if he practice it often
enough he may in the end become as strong as the other.

There is a curious and very illustrative instance of Forethought in
the sense in which I am endeavoring to explain it, given in a novel,
the "Scalp-Hunters," by MAYNE REID, with whom I was well acquainted in
bygone years. Not having the original, I translate from a French
version:

"His aim with the rifle is infallible, and it would seem as if the
ball obeyed his Will. There must be a kind of _directing principle_ in
his mind, independent of strength of nerve and sight. He and one other
are the only men in whom I have observed this singular power."

This means simply the exercise in a second, as it were, of "the tap on
the bell-knob," or the projection of the will into the proposed shot,
and which may be applied to any act. Gymnasts, leapers and the like
are all familiar with it. It springs from resolute confidence and
self-impulse enforced; but it also creates them, and the growth is
very great and rapid when the idea is much kept before the mind. In
this latter lies most of the problem.

In Humanity, mind, and especially Forethought, or reflection, combined
in one effort with will and energy, enters into all acts, though often
unsuspected, for it is a kind of unconscious _reflex_ action or
cerebration. Thus I once discovered to my astonishment in a gymnasium
that the extremely mechanical action of putting up a heavy weight from
the ground to the shoulder and from the shoulder to the full reach of
the arm above the head, became much easier after a little practice,
although my muscles had not grown, nor my strength increased during
the time. And I found that whatever the exertion might be there was
always some trick or knack, however indescribable, by means of which
the man with a brain could surpass a dolt at _anything_, though the
latter were his equal in strength. But it sometimes happens that the
trick can be taught and even improved on. And it is in all cases
Forethought, even in the lifting of weights or the willing on the
morrow to write a poem.

For this truly weird power--since "the weird sisters" in "Macbeth"
means only the sisters who _foresee_--is, in fact, the energy which
projects itself in some manner, which physiology can as yet only very
weakly explain, and even if the explanation _were_ perfect, it would
amount in fact to no more than showing the machinery of a watch, when
the main object for us is that it should _ke