yed for pure mischief in
the initiation ceremonies of some lodge or college fraternity, with the
horrifying result that death promptly resulted.

The stories seem to be little more than pure creatures of the same force
whose power they are supposed to illustrate, amusing and dramatic
fairy-tales, handed down from generation to generation from Heaven knows
what antiquity. Death under such circumstances as these _may_ have
occurred, but the proofs are totally lacking. One of our leading
neurologists, who had extensively experimented in hypnotism and
suggestion, declared a short time ago: "I don't believe that death was
ever caused solely by the imagination."

Now as to the scope of this remedy, the extent of the field in which it
can reasonably be expected to prove useful. This discussion is, of
course, from a purely physical point of view. But it is, I think, now
generally admitted, even by most believers in mental healing, that it is
only, at best, in rarest instances that mental influence can be relied
upon to cure organic disease, namely, disease attended by actual
destruction of tissue or loss of organs, limbs, or other portions of the
body. This limits its field of probable usefulness to the so-called
"functional diseases," in which--to put it crudely--the body-machine is
in apparently perfect or nearly perfect condition, but will not work;
and particularly that group of functional diseases which is believed to
be due largely to the influence of the imagination.

Nowhere can the curious exaggeration and over-estimation of the real
state of affairs in this field be better illustrated than in the popular
impression as to the frequency in actual practice of "imaginary"
diseases. Take the incidental testimony of literature, for instance,
which is supposed to hold the mirror up to nature, to be a transcript of
life. The pages of the novel are full, the scenes of the drama are
crowded with imaginary invalids. Not merely are they one of the most
valuable stock properties for the humorist, but whole stories and
comedies have been devoted to their exploitation, like Moliere's classic
"Le Malade Imaginaire," and "Le Medecin Malgre Lui." Generation after
generation has shaken its sides until they ached over these pompous old
hypochondriacs and fussy old dowagers, whose one amusement in life is to
enjoy ill health and discuss their symptoms. They are as indispensable
members of the _dramatis personae_ of the stock company of