Cfje ittafetng of ^etsonalttp M The Works of BLISS CARMAN M The Kinship of Nature . . • . $ 1.50 S 91 The Friendship of Art . . . . 1.50 M Eg The Poetry of Life 1^0 Jg ^ The Making of Personality . . . J.50 Poetrp Ode on the Coronation of King Edward net J. 00 Sappho : One Hundred Lyrics n4 Limited Edition (500 copies) M Large Paper Edition (200 copies) h^ Autograph Edition (50 copies) . M PIPES OF PAN SERIES asfoUows: J^ J. From the Book of Myths . ■^ 2. From the Green Book of the Bards kQ 3. Songs of the Sea Children . • 85 4. Songs from a Northern Garden . ]4 5. From the Book of Valentines ^ The above series is also published complete /« in one volume as follows : i\\ PIPES OF PAN, Definitive Edition . net 2.00 wj Poems: A sumptuous collected edition of all y«{ of the author's verse complete with the excep- ?N tion of Sappho. Limited to 300 copies. Two ■^ volumes, small folio, printed throughout in red and black on hand-made paper . net J5.00 net 6.00 t« 10.00 m net net 15.00 m net I.OO ® net 1.00 ra net 1.00 ® 1.00 ^ 1.00 S net net The same, three-quarters crushed levant j^ net 20.00 W The same, full crushed levant . net 30.00 ^\ ^ ^ L. C. PAGE & COMPANY New England Building, Boston, Mass. yA %])t iHafeing of^ ^er0onalit5 By Bliss Carman AutAor of " Pi^es of Pan;' « Sappho,'' «« The Kinship of Nature," " The Friendship of Art;' '' The Poetry of Life," etc. L. C. PAGE esf COMPANY BOSTON , f\ _ MCMVIII Copyright, igo6, igoy By The Ess Ess Publishing Company (incorporated) Copyright, igo6, jgoy By Gustav Stickley Copyright, igoy By The Butterick Publishing Co., Ltd. Copyright, igo8 By L. C. Page & Company (incorporated) All rights reserved First impression, March, 1908 Second Impression, November, 1908 COLONIAL PRESS EUctrotyfed afid Printed by C If. Stmotuis &* Co. B^stfin, U.S. A. Cfje iHeasure of Jftan He who espouses perfection Must follow the threefold plan Of soul and mind and body^ To compass the stature of man. For deep in the primal substance With power and purpose and poise^ An order under the chaos^ A music beneath the noise^ — The urge of a secret patience Throbbed into rhythm and form^ Till instinct attained to vision And the sentient clay grew warm. For sense was a smouldering fire^ And spirit a breath of air Blowing out of the darkness^ Fostering reason^ s flare. By loving^ learnings and doings Being must pass and climb To goodness^ to truth^ to beauty^ Through energy^ space ^ and time ; 175605 Eftt Mtu^nvt of JWan Out of the infinite essence^ For the eternal employ^ Fashioning^ freeing^ and kindling Symmetry^ wisdom^ and joy. Wherefore the triune dominion^ — Religion^ science^ and art^ — We may not disrupt nor divide^ Setting its kingdoms aparty But ever with glowing ardour After the ancient plan^ Build the lore and the rapture Into the life of man. VI ^tdatt ffuERE was never a time, perhaps, bigger with s^i*i*Hal promise than the present, nor more strenuously eager to liberate the human spirit for its next step forward in the arduous and inspiring journey toward perfection and happiness. The cause enlists the best work of the best workers against just such odds as have always confronted radical effort, but with less stubborn resistance than in duller daysj Among the active forces of advance are the thought and work of Mary Perry King, my coworker in this study of The Making of Personality. Her formulation of an art of normalizing personal expression is original and scientific, and of proven educational vii value. From her luminous talks on the sub- jects of these essays, and on the humanities in general, has been taken the substance of this book and of others that have appeared within the last decade. Refusing joint sig- nature on the title-page, Mrs. King's pref- erence restricts my expression of obligation to a most inadequate prefatory acknowledg- ment. I welcome even this tardy and too limited opportunity for signifying my appre- ciation of her happy genius and my indebted- ness for her wise and generous cooperation. The first chapter indicates, as clearly as I can make it, the scope and purpose of the vol- ume and its underlying ideal of education and personal culture. While the book does not attempt to make any systematic presentation of a philosophy (a task to which I am un- equal), it will be found to indicate every- where a triune ideal of normal well-being and happiness, and to be based upon a definite conception of symmetrical life and growth, — a conception which attributes to aspiration, viii effort, and education equal and coherent val- ues. The paths of mental and spiritual training are well marked, and physical education itself is growing rapidly in popularity and effi- ciency, but the work of relating the three in any coordinate personal culture has as yet hardly been recognized as a desirability. Such work at its best cannot be merely a pro- fession, it is essentially a most subtle and com- prehensive art, — the art of appreciating, in- terpreting, and educating personality. This triunistic or unitrinian philosophy, as I find myself calling it to avoid a confusing use of the word trinitarian, lends itself most simply and practically as a standard of dis- crimination and a guide in self-culture. B. C. Boston, February^ igo8. IX Contents V9 FAGB I. The Meaning of Personality . , , i II. The Underglow . • 43 III. The Lucky Pilot , 58 IV. The Winged Victory . • 73 V. The Silver String . . 104 VI. Rhythms of Grace 127 VII. Beauty of the Foot 156 VIII. The Art of Walking . 185 IX. Dancing as a Fine Art . 204 X. The Music of Life 221 XI. The Sorcery of the Hand 250 XII. The Leaven of Art 257 XIII. Designer and Builder . 278 XIV. The Might of Manners . 289 XV. The Use of Out-of-Doors 310 XVI. The Dominion of Joy . , 324 XVII. SCVIII. The Growers An Old-Fashioned Essence 342 353 XIX. Genius and the Artist . 37^ iWafetng of ©ersonalitij %fft iWeaning of personality /There is still nothing more interesting^ than perso naJit vA Selves are all that finally count. ^To discerning modern eyes all of life is a mere setting for the infinitely intense and enthralling drama of personalities. We slave and endure and dare and give ourselves to the engrossing demands of business and affairs, deluding ourselves for the hour with the no- tion that mere activity ensures success, and that deliberate achievement, if only it be strenuous enough, will bring happiness. But in moments of calm sanity we perceive our I 8CJ)e JHaftino of ^ttuonaUts d folly, and know full well that personality and ^not performance is the great thing./ Current thought attests this. Popular as- piration passionately affirms it. Whatever any one's philosophy of living may be, whether transcendental or materialistic, the first and chief concern in its pursuance is how to make the most of it in making the most Vand best of oneself, f^ All our social disquiet, our constant turmoil in political and indus- trial life, means only an attempt to give larger freedom' and greater scope for the per- fection of human personality. We would give it room to grow, opportunity to thrive, the chance to realize its ideal§/) Under the stress of a divine evolutionary impulse, we wish to disentangle personality from the crushing monotony of mere circumstantial mechanical existence. Man is not willing to remain an automaton, but must somehow achieve and vindicate an individual selfhood. We feel sure that it is to this end that we were created^ and to this end surely all progress STfie iWeaning of ^tvnonuUts is seen to be tending. ,The seed of the gods, sown in the dust of the ground, exerts its in- finitesimal but mighty force to break from its enveloping darkness and put forth at last the perfect long-awaited flower of mankincl^ y^g N ot only is this the urge underlying ourj instinctive, tentative, and often irrational ef- 1 forts for the reform and betterment of insti- 1 tutions, but underlying the demand for better! individual education among thinking and/ cultivated people as well, (pur modern plays and novels all centre about the values of personality, the influence of personality, the freedom of personality, the development, tri- umph, or defeat, of personality. When be- fore our own day were such cold psycholog- ical problems as Ibsen's offered and accepted as entertainment? Even such expositions as Marie Bashkirtseflf's and Mary MacLane's are accepted as frank statements of truth, " human documents " that may help to gain freedom for other personalities. Of old, men were more engulfed in nature, 3 more deeply embedded in subconsciousness and dreams, more completely under the dom- ination of superstitions, fears, and marvels, and felt themselves more helplessly in the hands of an inscrutable destiny which they could neither conquer nor placate. The mere fact of general existence was a lifelong and perplexing wonder. There was neither time nor light for the recognition and realiza- tion of self. Then, too, there were more ex- ternal dangers, wars, famines, pestilences, which made men cling together, repressing individualky.J With greater peace and as- /surance of subsistence, tr-ibiii Ues and obliga- tions were loosened, and the individual awoke and put forth hungry self-conscious claims for growth. It was not enough to be a frac- tion, one must be an integer. And to-day that thought, that aim, is the one supreme motive force underlying our civilization, — the emancipation and cultivation of personal- ity. \ln personal culture, that great task which 4 confronts us all, and to which many of us apply ourselves with so much impetuous fer- vour and persistence, there is one supreme truth to be constantly remembered, the three- fold nature of personality, and consequently its threefold perfectability in the different but inseparable realms of spirit, mind, and bod;^ In cultivating personality, it is impossible^ to disregard the person. For the person of \ every man and woman is not merely the shell | aftd^-tertefw^^t wherein the spirit dwells, but/ the very substance and fibre of personality/ [Walt Whitman said of his book, '' Who touches this, touches a man." As truly we may say of any human body, '' Who touches this, touches a soul." When my friend lays his hand upon my shoulder, it is my very most intimate self that must respond, not merely this flesh and blood whose form and features are recognizable in my name^ Thj culture of personality, thefel^ux, is a vei complex and subtle process. It is not accoi 5 .plished by the acquiring of knowledge and I the adoption of morality alone, but by every moment's life of the body, — every deed, every word, every gesture, — by the delib- erate training of exercise and regimen, by the long course of habitual occupation, and by \ every brief act of each i«:eyocaWe instant. ^We not only transform our outward bodily persons by what we are, making them simu- lacra of our inmost selves, but in sober truth our most essential selves are in their turn re- flexly transformed by the reacting influence of our physical habits and doings. If a crabbed and malign soul makes its inevitable appearance in the face, just so truly does the habitual cultivation of a gracious and con- siderate demeanour tend inevitably to erad- icate those unhappy conditions of spirit. To forget this power of the body upon the mind and spirit, is to leave one-half of the re- sources of education untried and miss half of the opportunity of this too brief life. A cheap and shallow religious optimism may 6 ©tie J«ean(nB of ^tvuonmt^ bemuse itself with idle ecstasies, but it has yet to demonstrate its ability to support life with- out food and impart perennial vigour to the mind. Dreams and aspirations are the nat- ural output of the human soul, but nutrition and hygiene are its proper and inevitable sources of vitality. Only by the careful use of these modest means, and not otherwise, can we detach ourselves from our mother ground and go about our rational activities in this perplexing world. The long playing of a role like Hamlet, if it be well enacted, works so insidiously upon the spirit of the actor as to become a formid- able danger. No conscientious actor could repeat the performance of such a role as Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde through an extended run, without incurring grave responsibilities to himself; while the portrayal of the charac- teristic habits of Rosalind, on the other hand, acts as an irresistible nervous tonic; so in- eradicably is the spirit joined to the kindly clay in which it was begotten. So, too, the 7 persistent punchings and pommellings of some forms of exercise strengthen not only the habits of physical violence, but deeper lying habits of aggression and pugnacity as well. And it is clearly recognized that these manly arts must require and inculcate a code of manly honour and fair play, in order to maintain our respect. When they fail to do this, they become brutal and brutalizing at once, and lose favour even with the most un- cultivated of their devotees. The pugilist's necessary self-control extends to the soul be- hind the fist, and habitual grace of conduct appreciably forestalls and discourages gross desires. The enforced gymnastic of some gracious expression, if imposed on naughty children, is a more fruitful corrective than most forms of punishment. If gymnastics in good motion were given to criminals, it would prove more reformative than most moral suasion, for it would be more deep and instinctive; it would be as if we should pro- vide them with the mechanism of escape from 8 JEiie MtunitiQ of ^tv^onnlits the evil aptitudes in which they are impris- oned. Both fundamentally and throughout in-* finite intricacies of subdivis ions, th e m33Sg^^^^^ of personality has im threefild requirement and procedure^ aftdniiijivtft .ii&pf^nd mi dirfiniir^ training in morality, intelligence, and phy- sique, /a realization of this triune composi- tion of our being and its consequent threefold need of nurture and symmetrical grov^th, is the most auspicious beginning of culture. It weeds out all false pride in partial excellence and special accomplishment; it does away with mistaken prejudices as to overdevelop- ment and underdevelopment in any direction at the cost of general symmetry; and substi- tutes a standard of normal growth with equi- librium of powers, for one of excessive andL exceptional cultivation and specialization When once accepted as a criterion of per- sonal culture, it affords the most helpful basis for self-examination, and for the selection of whatever kind of reinforcement one may 9 sri^e M^^itiQ of ^tvuonaUts most need at any given moment; it indicates the most serviceable adjustment of conditions, and the most valuable utilization of circum- stances. It is a magic formula w^hich turns everything into grist for the mills of life, is .a remedy for hardship and a cure for de- spair. Inasmuch as wt must both get and give our mpressions of personality through its phys- cal expressionSj-dftd a€Uhis fact is very gen- erally underestimated! it may not be amiss to emphasize it. The physical side of person- ality offers a medium of transmission for rea- on and impulse,* a«d at the sanfie- ttf«^ i& the only soil and substance through which the spiritual and intellectual live and are rein- f0^ced^ This surely seems sufficient reason for making an appropriate and adequate physical education one of the bases for the culture of personality^ — a--^.c«kttfe \vfeich may be begun in childhood -lo»g before self- consciousness dawfts^-^r-eonscTcnce. makes- it- self known. lO The making of personality begins with/ learning to breathe and move. *' How Nature first made throb Her atoms in the void," iwe do not know, nor how the reasoning soul takes on the restlessness of matter. These are among the mysteries, but we know very well that even before birth the human personality begins to be moulded by parental will; and thgj} in childhood th^ iofm^^nci fraturgti, nnd habits of motion, are modified and moulded as the mind and emotional nature assert them- selves in the plastic little bodies. Then, of course, is the time to safeguard and foster natural apd right methods of breathing and motion. Unfortunately we have small habit of doing mat, and modern life imposes wrong and unnatural habits on the child almost im- perceptibly^^ a«4- and from its instincts she draws a first hint of the right means to the accepted purposes.'* M. Maeterlinck, with his incomparable in- sight in such matters, has given a description of instinct in his essay on '^ The Psychology of Accident," which leaves little more to be said upon the subject, save to reinforce the profound lesson which his penetrating de- scription suggests. He portrays instinct as a humble, tireless drudge, lodged in our mortal tenement, to tend and care for all its more menial necessities, unrecognized for the most part, yet ever ready to spring to our assistance whenever any need arises, rushing instantly to the aid of its slower superior, reason, in moments of peril, and retiring again unrec- ognized and unencouraged to the obscure corners of its dwelling. In his own words, *' The danger once past, reason, stupefied, gasping for breath, unbelieving, a little dis- concerted, turns its head and takes a last look at the improbable. Then it resumes the lead, as of right, while the good savage that no one 46 dreams of thanking, returns in silence to its cave." We have all passed through that experience of being rescued by our faithful savage, and feel how true this description is, — with what terror we grasp that modest and surest aid, and how nonchalantly we turn from it the moment our panic has subsided. For the cul- tivator of personality, bent on achieving the most normal self-development, the point is that we pay far too small heed to our savage, and for the most part treat it with culpable and costly neglect and contempt; when in truth it is quite as important to our human happiness as proud reason, which flatters itself it has accomplished such wonders, or fastidi- ous moral spirit, which has had unnumbered temples, churches, shrines, altars, basilicas, cathedrals, mosques, minsters and abbeys built for its indulgence and gratification. These pampered and sniffy aristocrats are apt to regard their unassuming ally as much too vulgar and anarchistic to be associated 47 E^t Jttaftinfl of Jletfiionalftff with upon equal terms, and would gladly for- get him and his affairs if they could. He must shift for himself, for all they care, and satisfy his own wants and requirements as best he can without any intentional aid from them. This is the prime and monumental fault of civilization, the flaw which all our philoso- phy of education so far has failed to correct, and which it is our most important business to amend. We have somehow allowed this coolness between savage and angel to grow unchecked, to the great detriment of our human nature. Let us be well assured that we shall in no instance be able to regain or maintain anything like normal perfection un- til this breach is bridged, and instinct and reason are brought again into fullest legiti- mate accord. So only can we avert chaotic and otherwise incomprehensible sadness, de- terioration, and defeat from the triumvirate of personality, so omnipotent when at peace with itself, so vulnerable when distraught by inharmony and misgovernment. 48 Instinct, like any other faculty, may be edu- cated and kept growing and strong by exer- cise and good care, or may be allowed to be- come inept and useless. Do we give instinct decent care from day to day? Do we not rather follow the modern fashion of discoun- tenancing, repressing, and insulting it, like an unwelcome and unappreciated child? Ac- cording to popular supposition, instinct is an endowment, something like one of the senses, which we each possess in a definite and un- alterable degree. But that notion is wrong. Instinct is not like the hearing or the eyesight, of certain more or less fixed utility in each person. It is more like the mind itself, capa- ble of great development under careful cul- ture or of great deterioration under neglect. By most people instinct is classed with the least spiritual of the senses, among the least noble of the faculties of man, a part of that animal heritage which a false theology has taught us to be ashamed of, but which indeed we must foster and train with every respectful 49 >< care, as an ever essential help in human growth. Instinct is the wisdom of the senses, and the censor of all our wisdom. All the experience of sensation, with its subtle modifications by thought and feeling, through countless gen- erations of life, has gone to the making of that wisdom, and been absorbed by the species in its store of animal consciousness and the equipment of that fundamental and indis- pensable faculty which we call instinct. ^ And all of our higher, later, or more rational knowledge, including our thoughts, aspira- tions, dreams and conclusions, are almost val- ueless until they have been weighed and ap- proved by instinct. ' Reason alone, splendid and daring as it is, is far too erratic, youthful, vain, and visionary to be entrusted with the entire control of our human destiny; it must for safety pay respectful heed to the more deeply sympathetic judgments of instinct. Instinct cannot become educated unless it is allowed to bear some part in the problems of 50 living. It is a valuable third judge with rea^ son and intuition, and together, not sepa- rately, they direct the affairs of the body, the affairs of the mind, the affairs of the soul, and adjudicate the ultimate welfare of personal- ity. If instinct were thwarted and repressed, and allowed to operate in the sphere of the senses alone, it could not help being stultified and dulled. It is only by being given free scope in the widest range that it can be kept happy, keen, growing, and competent. When instinct is given this fair opportunity, it will be found to develop and serve as wonderfully and widely as either of its fellow faculties of spirit and mind, and to yield its needed quota to the sum of personal happiness and worth. Instinct must help to govern not only our food and clothing, but our friendships, our antipathies, our vocations, our recreations, »• our labour, and our love. Few of us know it sufficiently even in its most primal and essen- /^ tial realms.- We are so accustomed to eat and dress by rule and custom that we often forget i>, to consult instinct in the matter, greatly to our disadvantage. How often we eat, not because we are hungry, but because it is meal-time! And how often we eat whatever is most con- venient or customary, without consulting our instinctive appetite at all, even when choice is possible and an abundance is at our com- mand. Eating and drinking should never be matters of mere routine or heedless habit, but always of normal sensibility. A certain reg- ularity is not to be despised, but inert habit should never be permitted to override the alert and vital instinct, though habit also has its lawful and beneficial uses. And in the matter of the appetites, (it is the instinct for ultimate well-being and satisfaction that is to be consulted; not the momentary proclivity of taste and inclination. Only a few articles of food are universally wholesome and nutri- tious. Each individuality has its own idio- syncrasies of diet; shell-fish are poison to one, strawberries to another, honey to a third, and so on. These are matters for each one's in- 52 stinct to learn and heed, as a most elementary lesson in common sense. But a trained and respected instinct will go much further, and will safely guide one's preference at any time for the nurture and protection of the phy- sique, so as to keep it always wholesome and fit. Instinct, too, might help beneficially to reg- ulate our housing and clothing more than it is allowed to do. We are inclined to wear our clothes according to seasonal traditions and fashions, rather than according to the feel of the weather and our own condition and comfort. A little heed given to our natural monitor would often save us from distressful cold, dangerous overheating, and poisonous asphyxiation; for it will unerringly warn, if only we are accustomed to recognize its sig- nals, the moment we step into the street or crowded car, or lie down to sleep, whether or not we are sufficiently or excessively pro- tected. '\^^ Quite as legitimately also is instinct entitled W'' 53 to its voice in deciding our choice of acquaint- ances and friends. An instant aversion, an unreasoning but definite antipathy to this per- son or that, is not as foolish as chaotic charity and commercial common sense would lead us to believe. And we often overpersuade our- selves, against the subtle intimations of in- stinctive preference, to enter into relation- ships that turn out disastrously for all con- cerned, and to attempt friendships that never could be worth while, when, if we had ac- cepted the warning of our genius, we might have avoided much wasteful experiment and dismay. Every personality has its natural antagonisms; it could not otherwise have any individual inclination, insistence, or influ- ence; and it is a waste of power to incur un- necessary contact with these antagonisms. It is the business of instinct to avoid such waste and whatever is inimical to well-being, in the realm of association as in other spheres, — to help us to recognize and select those person- alities best suited to stimulate our happy 54 growth and enjoy in their turn whatever hu- man helpfulness we may possess. It is only on such foundations of honest comprehension, sympathy, and gladdening utility that noble and lasting friendship can be maintained. So, too, in our work and recreations. This or that play may be very excellent and enjoy- able for many persons, and yet not suited to your needs nor mine at the moment. Ibsen, for example, though an admirable dramatist, a keen and beneficent analyst of the ills of the age, may very possibly for you be unpleas- antly superfluous; you may already have on your hands, to say nothing of your heart and head, more grievous problems than you can relish; then instinct most wisely bids you away from the theatre where his studies are being presented. Be not deluded by any false sense of intellectual or fashionable obligation into watching his horrors. On the other hand if he gives you what you need, — some help to realize facts, some hint to think of things about you, — obey the impulse that bids you 55 Y seek his presentation of human drama, though you have to stand through whole perform- ances. This same obiter dictum is true of reading. Let us read nothing that we instinc- tively dislike; it can do no more good than food for which we have a natural distaste. There is better reading wherever honest taste leads; and as we gain therefrom we soon come to discard the worthless readily enough. Instinct would make us lords of ourselves, instead of dupes of charlatans and slaves of fashion. The reliance upon instinct relieves one of self-consciousness, because one waits to know its dictates, instead of wondering and worrying. It thus makes for repose and se- renity, and liberates us from fussiness, incer- titude, and trepidation. To be ashamed of one's instinct is like being ashamed of one's nationality; it may be desirable or undesir- able, but to be ashamed of it is least desirable of all. Instinct is a most democratic faculty, endowing us with a sort of universal language or free-masonry intelligible to people of 56 every race and condition. At the same time it lends distinction and charm to any person- ality. Habitual response to instinctive im- pulse gives an air of high-bred courage to conduct by taking av^ay the appearance of hesitancy and calculation. When reason is endorsed by comfortable assurance of instinct, there is a resulting gladness that no fantasies of unsubstantiated reason can hope to attain. It is instinct that pronounces indisputable judgment on the value of erudite opinion and the worth of varied experience. ^> 57 (!^r, Cije (§uitiance of il^eason We may exclaim with the sturdy English poet, if we will, *' I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul," and still find our craft in troublous places and sorry plight, if we persist in considering cap- taincy all sufficient for smooth sailing. The captain, while he is in responsible command of his ship, is not the only person of impor- tance in its service. In clear sailing on a deep- sea course he may wield undisputed sway; in dangerous channels and among unfamiliar 58 soundings he must pass his command to a pilot. It is the business of that functionary to be better acquainted with the perils and intri- cacies of his locality than the high-sea cap- tain need be, and to keep the craft from dis- aster, not from lack of seamanship but from lack of knowledge. The simile may be applied to human be- ings. The primacy of the spirit is incontesta- ble, but the necessity for reason is incontesta- ble also. Not only must every personality be captained by its soul, it must also be piloted by its own intelligence. Whatever course the untutored will may wish to venture upon needs to be examined, adjudged and steered by the understanding. Reason deals with our affairs in a strictly practical fashion. It ruth- lessly revises our dreamful purposes and ideals, with regard to their possibility or prac- ticability of accomplishment in this very real world. Our captain soul would have us sail on and on into some beautiful and alluring glory, where all seems fair and innocent, when 59 2Ci)e iWaftinfl of ^ttnonnlii^ perhaps wiser reason must come to the rescue and warn us of some sunken reef directly in our path. The soul is guileless and unsuspecting, and seems to be native to a land that knows no sorrow nor disappointment, no accident nor evil, and to be experienced only in an eternity of truth and beauty and goodness. Left to its own devices, it would soon and often come to disaster on the shores of this world's life. It needs the more canny reason to come con- stantly to its aid in all issues of its daily course. In a state of ideality, we may imagine that the soul might require neither chart nor pilot, but could sail on its glorious w^ay unthreat- ened by obstructing facts. When it came to take upon itself mundane existence, however, it needed some defence against the world's fatalities, and so reason evolved to be its guide and friend. The spirit of man with all its soaring and radiance is unsophisticated, unadapted to its earthly environment, and through the best ef- 60 fort of a long lifetime only begins to learn the lesson of wise procedure among its daily concerns. With this difficult task to accom- plish, we can ill afford to overlook or slight any possible means of advantage, and yet we recklessly ignore and defy reason's splendid help, and allow it to deteriorate day by day. It has been said that if all the world could stop simultaneously for five minutes and rea- sonably consider the real values of life, it would thereupon be immediately and wholly converted to good. Human welfare is less in need of new facts than of renewed habit and growth of power in utilizing rationally and fully those already at our command. The wisdom of the cheerful woodsman who knows little beyond the facts and uses of his habitat is of greater human value than the encyclo- pedic and chaotic information of the world- wanderer, who with all his smattering cannot make life seem worth while an)rwhere. The manipulation of knowledge and of spirit proves their worth, not the mere possession of 6i them. And reason is our supreme manipu- lator. Plans approved by reason are the only ones worthy all the skill that execution and devotion can acquire. When effort is thus put forth under the careful guidance of reason, there is no such thing as its coming to nought, even though the reason be faulty and the art faltering. The very rightness of the process accomplishes something, if only in strengthening the habit of trying in the best way. How much tardy, painstaking and misguided diligence, how much befogged aspiration and benighted dis- content, may be avoided by simply using our pilot honestly and opportunely. The sad fal- lacy that reason is incompatible with inspira- tion, detrimental to genius, and antagonistic to art, has led us far astray in our search for happiness and beauty, and has grievously re- tarded human growth and gladness. As the time for a pilot's service is at the beginning and the close of a voyage, so the most serviceable time for reason's help is at 62 the beginning and the end of an undertaking. When we have once fully embarked upon a venture, it is mere childishness to cry for help, to wish we had taken thought sooner, or to hesitate in indecision. Main considerations must be weighed before setting sail; and the sum of wisdom may be profitably reckoned afterward; but while we are in the midst of endeavour there is little time for successful calculation. <^appiness is never the result of mere well- meaning. The best intention can achieve no satisfaction for itself, save through the aid of intelligence and skill. \ Our utmost longing for felicity will prove for ever futile, unless we can supplement it with some command of circumstance, some power to control condi- tions and to fashion procedure to our will; and this we can never do without promptitude and clarity of understanding and judgment. ^ Pure volition is incapable of achievement, a feckless entity without mind or force, if such a thing be conceivable. 63 Ciie JHaitefng of J^etsonalftff To the sincere and eager student bent upon finding a genuine solution of the difRcult problem of self-culture or the making of per- sonality, it must surely appear that no over- specialized development can make for perfec- tion, but that we must foster our triune indi- viduality with impartial care. Under our present educational ideals there is little dan- ger of mentality being neglected. In fact our system concerns itself almost wholly with training the mind; and with that aim in itself one can find no fault. It would be wrong to say that any intelligence can be overcultivated, or that there can be any danger of being over- educated. There is very great danger, how- ever, — indeed there is every evidence, — that culture and personality may be overmental- ized. Many a person has been given exercise of the mind out of all proportion to that be- stowed either upon the physique or the spirit, to the sorry undoing of the personality as a living whole. Of higher education in its best and symmetrical sense no one can have too 64 much ; but of mere book knowledge and men- tal training, which is almost all that our edu- cational system offers, one may easily have a disproportionate amount. The highly edu- cated person, in our usual understanding of the term, is proverbially inept and inefficient, less well fitted for the task of securing and disseminating a creditable degree of happi- ness in life than many an illiterate but better balanced man or woman. The developing of any one of the three phases of human nature, at the expense of the others, must inevitably lead to such undesirable result; and while our present standards of education may make scholars, they will never make the happiest possible human beings. To that end, educa- tion must include a commensurate recognition and culture of physical and spiritual values, in the assurance that the mind itself cannot reach even its own finest growth, unless fur- thered in its progress by a refreshing spirit and an invigorating body. Inasmuch as the chief concern of life seemsil 65 ^ 2rt)t JHaftfnfl of Jpetsonalftff to be the evolving and training of personali- ties, it would seem sensible to make our mental training such as will readily and efficiently serve all requirements that body, mind, or spirit may make upon it.^ to bring our intel- ectual culture to bear upon the hourly prob- lems of living and the securing of happiness; to pursue our cherished schemes with success- ful intelligence; in shortj^^o make reason oTnrrrorTfs utmost aid not only in the sphere of thought but in all the affairs of daily health d gladness. The setting aside of intellectual life as a mere refuge from the difficulties of practical well-being and well-doing, the withdrawing ourselves into the enchanted kingdoms of pure science, and the turning of our responsibilities away from all the hard problems which beset every hour, is only a begging of the question of wisdom. The life of a scholarly recluse, absorbed in his own intellectual preferences, may be excused with specious arguments, but it may also be criticized as a shirking of the 66 main issues of individual conduct, of evading the difficulties in the way of securing some form of that healthy, helpful, and joyous life which constitutes the first dignity of man. Whatever gratification it may bring to the scholar himself, it offers no solution of the universal difficulty of best living. The book- worm is as helpless as the monk, when it comes to offering any effective aid to confused hu- manity in its task of finding out how to make success and happiness out of the materials at hand. Moreover, neither of them reaches his own best possible development through that method of self-absorbed devotion to a single phase of existence. The scholar in his knowl- edge and the hermit in his sanctity are as far from the ideal of normal manhood as the man of many millions under his burden, of stocks and bonds. /Tearnijig aad- s^n-€*ity ^j^of vast value, but m^^-Atc of immediate concern to y^«-^3S^ifee only in so far as rf^ey can be made to illumine and better iw^mSb life.as-w^ ha^i^ to live tt'to-dapaFHi--h.ec6r* What the soul and 67 I mind might accomplish under other condi- tions cannot profitably concera Wat all, but what they can do to help us m any present ^lace and hour is vital. Their only compre- hensible value and obligation is to enrich and advance the interests of normal personality in its arduous progress toward perfection. For every one, then, the question is not, How much can I know, but How can I make such intelligence as I have help life to the utmost. Perhaps in nothing is defection at this point more general and more astonishing than in the all-desirable art of keeping well. What can be more important than to know how to care for one's health and safeguard it against impairment? And yet how many of us have any adequate understanding of the matter, any habit of using such hygienic knowledge as we may possess, or even any con- viction that the matter comes within the range of our responsible control? We are accus- tomed to squander health without heed, and without even an effort to realize how little 68 rational care it would take to preserve our energy from undue depletion and disease. When sickness overtakes us we rush to a physi- cian, and when the emergency is past we blun- der on as before, without a moment's rational thought given to prevent a recurrence of the disaster. In these days sickness is a disgrace. But we are so fond of considering it a visitation of the will of God, emotionalizing over its woes, and indulging in an irrational religious sentimentalism concerning them, that we can hardly bring our common sense, actual knowl- edge, and reasonable skill to bear upon the question. Doctors are not wholly to blame if they devote more time to palliating ailments than to maintaining health. Most patients '^ enjoy poor health," prefer pity to fair play, and demand to be helped by some remedy they do not understand rather than by any rational prevention. If serious people actually realize what detrimental clothing does to human wel- fare, how can they ever condone it? If they 69 once fully comprehended the benefits of a rational attention to diet, to dress, to ventila- tion, to exercise, to normal walking, talking, and breathing, to tonic bathing and to sleep, what would become of sickness and prema- ture death? The gain to be derived from including the guidance of reason in spiritual matters fills the churches of those teachers and preachers who are liberal enough to try the experiment. Many a sound moral lesson would be received gladly were it reinforced with appreciable reason rather than with appeals to discredited dogmas and an impossible faith in unrealities. The world is no longer to be ruled by fanat- icism and superstition at the expense of its growing intelligence. And this does not mean that religion is to be belittled nor done away; it rather means that it is to be honoured the more, — its uses made more and more sane and beautiful in conformity with the growth of standards of goodness in the world. We are accustomed to mistake love for a 70 wholly supernatural or subnatural matter, and to yield to it as to an emissary from Divinity, beyond the province of rational guidance or control. And yet from the multitudinous mis- takes that are made in love's name, it would seem that in no other realm of life is the wise piloting of reason more necessary. The tragic plight of this spiritual domain may perhaps be due far less to any flaw in the quality of modern feeling or any shortage of means for its perfection, than to the wilful exclusion of reason from all of its procedure. Those who set out on voyages of loving companionship, perhaps the most difficult of all adventurings, should hardly expect propitious sailing with- out chart or pilot. In care of our pilot reason we may embark safely not only for ultimate worthy achieve- ment, but immediately upon orderly tides of thought, where, as in the realm of music, beauty and joy are unconstrained, — the most easily attainable region where perfect happi- ness is to be found. But our greatest triumphs 71 in the art of living will come from following the lead of our best rationality in cheerful and painstaking contest against the forces of ad- versity, desolation, and despair, and in ma- king upon earth a home for the unextravagant ideal. 72 (Bx, Cfje l^oWx of l^oist CC " The human body is adapted to the ex- pression of conscious will, and this is free- dom. The perfect subordination of the body- to the will is gracefulness. It is this which constitutes the beauty of classic art: to have every muscle under perfect obedience to the will — • unconscious obedience — so that the slightest inclination or desire of the soul, if made an act of the will, finds expression in the body." » Dr. T. W. Harris, in his orderly and lu- minous work on Psychologic Foundations of Education, uses these suggestive words in 73 discussing the harmonious beauty of the art of sculpture as perfected by the Greeks. They might well serve as a compendium of philosophy for students of expression, body training, and general development, so con- cisely and clearly do they embody the essen- tial truth underlying all art. And he adds this memorable sentence, which ought to be- come a watchword with all teachers of phys- ical education, and indeed with all teachers in all branches of education who are worthy of their great profession: ''The soul is at ease in the body only when it is using it as a means of expression or action.^' There we have in plain terms the secret not only of the principles of art in general and of the art of physical self-expression in particular, but the secret of their relation to intellectual and spiritual education as well. There surely can be no true culture that leaves the soul ill at ease. It is not enough to train the understanding and fill the mind with stores of knowledge. Both mind and 74 2Cf)e WLitiQtXf Tittovs spirit must be given free and adequate exer- cise of their natural functions, and opportu- nity for worthy expression and reinforcement of their powers. Thus only can the inner life with its lawful desire for activity be allowed proper and beneficial scope and range, — thus only can the soul be made at ease in the body. This must become the purpose of all culture, and it cannot be accomplished by mental or moral training alone. The body which the soul inhabits is more than a mere tenement, it is an essential prop- erty of the soul, the exponent and purveyor of the mind, the outer aspect of personality, the art medium for the manifestation of spirit and intelligence; and it requires just as care- ful consideration, just as wise education, and just as high perfection of technique as its as- sociate powers of thought and feeling. To educate the human being, — to give it the confidence, the delight, the satisfaction, the power and repose and legitimate perfection which the best culture can bring, — care 75 must be taken to place at the disposal of every lovely spirit and brilliant mind a worthy, sensitive, and capable body, and to provide each individual, so far as possible, with its own appropriate physical means of activity and enjoyment. In a symmetrical cultivation of all our powers, in a balanced exercise of all our fac- ulties, the volatile treasure of personal happi- ness is most likely to be found. If we indulge a thirst for knowledge irrespective of all other considerations, — at the expense of health, kindliness, and comel^iness, — we are doomed to find our acquisition of learn- ing an unwieldy and disappointing encum- brance. Such unmodulated knowledge can never become wisdom, but must remain mere information, bookish pedantry^, or mechan- ical cleverness. All such lore can avail as little as untrained thews and endurance avail a dunce. We can never be personally well equipped with only one-third or two-thirds of developed being, but must compass the 76 Zftt WLlnatXi Tutors ideal of a triune balance and symmetry of excellence, as the only adequate measure of perfection for every individual who is men- tally, emotionally, and physically endowed. It is good to be athletic; it is good to be scholarly; it is good to be honourable, pa- tient, loving, and helpful. It is not best to be an ignorant athlete; it is not best to be a dyspeptic bookworm; it is not even best to be an unhuman fanatic. Unillumined brutality, selfish insatiable curiosity and vanity of mind, and intolerant righteousness, are all equally unlovely. It is obviously best to be a man, with the strength and understanding and honour of a man. Ethical culture, mental culture, physical culture, each is excellent and all are neces- sary, but no one of them will suffice, indeed no two of them can satisfy without the third. Only in harmonious and well-balanced co- operation can they further that highest per- sonal development, that supreme reach of ideals and growth, which may be the aim of 77 any one of them. All three are of equal dig- nity, importance, and delight, and no one of them can attain its best efficiency without the aid of the others to inspire and guide and reinforce it. More than that, their spheres, which seem so different, are really not dis- tinct nor separable, and each must continu- ally either cripple or complement the others. The soul, the centre and source of volition, with its perceptions and aspirations, ever leading in the progress to perfection, needs to be closely seconded by intelligent guidance and carried to the fullest achievement by ade- quate skilful execution. We need never imagine that spiritual attainments can be suc- cessfully forced at the expense of the guides and servants of the spirit, the intellectual and physical powers. We must care before we can know, and we must know before we can do; nor may we even be content with caring and with knowledge, until we add to them well-skilled effort toward the realization of our ideals. In no other way can we develop 78 and appreciate and enjoy the power of per- sonal poise. The practical advantage of poise and its chiefest sanction is the opportunity it affords for spiritual precedence, for proving the pri- macy of the will and the fortunate prefer- ences of the soul. It makes a vantage from which the best may be attempted, a starting- point from which the avenues to the fairest good are seen to radiate, a condition from which life may spring normally to its finest stature. Poise endows us with power to stop and consider, to use our intelligence and judg- ment, and so improve through every contin- gency. Habitual poise is the essential pre- requisite of freedom for happy endeavour and satisfactory growth. A conception of the value of personal poise as the worthiest ideal of education was em- phasized by Cecil Rhodes in founding his Oxford scholarships. It has been instinc- tively felt by students themselves as a legit- imate need of aspiring human nature, but it 79 2rt)e iWiaitefns of J^etsonalitff has not yet had such general authoritative recognition as it deserves. Rhodes helped to give it practical currency and prestige. In effect his great gift is a criticism of our in- complete system, and points the direction in which mediaeval standards of culture are to be enlarged. It calls for men in whom schol- arship is to be supplemented by correspond- ing physical and spiritual excellence. It de- mands poise of character rather than excess of learning. It is a strong, successful man's endorsement of the ideal of personal poise. If personal poise — the symmetrical devel- oping and perfecting of all our capacities in the building of character — could be made a widely accepted ideal of culture, it would do more than any specific social revolution to ensure greater happiness for all mortals. Is not such a valuation of poise really the underlying principle we try to reach in all attempts to simplify living? Is not the satis- faction we feel in any such simplification really a satisfaction at finding ourselves re- 80 8Cf)e Wiinatrf Tittovs stored to a normal poise? Are not our lives apt to be unsatisfying because they are partial and ill balanced, excessive in some directions and falling short in others? The simple life cannot be a worthy ideal if it is to mean a meagre and insufficient life, but only if it is to mean an undistorted and well-balanced one. Perfect poise seems simple, because it is so unperplexing and wholly satisfying. To simplify living is only advantageous and ben- eficial in so far as it permits a richer and freer and more complete enjoyment of the few pursuits which are vital and worth while. Our average life, particularly our average city life, is apt to be overwrought and ill- regulated, as we all know. To return to sim- pler conditions would not be to impoverish human experience, but to enrich it; we should gain in health, in merriment, in leisure, in wisdom and length of days; we should lose only our anxieties, our ailments, our ill-tem- pers, and our debts. There can hardly be room for choice. But such a return, let us 8i stir JHaftinfl of ^tvnonmts remember, can only be successful if it is car- ried out in conformity with the ideal of per- sonal poise, and with the threefold needs of personal life constantly in mind. A life somewhat nearer to the earth than we live now could hardly fail to be more vigorous, more delightful, more normal. Instead of sensational criminality, frenzied ambition, and fashionable artificiality, we should be able to acquire something of sincerity, come- liness, and kindly joy. Slowly but certainly the truth of this ideal is coming to be recognized. The need for such a standard is felt in innumerable ways, though as yet we may not definitely discern its import. The restless spirit of the patient world, always seeking the best, has been driven from one extreme point of view to an- other in the long course of history, confused by the clamour of the senses, the cry of the soul, and the insatiable curiosity of the im- perious mind. Must we not believe that it is in some fortunate hour to find the ideal which 82 ©tie Wiinatti Tittovs shall make possible the harmonizing of its seemingly divergent aims and expedients? What if the ideal of symmetrical develop- ment and normal personal poise should prove just the saving principle it seeks? As poise serves as a happy criterion of ex- cellence of personality, and a most advan- tageous standard of culture, so in physical training, physical poise provides us with the only adequate standard of physical beauty and efficiency. Such an ideal implies the equal development and control of every por- tion of the body, the culture and maintenance of its every perfection, and the habitual use of all its powers in harmonious accordance with the most effective and economic laws of motion and growth. To be able to attain such poise, the body must be made strong and free, must be fostered in a symmetrical growth, and above all must be considered as the inseparable manifestation of the inform- ing mind and the indwelling spirit. More- over physical poise can only be attained 83 8Ciie Jtlamno of J^ersonalitff through the ideal of personal poise. The first physical need of the natural man is for exercise, but for us moderns there is one thing even more needed than exercise, and that is bodily emancipation. It is evident that the body must have freedom to stretch and read- just itself in every direction before it can poise itself normally and adapt its poise to any and all conditions. We speak of the mechanism of the human body, with its many joints and levers, its com- pensations and balances, and its complicated movements, but we must beware of consider- ing it too exclusively as a machine. It is so far more subtle, significant, and adaptable than any mere mechanical contrivance, so sen- sitive, so variable, and so intelligent. There is infinite ingenuity in these human mechan- isms, but there are preference and sensibility and responsibility as well, all within an al- most incredible frailty allied with amazing strength. Our bodies have many of the char- acteristics of a machine, but they have also 84 2Cfie WiinatXi Tittoxs many of the traits of a self-active intelligence, and must be treated accordingly. The admirable structure of the animal skeleton serves, indeed, to lend rigidity to the body, but it also serves for points of attach- ment of elastic muscles whose express pur- pose is to modify that rigidity, just as our senses modulate our thought. The muscular system, under the guidance of instinct, seeks to secure the safety of the individual by not opposing the manifold casualties of existence with an unyielding solidity, and by interpo- sing an ever-ready flexibility that lessens shock and avoids breakage, enabling us to pass tol- erably well through a world of insensate op- position, of stress and resistance and friction. Power to spring from the ground and alight again without fracturing ourselves is a privilege we share with our four-footed brothers of the field. In jumping they do not light on rigid heels with straightly stiffened legs, like a table dropped from a window. A fox goes over a wall as lightly as a drift 85 of snow, and even an elephant, for all his huge bulk, seems to move as softly as a mould of jelly. Though few of us can be as grace- ful as foxes, we may all avoid cruel shocks by alighting on the muscular balls of the feet with spread toes and flexed knees. The im- petus of the body may thus be stopped grad- ually, considerately, without violence, almost without impact, by the intervention of mus- cular alertness, strength, and elasticity, under voluntary adequate control. All poise and every movement of our bodies should have something of the pliancy and ease of the great cats, those paragons of grace with their soft, undulating strength, their powerful quies- cence, and noiseless activity. It almost goes without saying that in order to move well, one must first breathe well, sit well, stand well. To stand well, there are two things chiefly necessary, first, that the chest should be carried well up and forward, and second that the weight should balance pliantly over the balls of the feet and spread 86 2Cf)e WHnattf Ttctots toes, — a spirited, intelligent, adaptable body on an adequate base of support. The question of good breathing is so closely related to proper carriage that the two can scarcely be considered separately. It is hardly possible to breathe well while sit- ting or standing or lying improperly, and it is not practicable habitually to stand prop- erly without breathing well. Good breath- ing, like fine carriage, requires that the chest should be habitually upheld and automatic- ally carried by the well-developed chest mus- cles as high as is comfortable, that the great life-giving lungs may have room for their utmost utility. And this condition must be maintained whether one is sitting, standing, walking, running, dancing, talking, reading, or working, in fact through every hour of life. Particular care must be taken not to thrust up the chest by overinhaling, nor by holding the breath, nor by raising the shoul- ders, nor by making the rib muscles tense, nor yet by an undue bending backward of 87 the spinal column at the small of the back. The fonvard carriage and uplift of the chest must be secured by exercising the pull and hold of the muscles of the chest and back of the neck, the stretch of the rib muscles, and by swaying the whole body forward from foot to crown, with a very slight mobile for- ward bend at the hips. And even these direc- tions must be taken with discretion. The backbone is not a ramrod; and the fashion of pulling the hips back and pushing the chest forward with perfectly rigid spine, as if the body were only jointed at the waist, is as unlovely as any other abnormal posture. The human body is not a flail, with only one joint in the middle. At its best it is as flexible as a whip. " Light and lithe as a willow wand. She danced, and the monarch held her hand,** embodies the ideal of graceful poise; and to attain it, gymnastics for poise must be taught and practised until the muscles grow so fitted 88 2Ci|e WLitiQt'a Ttctotff and used to their task that good carriage be- comes an unconscious habit. Other requirements of good breathing need not be detailed here, further than to say that the throat and entire trunk should be kept wholly unrestricted and mobile, ready for automatic or well-controlled service. The whole body from nose to lower abdomen is needed to command the best breathing, and must be given strong free play at all points in order to be fully serviceable. This point is so important that one of the first and last words of physical culture to-day must be, Breathe well. This accompanies the other two injunctions, Poise well, and Move worth- iiy- Poise should never be mistaken as synon- ymous with pose or immobility. It is simply balance, the most advantageous natural ad- justment, to be infinitely modified and util- ized whether we are in motion or at rest. It is the normal state of all being. For con- venience we may distinguish three different 2rtie M^IHtta of petf^onatlitfi kinds of poise: static poise, as in a tripod; dynamic poise, as in the position of the Fly- ing Mercury or a runner at the start; and kinetic poise, as of a bird in the air. The difference between them is, of course, only a question of adaptation, — transitional and not fundamental; and it will be seen that one melts into the other insensibly at need. But the discrimination helps us to realize that under no condition is perfect physical poise unavailable nor unimportant, nor to be dis- regarded without serious disadvantage. That there is only one way to stand is of course not true. Poise must suit its condi- tions. The identical poise that befits a piano- mover will not serve the dancer. The golfer and the Japanese wrestler must stand differ- ently. For all that, there is a normal poise for the standing human figure, which gives the maximum stability, combined with a maximum latitude for swaying without loss of balance, and from which transitions may most easily be made to meet whatever de- 90 ©tie WLinatTi T(ctotff mands may arise. This one way of standing is generally more economically serviceable than others and therefore more beautiful; while there are many ways which are awk- ward and injurious and essentially unlovely. Good poise is a matter of utilizing the most serviceable base of support without sacrific- ing supple ease and readiness for action. The best alert standing position is the one which affords the body the surest and easiest support, and at the same time the greatest freedom and facility for prompt effective movement in any direction. The position which oftenest and best serves this double purpose is one in which the weight is upheld and forecarried over the ball of one foot, while the other foot is dropped a little back, resting lightly to help balance and ready to swing forward at need, the knees being slightly flexed and never thrown flatly back. The heel of the forward foot carries almost none of the weight, merely touching the ground to help the balance. The heel of the 91 idle foot is clear of the ground altogether. The balls of the feet are not much more than the length of a foot apart. The weight may be swayed occasionally from the ball of one advanced foot to the ball of the other, ad- vanced in turn, or for rest or greater static strength it may be held equally between the balls of the two feet, in which case far greater solidity of poise is secured. This is the basis of physical poise in which the maximum sup- ple stability consistent with general alertness is attained. This ^' normal poise " will be found most economic and untiresome, giving amplest latitude for the body to sway with- out toppling, and at the same time permitting it to get into motion easily and without agi- tation. Since it is so serviceable an adjust- ment, it is as a natural consequence a graceful one. A distinctive requisite of good living poise is that the weight of the body should be car- ried lightly, with elation, with spirit, with elasticity. Our legs, in readiness for action, 92 are not stilts nor posts made to shore us up above the earth. They are obedient flexible springs, powerfully hinged at hip and knee and (with the most powerful spring of all) at the ankle. This special mechanism, par- ticularly the great contractile spring in the calf of the leg, which plies the ankle hinge, is intended to cushion the impacts of the body and let it ride springily and comfortably hither and thither. To get this advantage from it, we must use the mechanism properly, bringing our muscles into play and keeping them voluntarily under control, in sitting and standing as well as in walking. When- ever the body is upright, its muscles must be on active duty, supporting or moving it. Muscles need not be tense in order to be in control, but they must be alive and ready for service. They must keep the body balanced and prepared for motion. In standing, this can only be done when control of the weight is shared by the muscles of the foot as well as by those of the leg and trunk. When the 93 weight is thrust down through the rigid bones of the leg upon the heel, in a lazy attempt to shirk muscular exertion, there can be no suppleness of poise, no softness of tread, no elegance of carriage, no ease nor magnetism of motion. It is true that many persons have not strength enough in the foot and ankle to stand and walk normally without undue fatigue; but this weakness is itself the result of long habits of imperfect carriage and inferior mo- tion. Inefficiency is the inevitable result of misuse or disuse. If we were taught cor- rectly in childhood, if we never used artificial heels, but gave our ankles and toes the train- ing of natural free exercise, and transmitted the results to our children, we should soon all have the strength of leg and foot that we were designed to have. We should all enjoy a distinct gain in general vigour, and a cov- eted access of usefulness and beauty. In contrast with beautiful normal poise of the human figure, many bad poses are preva- 94 lent, in which the body is not in poise at all. Modern sculpture as well as the modern drawing-room is full of them. Particularly unfortunate is the posture, very common in society, on the stage, in dancing, and even in plastic art, wherein the weight is rested entirely on the heel or flat of one foot, with the supporting knee sprung back and the idle leg thrust forward. The body is almost in unstable equilibrium. A touch would tip it backward. At the same time it is quite un- prepared for action. Before locomotion can take place in any direction, the protruded leg must be drawn in, stable equilibrium re- established, and muscular control regained. It is not only a most uneconomic position, but an unattractive and ill-meaning one as well. Man is neither quadrupedal nor winged; he is aspiring though not wholly detachable from the good solid ground. He is buoyed and swayed by emotions impalpable as the wind, and yet he is inescapably related to the 95 sure foundations of material needs. He stands on the earth, this figure of glowing clay, inspired with the uplifting breath of the infinite. At his best he is well poised between two realms. We feel this harmony of adjustment in every gracious and worthy presence wherein the perfection of poise is achieved. It is one of the supreme triumphs of art. Only think how gloriously the Winged Victory takes the eye! How easily she is victorious! Her splendid breast is up- borne by lofty inspiration which carries her forward with fluttering robes, light-footed, unwavering, rejoicing almost with the free- dom of the winged creatures of the air, an incomparable apparition of triumphant glad- ness. Of all the shapes of clay fashioned by man, her poise is the noblest and most inspir- ing. She lifts our drooping spirits to new endeavour, to larger hope, to heights of in- credible daring. And the Flying Mercury, how good is his potent poise! The magic of those winged sandals touches the spirit of 96 ^fit WLimtn TittOVS every beholder, and we are carried away like children under the spell of the fabulous old legend of the messenger god, master of speed, conqueror of space and time, the prototype of modern ambition. As the divinity who presided over commerce, too, he would have an especial interest for our day; but while we emulate his swiftness and shrewdness, perhaps only too well, let us remember his delicacy of bearing and his exquisite poise, as he hangs with balanced feet light as a swallow on a slant of wind. In daily life, too, how good it is to see fine poise, and alas, how rare! How it catches every eye in the street, in the drawing-room, upon the stage! It is the basis of fine per- sonal influence, the foundation of enduring beauty, the centre from which powerful im- pressiveness must radiate. A large part of that strange personal potency which we call magnetism is the direct and inevitable result of fine poise, — the victory of the " happy chest." 97 While personal magnetism is primarily a spiritual power and has its source in the soul, it yet must find its avenues of expression through the body. And it is the breast that is peculiarly the abode of the spirit. It is in the upper part of the body, between the dia- phragm and the head, that the two great ceaseless life-sustaining functions are carried on, — the come and go of the vital breath, and the frail but enduring rhythm of the heart. It is in the breast that the evidences of emotion and passion are first made mani- fest, — in the quickened heart-beat and per- turbed breathing, — whether we be moved by love or sudden indignation, by terror or remorse. This region of the breast with its acces- sories, the arms, in distinction from the head, which is the seat of the brain and mind, and in distinction from the lower body where the animal operations of nutrition, reproduction, and locomotion are carried on, is eminently 98 the emotional realm, and was called by Del- sarte, " The zone of honour." '^ A man of heart," we say, meaning one of generous and kindly spirit. The breast is almost a synonym for the dwelling-place of love and hate, of hope and fear and courage. It is on our mother's breast that we first learn tenderness and the welling power of the feel- ings. It is to our breast that we gather all that is most cherished in life. It is to the breast of our benignant mother earth, as we call her, that we ourselves are gathered at last. Hand may touch hand in acknowledg- ing acquaintanceship; the arm may circle the shoulder in friendship; but in deepest love the breast receives the cherished head of the beloved. It is this fact, — that the breast is the centre of our spiritual and expressive nature, — that makes good carriage of the chest so impress- ive and so important. Though you meet me eye to eye, and offer me specious conversa- 9g tion, — promises or threats, — if your chest is sunken, I feel there is a lack of heart in your assurances. But if your chest is bravely fore- carried and upborne, I can have no doubt of the conviction and determination and well- intentioned sincerity behind it. If a nurse enters a sick-room, walking on her heels, with head and abdomen protruded, while her chest is a mere hollow between her shoulders, who can imagine that she could ever inspire the least hope or cheer in any patient? I have seen a very capable actress, in the role of Melisande, attempt to enlist the interest of her audience in the spiritual plight of that character, and fail utterly to win sympathy, simply because she never once lifted her chest through the whole performance. For the sunken chest means more than physical weak- ness; it means moral dejection, discourage- ment, cowardice, and defeat, as the lifted chest means not only strength, but elation, courage, confidence, kindliness, and hope. The sunken chest, w^hich is the indication lOO ©tie ZiZSingetr Tictotff of the dispirited weakling, may evoke pity; it can hardly elicit interest or sympathy. We sympathize willingly and readily with the noble in misfortune, but for the ignoble there must always be a reserve in our commisera- tion. Whoever would not appear ignoble and risk actually becoming so, must ever pre- sent a brave, happy breast to the world. Since we are spiritual beings, it is respectful and generous that we should meet spirit to spirit, that we should show our best selves to one another. If I meet a stranger, I am glad to have him approach me with so gracious and dig- nified a bearing that I must instinctively rise to receive him. If he struts toward me throwing forward his stomach and feet first, I am naturally not attracted to him. I wish to meet the man, not his legs and digestion; nor should I be more pleasantly prepossessed if he came toward me with the shiftless walk and protruded head of the absorbed and over- mentalized person. In either case I perceive lOI 2rj|e i^alteino of jpersonalft^ he is more concerned with himself than with others, and is not happily infused with the great universal breath of the spirit, which is common to all men, and which alone vitalizes every interest and sustains and ennobles life. The importance of a good carriage, there- fore, is not only a matter of health and econ- omy and grace in motion; it is quite as much a matter of personal influence and obligation. A well-poised body, while expressing a well- poised character, reacts in turn on that char- acter to help and enrich the whole personal- ity. To bear oneself with grace and kindly dignity is to foster and breed graciousness and self-respect, as well as to disseminate them. " The soul is at ease in the body only when it is using it as a means of expression or ac- tion." So when art would embody in beauty the idea of triumph without weariness, of glad elation untouched by envious defeat, of high intelligence overcoming the barbarous and base, — when it would add to the fairest 102 2ri|e Wiinatra Tfctots human loveliness some hint of superhuman power and dominion over a region more vast than earth, — it created the Victory of the Wings, to be a lasting signal before our won- dering eyes, and an incentive to that dignity of bearing which we behold only in the rarest personalities. 103 5ri)e Sillier Siting 0x, ^erjsDnal '^ibxmt^ It is evident that in the making of person- ality the acquirement of poise is not enough. The advice of the Latin poet, that we should preserve an equal mind in the midst of dif- ficulties, is excellent; but equanimity, even an ideal equilibrium of all our powers, is hardly a sufficient goal for human endeavour. We are not aspirants of a passive and crystal- line perfection, but must find our satisfactions in activity, in achievement, in human inter- course and relationships. We take more pleasure in modifying life, in mingling with the tumultuous business of the world, in leav- 104 ing some traces of our impress upon the events of the great human drama, than in any isolation of self, however learned or holy. The most blameless character must be doing, if it would be glad. This is one of the un- questionable laws. To be poised is not to be immobile always, for there is poise of motion as well as of rest. For a mortal to cease from growth, from ac- tion, from exertion, is to cease from enjoy- ment and to begin to decline and perish. Poise is only the springboard of performance, the pou sto of the Greek mathematician, from which we may move the world. It is a pre- requisite of personal happiness and power, the very acme of education, and yet not a suf- ficient end in itself, — a most desirable con- dition of being, but by no means the ultimate concern of creation. The supreme artistry of the cosmos in which we share, calls for initiative and toil as well as for the duty of self-perfection and repose. We may well di- rect all the efforts for culture to the attain- 105 ment of poise, but the object of culture after all is only preparatory, — to put our energies in the happiest condition for accomplishing ideal ambitions and practical purposes in the world. To be well poised is indeed a first necessity, but to rest content with poise is to be already touched with death. The personality without poise is baffled, chaotic, blundering, and unhappy in its own bewildered inefficiency, no matter how furi- ously it may strive. But the personality in which poise has been secured is already on the threshold of felicity, and may pass at one step into the region of happy experience. Whatever mischance may come to it, what- ever natural sorrow may visit it with grief, no irrevocable disaster can befall such a one. Yet with all the universe in flux, man cannot stand still; and the individual being must maintain its poise from moment to moment, from deed to deed, balancing and rebalan- cing for self-preservation amidst the oppos- ing tides of force. io6 JTi&e Sdbet Sttfnfl But every personality is itself endowed with force, with power, with preference and intelligence. It cannot endure to be merely passive, but must energize in order to be happy. As poise is a normal state of being, of the personality, and a natural ideal for it, no less so is achievement. Achievement at touch of need springs from poise as inevitably as circling ripples spring from the placid surface when a pebble is cast into a still pool. Sometimes a single little seed of suggestion dropped into the brooding mind is enough to start a lifelong train of consequent activities. If the personality be unpoised and ruffled, then the circles of widening influence are confused and broken and dissipated. It is no vague figure of poetic fancy to speak of personal rhythm, or to say that every personality, like every violin, is possessed of a marked vibratory character peculiar to it- self, which is indeed the index of its excel- lence, the measure of its power, and the means of carrying its communications across 107 . the gulfs of space. Just as violins differ in make and timbre, personalities differ in poise and vibrancy. Timbre is the peculiar qual- ity revealed in execution, unique in every in- stance. Personal vibrancy is the peculiar inseparable quality of the individual, w^hich reveals itself not only in characteristic mo- tion and speech, but also in that mysterious form which almost defies analysis, and yet accomplishes with infinite subtlety the ex- pressive and impressive purposes of the per- sonality as effectively as the most unmistaka- ble gesture or tone. If the wonderful timbre of an old Cremona cannot be duplicated nor explained, how can we hope to define this essential vibrancy inherent in the personali- ties of men? The one depends, we say, upon the fibre of the wood, its cunning form and age; the other lurks in the recesses of being, modified plainly by build, temperament, and mentality, by inheritance and experience; and both possess awesome powers beneficent or malign. But does that dispel the marvel io8 of their presence or make clear the secret of their lure? There is no manifestation of life that is not vibrant. Even the inorganic world vibrates through all its substance, the unseen particle and the unseen planet responding alike to the throb of cosmic vibration, pulsating in the crucible under the stir of chemic change or pendulous in space under the sway of gravi- tation. The great active primal forces of the universe, heat, light and electricity, are, so far as physicists can tell, all modes of motion or vibrancy, and are convertible because they are fundamentally the sam.e. They differ only in the time or force or shape of their vibration, and any one of them may be changed iato any other as easily as we glide from one tune to the next in the realm of music. We who are the complex products of this natural world must be compounded only of the materials and forces found within it. The vibrancy of light enables us to see, the 109 2riir JWaftfno of petfiionalftff vibrancy of sound enables us to hear; out taste, our smell, our touch, are only faculties for recording vibrations in the universe around us. The most primordial functions of the living organism, breathing and circula- tion of the blood, are rhythmical. Even our hunger and thirst are timed to a slow peri- odicity, and swing from lulled inactive ease to restless demand with a certain regularity. At times the flood of waking energy sweeps through us like a compelling tide, and after its due period of joyous accomplishment ebbs away again, leaving us to fatigue, languor, and sleep. The rhythm of the breath and the beating of the pulse are only the more obvi- ous and gross forms of personal vibration, but they parallel another and more impalpable sort of vibration which exists not only in the person but in the personality. This latter sort of vibrancy, a personal vibration which is characteristic of the individual, is indeed largely dependent upon physical peculiari- ties, and is modified by them; its origin, its no intensity, its quality, are always partly phys- ical; yet it is equally a psychic power and a revelation of the inward personality. It is not possessed equally by all people, nor do those who are endowed with it possess it equally at all times. In many it is so slight as to seem to be almost wholly wanting, so that we declare at once, they have no mag- netism. In others it is so strong and forceful that the very air seems charged with their presence, and we are aware of an almost pal- pable influence radiating from them wher- ever they may be. It is as variable as mood, and differs in different men and women as much as temper or disposition. Vibrancy is never wholly lacking in the human being, in some degree or other, but it is often so faint and vague as to be almost indistinguishable and inoperative. Sickness impairs it, confusion and doubtfulness of mind render it ineffectual, and a wilful des- pondency may destroy it at its source. At its best, however, it is a great power; and like III any other supreme characteristic of human clay may be cultivated with intelligent care or ignored and thwarted and ruthlessly des- troyed. It behooves those who have it abun- dantly to guard it scrupulously as one of the most precious of gifts and to use it wisely for beneficent ends; while those who have it only to a small degree could hardly do better than attempt to increase it by educating so potent an ability. To call it personal magnetism does not ex- plain this subtle power at all, nor elucidate its obscure character, but it proves how familiar we are with it in every-day life. Its actual existence is very real and pervasive, only we need to give it rational recognition and treat- ment, as something quite as worthy of respect and culture as any of the more salient traits of personality. It is more powerful than beauty, more effective than intelligence."^ Serving each human being, like a prompt and eager messenger, just as electricity serves us in a mechanical way, it aids inestimably 112 2Ct|e Sdbet Sttinfl in all the strenuous forceful dealings of men and all the glad or grievous concerns of women, — that dramatic interplay of charac- ter which goes to make up the sum of human happiness or woe. Obscure and little re- garded, often inert or degraded, but never wholly dead, it resides at the very core of in- dividuality, like the hidden force which marks the identity of the atom and appears to be almost synonymous with life itself. To thrill with rapture or quiver with grief is no mere metaphor; the whole person re- sponds like a vibrant cord to the touch of experience; and spirit and sense are inex- tricably bound together, while life lasts, in one sentient organism through which its own thoughts, emotions, and sensations surge and throb, and to which its created fellows call and are apprehended in answering rhythms. And yet personal vibrancy or personal mag- netism, in the sense in which we are using the term, is not to be considered as a species of hypnotism, since hypnotism is an abnormal 113 phenomenon produced under extreme condi- tions, whereas personal magnetism is wholly normal, healthy, and a quality of every-day intercourse. It may be that hypnotism is an exaggerated effect of personal vibrancy deliberately em- phasized and enforced; but the manifesta- tion which we are here calling vibrancy or magnetism, and which plays so important though inconspicuous a part in every mortal career, is by no means so extravagant or ex- ceptional a thing. It proceeds to no such extraordinary lengths as mesmerism, and yet its ends are similar, for its function in human economy is the serviceable communication of personal influence. Its invisible but cogent dictates carry inducement or authority w^her- ever they go, eliciting some response wher- ever they pass, either of acquiescence or dis- sent. One can seldom remain wholly indif- ferent to its sway when once it is recognized, but must yield it some kind of acknowledg- ment, whether in compliance or aversion. 114 2Ci)t SiHiet String Personal vibrancy is the automatic carrying power of the individual will; it sounds the personal note of the individual, and like the tones of sound must mingle in harmony or discord with every vibration it meets. In all the commonplace occurrences of every-day affairs, as in the crucial hours of life, personal magnetism is operative and pow- erful, — wherever two men meet in the street, wherever business is transacted or speech ex- changed, wherever eyebeams meet and looks of understanding pass, wherever a gesture is recognized or an inflexion observed, in liking, in antipathy, and even in indifference. It is the power of the orator, the sorcery of the lover, the secret of the leader of forlorn hopes, the resource of the anxious hostess, the help of the physician, the reliance of the ad- vocate, and the preacher's most telling ap- peal. Personal vibrancy fires assemblies with enthusiasm and touches mobs with the mad- ness of fury or panic fear. Wherever a mor- tal soul perceive its fellow, the transmitting 115 E'^t JWafefufl of J^nfiionaUt» power of personality is felt and exerted as a vibrant vital force. In the early days of mesmerism, the exist- ence of a certain mysterious magnetic fluid was postulated to account for the transmission of an apparently inexplicable personal influ- ence. That theory of course has long since been abandoned. But in thinking of vi- brancy as a personal quality, we need con- ceive of it in no such material or mysterious fashion. Only in its physical manifestation does personal vibration become something measurable to the senses. But there, indeed, whether we call it personal magnetism or ani- mal sympathy, it reveals itself in no dubious guise, with no uncertain power, as a deter- miner of choice, an indissuadable advocate of preference, in comradeship, in friendship and in love. To such lowly but honourable origin in the great kinship of nature may our mental and spiritual affinities in part be traced. Responding with a glad elation to an accent of sympathy, a glance of compre- ii6 hension, a touch of kindred vibrancy, and ignoring quite as arbitrarily other stimuli which might seem to sober judgment no less compelling and delightful, the sensitive mor- tal takes his way through the confusion of life, choosing his associates, his companions, his bosom-friends, at the bidding of an in- stinct seemingly no more rational than vagu- est whim. " Yet choice is not whimsical. We may trust the predilections of instinct and in- tuition if only they be kept fine and unde- based. We may make sure that a true and kindly relation is attainable first or last in the rarer spheres of spirit and intelligence be- tween any two beings whose senses have first felt a glad response in the recognition of sym- pathetic vibration, — that silver string which binds together the hearts and heads and hands of friends and lovers. Woven of tactile sense, of iridescent light, of rhythmic sound, this fine thread on which the living beads of per- sonality are strung is a strand of that mighty cord which holds the glowing stars to their 117 2rfie i!«aftfnfl of ^tvnonnlits centres as they circle through their purple rounds. Personal vibrancy implies and requires tension. And vibrant tension implies chiefly three things, power, sensibility and freedom of vibration, — the power which resides in energy and strength, the sensibility or deli- cacy which comes of experience, and the free- dom which is only born of courage. Being inseparable from the physical as it is, personal magnetism must find its chief means of growth and recuperation and re- enforcement in a salutary bodily culture and code. Unless the physique be sound, efficient, and in its best condition, personal vibrancy must be impaired. The singing wire from which glad music is to issue must be taut, or it will not vibrate at all, and to hold it taut the attachments at either end must be strong and fixed. There can be no harmony, there cannot even be a responsive sound from a slackened string. To keep the cord of per- sonal relation tuneful, therefore, its points of ii8 2CJ|t SHijet Sttfnfl fixture must be firm. To look for adequate responsiveness and potent magnetism from a weak or sickly body is like expecting reso- nance from punk, or resilience from a broken spring. That magic power, so subtle yet so inescapable, which is felt to surround every forceful personality and lay a spell on all who come within its range, can only have its origin in the happy spontaneity of a poised and wholesome body. Vigour is a prime requisite of personal vibrancy. It is good to feel that we are maintaining our vigour not merely for itself alone, — not only for the sensuous satisfaction of perfect health, great as that benefit is. There is a further satisfaction in maintaining physical energy at its finest perfection, when we have consciously in mind its ever present value in strengthening mental vigour and spiritual force, — • in enhancing personality and per- sonal relations, — when we recall that health is not only the basis of endurance but of influ- ence and success. To consider physical vig- 119 our in this light adds a noble and fascinating interest to life, and stimulates the wisest care of our animal selves, the magical bodies which we too often misuse and degrade, and which a false and iniquitous asceticism has even led men to despise. To keep the bodily instrument in healthy- tone and capably vibrant, we must keep it supplied first of all with food and air and freedom. These are the great basic necessi- ties of life, from which intelligence and joy and power are to be made. The engine must be kept going at its best, no matter what un- happiness or misfortune may threaten. A plentiful supply of the best food we can ob- tain, and an abundant supply of pure cold air, these are the requisites never to be omit- ted. An unstinted use of cold water and quiet sleep materially help us all to make the most of our opportunity for success and glad- ness. As much time as possible in the great fresh out-of-doors, where our natures are at home, is medicine for many ills and brings 1 20 unguessed reinforcements of vitality to the thwarted spirit. Perplexities will often van- ish like a pallid sickness in open sunshine. And, be it soberly said, tired nerves may be wonderfully refreshed by resting or sleeping on the naked ground, where all their jangling rhythms may be reattuned and their discord- ant pain absorbed by the great unseen mag- netic currents of the earth. Our strength is sapped, the very sources of our vitality are cut off by floors and pavements, just as we can be insulated from electricity by a rubber shoe. We grow artificial and distraught in exile from our native resting-place. Something of the strong, instinctive, and normal life of the creatures of the field is needed in the finest civilization, — their natural honesty, their unperverted instinct, their lawful per- sistence and unembarrassed repose. We may well retain, too, all that we can of the animal habit of orderly motion, — that unconscious adherence to a natural individual rhythm in all movements which the wild things always 121 exhibit and which no domestication can spoil. To this end the cultivation of normal motion is important, the most rhythmical exercise is best. And for this reason all exercise is bene- ficial only when it is adapted to the personal rhythm, as well as to the other physical and personal needs of the individual. Though personal magnetism is thus pal- pably physical in its basis, none the less is it appreciably spiritual and rational in its com- position and function, helping our personali- ties to find their proper scope and wield their proper influence in life. While its power is rooted in strength and health, these alone are far from sufficient to secure and perfect it. For no matter what amount of mere animal strength a man may possess, if he have not discriminating sensibility and courageous freedom as well, his personal value will be only rudimentary. Indeed if the equation of his personal make-up is lacking in any one of these necessary factors, the efficiency of his personal power cannot but be impaired. A 122 personality, like a violin string, must have free play for its vibrations and accuracy of attunement along with its strength and tenac- ity; otherwise it can give forth only a crip- pled result. The freedom of spirit we need for the maintenance of a finely strung per- sonal vibrancy is a matter of daring, of hav- ing the courage not only of our convictions but of our instincts and aspirations, of being undeterred by the puny fear of consequences or by the blind old tyranny of tradition. It is not enough to do our own thinking; we must do our own feeling and acting also. That factor in personal magnetism which we may call sensibility, delicacy, or intelli- gence of appreciation, controls the most ex- quisite quality of social intercourse and hu- man sympathy, and gives personality the power of quick perception^ comprehension and judgment. It saves personal force from wasting itself on futile ends and in ill-advised endeavour. However freely and resonantly a string may vibrate, it will not enhance any 123 harmony unless it be struck in time and tune. To be off the key is as fatal in personal rela- tions as in music. Much that is vigorous and daring in personality is undone for want of delicacy, discrimination, understanding. It is the finest ingredient of personal being, this delicate and subtle wisdom; and while, like other endowments, it may be a gift at birth, it is also product of culture and experience. Children having plenty of physical health and often a splendid spiritual freedom, can- not have the commensurate sensitiveness of in- sight which experience gives. Their merci- less cruelty, their thoughtlessness, their lack of understanding are the result of ignorance and inexperience. But the artist in life, who has kept his body with all its forces unperverted, who has held his courage high through all vicissitudes of experience, will also have attained a vibrant sympathy with suffering and sorrow and the desolation of defeat. For the capable worker, lighted by imagination, experience develops 124 a liberal sympathy^ a tolerant and kindly judgment, and a most sensitive understanding of the lights and shades of life. Time, that adds value to the violin, may also be made to bring skill to the fingers of the player. Else were we for ever at fault, and experience might leave us where it found us. As a practical summary it may be said that personal magnetism may best be fostered and retained by utilizing the natural laws of per- sonal rhythm, instinctive preference, and true adaptation; by never doing anything awk- wardly nor in disordered haste; by never violating a legitimate normal prompting or intuitive choice, merely because of the infat- uation of fashion or the intimidation of cus- tom; by never acting without kind consid- eration and liberal reason. So may our vi- brancy become a legitimate power for better- ment as well as a personal attainment and sajt- isfaction. Those who vibrate strongly, freely, and considerately, — who avoid alike the errors 125 of weakness and of violence, of wilfulness and of timidity, of credulity and of intoler- ance, — ^ and hold the fleeting gift of life in a capable balance of powers, are the masters of destiny and the benefactors of their fel- lows. They learn from practice that the test of success for any personality is that it shall yield the delectable harmony of this triple chord, sounding the notes of primordial en- ergy, humane sympathy, and ideal wisdom. Experience teaches them that personal vi- brancy is the silver string of life upon which the fairy music of happiness is made. 126 In walking or running or dancing, the human body is seen at its best. Its static beauty of form then takes on another loveli- ness, — the charm of motion, the bewitching rhythms of grace. If we are captivated by its ravishing lines and tints in repose, we are more deeply enslaved when those lines and hues begin to move and melt through yield- ing curves from poise to poise. We then per- ceive the purport and power, the adaptabil- ity, ease and success, of its wonderful mechan- ism. If we were in love with the promise of its beauty, we are (though we may not know it) more completely in love with its perfec- tion of graceful and facile achievement. 127 More than that, there is a sorcery in timed and modulated motion, which is inherent in all rhythms, and which lures us to respond, as surely as the charmer's pipe beguiles the serpent from his coils. The cultivation of grace is too fine to be achieved through arti- fice or affectation, and yet it may be acquired by lawful means; and while it is not so much coveted as beauty is, because it is less realized, it is no less potent and delightful, and is more readily attainable. A properly comprehen- sive physical education will develop grace as certainly as vigour and strength. Indeed, grace must be the ultimate test of all culture of the body. With all our attention to outdoor sports, our college athletics, our innumerable schools of physical training, we cannot be said to be indifferent to bodily well-being, and another word on the subject may even seem superflu- ous. It is not the quantity of physical train- ing, however, which is open to criticism, so much as its quality. While the amount of 128 3Ri&J>tiimj5 of