on the pillow, but it seemed impossible that she should not let it go; and yet there it was, held erect with an evident strain.  Hers is not an unusual case, on the contrary quite a common one.  Can we wonder that the German doctor thought he had discovered a new disease?  And must he not be already surprised and shocked at the precocious growth of the infant monster which he found and named?  “So prone are mortals to their own damnation, it seems as though a devil’s use were gone.”

There is no better way of learning to overcome these perversions in sleep and similar forms of rest, than to study with careful thought the sleep of a wholesome little child.  Having gained the physical freedom necessary to give perfect repose to the body, the quiet, simple dropping of all thought and care can be made more easily possible.  So we can approach again the natural sleep and enjoy consciously the refreshment which through our own babyhood was the unconscious means of giving us daily strength and power for growth.

To take the regular process, first let go of the muscles,—­that will enable us more easily to drop disturbing thoughts; and as we refuse, without resistance, admittance to the thoughts, the freedom from care for the time will follow, and the rest gained will enable us to awaken with new life for cares to come.  This, however, is a habit to be established and thoughtfully cultivated; it cannot be acquired at once.  More will be said in future chapters as to the process of gaining the habit.

IV.

OTHER FORMS OF REST

Do you hold yourself on the chair, or does the chair hold you?  When you are subject to the laws of gravitation give up to them, and feel their strength.  Do not resist these laws, as a thousand and one of us do when instead of yielding gently and letting ourselves sink into a chair, we put our bodies rigidly on and then hold them there as if fearing the chair would break if we gave our full weight to it.  It is not only unnatural and unrestful, but most awkward.  So in a railroad car.  Much, indeed most of the fatigue from a long journey by rail is quite unnecessary, and comes from an unconscious officious effort of trying to carry the train, instead of allowing the train to carry us, or of resisting the motion, instead of relaxing and yielding to it.  There is a pleasant rhythm in the motion of the rapidly moving cars which is often restful rather than fatiguing, if we will only let go and abandon ourselves to it.  This was strikingly proved by a woman who, having just learned the first principles of relaxation, started on a journey overstrained from mental anxiety.  The first effect of the motion was that most disagreeable, faint feeling known as car-sickness.  Understanding the cause, she began at once to drop the unnecessary tension, and the faintness left her.  Then she commenced an interesting novel, and as she became excited by the plot her muscles were contracted in sympathy (so-called), and the faintness returned in full force, so that she bad to drop the book and relax again; and this process was repeated half-a-dozen times before she could place her body so under control of natural laws that it was possible to read without the artificial tension asserting itself and the car-sickness returning in consequence.