yet that froth is all these timid souls have dared to examine. They have not had the courage to dive down deep into its fathomless flood. Many a truth has been taught by those who had been considered innocent of any knowledge thereof. I am one of these "innocents," and, on the whole, am not sorry for not having been imbued more with the knowledge, or supposed knowledge, of the present day.

We are so much the slaves of habit that we become reconciled to any condition, almost, no matter how undesirable or absurd it may be. Thus biological science has been going along in a rut for centuries, but little having been ascertained of vital importance; nor could this have been otherwise, considering the modes of investigation. I was not surrounded by so many trees that I could not see the woods. My perspective was as clear as a bird's, that soars above and beyond the smoke of the city and the dust in the eyes of the heirs of generation upon generation of anatomical and physiological research, burying beneath its lumber the clear insight of the soul. Thus, ignorance with me may indeed have been bliss. Yet I do not want to place myself in a position as deprecating science, having the highest appreciation for all its endeavors. I deprecate science only in so far as, dealing with matter, it attempts to draw inspiration therefrom as to spiritual issues; and the voice certainly is a spiritual issue.

The following appears in the Encyclopædia Britannica, under the heading of "Animal Magnetism":

"Mr. Heidenhain, after stating that in conformity with the manner in which one muscle is affected, others become similarly affected, proceeds to say: 'Probably the reflex excitement would extend still farther, but I naturally consider it out of the question to try whether the muscles of respiration would become affected. It is easily understood that such experiments require the greatest caution and may be very seldom carried out.'"

Valiant Mr. Heidenhain, brave explorer on a new and "dangerous" field of research. This is the Ultima Thule which any of these bold adventurers have endeavored to reach. My work began where theirs came to an end. Though I have not reached the "North Pole," I have gone far beyond anyone else.

COMMENTS OF A DISTANT REVIEWER

This entire subject is of so subtle a nature that I must warn the reader to be patient in its study and careful of his judgment. Should the present work, however, also fail to elicit the attention of my fellowmen, some thinker, perhaps, of a future generation, upon discovering a copy of this book on the dusty shelves of an antiquarian, while looking over its time-stained leaves and after struggling with its vernacular, may be struck with some remark coinciding with ideas arrived at by himself and other scientists of that day, and while commenting upon his "find," may possibly deliver himself thus:

"As the nineteenth century of the Christian era was drawing to a close, a citizen of the (then) youthful country of the United States of North America published a book which contained disclosures far in advance of his time and generation—truths, in fact, concerning life and the exercise of our faculties and functions, which, if properly understood, might have eventually led to even the solution of the very mystery of the soul. Though science at that remote period had made marvellous strides forward, its endeavors were mostly of a utilitarian character, or consisted of efforts to explain phenomena from a strictly materialistic standpoint. The author of this book, however, by dint of a combination of extraordinary circumstances, which induced him to search for causes of phenomena within, in place of outside of himself, had succeeded in breaking through the barriers which had, theretofore, separated phenomena which were called 'natural' from those which, by the majority of mankind, were still supposed to be 'supernatural,' or, at least, unexplainable, unknowable, beyond the ken of man.

"He was thus enabled to penetrate more deeply than any one ever had before into the knowledge of the mysterious forces which engender and sustain organic life. Had he been properly understood, the compass of human knowledge would have been greatly enhanced, and the race itself liberated from the narrow limits to which it had been confined by the scientists almost as much as by the theologians (by the doctors of the body almost as much as by those of the soul) of his day. Some writers of that period delighted in depicting a state of affairs several centuries ahead of their time. The changes which were supposed to have taken place, however, had reference to material developments only, and did not contemplate any advancement of a purely spiritual nature.

"Though the founder of the Christian religion, and other men of a high order of intellectual and moral insight, had laid down rules for 'deportment' which to a great extent still govern the world; in regard to a spiritual insight, the dearth, the waste, the discord, the distraction, the unrest, the 'Weltschmerz' (as the Germans called it), the despair of science, which knew but and dealt but with the baser part of our existence, unable to penetrate into the higher, was then at its height. The 'miracle' had ceased to exercise its influence over the intellectual classes, and knowledge had not taken its place.

"This writer, however, through his discoveries, had opened up the way—made a beginning—to a penetration of science into the realms of the spirit; and a substitution of faith based on facts for one based on tradition and fancy only. Religion and science, having been factors of a different, almost antagonistic, order, thus at that early period already might have become reconciled and united through knowledge; as to some extent, though by different means, they have become since.

"In thus gaining more knowledge, more light regarding the motive powers which govern our existence, the shackles which had overwhelmed the soul would have long since fallen to the ground, and a truly brotherly spirit would have prevailed among all classes and peoples in place of much of the prejudice, the insincerity, the overbearance, the animosity, the cruelty, and the insanity even of the believers in (or inheritors of) one spiritual theory (often misnamed religion) as against those of another.

"The world's thought, just previous to that time, had made great strides forward through the recognition of the laws of evolution, which culminated in one master mind, through great elaboration and by citing numerous examples, assigning cogent and necessary reasons therefor. The world should have been ripe, therefore, for this greater movement which it was now called upon to face; a movement which went beyond the mere recognition of phenomena and penetrated into a priori causes. Strange to say, it either could not or would not understand; being still bound by fetters which held it in a vise-like embrace of previously conceived ideas as to the impossibility of penetrating into matters of this nature, and which prevented it from even testing the numerous proofs offered by this writer as to the correctness of his assertions. His investigations, if properly understood, would have brought spirituality home to us; they would have made it accessible to us. It would have ceased to be a phantom, and would have become a reality, a friend on whom we could count, in place of a mysterious and incomprehensible stranger.

"Beginning with discovering the dual nature of the voice, the writer of this book opened up the way to the comprehension of the mystery of man's dual nature in all its relations. He made the discovery that the œsophagus is of equal importance with the trachea in carrying on the process of respiration and in exercising the faculty of vocal expression; that for these purposes œsophagus and trachea are to an equal degree directly amenable to the influence of the atmospheric air; that the dual nature of organic beings in general, and of man in particular, is represented by the hemispheres of the thorax and the abdomen; that the former in its entirety represents spiritual and the latter in its entirety material issues; that the trachea and its branches on the one hand, and the alimentary canal on the other, respectively represent these issues more directly; that the fusing and blending of these issues has for its result the phenomenon called life; that the severance of these issues has for its result the phenomenon called death; that there are thus positive limits, place, and surroundings assigned to material and immaterial issues within the sphere of our bodily existence, and that combined they pervade our entire system; that all phenomena of life, especially all phenomena of a spiritual nature, and among these more ostensibly those of vocal utterance, owe their origin to these issues momentarily joining hands; that in so doing there is a transitory fusion, which for an endless number of purposes is brought about in an endless number of ways.

"He discovered further that the larynx, previously supposed to be the only instrument for the production of sounds, has its counterpart in the 'replica' (the 'larynx' of the œsophagus), located beneath the tongue and represented by the frænum linguæ and surrounding cartilaginous tissues; that no vocal sound can be produced except by the coöperation of the larynx with the replica. He discovered the circulation of, and the origin of vocal sounds, and many other important issues.

"Through his discoveries, if properly recognized, all the sciences dealing with life would have been placed upon a new and far more reasonable and comprehensible basis than they had rested upon before.

"These discoveries would have tended to undermine the basis of every materialistic school of philosophy, and to place those with spiritual and ideal propensities upon higher and firmer ground. Had they been properly appreciated and further expanded by others it would have eventually become possible to develop all our faculties to the full extent of their ability, and to correct faults, errors, and defects caused by wrong education or heredity, through the application of laws at the very root of our existence; laws which were then, and in fact to a great extent are to this day unknown.

"It may, in fact, be said without exaggeration that his discoveries, which were all made within a period not exceeding five years, outweighed in importance all other discoveries combined relating to physiologico-psychical issues made previous to his time."

I can see many a reader smile after perusing the foregoing, and perhaps saying:

"Here is a Jules Verne of a new type come to deal with a novel subject."

Yet the time will come when the reader will cease to smile, and look upon these matters seriously. I do not mean, however, to throw down a gauntlet to science on these momentous questions in a vaunting and reckless spirit; but come as a petitioner rather, asking it to investigate.

My time and generation are but like a flash from the orb of eternity, but the laws I have discovered are as eternal as that orb itself. With all the scientific investigations now going on, there has not even an approach been made which might have led up to them; nay, not a hint or a hypothesis, even, leading toward the same. Science, in fact, had nothing to do with them; the first man might have made them almost as well as the latest. They are all grappling with matter, while I have grasped the spirit that is in, yet above, all living matter.

In making these discoveries I have bent a sail upon the crafts of physiology and psychology, which have been aimlessly, almost hopelessly, drifting on the shallow waters of the examination of isolated material phenomena. This sail will enable them to reach the broad expanse of the ocean, where they will be able to make soundings in its deepest waters.

Professor Huxley declared that during his fifty years of experience as a student and teacher not one thing really new had ever come under his observation. Had he lived to become acquainted with these facts I feel confident he would have declared them to be new.

The venerable Professor Virchow, the other day, in an address before the International Congress of Physicians at Moscow, made use, in substance, of these words: "The cell is immortal—there must have been a previous cell for its generation. On this fact as a basis (ascertained by the aid of the microscope) the science of the coming century may securely rest."

And he set this down as the greatest achievement of science in respect to the recognition of the phenomena of life. Yet there is nothing more fallible than the microscope in ascertaining facts regarding the knowledge of life. It may to some extent reveal the essence of matter, but it is not given to it to assist in recognizing the principles which govern life and the spirit of life.

FRAGMENTS

This book, in a sense, is a personal narrative, and necessarily must be so, giving an account, as it does, of observations in experiments upon myself. In making these experiments I have endeavored to treat myself impersonally, as a subject, so to say, placed at my disposal for experimental purposes; my ego having been the object as well as the subject of my investigations. In occasionally speaking of the results thus obtained in a eulogistic manner, this should not be looked upon as self-praise, therefore, but rather as an impersonal mode of describing what has come under some one's observation—this "some one" being myself. I want to place the matters I have observed before the reader in the right light, and do not hesitate to say or fear to say just what I think to be the truth. If I were to wait for others to say these things the reader who does not comprehend their latitude as I do might have to wait a long time before he could grasp the subject in its entire importance. I want to say this much as an apology and a vindication for frequent indulgences in apparent self-eulogism.

I have another motive for making such remarks; viz., the desire of rousing the scientific world from its apathy regarding these matters. These laudatory remarks may wound its pride, and possibly arouse its ire,—more especially in view of their coming from a layman,—and thus induce it to study these matters, if but for the purpose and with the view of controverting them. I would hail such an endeavor with pleasure, not having the slightest fear of its ability to successfully controvert any of the vital facts I have ascertained, and whose correctness I expect to prove by a great array of facts with accompanying proofs.

When I first began to make these studies, I made numerous notes as new features happened to present themselves to my mind. I have encountered no inconsiderable difficulty in sifting this material so as to present my experiences in as connected and consecutive a manner as possible. In this, however, I have only partially succeeded; nor have I been able to altogether avoid repetitions. For these shortcomings I must plead a want of time. For some time past, however, my experiences have accumulated so rapidly that I have ceased to take any notes whatever, trusting to my memory that these mental notes may be recalled at the proper time. No doubt some things, even of importance, have thus been lost sight of. Still, while pursuing similar studies, they may in the course of time turn up in some one else's mind.

In looking over some of my notes I have found things which I have deemed worthy of preservation. I let some of these follow in a promiscuous manner. This, it must be admitted, is not in accordance with scientific usage. But I am not a scientist, simply an amateur; and take advantage of the privileges this fact gives me. If I were to conform to strict scientific rules and "etiquette," years might elapse before I could get these matters into proper shape. It will always remain a mystery to me, however, why these things should have come to me at all—so unworthy, so unadapted to their proper exposition. In order to do them justice, they should have come to one complete master of his time, young, strong, possessed of a wide range of knowledge and a deep insight.

I will now let follow some of the matters I have spoken of:

My personality and my work must go together, until others relieve me of the latter by making it their work to the same extent that I have made it mine. You cannot separate the fiddle from the fiddler, neither having any significance apart from each other, except by the fiddler perpetuating that which the fiddle produces—the composition,—by writing it down, thus transmitting it to others. This I am trying to do by this book.

No doubt some of the things which have come under my observation in some form or other are already known to science, and are, therefore, a corroboration, or an explanation, only, of things already known. With me, nevertheless, all is original; and I may therefore justly claim that if any of these matters have been discovered before, I, at least, have re-discovered them.

If I were an institution possessing a guaranty of continued existence I might value the present lightly, knowing a future would come when these matters will be fully understood. Being a creature of the present, however, which may be turned into the past—especially at my time of life—at almost any moment, these matters should become known at the earliest opportunity; some of them being of so subtle a nature that they may require personal explanation and illustration. They have been hidden from us in the past; should they fail to be made known now, the same opportunity may not arise again for centuries.

I do not claim any special sagacity over others for having made these discoveries, and disbelieve altogether in miraculous interposition. Yet I do not want to be prejudiced in any direction.

We are surrounded by the mysterious and the miraculous; and that which is called "natural" as a rule is far more mysterious than that which is called "miraculous."

"Truth is stranger than fiction"; which is undoubtedly true. We can imagine that only of which we have at least some knowledge, but there are realms of truth beyond us of which we have no knowledge. Besides, these revelations are of so extraordinary a nature that I cannot altogether close my eyes to the fact that I may have been led on to them by agencies beyond my personal power of volition. I will cite but one reason why such an idea might be justly entertained by me.

That which originally led me on to these investigations, as already mentioned, was the simple desire to speak the English language just as native-born persons speak it. Although I eventually became aware of the fact that this was next to impossible, yet I persisted in this endeavor to such an extent that I spent far more time on it than it would have deserved had I been convinced that I would be finally successful. Again and again I said to myself, "This is a foolish, absurd, unworthy undertaking for a person of intelligence"; the next minute I was at it again, trying to utter this sound or pronounce that word in the "correct English fashion."

I want to ask, What was it that impelled me to thus persist, almost against my wish, will, and better insight? When, after many years of this almost wanton endeavor, I discovered the dual nature of the voice, I could not help but think that an influence beyond myself had been exercised to impel me to persist in these efforts, which were then crowned with a success of a different order, and far beyond any previous expectation. I then found what I had been after unknown to myself. To simply say I was "infatuated" would not explain this strange adherence to what for a long while looked like a vain and hopeless undertaking.

I am aware that for me to say, as I have just now said, "I cannot altogether close my eyes to the fact that I may have been led on by agencies beyond my personal power of volition," may expose me to ridicule in the eyes of some persons; besides being a contradiction to my other convictions. Yet I say so deliberately and am quite willing to abide by the consequences. It is a case of the duality of our nature, which impels me to take a naturalistic or biogenetic view of things in one direction, yet forces me to take a spiritualistic or abiogenetic view of them in another direction. I do not comprehend those who under all circumstances are capable of pursuing either the one direction or the other.

I might say I have been on a prospecting tour to a new country, where I found the outcroppings of numerous veins of precious ore. These veins are true fissure veins, penetrating, as they do, into the very bowels of the earth; and it will take centuries to exhaust them in all their dips, spurs, and angles.

It will be a matter of surprise that a layman, one not of the tribe which make science the pursuit of their lives, should have penetrated into these mysteries. It must not be lost sight of, however, that science, as a rule, deals with things visible and tangible, while the voice is a sensation which, regarding its origin in the ego, cannot be observed outside of the ego. One may by close observation trace the origin of one's voice to its innermost channels, and thus learn much about the subtlest characteristics of its nature, a proceeding to which it would not be possible to subject any one else's voice. The same conditions prevail in regard to other sensations which have also come under my, at least, partial observation.

Science, as a rule, has been satisfied with the observation of results, of phenomena, without attempting to penetrate into causes, which seemed to be unalterably hidden from its gaze. Special features, however, of the voice have been ably and successfully observed and described by many eminent persons. To these I have not given any attention, partly because they were beyond my sphere, and partly (not being a musician) because they were beyond my power of observation.

In looking for the voice, anatomy in its minute examinations of the larynx has but opened up a grave for us to gaze into. And what have we beheld? A skeleton of the voice's body—of its soul not a trace. This skeleton, to boot, is but a portion of the mechanism of the voice; of its other parts, equally important, science has not even known that they were in existence. Like a palæontologist or an archæologist, I have dug up these other parts or fragments from all around; some were found close at hand, others quite a distance off. I have skilfully put them together, and have thus constructed a fairly complete torso, or framework of the voice. I say "torso," though I may justly claim more than that, having again infused the soul into it which had fled from it; and, see, it has become a living thing.

That the wonderful apparatus contained in the throat is for a purpose there cannot, of course, be any doubt. It is but partly for the purpose attributed to it, however, and, until we better comprehend this part-purpose, especially in view of the fact that we have no control over its mechanism, it will be best, as far as singers and elocutionists are concerned, to surrender it to and leave it with the anatomists.

To the ultimate aim of science—the knowledge of life—I have contributed matters of a nature deemed beyond the province of the knowledge of man. Was it ever intended that they should be known? On more than one occasion I have been puzzled to know whether to go on with these investigations; whether I had a right to go on with them. Still, I was sustained by the fact that I had been led on to them. For what other purpose could this have been done but for that of making the results thereof known? They could serve no good purpose in remaining locked up within myself.

It is my belief that the ordinary course of events is never interfered with; but that great events may be inaugurated by unseen agencies and guided by unseen hands. The responsibility which has devolved upon me, incompetent and unprepared as I am, is almost too great; still, I must try to discharge it to the best of my ability.

I have no personal motive of either fame or fortune. At one time I would have been pleased with such results; now it is too late. If not in my day, some day, I trust, some one will read and comprehend; some one will not mind the trouble of investigation. It is not likely that I shall forever remain the only "seeing one."

It would have been better if I had not published a line for at least ten years. It would have taken that long to say what I want to say, properly. My time is too uncertain, however, to run such a risk. My friends are falling to the right and left by the roadside. I must be up and doing; must make a beginning at least.

We must be satisfied with reaching matters approximately, and argue by analogy to some extent; and also hope that others will take them up and push them along a little farther than we have been able to do. Perhaps in the course of time a perfect insight may be arrived at.

The community of man is a necessity; a separate existence, an anomaly. We are dependent and interdependent upon one another. Man cannot escape his fellow-man. In the remotest desert his spirit is still in communication with him. If it were not so, who would not at times want to flee all, escape from all?

I have but one fear—inability, for some reason or other, to finish my work. I feel like the heroine of a celebrated German novelist, travelling about with a trunk filled with gold, which she distributed among the deserving poor as fast as she came across them. Meanwhile she was in constant fear lest her life should ebb out before all was distributed, and its precious contents lost to those for whom they were intended. If there were any way of imparting this knowledge other than by writing it down, I would gladly resort to it. But how can I reach the few who are capable of and willing to take up these questions, except by communicating them to the many? These "few" will be found in all parts of the world, for these truths apply to all men, independent of sex, race, or country.

My cry is not for recognition. My personality might be blotted out, like that of millions of others, without its being noticed, yet, by virtue of this trust which has been reposed in me, what a loss it would be! My cry is for investigation and the coöperation of others, so that this work may be carried on independent of myself. Meantime, I cannot transfer this task to others. I must first explain all that it is in my power to explain. I can then shift it from my shoulders onto theirs. They must be educated up to it before they can take hold of it as I have taken hold of it.

When I first announced my discoveries, I gave all I possessed, supposing others would see as I saw and comprehend as I did; having no doubt but that the world would at once acknowledge their truths and accept their precepts. I have since found that the world can get along very comfortably with a vast amount of want of knowledge. I therefore made up my mind not to be quite so rash again in making it my beneficiary, not till I was better prepared for the purpose; this other book of mine having been finished rather hastily in the erroneous belief that this knowledge was at once and imperatively needed.

Since publishing this previous book I have also found, which I did not know at that time, that my very mode of investigation (by means of introspection) was new; that no one had ever looked into matters of this kind in the manner I had; besides, it seems strange that in this age of keen investigation of the most trivial matters, no one should have deemed it worth his while to look into these more important subjects.

Regarding the anatomical investigations of the larynx, and anatomical, coupled with physiological, investigations generally, let me ask a question: Supposing a palace with a million apartments, each one in succession more luxuriously furnished than its predecessor, would they avail anything to its sole inhabitant, if that inhabitant were blind?

We have obtained a fair conception of the wonderful palace, the human body, its numberless apartments and their luxurious furnishings, but do not comprehend their meaning, except in a remote and unsatisfactory mechanical sense. We are the blind that inhabit it. Most of these apartments will remain meaningless to our understanding until we ascertain what use the sovereign, the soul, which reigns therein, is making of them, not only mechanically, but spiritually as well. For the soul lives in them all, though it is supposed that it lives only in its throne-room of the brain and that it never descends from the throne set up in the same.

Just here biologists have blundered, trying to get hold of psyche by pursuing matter bereft of life; or investigating life in other beings instead of that inherent in themselves. The vivisection of all the frogs in the world will not give us the first knowledge of the frog's soul; certainly not of our soul. The knowledge of the anatomical construction of the larynx has brought us no nearer the knowledge of the mystery of the voice than that of the brain has brought us to that of the soul. We must understand the process by which the mechanism of the brain is set in motion before we can begin to understand our mode of thinking. We must comprehend the manner in which a musical instrument is to be used before we can begin to draw music from the same. And so must we understand the spirit which moves the mechanism of the voice (of which so far we have known but a single factor), if we want to understand our mode of using it.

Does any one seriously think that by photographing vocal sounds, or passing a mirror down his throat and watching the movements of the vocal cords, he will observe anything that will lead him to an intimate knowledge of nature's subtle process by which vocal sounds are produced? As well look at the face of a clock and see its hands move, and then say you have arrived at a knowledge of the hidden intricate mechanism of the works of the clock. The mechanism of the instrument of the voice is a thousand times more intricate than that of a clock. It lives, it breathes, it moves, it expands and contracts, it rises and falls, it gathers, it gives—now here, now there.

Starting from the supposition that life is too subtle, too intangible a thing to have its innermost operations disclosed by the clumsy work of our hands or the dull vision of our eyes, though increased in power a thousandfold, I matched the subtle work of my voice with the subtler of my brain, and thus, undisturbed by any extraneous agency whatever, watched the process by which, first, simple mechanical, then articulated sounds, and finally sounds linked together into speech, are produced. In so doing I traced sounds through the labyrinth of numerous avenues to their original sources—the organism of all our faculties, instead of being confined to their end organs, being widespread over our entire system.

Physiologists as a rule are satisfied with the observation and exposition of phenomena. I have endeavored to explain phenomena. I have gone "behind the returns," as politicians say. I have lifted the mysterious veil, and have obtained glimpses at the process of life. In this manner the voice of the œsophagus was first discovered, which, in logical sequence, has carried me from one discovery to another. Once in the confidence of nature, it freely opened up to me its heart. Comprehending one thing led me on to the comprehension of others.

There is no study which is as fascinating as that pursued by introspection. It is self-compensating in the highest degree; all facts thereby evolved being the logical sequence of others previously ascertained. Or, if not always in sequence, they all fit into the same system; everything that has been ascertained being a stone which was waiting to be placed in a certain niche to fulfil a certain purpose in the construction of a harmonious edifice. There was no waste, no material entirely lost; nor will there be at any future time. If similar studies will be pursued by those specially fitted for the purpose, the time may not be far distant when there will not be an atom of our material existence whose meaning and purpose will not be understood. The laws which I claim to have discovered will assist in this accomplishment, as they are of so broad a nature that they may be said to form the substructure to forces and conditions which are at the very root of our existence. I do not pretend to say that in this little book they have been properly treated, nor that I possess the ability, under the best of circumstances, to thus treat them. I have but stated what has come under my observation, and have stated it in as simple and direct a manner as my instinct and my ability have taught me to state it.

I have been up on Mount Washington to see the sun rise. It was a beautiful picture; still, there were clouds in the way which here and there obscured my vision, as was to be expected from the unwonted height to which I had risen, and the distant horizon.

I am not writing for a class, but for the multitude to which I belong, and of which, in its aspirations, its hopes, its sincerity, and its ignorance regarding specific knowledge, I form a part. Hence my thoughts are its thoughts and my language its language. There will be no difficulty, therefore, for all to understand me and to profit by my experience.

My observations result in the triumph of the sensation, the feeling (common to all), over the exact sciences (known to but few). Science, for the most part, is satisfied with dissecting or analyzing. My endeavor has been to construct; to form the whole out of parts instead of reducing the whole into parts. My guide has been instinct coupled with common-sense,—that rarest of all the senses in spite of its name. How far it has guided me aright, it will be the province of science to judge.

I may be asked why, in treating upon so "simple" a subject as the human voice (my only endeavor in the beginning), I want to move heaven and earth, and press them into my service. My answer is, Wherever I touched the subject of the voice, I found it to be in correlation with all other subjects.

My great desire now is, that I may be granted the time and retain the ability to write out all I have ascertained; while my greatest wonder is, that these things should have waited for me at all to be made known; why they should not have been discovered centuries ago. My eyes once opened, I found them lying about within the easy reach of my arm and the mere assistance of my pick and shovel, like precious ore in a newly discovered mining country. I had but to open the lid of the mysterious casket which had been intrusted to me, and all these great truths escaped from the same; not to disappear, however, as they did in the fable, but to remain with me and to be made known through me to the world.

The best part of my life has been spent in this, my adopted country. Though I experience no difficulty in expressing myself in the English language, still it is not my native tongue, and I sometimes feel as if I might have said some things better if I had said them in German.

Looking at the many volumes written on the subject of the larynx alone, and considering that during all this time its associate, the replica, without whose assistance not one vocal sound can ever be uttered, has remained unknown, though in plain sight and "in everybody's mouth," one cannot help but think of Goethe's lines:

"Ein Kerl der speculirt
Ist wie ein Thier, auf duerrer Haide
Von einem boesen Geist im Kreis herum gefuehrt,
Und ringsumher liegt schoene gruene Waide."

("A theorist is like unto a beast
On barren soil by evil sprite led round and round
Within a narrow circle, though beyond there is a feast
Of pasture green on fertile ground.")

"THE BASIC LAW OF VOCAL UTTERANCE"

My earlier work, entitled as above, was written under peculiar circumstances. After discovering the fact that sounds proceed from beneath as well as from above the tongue, light streamed in upon me on so many subjects I had previously attempted to solve that I was almost dazed thereby. I thought it my duty to make these matters known, and attempted to describe them as they appeared to me. They were all perfectly clear to me, and even to-day there is scarcely a thing I then said that does not wholly stand its ground. Still, to-day, viewing things from an advanced point of view, much of that which was then expressed pragmatically, almost in a single sentence, and which then appeared to be sufficient, I am convinced requires considerable elaboration and elucidation.

Take, for instance, this dictum: "The manner in which we breathe for speech is by raising and lowering the tongue," etc. This is perfectly correct, and positive proof will be advanced hereafter as to its being so.

I thought these matters would be readily understood, not knowing at that time that between the manner in which I had reached conclusions and the one in which conclusions had been reached by others who had also made a study of these matters, there was a vast difference. Unknown to myself I had lived a life of my own. I had given myself up to these matters in a manner no one ever had before; having been everlastingly at it, holding on with a tenacity that knew no restraint. In this manner I wrung facts from nature that may have never been intended to be revealed.

There was something Faust-like in it all, and I sometimes shudder at my own temerity. Still, I had no such thought when I so persistently continued trying to fathom the mystery of vocal sounds. Viewing it in its proper light it was a narrow and every-day undertaking. I was fairly staggered, therefore, when I reached such unlooked-for results.

The reader, however, may ask, and I feel it incumbent upon me, as well, to tell him, What was the nature of these results? Wherein consisted these discoveries? They covered a large field and whole range of knowledge. They had reference more particularly to vocal sounds. These, in fact, had almost exclusively occupied my mind for many years. These apparently simple factors, vocal sounds, I have since ascertained are the outcome of laws, forces, and agencies, and combinations of all these, which largely make up the sum and substance of our spiritual existence. The direct nature of vocal sounds, therefore, cannot be well treated upon till some understanding has been arrived at of the nature of the elements out of which they are composed. I was rash enough to attempt to explain them, especially the consonant sounds, in this little book of mine, from a standpoint I had then arrived at. Others have tried to explain them from a much narrower standpoint still. From that standpoint I offered explanations as to our mode of speaking, breathing, as to defective speech, etc. Although this was an advanced standpoint, and well worthy the consideration of scientists, it was a standpoint far beneath the one I have arrived at since.

In attempting to scale a mountain I had reached a point from which I could overlook the valley immediately beneath my feet. I have since gone up much higher. Yet there are towering heights still above me which I shall never be able to reach. From this it will be seen how difficult it would be for me to state in a few paragraphs what I had actually ascertained. That book, however, will increase in value in the course of time, not only for the knowledge it contains, but historically, so to say, as the beginning of an evolution which, it seems to me, will eventually embrace all sciences in regard to man; when treated, as they will be, from a standpoint of inner as against one of outer consciousness, from the standpoint of the soul and the heart, as in the inadequacy of our expressions I have to call them, as against that of the head and the senses.

I have since arrived at a plan according to which these matters will be treated in a more systematic manner. In this volume, besides many novel subjects, I have been enlarging upon and elucidating many superficially mentioned in my book, The Basic Law of Vocal Utterance. Still, the matters treated upon even in this book cover so much ground, and had to be condensed to such an extent, that many of these also will require further enlargement and elucidation. This will be attempted to be done in future publications. Meantime I trust these matters will be taken in hand by others, who by their writings will relieve me of some of this additional labor. Take it all in all, there is so much of this work that I feel as if I had swallowed the ocean and was now called upon to give an account of its contents.

THE VOICE OF THE ŒSOPHAGUS AND ITS VOCAL CORDS

Among the discoveries mentioned in my former publication one stands out most prominent, and it is the basis of all my other discoveries; namely, "that the voice is of a dual nature." I had ascertained that sounds circulate around the radix of the tongue; that they, or rather the air wave which carries them, enters either at the upper surface of the tip of the tongue and recedes back, to come out again from beneath its lower surface, or vice versa. I had also ascertained that the former process is the English, the latter the German, for breathing and vocal expression.

I was convinced that this signified a circulation of vocal sounds; and though I had finally also reached this conclusion and intimated it, namely, "that we breathe and speak through the œsophagus," I did not express it in so many words, as I meant to leave this expression for a future publication. I was at first under the impression that both waves belonged to the trachea, the one that was ingoing as well as the one which was outgoing.

Meantime I had discovered the "larynx or voice-box to the œsophagus," but considered this at first also as belonging to the trachea. I thought inspiration and ingoing sounds belonged to the vocal cords of the trachea, expiration and outgoing sounds to this "new" vocal cord located beneath the tongue. To study these first attempts, by which I was trying to find my way, and which culminated in these wonderful discoveries, I presume would be of interest to the student. I can here mention only the main points.

I have found beyond a doubt, and my future statements will more fully establish this fact, that the frænum linguæ and the parts of the mucous membrane surrounding the same are relatively of the same nature in regard to the voice of the œsophagus that the vocal cords and other parts of the larynx are in relation to that of the trachea.

In contradistinction to the larynx, I named these entire surroundings the "replica," as, in conjunction with the tip of the tongue resting upon the same, they conform to the shape of the oral cavity, of which in their general appearance they are almost a counterpart. In a similar manner I named the special part thereof, which "regulates" the intonation, the "vocal lip," in contradistinction to the vocal cords of the larynx, which perform the same service for the voice of the trachea.

After making such positive assertions regarding the replica as I did in my previous publication—now more than four years ago—I was more than surprised that no one should have deemed it worth his while to look into the value of these assertions. If any one had, he could not have helped but acknowledge their correctness. It is but necessary to utter any vocal sound whatsoever, either vowel or consonant, and while doing so watch the vocal lip and the frænum, to become at once convinced that their motions are of precisely the same order as those of the larynx and the vocal cords.

So many have spent year after year upon the difficult and "fruitless" endeavor to study the motions of the larynx; while here is an opportunity plainly before every one's eyes to study, without effort, the most interesting phenomena in voice production. We must be obliged to seek for a thing high and low before we deem it worthy of our attention.

THE HUMAN VOICE

What is the voice—a spirit, or "an expiratory current of air set into vibration by purely physical agencies"? It does not seem to me to be either, but something which is of the nature of both: our dual nature, embodied in the sounds of speech; our body and soul joining hands to produce the miracle of the voice. Regarding the materialistic view quoted above, which is held by most of the investigators, who make the larynx their point d'appui, I think that if there is anything in our composition or emanating therefrom that is not produced by "purely physical agencies," it is the voice.

In my opinion there is nothing purer, more "spiritual," in the world than a beautiful voice. Did you ever see a spirit? Perhaps not. But you have often heard one. You hear them daily, hourly, constantly; other spirits as well as your own—the spirits represented by the voice; the soul incorporated in the sounds of speech. When you converse, it is soul to soul; when you hear an anthem sung, it is the soul of the singer to the soul of the universe. The soul reveals itself most prominently through the voice when there is anguish in it, or joy; tears or laughter; love or hate.

An attempt to get at the truth in matters of the voice is an attempt at getting at the truth in matters of life. If you will tell me all that a vocal sound is, I will tell you what your soul is.

To examine into the anatomical construction of the larynx, to watch it physiologically and learn to understand the motions of the vocal cords in their relation to vocal sounds, is not much more than looking at the dial of a clock (a simile already used, but worth repeating). The movements of the hands will give you no cue to the construction of the intricate works hidden behind the face of the clock. Nor will the careful examination and observation of the "dials" which serve the voice of the œsophagus in the same manner as those of the larynx serve the voice of the trachea, measurably increase the knowledge of vocal phenomena. I do believe, however, that, inasmuch as the movements of the replica, the frænum, and the vocal lip fit into and complement those of the larynx and its vocal cords, and vice versa, lessons of great benefit to the knowledge and the improvement of vocal utterance may be learned, after we have once begun to understand what these movements imply.

That we cannot now derive any benefit from the observation of these motions is due to the fact that they are reflex, involuntary, uncontrolled and uncontrollable by the will. Or, as Mme. D'Arona expresses it:

"They are not the cause of the perfect tone, but are simply acted upon by the cause."

After having become acquainted with the cause of these motions, and having learned to control it in the interest of pure and perfect tone, the movements of the larynx and the replica will become of value to us as "indicators" of the correct or incorrect exercise of the cause which they reflect. In "recording" the original movements they will show us what is right or wrong in the latter, and will thus offer us an opportunity for correcting them. Up to the present they have been simply barometers, which, no matter how closely we may observe them, offer us no opportunity for changing "the state of the weather" which they indicate. After thoroughly comprehending the causes, however, which move them, we may shape the course of the latter in conformity with our will. Or, vice versa, we may shape our will, which, after all, is the first cause, so as to correct that which they indicate to be wrong in our tone production.

Now, what is that which the will acts upon, and thus becomes the original source, the first cause, so to say, of tone production? My answer will be a surprise, for, as far as I know, no one has ever as much as thought, even, of looking in this direction for the seat of the voice.

The original source of tone production has its location in various vessels of the viscera: in the lungs, the kidneys, and the bladder, for the most part, though many other vessels, if not all, participate, and are more or less involved in its production. Besides these vessels, the heart and the solar plexus, as central organs of the vascular and nervous systems, together with the brain as the central seat of thought and the will, perform parts of the highest importance in tone production and vocal utterance. In the lungs, the bladder, and the kidneys, together with their coadjutors, the bronchi and ureters, the tone originates. Here we can control, and unconsciously do control, it.

I shall adduce indubitable proof as to the correctness of these assertions. More than that, I shall locate sounds in these various vessels. As a tone proceeds from a given string located in a given part of a musical instrument, and cannot proceed from or be produced on any other string, a given tone of the human voice proceeds from a given vessel, and cannot proceed from or be produced in any other vessel.

I shall furthermore show that the various shades of a tone proceed from various parts of such vessel. Yet, while tones are produced in special parts, the instrument of the voice being of a sympathetic nature, all parts of the viscera participate therein, by, in a manner, leaning towards a vessel in which a tone is produced, thus assisting in giving it utterance. If a sound is produced in one of the vessels of the abdomen, those of the thorax, though not directly participating therein, give it aid and comfort by their passivity, thus throwing the entire strength of the voice-producing forces into this one spot. If a sound is produced in the thorax, the vessels of the abdomen aid it in a similar manner. This is more particularly the case when a sound of a superior order is to be produced, which is thus reinforced by this aid.

In matters of the voice, as in many others, truth is stranger than fiction.

Dr. Rush has said:

"Some day, when the real instrument of the voice will be discovered, it will be found to be of an order far different in its nature and construction from that which it has ever been supposed to be."

The greatest mechanical wonder, however, is that the voice, and that which is apparently one and the same sound, should under different circumstances emanate from sources so entirely different in their construction as the vocal cords to the trachea and those to the œsophagus, the viscera of the kidneys, the bladder and the lungs, etc. This fact also accounts for the mystery which, like an impenetrable veil, has hung over the features of the voice. Who has ever thought of looking for the spirit of the voice to reveal itself from beneath the tongue? Who has ever thought that the œsophagus was a breathing-tube of a similar functional order as the trachea? Who has thought that the viscera of the abdomen were playing as important a part in breathing as the lungs? Who has thought that the hemisphere of the abdomen was as directly amenable to the influence of the air as that of the thorax? Who has, in fine, thought that the viscera of the abdomen together with those of the thorax were primarily instrumental in producing the voice and vocal utterance?

It may not be pleasant to know, and it may not quite conform with our æsthetic taste, that the "voice divine" should have its origin in such vessels as the kidneys and the bladder; but I have no quarrel with the Creator, and can but wonder, as I have never ceased to wonder from step to step in all these investigations, at the marvellous resources of nature. There is one great lesson conveyed through this, namely,—- that the body is divine in its every aspect; parts which have been supposed to serve ends only of a comparatively low order participating in the highest spiritual functions.

This knowledge is the sanctification of the "flesh," so constantly and unjustifiably rejected and reviled as against that of the spirit. I am not dealing with theories, but am stating facts which will be as positively proven as any other scientific facts ever have been proven. These proofs will not be all forthcoming in this book, however, there being other subjects of equal, if not greater, importance that I have to deal with before I can reach them; these subjects being of such a nature that they must be explained before those immediately connected with voice production can be properly dealt with.

I have been reproached with attempting too much; with dealing with too many subjects at one and the same time; that I ought to complete one theme and then take hold of another. Just so; but this cannot be done. I must first deal with general principles. Our entire system being of a homogeneous nature, I cannot deal with separate issues until these principles have been dealt with and understood in their entirety. Besides, I cannot hope to ever complete any one thing. I shall be well satisfied if I shall be able to simply touch upon every subject that has come under my observation, lightly, suggesting things, and leaving it to others to enter more thoroughly into the same.

INTROSPECTION

With our mortal eyes turned outwardly we cannot see spiritual things, nor the motive power of life, nor the material form the spirit assumes in moving the mechanism of the body. For there is a material way in which it is thus moved, as there necessarily must be, and I have obtained glimpses thereat by turning my eyes inwardly—by looking into myself with the inner surface of my eyes.

Yet through all these centuries people have been using that portion of their eyes which is intended for external vision only, in a vain endeavor to arrive at spiritual-material facts. Thus the larynx, as the supposed seat of the voice, has been subjected to scrutiny based upon laws derived from phenomena which owe their origin to physical causes only. During this vain endeavor the larynx has been subjected to torture and maltreatment worse than that inflicted upon a mediæval witch.

But its tormentors have derived no solace from this treatment, not even that of a confession of imaginary sins. Why not? Simply because it had not anything to confess, being a reflex, an indirect, and not a free and original agent. Through torture (by means of the laryngoscope), the destroyer of harmony, we cannot arrive at laws based upon harmony.

Is not all physiological research more or less of this order? The "higher law" of science may demand its victims, even as did the "higher law" of the church. I do not wish to say, however, that the sacrifice of animals on the altar of science is as useless as that of human beings used to be on that of religion. Vivisection, however, while it may, and no doubt sometimes does, help to recognize the physical cause of disorder, will never be of any value in arriving at spiritual causes and the recognition of the inner motive power of life, nor to any great extent at that of the exercise of our faculties and functions. For this knowledge we require a different mode of proceeding. To penetrate into the realm of the spiritual-material world (and all phenomena of life are of that nature) we must not look externally but internally, not into other beings but into ourselves. That is the only place where we can hope to find it in action and arrive at the causes of such action.

As our being cannot enter into the inner life of another being and identify itself with the same or become a part thereof, or remain apart and become a spectator of the same or substitute therefor (not even for that of the simplest and lowest living vegetable or animal organism), we would have to despair of our ability of ever being able to arrive at the laws governing life, if we were not able to look into our own lives by substituting for our observations our inner for our outer consciousness.

The word "Introspection" has heretofore meant reflection upon purely spiritual phenomena only; I have proven by my personal example that we can observe physiologico-psychological phenomena with considerable accuracy—very little of this kind of work, as far as I can learn, ever having been done before. The nearest approach at amalgamation, probably, is that which is brought about by means of hypnotism. In this instance the two factors, the positive and the negative, the operator and the person operated upon, do not fuse, however, and become one, but remain entities, each in his own right. Or, to speak still more to the point, while the positive, that is the spiritual, factor of the operator may, and no doubt does, join hands with the negative, that is the material, of his subject, by which the operator becomes one with the latter, there is still but an influence, and not an insight. Besides, this condition is as yet too obscurely known to be made use of as a practical means of observation.

After all this, the question will still be asked, "What must we do to look into ourselves?"

I will admit that I have not stated what others should do, but in explaining what I have done I mean to explain what general course others will have to pursue. By taking into consideration what I have said, and adding thereto what I shall still have to say, a general idea may be formed of what the reader must do to place himself in a position to make original observations by means of introspection. No two cases being just alike, from the fact that heredity, the mental capacity, physical condition, education, temperament, nationality, etc., with no two persons are just alike, it is not well possible to point out a course quite suitable to all. I might as well attempt to arrive at a law by the observance of which all persons would be enabled to write poetry.

Still, needing assistance in this vast undertaking, I am particularly anxious to make this matter clear, as the results of these observations are of vital interest to all, and I am but one weak, ignorant mortal creature, with but a small fraction of a life left to me in which to state that which it would at least take a full lifetime to properly and fully explain. I am overburdened with an insight which is being increased daily, even against my will, and which I shall never be able to fully communicate to others. Let the flood-gates of truth once be opened and come in upon you as they have upon me, and you will be overwhelmed by the mass of their detail no less than by the vigor of their mass. My great want, therefore, for the purpose of more fully arriving at these facts and obtaining ever higher results is assistance and coöperation. I wish it to be distinctly understood, however, that I do not mean this in a personal sense—far from it; but in the interest and the promotion of science, as everybody wanting to make original observations must pursue these studies for himself and by himself.

Why such a course has not been heretofore pursued by others I am at a loss to understand, except from the fact that it takes an unusual amount of perseverance to reach the first results. Though all persons may not be able to personally obtain satisfactory results, all may be benefited by the results obtained by those qualified to successfully carry on a course of observations by means of introspection. The world at large will always have to be satisfied with being simply the beneficiary of scientific research; more especially of research in matters spiritual or psychical. From facts thus obtained rules may be deduced, which, translated into "physical forms," may become the property of all. In this manner numerous observations I have made have already assumed a practical shape; but I have not as yet been able to devote the necessary time to them to produce a system which may be used for general instruction.

Meanwhile I do sincerely hope that others will take hold of these matters in all seriousness, and assist me in arriving at these practical physical forms, which I trust, in fact know beyond the shadow of a doubt, will be fruitful of the most beneficent results in the teaching of the deaf, of singing and elocution, of pure vocal utterance in speaking; in curing stammering and other chronic faulty or deficient utterance; besides numerous other matters of equal importance not in immediate connection with vocal utterance.

That these matters must be and are of the greatest importance to the medical student goes without saying. It is to be hoped that they may lead to a more rational treatment of our frail and often ailing bodies. I say "bodies" because this is the common phrase. Yet how false this is, every true physician is but too conscious of. Our ailments cannot be successfully treated from a mere physical standpoint. The question of life is not a mechanical one; it is spiritual beyond anything else, the spirit being the motive power giving life to the otherwise inert physical body. Yet the only endeavor of the physician has always been to cure the "machine," to set its mechanism right again when it is out of order, simply because he has not been able to get at the spiritual motive power which propels it.

I have been trying to get at this motive power, and to some extent have been successful in so doing. Besides, the body never suffers. Its ailments make the soul suffer; while the ailments of the soul have a comparatively less injurious effect upon the body. The body is the habitation of the soul. The soul dwells in its every part. As long as this habitation is habitable the soul continues to dwell therein. When it becomes uninhabitable the soul departs, never to return. Hence a body, never so frail and ailing, will continue to live as long as a vital part is not affected, that is, a part the soul requires for its habitation and cannot do without. Close such part to the indwelling of the soul, prevent material and spiritual factors from joining hands therein, and the spirit departs. Once departed it can never be made to return. Hence a body in the full vigor of health, after having been immersed in water sufficiently long to have any one vital avenue positively closed against the indwelling of the soul, cannot be resuscitated. As long as the soul clings to it, however, with never so feeble a grasp, it may come to life again, in the same manner that a flame nearly extinguished may be fanned to life again.

For me to fully describe my mode of proceeding in arriving at these matters would be equal to an attempt at crowding into a few paragraphs all I have gone through within something like forty years, more or less, of observation.

MAKING PARTS RIGID

I have already stated that I was originally led into making these investigations through my simple desire of getting rid of my German mode of expression in speaking the English language. Being determined to find out where the trouble was which prevented me from producing pure English sounds while I experienced no difficulty in producing pure German sounds, I pursued vocal sounds, through numerous phases, to their original sources. The endeavor to arrive at the true nature of vocal sounds through autology and by means of "introspection" has, no doubt, been made by thousands before me. The reason they were not more successful must be attributed to the simple fact that such persons have been lacking in perseverance. It is one of the most misleading endeavors one can pursue.

In the beginning I came to what I considered a positive result perhaps for the hundredth time, but to think I was on the wrong track the one hundred and first time. I would then, perhaps, finally determine that the first result arrived at, after all, was the correct one. In this manner I have in the course of time arrived at positive conclusions, which have been the basis of all my investigations, and are undoubtedly correct, as they have yielded up one result after another and have never proven false. For this, relatively speaking, "perfect insight" I have waited, before saying anything more at all, since my previous (preliminary) publication. To these conclusions I owe my present trust and confidence, and the "boldness and temerity," as some may say, in making such "startling declarations" in the face of the accumulated wisdom of the science of this and of past ages. Yet I am tired unto death of prevarication and of time-serving, and will say what I consider to be the truth, no matter what may be the consequence.

Any one singing a false note or mispronouncing a foreign word or sound, yet knowing what the right note, word, or sound is and should be, can do the same thing, and by perseverance finally find what he has been looking for and pronounce such note, word, or sound in its entire purity. This will put him on the track to the production of all pure notes or sounds. To accomplish this, he must persistently watch one result after another.

My mode of proceeding has been largely in making parts rigid, and then observing the consequences. In pursuing this course for some time, you will finally attain such a mastery therein that you will be able to make almost any vessel, muscle, sinew, membrane, tissue, etc., or any part thereof, rigid. This is done for the purpose of neutralizing parts which partake in the production of sounds, and will enable you to closely watch cause and effect in your natural, as well as artistic, course of breathing and sound production. Having two languages at my command, I was startled to find that cause and effect in both were totally different from each other. This gave me the original cue to all my observations.

In place of sounds, others may pursue odor, taste, feeling, motion, hearing, etc., to their original sources, and make similar observations. In so doing they will find that all phenomena, the products of our faculties, abilities, or gifts, originally proceed from the same or similar sources; that there is a homogeneity of proceeding, mainly consisting in various modes of breathing, in the production of them all; the end organs of our senses or gifts finally determining definite special results.

For vocal utterance, we draw our inspiration for various results to be attained, from the air, and breathe in a different mode for every special performance. These modes of breathing, though the same for all persons in a general sense and leading through the same channels, in a more restricted sense are different for every nationality.

There is no "danger" connected with these pursuits, in spite of Mr. Heidenhain's fears; which fact is due to the duality of the nature of each and all our various faculties, there being a safety-valve always at the other end in the shape of the negative factor. The only danger I have discovered was in connection with the "streams of life," which do not permit tampering with without penalty. As these exist independent of our ordinary mode of breathing, they are not apt to be interfered with by any neophyte in the pursuits now under consideration. Of these powerful streams, of which no notice has ever been taken by any one, though ceaselessly streaming into and out of our system while life lasts, I shall take occasion to speak later on.

EXTIRPATION

To make a part "rigid" is equal to the "extirpation" of such part. While it is in a state of rigidity, it ceases to take part in any action whatsoever; it is inert and the same as if it had ceased to exist. What advantage, then, let me ask, is there in extirpating parts in animals, when we can, by making parts rigid, directly extirpate such parts in ourselves? We can in this manner suppress the action of any muscle, or the participation of any vessel, or part of such vessel, in any act, by the simple exercise of our volition. I find no difficulty in thus "extirpating" any such part from myself for the time being, and then observing the consequences. I can take hold of the innermost part of myself, so to say, and take it out of myself. In regard to vocal utterance, these consequences are positive and direct. That these operations must be very carefully conducted in connection with vital parts goes without saying. The action of muscles participating in the production of vocal utterance, however, or in the act of breathing, except the muscles of the heart, can be suppressed without danger. I am thus in a position to modify extirpation of parts to any extent, almost, I desire. I can add to and detract therefrom at will, and can shift the act of extirpation from the anterior part of a vessel to its posterior, or from its superior to its inferior, or vice versa, now making one side rigid, then the other, now one end, and then the other; or take hold of its centre and leave the other parts free, or suppress its circumference and leave the centre free. There is scarcely a limit to the action of my will in handling my subject. All this while, my feelings, my intelligence, my mind, take in every phase of these proceedings, and enable me to give a correct account of the results I have been observing.

This discovery—for a discovery it must be, as I can find no account of any similar proceeding ever having been carried on—should, and I hope will, put an end to vivisection, when it is resorted to for the purpose of learning anything whatever in respect to the action and the process of life. By this proceeding I have more or less successfully observed the acts of breathing, of vocal utterance, motion and locomotion, hearing, seeing, and thinking.

I beg leave to here insert without comment the following clipping from the press:

The following extracts are from a lecture on "Vivisection in Relation to Medical Science," delivered by Edward Berdoe, M. R. C. S., etc., at Cambridge. Lovers of animals may be glad to know how the medical fraternity amuse themselves:

"You may open the abdomens of living cats, guinea-pigs, and rabbits, and apply irritating chemicals to their exposed intestines, causing what you are pleased to term 'peculiar rhythmic movements' and 'circus movements,' but what the unlearned would call violent spasms and convulsions, as was done by Dr. Batten and Mr. Bokenham, at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, last year. You may dissect out the kidneys of living dogs and cats which you have first paralyzed by curare—the 'hellish oorali' of Lord Tennyson's poem, so called because the animal's sufferings are intensified by its use, and it is unable to move a limb, or to bite, scratch, howl, or otherwise interfere with the operator's comfort. You may do this, as was done by Dr. John Rose Bradford, at University College, London. You may infect ninety cats with cholera poison, and bake numbers of them alive, as did Dr. Lander Brunton. You may inoculate the eyes of rabbits and guinea-pigs with the material of tubercle, fix glass balls filled with croton oil—a horribly irritating drug—and stitch them into the muscles of the backs of rabbits, then crush them amongst their tissues, as did Dr. Watson Cheyne, at King's College, London. You may slice, plough, burn, and pick away the brains of monkeys and dogs, as did Dr. Ferrier. You may slowly starve to death animals whose vagi nerves have been cut and stimulated by electricity, as was done by Dr. Gaskell, of this University, in 1878. You may cut out the spleens and livers from living rabbits, pigeons, and ducks, as was done by Dr. William Hunter, of St. John's College, Cambridge, in 1888, or do a thousand other acts which in a coster-monger or a farm laborer would be termed and dealt with as acts of atrocious cruelty, punishable by imprisonment. But you have not learned the cure for a single malady which afflicts the human body."

THE MOVEMENTS OF THE TONGUE

There is another mode of proceeding by which satisfactory results can be obtained, and which was the only one I resorted to in the beginning and for many years afterwards; namely, the watching of the movements of the tongue.

The muscle of the tongue, for vocal utterance, is the most important in our organization. It appears to me, in fact, as if in its tip there were a concentration of all the threads which control our existence; and that it is, therefore, representative of an epitome of our entire being. As all sciences, in a general, though in some instances perhaps somewhat remote, sense, centre in the science of life, so do the controlling elements in our composition centre in the tip of the tongue. If it were possible to analyze it spiritually as well as physically, we would obtain a compendium of knowledge far in advance of any there is in existence in the world at the present time. Still, it must be admitted that this would, to some extent, depend upon whose tongue's tip was submitted to such analyzation. The fact of the tip of the tongue being removed by surgical operation without serious effect upon the mental condition of the individual does not greatly affect my assertion. In that case the concentration must have taken place at the tongue's new tip or end.

The tongue's tip, with as infallible correctness as the magnetic needle points towards the north pole, indicates the exact spot whence sounds come, or should come, to appear on the surface in a clear and undefiled manner. The tongue's tip, for English vowel sounds, does not touch any part of the oral cavity. It is constantly changing its position, however, and for every vowel sound, or shade of a vowel sound, points in the direction of or approaches the spot whence a sound comes, or should come. To ascertain such spot with exactitude, it is but necessary to extend the tongue's tip until it reaches the wall of the oral cavity during or, still better, immediately after the utterance of a vocal sound. Upon reaching that spot the tongue may continue in the same position of contact and the sound can still be uttered with entire purity. Change this point of contact, however, but in the least, and such sound will at once cease to come to the surface. Yet, while apparently a sound comes from the direction in which the tip of the tongue points, this is not really the case. In pointing in a given direction, the tongue opens up the channels of the œsophagus and the trachea in a special manner for the proper emission of a given sound, beneath as well as above, and to the left as well as to the right of its radix. In changing the tongue's position but in the least, these channels will open in a different direction, which may then be the proper medium for the emission of another sound, but not for the one under consideration.

The general mode in which the radix of the tongue turns upon its axis is the direct and fundamental cause productive of the various languages of the world; such general mode necessitating special movements of the tongue for the production of the sounds of any special language. Regarding the proper emission of consonant sounds every one knows that the same depends upon the particular spot of contact of the tongue's tip with parts of the oral cavity. As a matter of fact, such point of contact also opens, the same as with vowel sounds, the tubes of the trachea and œsophagus at the tongue's radix in the proper manner for the emission of a given stream of air for the production of such consonant sounds.

Every imaginable opprobrious epithet has been by singers bestowed upon the tongue. "This obstreperous muscle which is always in the way," says one. "This troublesome member will persist in going up when you want it to remain down"; "intractable," "contrary," "obstinate," "wilful," "ungovernable," "stubborn." All these expressions have been used by writers on the voice in connection with the tongue, simply because it would not yield to unreasonable and unnatural demands made upon it; the tongue, being a free agent, persisting in its natural rights—as much so as any independent democratic citizen persists in his.

My observations having been made in connection with a foreign language, I had a better opportunity for watching my tongue's movements than I would have had had I attempted to watch them in connection with my native tongue; the movements of the tongue in connection with the latter being so rapid and involuntary that it becomes exceedingly difficult to make any observations at all. It was like having this foreign (English) tongue exist independently alongside of my own, my intelligence watching it, and guiding it, now here, now there, until it would touch the right spot for the right English sound. Knowing what the right sound was and should be, I never stopped until the same came to the surface.

In trying to find my way in this foreign (English) territory of the oral cavity, I might compare my English tongue to the stick in the hands of a blind man, who uses it in place of his eyes to ascertain his whereabouts, so as to enable him to proceed on his way in the right direction. With my "stick" I felt in every direction, till I found I could steer clear of obstacles straight into the channel of the sound I had been seeking. From my German post of observation I was thus enabled to watch the movements of my English tongue in its efforts to find itself "at home" in this foreign territory, while I was at the same time guiding it from one point therein to another.

I want to call especial attention to and reiterate the fact that the exact point whence a sound proceeds, or seems to proceed, can, by extending the tongue's tip, be quite as well (if not better) ascertained, after the utterance of a sound, as during such utterance; that is immediately after the tongue has ceased to vibrate for such sound.

The difference in the movements of the tongue for various languages is one of the most interesting observations to be made in connection with these studies. The German language being the exact opposite, the antipode, to the English, after comprehending the movements of the tongue for the latter, its own movements, that is, the movements of the tongue for German sounds, were not difficult for me to ascertain.

It is an anomaly to apply the works of German writers on the voice to the study of the English language, or to that of any other than the German language; or to apply books written from an English standpoint to the study of any language except the English—the movements of the tongue, and, in sympathy therewith, of countless other muscles, being different for every language.

Whatever the movements of the tongue are for the spoken language, they are of an inverse order for song. I anticipate in making the following statement, namely, that while speech is of an order which is rapid, direct, anterior, exterior, spontaneous, impulsive, and material, song is of an order which is slow, indirect, posterior, interior, premeditated, contemplative, and spiritual. I will also add this: that, while speech is of the oral cavity, song is of the pharynx. In making these remarks and others in anticipation, I do so intentionally and for a purpose; not so much in expectation that they will be at once and fully understood, as with a view of setting others thinking on these subjects until I can reach them in due course of time; or, if I should never be able to reach them, that the principle, at least, underlying the same, which if the opportunity had been granted me would have been fully sustained, shall not be lost. The reader will notice that I am hurrying over the ground as rapidly as I consistently can, even from my—under the best of circumstances—superficial standpoint, leaving wide gaps to be filled in by others in the course of time.

SIMPLE SOUNDS

Speaking of sounds in making experiments in connection with the movements of the tongue, it is of the first importance that these sounds should be simple and not vocal or compound. They must be sounds of the same order as we utter in whispering, or such sounds as we are apt to use when learning to speak a foreign tongue. They are the inharmonious sounds of the deaf, and those which distinguish the speech of a foreigner from that of the native-born.

The recognition of these sounds as the negative parts of speech has been one of my main accomplishments, and has been of the greatest assistance to me in my investigations.

Things complete tell no tales. We must decompose them, reduce them to their elements, if we want to arrive at the truth in matters of science. I have succeeded in doing with things spiritual—vocal sounds—what the chemist is doing with things material. In things complete, as they are shaped by the hand of nature, the elements of which they are composed are mingled in such a dexterous manner, are so happily blended, that they adjust, counterpoise, and complement one another, and thus live with and in one another.

These new forms have been created by the elements of which they are composed, abandoning their separate original forms and now appearing in a new form, as integral parts of an harmonious entity. These elements have not only abandoned their form, however, but in most instances have also changed their character; which in their original composition may have been of a discordant, violent, and even dangerous nature. Take but the atmospheric air and its elements for an example.

A similar state of affairs exists in connection with the phenomena of the material-spiritual world. While vocal sounds, when properly produced, stand for all that is harmonious and pleasing, their component parts, their positive and negative elements, by themselves, offer features of a contrary nature. They also offer us, the same as elements do to the chemist while making experiments, the opportunity for making an endless number of combinations. Unless you know what simple sounds—i. e., negative parts of vocal sounds—are, and know how to produce them, you will scarcely be able to make one class of experiments which I shall offer in great abundance to sustain my arguments.

When I shall reach the subject of vocal sounds proper, I shall more fully explain their exact nature. I will simply say this at present: A simple sound is the product of that hemisphere only to which it properly belongs. A vocal sound is aided and assisted by a complementary sound from the other hemisphere. The more perfect such aid, the more perfect will be its tone. Simple vowel sounds are short, abrupt, the same as consonant sounds when produced all by themselves and without the aid of a vowel sound uttered in conjunction with them.

POSTERIOR SURFACES

In saying, as I have, that introspection is carried on by looking into ourselves with the inner surface of our eyes, I meant to say, in the first instance, that we must exclude all exterior vision, and then attempt to locate and follow up the course of events going on within us. While in this state we are strictly reduced to our personal and individual existence. In thus "watching," the function of our eyes, instead of being used for external material observation, is reversed; their function now being to observe internally and spiritually.

In connection with sounds, you will not only "in your mind's eye" see the places where they originate, and feel the course they are taking, but you will actually, functionally (in the mode of spiritually seeing and feeling), "see" and "feel" them. This vision and this feeling is far from being perfect, however,—not being accustomed to thus seeing and feeling,—but it may, when continuously exercised, become so in the course of time. While in this state, besides seeing the places interiorly, you may also see them exteriorly, by reflection as it were, and in a reverse order, "as in a looking-glass," in which case it is still an interior vision reflected exteriorly. As a matter of fact, I not only believe, but positively know, that every exterior functional surface has a corresponding posterior one.

Whenever a thing is brought home to us, either through our organs of seeing, hearing, feeling, smelling, or tasting, the outer surface of such respective organ constitutes the positive factor for such action, while its inner surface constitutes the negative factor thereof. Whenever the outer world is excluded, however, as during thought, introspection, and in our sleep, the inner surface of any of these organs becomes the positive, and the outer surface the negative, factor. In thus saying, "I see with the inner surface of my eyes," I do not mean this figuratively only, but literally, functionally, as well; as I could not see these places and locate them internally nor could I see any subject or object with "my mind's eye," if the faculty of seeing were not actually given to the posterior surface of the eye.

This will become clear when you consider that you will altogether fail to see internally when you attempt to use the anterior surface of your eye for the purpose of internal vision. Thus, the phenomena of vision which accompany thought or dreams, during sleep as well as in our waking moments, are not merely spiritual, but, in the sense of internal functional vision, are also material, so to say. All thought, in fact, is more or less of this same nature. We use the posterior surfaces of our organs of sense more frequently, in consequence, than we do their corresponding anterior surfaces. Physiologists will say there is no such a thing as an inner surface of the eye capable of seeing. This does not alter the fact that I actually, functionally, see with the posterior surface of my eyes, and that everybody else does the same thing.

I shall, in connection with vocal utterance, have occasion to call attention to numerous divisions of as positive a character as a wall of living tissue, of which there is not a trace to be seen by external vision; these divisions being channels, constantly used in one and the same direction, some for ingoing, others for outgoing streams of air and sounds. Of these channels, also, being invisible to the outer surface of the eye, science has never taken any notice. These invisible agencies are connecting links, mediating between cause and result, in connection with material-spiritual or spiritual-material phenomena of whatsoever nature brought to our consciousness. Hence the inability of science, in its ignorance of these agencies, to reconcile the one with the other by the aid of such material only as has been heretofore at its disposal. We may see proceedings going on which are mediating between cause and effect, by the assistance of the inner surface of our eyes. They disappear altogether, as well as any other "vision," upon an attempt being made at seeing them with the external surface of our eyes. Yet we may see inwardly with our eyes open, as we do when absent-minded, etc.

If we could invent a microscope by the aid of which we could look into ourselves in a spiritual sense, that is, through posterior surfaces, all the secret springs of our nature might be revealed to us. This ability to become cognizant of physiologico-psychological processes by the aid of the inner surfaces of our organs of sense, reveals a peculiar functional exercise of their faculties. In matters of memory they are not intended to aid in conveying to our consciousness impressions made at the present, but those made at a previous time. These impressions having been made on the soft tablets of our brain, either during our individual existence or that of our progenitors, and transmitted to us by dint of heredity, are brought to our consciousness by the aid of these inner surfaces, phonographically. They are awakened by association; and that organ of sense by the aid of whose anterior surface they were first received and recorded, now reawakens them by the aid of its posterior surface. Visions, consequently, are reflections made on the inner surface of the eyes, from impressions previously made upon the brain, in a similar manner to that by which sounds come forth from a phonograph. They could not assume shape if they were not thus reflected. It is owing to the nature of these reflections that they are more fleeting and evanescent than those made by the objects themselves upon the external surface of the eyes.

The anterior and posterior surfaces of all organs, by whose aid we exercise our faculties, which surfaces represent their poles and dual factors, the positive and the negative, the material and the spiritual, change places in conformity with whether an object is impressed upon them exteriorly or interiorly, in the present or the past, directly or indirectly, physically or spiritually. Things which are brought to our consciousness from the exterior world and in a direct manner—through our senses—may be said to be of a material nature; while those which come to us indirectly—through our inner consciousness—may be said to be of spiritual origin. The clearness of our visions naturally depends upon the clearness of the impression still remaining upon the tablets of the brain. The more stirring the event in the first instance, the deeper and more lasting, of course, the impression. All this, however, does not throw any light upon the process of abstract thought; nor am I in a position to aid in so doing. Yet it appears to me to be a sister proceeding; and that a nearer approach to an explanation of those more material phenomena may finally assist in arriving at an explanation of the causes of these more recondite and apparently purely spiritual phenomena.

The correctness of the preceding remarks will become more apparent when we substitute for the faculty of seeing, that of hearing. We hear the voice of another person through the anterior part of our ear, entering, as it does, from without. We hear our own voice through the posterior part of our ear, going out, as it does, from within. No matter how low we may speak, we can always hear our own voice, though inaudible to others; and we can still distinctly hear it at such time, even when we fail to hear a low, though in fact relatively much louder, tone proceeding from the voice of another person. A ventriloquist, on the other hand, with whom these relations are reversed, hears his own voice reflected from without, inwardly, while, if he continues in the same condition while listening to another person's voice, he will hear the latter from within, outwardly.

For the purpose of testing the correctness of these observations, please pay attention to the following: In listening to the sounds of another person's speech, you will have no difficulty in noticing that they stream into your ear from without, inwardly. Now, substitute for this other person's voice the sounds of your own voice, and continue to listen to the same in precisely the same manner in which you did to those of this other person; that is, let them flow into your ear from without, inwardly. The result will be that you will not only not hear the sounds of your own voice, but that these sounds themselves will become paralyzed, that you will not be able to produce any sound whatever.

The cause is obvious. You attempt to listen to negative sounds with the side of your ear still tuned negatively; while, ordinarily, when we cease to listen and commence to speak, all poles are reversed. Spoken sounds are positive in relation to the speaker, but negative in relation to the person listening to the same. In consequence, the producer hears them with the negative (inner) part of his ear, the receiver, or listener, hears them with the positive (exterior) part of his ear.

I copy the following from an article in the Philadelphia Sunday Press:

"A curious fact in regard to the effect of explosions upon the drumhead, is that this tissue, though generally blown in, is sometimes blown out. Just what causes the latter result has not yet been fully explained."

In this instance, I presume, the person's ear was tuned to listen interiorly, and the effect of the explosion, which, in relation to him, was of a negative nature, took effect on the positive, the posterior, side of his ear. This person was not in expectancy of the explosion, but it came on unawares, of a sudden, while he was in a state of contemplation.

In connection with the eye, our inner consciousness acts as a "rein" upon the outer, drawing back in case of danger, checking our progress when suddenly coming upon a precipice, and regulating our steps to circumvent it, but without coming to a stop, when seeing an obstacle in our way from a distance. The "rein" in such an instance reverses the poles of the eyes—the positive becomes negative and the negative positive; that is to say, in our usual mode of seeing, while walking, the exterior surface of the eye is positive, the interior negative; but when there is danger ahead and we are warned to be cautious, the exterior becomes negative and the interior positive; the activity now being exercised by the latter, the passivity by the former. The action of the "rein," however, is not direct, but crosswise; that is to say, the posterior surface of the left eye is in correspondence with the anterior of the right, and vice versa, in conformity with the "impulse" emanating from either the one or the other, while the anterior surface of the left eye is in correspondence with the posterior of the right, and vice versa.

The knowledge of the reversion of the functional exercise of our organs of sense is of signal importance in connection with motion and vocal utterance, which always go hand in hand; every utterance being accompanied by a motion, though not always visible to the eye. In truly artistic delivery these motions are brought to the highest perfection; and visibly, though often in great moderation, accompany every inflection of the voice.

To be able to see a thing at all, we must be in a relatively proper position with the object to be seen; we must be on the same plane with it. We must also have light, not only for the latter, but by reflection therefrom also for ourselves. In addition we must have the inner light enabling us to comprehend what we have seen. I contend that for the study of spiritual-material as well as material-spiritual phenomena, such light has always been wanting for the thing to be seen, as well as for the orb to see and consequently for the spirit to comprehend. In attempting to comprehend, and to explain appearances, physiologically, we have been looking in our exterior world, where we cannot, in place of our interior world, where we might be able to see and to observe. We have been using the outer surface of our eye instead of the inner, with which to see spiritual things. The thing to be seen and the orb with which to see were not on the same "plane." It was impossible to perform the act of spiritually seeing. The proper light once obtained, it has not only illumined for me the things to be seen, but also my capacity for seeing and comprehending them. Roentgen has taught us the method of seeing material things through opaque bodies. I have learned to recognize spiritual phenomena in opaque bodies, created, as they are, by a combination of spiritual and material factors. While I have made use of this gift for a special study—that of vocal utterance—I incline to think that it may be made use of for the study of not only all the various material-spiritual phenomena to be observed in the nature of organic bodies in general and man's in particular, but also of our relations with the unseen and unknown world and its forces, in which our essence has its being, whence it comes, and to which it returns. In minutely explaining my mode of proceeding, it is also my special desire to rob it of any appearance of "supernaturalness" some persons might be inclined to invest it with. Though I cannot explain many things connected with the voice from an entirely naturalistic standpoint, I think they are all explainable if the proper amount of study and observation be given to them. This, as a matter of course, does not, however, include the operations of the mind proper, which are governed by laws beyond any human understanding.

INSPIRATION—EXPIRATION

The entire mechanism of our being, more especially that of our faculties and functions, is primarily excited through openings into which air is inspired, from which air is expired. These openings are connected with channels and vessels which are passive or negative during inspiration; active or positive during expiration. Thus the multiform streams of air introduced into our system communicate with parts thereof, which, by their construction and intercommunication with others, are specially adapted for the exercise of any special faculty or function. Our will directs these streams of air to flow into their proper channels (and they automatically obey) for the guidance of our steps in a certain direction, for the production of a given sound, the recognition of a given sight, the sensation of a peculiar odor, taste, or feeling, or the excitation of a passion, a compassion, or any other sensation, feeling, or thought whatsoever. These streams of air, therefore, are of an order as multiform as the complex web of our material and spiritual existence, and are introduced through thousands of different channels and in thousands of different ways.

To confine our mode of physical and spiritual existence to a single stream of air introduced into the oral cavity, or the nostrils, and thence into the lungs, appears to me to be as primitive a proceeding and as narrow a view as can possibly be taken of one of the greatest subjects our understanding is called upon to deal with. In place of that, I have positive proof that the streams of air which flow into these openings are of the most multiform nature; every sight, odor, taste, touch, and every sound, and fraction of a sound even, calling for a special stream of air which no other stream can furnish or supply. Besides the oral cavity and the nostrils, the eyes, ears, and every additional opening, down to an almost invisible pore or capillary vessel, are recipients of special streams intended for special purposes. We breathe through the soles of our feet and the palms of our hands, as well as through the skull of our heads. The closer we guard our body against the influence of the air, by means of unnaturally close-woven and air-tight clothing, the less capable we become of exercising our natural faculties and functions.

To this subject I shall devote time and attention at some future period, more especially in connection with vocal utterance, as it has everything to do with the production of sounds, which proceed in part from within, outwardly, and in part from without, inwardly. In so doing, positive becomes negative and negative positive; inspiration and expiration equalize each other, and thus a continuous flow of speech becomes possible, while if the flow were continuously in one and the same direction it would soon come to an absolute stop.

It is this that science has done for us: It has clogged up all these natural avenues to our existence by teaching that we breathe through the trachea alone, in consequence of the muscle of the diaphragm forming an air-tight partition between the upper and lower compartments of our bodies; being ignorant of the fact of that other great tube of the œsophagus, also opening into the oral cavity, performing the same functions for the abdomen which the trachea does for the thorax. In place of all these millions of openings through which we inspire and expire, science teaches that we breathe through a single tube, into and out of an air-tight sack,—a mechanically impossible proceeding. By some ill-defined process, air is supposed to find its way into the thorax and out again after depositing its oxygen in the blood-vessels. Meanwhile, the balance of our body is left to shift for itself, not the slightest particle of fresh food ever finding its way into any portion thereof, except indirectly through the blood-vessels. To my simple and untaught understanding it appears that if such a state of affairs really existed—no matter how rapid the circulation of the blood—the entire hemisphere of the abdomen would be given over to putrefaction in an exceedingly short space of time.

Breathing, however, as we do, through the œsophagus, in like measure with the trachea, and through every other opening in our epidermis in addition, our body is constantly, uninterruptedly, permeated with fresh air in its every avenue, vessel, capillary tube, cell, etc., which sustains us by its life-giving qualities, and takes away with it the constantly accumulating refuse.

The muscle of the diaphragm has been the air-tight door to the cell of the condemned, whose portal has been guarded by ignorance and every oppression, suppression, fear, superstition, anxiety, bigotry, narrowness, prejudice, etc., that the human mind is capable of. It has given us over to self-accusation as a natural and vital element. It has shut us up into the narrowest limits, and kept us from communing with the universe and the spirit of the universe. It has excluded from us the grace, the beauty, the light, the liberty, the eternity of the spirit, and prevented us from recognizing ourselves as integral parts of the universe and of the causes which sustain it and sustain us. It has prevented us from communing with them as free agents in our own name and by our own right, without interference or the intercession of any person or agency whatsoever, in the past or the present.

Have I placed too great a value on the discovery of the "voice of the œsophagus"?

I feel convinced that the further exposition of my observations will justify me in all I have said.

DIAPHRAGMS

As the trunk has its diaphragm, dividing thorax and abdomen, so do all dual hemispheres representing a faculty or function have their diaphragms, performing duties of an analogous nature. Every opening, in fact, has its diaphragm. Where there is none visible, it is formed by contraction, whenever needed, and but for the time being. All these various diaphragms, more particularly the one specially bearing that name, are of the greatest importance in connection with vocal utterance,—the sounds of the vessels of the abdomen being produced by an expansion of the thorax and consequent contraction of the abdomen, those of the vessels of the thorax by an expansion of the abdomen and a consequent contraction of the thorax.

For the purposes of vocal utterance, inspiration into the thorax produces an expiration from the abdomen by way of the œsophagus, accompanied by vocal sound, while an inspiration into the abdomen produces an expiration from the thorax by way of the trachea, accompanied by vocal sound; the special mode of inspiration regulating the special sound to be produced.

This proceeding has reference to outgoing sounds only. For ingoing sounds the opposite proceeding takes place; an expiration from the thorax producing an inspiration into the abdomen, and an expiration from the abdomen an inspiration into the thorax, both accompanied by sound. Every original inspiration into thorax or abdomen, of course, must have been preceded by an expiration from these parts, while every original expiration must have been preceded by an inspiration into the same. The utterance of every sound, therefore, requires at least three movements on the part of the respiratory organs. But for the action of the diaphragm, such sounds could not be produced.

All these various diaphragms fall or recede for inspiration, rise or advance for expiration; the function of a diaphragm being exercised in conformity with the manner in which it is approached. This may be done by way of the œsophagus or the trachea, i. e., from the side of the hemisphere of the abdomen, or from that of the thorax. The outward movement of the abdomen during respiration, therefore, is not caused by a pressure brought to bear on its contents by the diaphragm, but it advances and recedes in conformity with a direct process of inspiration and expiration by way of the œsophagus and the trachea; the œsophagus and trachea sustaining each other and acting reciprocally and in conjunction. This presumed pressing forward and subsequent receding of the entrails, in consequence of the descent and ascent of the diaphragm, presents a spectacle as repugnant as it is impossible of execution; the extension of the abdomen, more particularly in connection with special sounds, being so great that no pressure whatever brought to bear upon the entrails could possibly produce it.

In place of this theory, now so generally entertained, the simple fact obtains that the diaphragm descends in consequence of an influx of air into and subsequent expansion of the thorax, causing a contraction of the abdomen and an efflux of air from the same; that it ascends in consequence of an influx of air into and expansion of the abdomen, causing a contraction of the thorax and an efflux of air from the same.

IMPRESSION AND EXPRESSION

All vocal expression is but an echo, the echo of a thought. Thought must precede vocal expression. It is not possible to produce a vocal sound, not the simplest, without thought. There is no such thing as a voice ipso facto, no more than there is music in a musical instrument unless it is called forth by the hand of the player. Try it. Come upon a sound suddenly, around the corner, as it were, and then express it. Do not give it a moment's time for its development; that is, do not give thought time to mould a form for it, but try to utter it in embryo, so to say, the very moment you think of it, and you will not be able to do it. You will not produce any sound whatever.

It is as necessary to form a mould for a sound as it is for any shaped and moulded material article. Out of this mould it comes forth in conformity with the form we have given it: harsh, abrupt, discordant—rhythmical, beautiful, soulful. Such as the thought is, so will be the expression. In ordinary conversation this proceeding is automatic and mechanical, in elocution or song more or less volitional and artistic. That is to say, for ordinary speech it acts automatically, for artistic utterance it acts designedly. Materially, the mould is convex, shut, for ingoing; concave, open, for outgoing sounds. It expands for the former, it contracts for the latter. Vocal sounds are a product of matter as well as mind; the act itself which produces them being a connecting link between matter and mind. The soul calls on the body to aid it in giving form to its desires and intentions; the body instantly obeys and assumes the form from which the expected sound or action is to arise.

No matter how great a soul may be, unless it can give form and consequent utterance to its greatness, it will be helpless, far more so than the simplest soul capable of giving expression to its simplicity. Confined to our own limits, like the congenital deaf, our faculties become dwarfed and useless. We do not know ourselves, do not know our own souls. We must expand, go out into the world and take it in, if we want to grow and give our faculties a chance to develop.

The greater our horizon, the more we can take in, the more we can give out. Our soul is scarcely ours when enchained; the greater its liberty, the more it belongs to us. Hence our just pity for the congenital deaf, and our desire to assist them in their efforts at expression. Those among them who are being, or have been, tutored, receive their impressions through their eyes in the form assumed by the speaker's mouth; the eye assuming the function of the ear. The form assumed by their teacher's mouth, however, not being perfect, a perfect impression cannot be made. Hence the expression of the deaf is in conformity with the impression they have obtained: mechanical, material, soulless. The exterior lines of the mouth of the teacher, or any other speaker's from which the deaf draw their inspiration, are those of the material side of the medal. Failing to see the reverse side thereof, namely, the interior of the mouth, which is its spiritual side, the lines of the latter make no impression upon them. These fine lines on the interior side of the speaker's mouth, representing the rhythm, the soul of the voice, not being seen, fail to make that impression from which alone a soulful expression could arise.

That an impression may be made through the eye will scarcely require a defense, in view of the fact that in reading aloud or in singing from notes the entire impression is made through the eye. The reader or singer, knowing the value of every sound, is impressed by the sight of a letter or a note as he would be by the sound itself. Not so with the congenital deaf, who, being ignorant of such value, cannot reproduce it. Nor will it be contended, I suppose, that the deaf knowingly, designedly, or volitionally attempt to imitate the forms assumed by the teacher's mouth, but it will be admitted that this is done spontaneously, and that vocal sounds with them arise from this imperfect mechanism, thus involuntarily reproduced.

With the congenital deaf, with persons attempting to speak a foreign language, etc., the material form, as well as the spiritual impetus, being imperfect, the expression will be in conformity therewith. In how far and in what manner these investigations may become helpful to the deaf will be a matter for the not distant future to develop. That they will eventually become of the greatest aid to them I have every reason to believe. Those who have made a study of matters of this kind understand the difficulties surrounding the same. These difficulties are increased manifold where the ear of the scholar absolutely refuses to come to his own and his teacher's aid.

There are forms in which vocal sounds move, well defined and capable of material representation, which are not fully expressed by the shape of the teacher's mouth, nor are they thus expressed by impressions taken by the aid of the camera. Regarding the latter, it is necessary to note that photographic representations of vocal sounds are the result of the combined action of the voice of the œsophagus and of that of the trachea, of material and immaterial factors. Just in how far the latter are capable of being thus represented must, as yet, remain a matter of conjecture.

An attempt at reconciling photographic representations of vocal sounds with the oscillations of the vocal cords is, at most, a one-sided proceeding. To arrive at any correct conclusion at all, it would be necessary to take the vibrations of the "vocal lip" and the frænum into equal consideration.

Regarding our capacity for improving the natural physical and psychical capabilities of the musical instrument of the voice, that depends upon the manner in which we play upon it. As it yields to the slightest pressure of the air, either for good or for evil, we must, above all things, learn how to guide the tip of our tongue in touching its aërial strings or keys, which are far more sensitive than those of any instrument ever produced by the hand of man. It takes years to attain a mastery over the simplest musical instrument; yet it is often expected that the instrument of the voice should yield to the most careless efforts made in the most wilful and indiscriminate manner.

The thought of a sound, after producing an impression, guides the tongue in releasing such impression. Unless the tongue touches or moves towards the exact spot which will effect such release, the expression or the sound will not be forthcoming. That the impression, as well as its release, should be properly made, it is necessary to think of the sound which is to be produced, in the most precise and correct manner. I cannot sufficiently impress upon the reader's mind the importance this simple lesson conveys. If he will shape his manner of vocal utterance, especially his mode of singing, in conformity therewith, he will be able to improve his voice to a far greater extent than he would by following any or all of the realistic methods now in vogue. This thinking of the correct sound must be carried on for the next syllable during the production of the previous one; and care must be taken not to think of more than one syllable at one and the same time. Unless this is done, no pure sound will ever be produced, the impression made by thinking of a second or third syllable overlapping that for the next following; thus producing a muddle and a discord. Rhythm being the basis for all perfect vocal utterance, a rhythmic impression must be made in order to obtain a rhythmic expression. This cannot be done when the former is not preserved in its entire purity until it is released.

All of us, either during our ordinary speech or during our efforts at artistic expression, are guided by the process just described; unknowingly, unwittingly, properly or improperly, for good or for evil, pursuing this same course. I cannot enter upon these matters to any greater extent at this time, as it will be necessary to first treat of other matters with which they are intimately connected.

THE PHONOGRAPH

In trying the experiment of coming upon a sound unawares, simply endeavor to divest yourself of all thought, and then suddenly, without any preparation whatever, say "a," or "b," or "it," or any word you wish, and you will not be able to produce such sound or sounds—or, in fact, any sound whatsoever. Or, you may get some one to, of a sudden, produce sounds embodied in letters before your eyes; and you will find you will be unable to utter them instantly. While you cannot thus produce a vocal sound, or vocal sounds embodied in words, you can produce simple sounds without preparation. As they belong to but one hemisphere, and are consequently not the product of a compound impression, they may be uttered the very moment we think of them. While they are being uttered, our organs of speech are "shut," far more so than they are for vocal sounds.

Consonant sounds cannot be uttered "vocally" without a vowel sound. When they appear in a syllable their accompanying vowel sound carries them and permeates them. When they appear singly we add a vowel sound to them. We say: "ar," "be," "en," "ka," etc.; unless we do so we cannot pronounce them. Without such accompanying vowel sound they would be inert.

"Simple" consonant sounds are unaccompanied, not "leavened," by a vowel sound. "Simple" vowel sounds, on the other hand, are unaccompanied by the element which constitutes consonant sounds; while "vocal" vowel sounds are accompanied thereby.

The word "surd," used in connection with non-vocal sounds, does not express the meaning of what I call "simple" sounds, as all sounds may be either "vocal" or "simple," while "surd" applies only to special sounds.

The necessity of making an impression for vocal utterance also prevails in connection with motion. You cannot lift your right foot or your left arm, or make any given motion whatever, the very moment you think of making it. It requires some preparation; though you may lift part of a limb without preparation. A part of a limb in this sense may be compared to a simple, the entire limb to a vocal, sound. The thought must make an impression by expansion or contraction, which, when released, will express the desired motion; no matter whether such motion is made unconsciously or deliberately. It is more difficult to watch this proceeding in connection with sight; the operations of light being so rapid that the expression seems to be simultaneous with the impression.

Contraction and expansion for motion are of the same order as they are for vocal utterance. In fact, both are so closely connected that we cannot utter a sound unless it is accompanied by a motion. In stopping the motion accompanying a sound, we stop our ability of uttering such sound. I shall have occasion to call attention to numerous conditions under which it will be impossible to utter sounds, either separate or connected, by stopping the motion necessary to produce such sounds. It is all due to the fact that we are homogeneous beings, whose powers are interdependent upon one another.

The effect of the teacher's voice upon his or her scholar's organization is of a similar order to that made by thought upon the teacher's own organization. That it is not of the same order is due to the fact that the organization upon which it is made is but rarely constituted the same, is not as highly organized and developed or "schooled," as the one from which the voice emanated. The impression made by the singing-teacher's voice is of the same order as that made upon the deaf by the features of their instructor which are representative of his voice. We are living, breathing phonographs. Every impression we receive through any of our senses must be made in a material manner before it can have its immaterial expression. We engrave upon living tissue, instead of on rubber or wax.

I repeat that, to obtain a pure sound, the thought underlying such sound or sounds must be purely, clearly defined. We cannot obtain a clear impression from a seal whose engraving is blurred, or when the sealing-wax is not in a proper condition of softness, or when the hand is not steady which makes the impression. The same conditions prevail with vocal utterance. Thought makes the impression; the æther, passing through its narrowed passages at a rate as swift as thought, creates the sound. The impression is made as thought progresses, the expression as sound progresses. While the impression is thoughtful, the expression is thoughtless. While we think for a sound during the impression, we do not think for it during its expression; but we think, during the latter, for the next sound. If this were not the case, consecutive speech would be a matter of impossibility. The artist's thought is embodied in the creation of the model for his statue from which a mould is made. The casting of the statue, equal to its expression, is mechanical, thoughtless.

In this connection the brain is of the same order as the tablets of the phonograph. For ordinary use, however, the lines engraved upon it are evanescent; they disappear again with the sound or thought which releases them. Impressions, however, of a deeper nature remain—some forever. The thought or sounds they represent, the same as the lines on the tablets of the phonograph, are released but for the time being and while such thought and sounds (through association) are recalled to memory. The thought and sounds are evanescent, but the lines which represent them remain for further use, the same as the lines on the tablets of the phonograph and the strings of a musical instrument. If we could read aright the lines which the voice makes on the tablets of the phonograph or on the negative plates of the photographer, we would obtain a correct insight into their character. These studies, when fully developed, may lead to a comprehension of these hieroglyphics, the same as the Greek translation on the Rosetta stone furnished the cue to the comprehension of the hieroglyphics of the Egyptian monuments.