I have a friend who is a well-known ecclesiastic glass-painter, and
who, as a relaxation, delights in gardening; consequently he lives
just out of London, so as to be enabled to carry out his hobby for
horticultural pursuits. To work in his London studio during four days
of the week, and to reserve Saturday, Sunday, and Monday for his
country life is his plan, by adopting which he is neither a countryman
nor a town-dweller, but something of both: he is pleased to call
himself an “Urberusticite.”
Recently, when near the metropolis, I trundled my van down the North
Road to his snug little villa, and spent a few days with him.
I promised if he would help me in _my_ hobby, by one evening giving
himself up to me as a victim, that I would help him during the day with
his garden. And I _did_ help him, till every bone in my body ached
with the unusual exertion of digging, and wheeling gravel in a great
barrow. He gave me the hardest work he could possibly find, observing,
as he saw the perspiration streaming down my face, that “you will feel
quite another man to-morrow.” And so I did, for I was so stiff next
morning that I could scarcely raise my hands to my head, to comb my
tawny locks. After the toil of the day I was quite prepared for dinner
that evening, but when the meal had been eaten with keen appetite--for
gardening certainly does create havoc among the dishes--I prepared for
my revenge.
My friend was quite prepared to give me an opportunity of hypnotizing
him, _if I could_; but he laughed at the absurdity of the idea,
believing it, as he said, all moonshine, and asserting that he could,
by exerting his will against mine, prevent my passes having any power
over him.
I commenced operations upon him, and to my very great surprise signally
failed. All I could do was to produce a drowsy feeling in him, and
at length I gave it up for the evening, conjecturing that the manual
labour which I had undergone during the day had tired and weakened my
hypnotic powers. My friend was delighted at the failure, and laughed
very heartily at my discomfiture; declaring that the hypnotic power
I exercised was only efficacious in the case of young people and old
women, who had no power of brain to withstand my passes, but simply
gave themselves up to my wishes or will, like so many automata.
He was good enough, however, to give me another trial next evening, and
that I might not be tired he sent me to the river, at a short distance
from the house, to fish and--get back my “vanished will.” I was very
much piqued, but dare not show it, for my friend is a very demon at
sarcasm; so with rod and line I wandered off, and spent a quiet day,
reserving all my brain energies for the coming mental fray in the
evening.
In the evening, dinner being over, my friend signified his readiness to
commence, by making idiotic passes at the portraits hanging round the
room, and appeared to imagine that to hypnotize him was a thing not to
be accomplished, at least not by _my_ humble powers. So certain was he
that I should fail, that he was willing to do anything but give up his
will to me. He made fun of my idea of obtaining a story from him, even
if I _could_ put him to “bye-bye,” as he expressed it; and if I did
make him ass enough to divulge anything like a story, I should tell it
when or where I liked, or even publish it for the delectation of the
public; but, as he assured me he did not know a story, he could not see
how I was going to make him tell one.
All being ready, we commenced our little _séance_, and in two minutes
my victim was in a trance state. In spite of his bumptiousness and
disbelief in my powers, and in hypnotism generally, he related the
following very curious experience in his own career.