ep time_, and tell the
hour, as well as exhibit the ingenuity of the maker--which thing is
very much lost sight of, even by many very great thinkers, misled by
the vanity of showing how much they know.

Yes, Foresight or Forethought projects itself in all things, and it is
a serious consideration, or one of such immense value, that when
really understood, and above all subjected to some practice--such as I
have described, and which, as far as I can see, is _necessary_--one
can bring it to bear _intelligently_ on all the actions of life, that
is to say, to _much_ greater advantage than when we use it ignorantly,
just as a genius endowed with strength can do far more with it than an
ignoramus. For there is nothing requiring Thought in which it cannot
aid us. I have alluded to Poetry. Now this does not mean that a man
can become a SHAKESPEARE or SHELLEY by means of all the forethought
and suggestion in the world, but they will, if well developed and
directed, draw out from the mystic depths of mind such talent as he
_has_--doubtless in some or all cases more than he has ever shown.

No one can say what is hidden in every memory; it is like the sounding
ocean with its buried cities, and treasures and wondrous relics of the
olden time. This much we may assume to know, that every image or idea
or impression whichever reached us through any of our senses entered a
cell when it was ready for it, where it sleeps or wakes, most images
being in the former condition. In fact, every brain is like a
monastery of the Middle Ages, or a beehive. But it is built on a
gigantic scale, for it is thought that no man, however learned or
experienced he might be, ever contrived during all his life to so much
as even half fill the cells of his memory. And if any reader should be
apprehensive lest it come to pass with him in this age of unlimited
supply of cheap knowledge that he will fill all his cells let him
console himself with the reflection that it is supposed that Nature,
in such a case, will have a further supply of new cells ready, she
never, as yet, having failed in such rough hospitality, though it
often leaves much to be desired!

Yes, they are all there--every image of the past, every face which
ever smiled on us--the hopes and fears of bygone years--the rustling
of grass and flowers and the roar of the sea--the sound of trumpets in
processions grand--the voices of the great and good among mankind--or
what you will. Every line eve