trivial and obvious, or something insincere, or something unworthy of one’s interlocutor, or something in some way or other not adequate to the occasion?  How can conversation possibly steer itself through such a sea of responsibilities and inhibitions as this?  On the other hand, conversation does flourish and society is refreshing, and neither dull on the one hand nor exhausting from its efforts on the other, wherever people forget their scruples and take the brakes off their hearts, and let their tongues wag as automatically and irresponsibly as they will.

They talk much in pedagogic circles to-day about the duty of the teacher to prepare for every lesson in advance.  To some extent this is useful.  But we Yankees are assuredly not those to whom such a general doctrine should be preached.  We are only too careful as it is.  The advice I should give to most teachers would be in the words of one who is herself an admirable teacher.  Prepare yourself in the subject so well that it shall be always on tap:  then in the class-room trust your spontaneity and fling away all further care.

My advice to students, especially to girl-students, would be somewhat similar.  Just as a bicycle-chain may be too tight, so may one’s carefulness and conscientiousness be so tense as to hinder the running of one’s mind.  Take, for example, periods when there are many successive days of examination pending.  One ounce of good nervous tone in an examination is worth many pounds of anxious study for it in advance.  If you want really to do your best at an examination, fling away the book the day before, say to yourself, “I won’t waste another minute on this miserable thing, and I don’t care an iota whether I succeed or not.”  Say this sincerely and feel it; and go out and play, or go to bed and sleep, and I am sure the results next day will encourage you to use the method permanently.  I have heard this advice given to a student by Miss Call, whose book on muscular relaxation I quoted a moment ago.  In her later book, entitled As a Matter of Course, the gospel of moral relaxation, of dropping things from the mind, and not “caring,” is preached with equal success.  Not only our preachers, but our friends the theosophists and mind-curers of various religious sects are also harping on this string.  And with the doctors, the Delsarteans, the various mind-curing sects, and such writers as Mr. Dresser, Prentice Mulford, Mr. Horace Fletcher, and Mr. Trine to help, and the whole band of schoolteachers and magazine-readers chiming in, it really looks as if a good start might be made in the direction of changing our American mental habit into something more indifferent and strong.