Guide A Devotee: An Episode in the Life of a Butterfly

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Annie Holdsworth's heroines fare less well. White tasting moments of both contentment and success, neither Priscilla from The Years nor Joanna from Joanna Traill survive to profit fully from their professional or personal achievements. Yet Holdsworth's works are important additions to New Woman novels currently in print, for as SueAnn Schatz's excellent introduction explains, her work sheds new light on the New Woman's complicated relationship to class.

In The Years , the middle class heroine is shocked by the London poor when she moves into a lower class neighbourhood with her new husband; in Joanna Traill , the eponymous heroine--a meek spinster--becomes a strong, determined woman when she adopts a former prostitute as her ward. Both novels portray philanthropy and personal interaction with the working poor as a fulfilling and useful experience for the female heroine.

Addressing Holdsworth's complex class politics, Schatz convincingly argues that in The Years she "pleads justice for lower-class women, but her solution to the working-class woman's problems is to impose middle-class values on her" vol. Besides portraying cross-class relationships, however problematic, the novel also sympathetically examines the plight of the woman writer and could be usefully compared to novels such as Ella Hepworth Dixon's The Story of a Modern Woman and Sarah Grand's The Beth Book Though Joanna Traill was published serially two years before The Years , it follows the later novel--for some unexplained reason--in this volume.

Because the heroine of Joanna adopts and successfully transforms a young prostitute, Schatz explains, the Manchester Guardian called this story a "success de scandale" 5: xviii. Indeed, the story is remarkable not only because the initially-timid spinster assumes that a prostitute could pass as a middle-class young woman, but also because the reformed prostitute is allowed to marry. Though the novel evolves into something of a romance plot, it is ultimately a story about the relationship between these two unlikely female friends.

Since the heroine herself never marries but achieves a strong bond with a male friend, Schatz suggestively infers that in the late nineteenth century world of this story, the institution of marriage was "too restrictive for such a constant, faithful and boundless love" 5: xix. As Vybarr Cregan-Reid explains in his helpful introduction, the title of this novel states its premise: it is nobody's fault that the heroine, Bridget, is born to lower class parents but suited, in terms of her education, demeanour, and appearance, for life in the middle to upper classes. Syrett herself disliked the "readiness to blame 'society'" that she found in the work of young early-twentieth century writers.

As Cregan-Reid notes, the novel "internalize[s] women's inequalities and transform[s] them into personal ones" 6: x. Tempering the novel's political radicalism, he explains, this focus on the personal would accommodate the tastes of a late-Victorian middlebrow reader as well as the needs of a staunch New Woman. But given its harsh detailing of Bridget's life as a working woman and her choice between duty and desire, it is clearly a New Woman novel. While Syrett's memoir stretches the specified timeline of the series , Cregan-Reid pairs it with Nobody's Fault because, he argues, both are narratives of women writers, and the memoir illuminates Syrett's interests and politics.

Syrett, however, seems to write less about her politics than about the famous writers, actors, and artists that populated her life, largely spent in London. I smilingly took a large white scentless flower from a near-by vase. A jasmine fragrance instantly shot from the petals.

I thanked the wonder-worker and seated myself by one of his students. He informed me that Gandha Baba, whose proper name was Vishudhananda, had learned many astonishing yoga secrets from a master in Tibet. The Tibetan yogi, I was assured, had attained the age of over a thousand years. He is marvelous! Many members of the Calcutta intelligentsia are among his followers. I inwardly resolved not to add myself to their number.

With polite thanks to Gandha Baba, I departed. Sauntering home, I reflected on the three varied encounters the day had brought forth. A ludicrous bafflement passed over her face as she repeatedly sniffed the odor of jasmine from a type of flower she well knew to be scentless.

Her reactions disarmed my suspicion that Gandha Baba had induced an auto-suggestive state whereby I alone could detect the fragrances. Because the yogi was reputed to have the power of extracting objects out of thin air, I laughingly requested him to materialize some out-of-season tangerines. Each of the bread-envelopes proved to contain a peeled tangerine. I bit into my own with some trepidation, but found it delicious. Years later I understood by inner realization how Gandha Baba accomplished his materializations. The method, alas!

The different sensory stimuli to which man reacts—tactual, visual, gustatory, auditory, and olfactory—are produced by vibratory variations in electrons and protons. Gandha Baba, tuning himself with the cosmic force by certain yogic practices, was able to guide the lifetrons to rearrange their vibratory structure and objectivize the desired result. His perfume, fruit and other miracles were actual materializations of mundane vibrations, and not inner sensations hypnotically produced.

Having little purpose beyond entertainment, they are digressions from a serious search for God. Hypnotism has been used by physicians in minor operations as a sort of psychical chloroform for persons who might be endangered by an anesthetic. But a hypnotic state is harmful to those often subjected to it; a negative psychological effect ensues which in time deranges the brain cells. Its temporary phenomena have nothing in common with the miracles performed by men of divine realization.

Awake in God, true saints effect changes in this dream-world by means of a will harmoniously attuned to the Creative Cosmic Dreamer. Ostentatious display of unusual powers are decried by masters. The Persian mystic, Abu Said, once laughed at certain fakirs who were proud of their miraculous powers over water, air, and space.

A true man is he who dwells in righteousness among his fellow men, who buys and sells, yet is never for a single instant forgetful of God! Neither the impartial sage at Kalighat Temple nor the Tibetan-trained yogi had satisfied my yearning for a guru. When I finally met my master, he taught me by sublimity of example alone the measure of a true man.

Kali represents the eternal principle in nature. She is traditionally pictured as a four-armed woman, standing on the form of the God Shiva or the Infinite, because nature or the phenomenal world is rooted in the Noumenon. The four arms symbolize cardinal attributes, two beneficent, two destructive, indicating the essential duality of matter or creation. Laymen scarcely realize the vast strides of twentieth-century science. Transmutation of metals and other alchemical dreams are seeing fulfillment every day in centers of scientific research over the world.

The eminent French chemist, M. This noted French scientist has produced liquid air by an expansion method in which he has been able to separate the various gases of the air, and has discovered various means of mechanical utilization of differences of temperature in sea water. Let us visit him tomorrow. This welcome suggestion came from Chandi, one of my high school friends. I was eager to meet the saint who, in his premonastic life, had caught and fought tigers with his naked hands. A boyish enthusiasm over such remarkable feats was strong within me.

The next day dawned wintry cold, but Chandi and I sallied forth gaily. After much vain hunting in Bhowanipur, outside Calcutta, we arrived at the right house. The door held two iron rings, which I sounded piercingly. Notwithstanding the clamor, a servant approached with leisurely gait. Feeling the silent rebuke, my companion and I were thankful to be invited into the parlor. Our long wait there caused uncomfortable misgivings. This psychological ruse is freely employed in the West by doctors and dentists!

Finally summoned by the servant, Chandi and I entered a sleeping apartment. The sight of his tremendous body affected us strangely. With bulging eyes, we stood speechless. We had never before seen such a chest or such football-like biceps. A hint of dovelike and tigerlike qualities shone in his dark eyes. He was unclothed, save for a tiger skin about his muscular waist.

Finding our voices, my friend and I greeted the monk, expressing our admiration for his prowess in the extraordinary feline arena. I could do it today if necessary. One cannot expect victory from a baby who imagines a tiger to be a house cat! Powerful hands are my sufficient weapon. He asked us to follow him to the patio, where he struck the edge of a wall. A brick crashed to the floor; the sky peered boldly through the gaping lost tooth of the wall.

I fairly staggered in astonishment; he who can remove mortared bricks from a solid wall with one blow, I thought, must surely be able to displace the teeth of tigers! Those who are bodily but not mentally stalwart may find themselves fainting at mere sight of a wild beast bounding freely in the jungle. The tiger in its natural ferocity and habitat is vastly different from the opium-fed circus animal! It is possible for a man, owning a fairly strong body and an immensely strong determination, to turn the tables on the tiger, and force it to a conviction of pussycat defenselessness.

How often I have done just that! I was quite willing to believe that the titan before me was able to perform the tiger-pussycat metamorphosis. He seemed in a didactic mood; Chandi and I listened respectfully. The body is literally manufactured and sustained by mind. Through pressure of instincts from past lives, strengths or weaknesses percolate gradually into human consciousness.

They express as habits, which in turn ossify into a desirable or an undesirable body. Outward frailty has mental origin; in a vicious circle, the habit-bound body thwarts the mind. If the master allows himself to be commanded by a servant, the latter becomes autocratic; the mind is similarly enslaved by submitting to bodily dictation. My will was mighty, but my body was feeble. An ejaculation of surprise broke from me.

I have every reason to extol the compelling mental vigor which I found to be the real subduer of royal Bengals. No spiritual benefit accrues by knocking beasts unconscious. Rather be victor over the inner prowlers. The Tiger Swami fell into silence.

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Remoteness came into his gaze, summoning visions of bygone years. I discerned his slight mental struggle to decide whether to grant my request. Finally he smiled in acquiescence. I decided not only to fight tigers but to display them in various tricks. My ambition was to force savage beasts to behave like domesticated ones. I began to perform my feats publicly, with gratifying success. I would save you from coming ills, produced by the grinding wheels of cause and effect. Should superstition be allowed to discolor the powerful waters or my activities?

But I believe in the just law of retribution, as taught in the holy scriptures. There is resentment against you in the jungle family; sometime it may act to your cost. You well know what tigers are—beautiful but merciless! Even immediately after an enormous meal of some hapless creature, a tiger is fired with fresh lust at sight of new prey. It may be a joyous gazelle, frisking over the jungle grass. Capturing it and biting an opening in the soft throat, the malevolent beast tastes only a little of the mutely crying blood, and goes its wanton way.

Who knows? I am headmaster in a forest finishing school, to teach them gentle manners! How could my good actions bring ill upon me? I beg you not to impose any command that I change my way of life. Chandi and I were all attention, understanding the past dilemma.

Autobiography of a Yogi

He followed it with a disclosure which he uttered gravely. He approached me yesterday as I sat on the veranda in my daily meditation. Let him cease his savage activities. Otherwise, his next tiger-encounter shall result in his severe wounds, followed by six months of deathly sickness. He shall then forsake his former ways and become a monk. I considered that Father had been the credulous victim of a deluded fanatic. The Tiger Swami made this confession with an impatient gesture, as though at some stupidity.

Grimly silent for a long time, he seemed oblivious of our presence. When he took up the dangling thread of his narrative, it was suddenly, with subdued voice. The picturesque territory was new to me, and I expected a restful change. As usual everywhere, a curious crowd followed me on the streets. I would catch bits of whispered comment:. With what speed do the even-later speech-bulletins of the women circulate from house to house!

Life Cycle of a Butterfly - #aumsum

Within a few hours, the whole city was in a state of excitement over my presence. They stopped in front of my dwelling place. In came a number of tall, turbaned policemen. He is pleased to invite you to his palace tomorrow morning. For some obscure reason I felt sharp regret at this interruption in my quiet trip.

But the suppliant manner of the policemen moved me; I agreed to go. A servant held an ornate umbrella to protect me from the scorching sunlight. I enjoyed the pleasant ride through the city and its woodland outskirts. The royal scion himself was at the palace door to welcome me. He proffered his own gold-brocaded seat, smilingly placing himself in a chair of simpler design. Is it a fact? You are a Calcutta Bengali, nurtured on the white rice of city folk. Be frank, please; have you not been fighting only spineless, opium-fed animals?

Several thousand rupees and many other gifts shall also be bestowed. If you refuse to meet him in combat, I shall blazon your name throughout the state as an impostor! I shot an angry acceptance. Half risen from the chair in his excitement, the prince sank back with a sadistic smile. I was reminded of the Roman emperors who delighted in setting Christians in bestial arenas. I regret that I cannot give you permission to view the tiger in advance. Through my servant I learned of fantastic tales.

Many simple villagers believed that an evil spirit, cursed by the gods, had reincarnated as a tiger which took various demoniac forms at night, but remained a striped animal during the day. This demon-tiger was supposed to be the one sent to humble me. He was to be the instrument to punish me—the audacious biped, so insulting to the entire tiger species!

A furless, fangless man daring to challenge a claw-armed, sturdy-limbed tiger! The concentrated venom of all humiliated tigers—the villagers declared—had gathered momentum sufficient to operate hidden laws and bring about the fall of the proud tiger tamer. He had supervised the erection of a storm-proof pavilion, designed to accommodate thousands. Its center held Raja Begum in an enormous iron cage, surrounded by an outer safety room.

The captive emitted a ceaseless series of blood-curdling roars. He was fed sparingly, to kindle a wrathful appetite. Perhaps the prince expected me to be the meal of reward! The day of battle saw hundreds turned away for lack of seats.

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Many men broke through the tent openings, or crowded any space below the galleries. Scantily clad around the waist, I was otherwise unprotected by clothing. I opened the bolt on the door of the safety room and calmly locked it behind me. The tiger sensed blood. Leaping with a thunderous crash on his bars, he sent forth a fearsome welcome.

The audience was hushed with pitiful fear; I seemed a meek lamb before the raging beast. My right hand was desperately torn. Human blood, the greatest treat a tiger can know, fell in appalling streams. The prophecy of the saint seemed about to be fulfilled. Banishing the sight of my gory fingers by thrusting them beneath my waist cloth, I swung my left arm in a bone-cracking blow. The beast reeled back, swirled around the rear of the cage, and sprang forward convulsively. My famous fistic punishment rained on his head.

My inadequate defense of only one hand left me vulnerable before claws and fangs. But I dealt out dazing retribution. Mutually ensanguined, we struggled as to the death. The cage was pandemonium, as blood splashed in all directions, and blasts of pain and lethal lust came from the bestial throat. I mustered all my will force, bellowed fiercely, and landed a final concussive blow. The tiger collapsed and lay quietly. His royal pride was further humbled: with my lacerated hands, I audaciously forced open his jaws.

For a dramatic moment, I held my head within the yawning deathtrap. I looked around for a chain. Pulling one from a pile on the floor, I bound the tiger by his neck to the cage bars. In triumph I moved toward the door. With an incredible lunge, he snapped the chain and leaped on my back. My shoulder fast in his jaws, I fell violently. But in a trice I had him pinned beneath me.

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Under merciless blows, the treacherous animal sank into semiconsciousness. This time I secured him more carefully. Slowly I left the cage. Disastrously mauled, I had yet fulfilled the three conditions of the fight—stunning the tiger, binding him with a chain, and leaving him without requiring assistance for myself. In addition, I had so drastically injured and frightened the aggressive beast that he had been content to overlook the opportune prize of my head in his mouth!

The whole city entered a holiday period. Endless discussions were heard on all sides about my victory over one of the largest and most savage tigers ever seen.


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Raja Begum was presented to me, as promised, but I felt no elation. A spiritual change had entered my heart. It seemed that with my final exit from the cage I had also closed the door on my worldly ambitions. For six months I lay near death from blood poisoning. As soon as I was well enough to leave Cooch Behar, I returned to my native town.

You are used to an audience: let it be a galaxy of angels, entertained by your thrilling mastery of yoga! He opened my soul-doors, rusty and resistant with long disuse. Hand in hand, we soon set out for my training in the Himalayas. I felt amply repaid for the long probationary wait in the cold parlor! Sohong was his monastic name. I gave him an enthusiastic smile. Upendra nodded, a little crestfallen not to be a news-bearer. My inquisitiveness about saints was well-known among my friends; they delighted in setting me on a fresh track. Then he extinguished the thundering breath and remained motionless in a high state of superconsciousness.

He has lived indoors for the past twenty years. He slightly relaxes his self-imposed rule at the times of our holy festivals, when he goes as far as his front sidewalk! The beggars gather there, because Saint Bhaduri is known for his tender heart. Then it will levitate or hop about like a leaping frog. Do you attend his evening meetings? I am vastly entertained by the wit in his wisdom. Occasionally my prolonged laughter mars the solemnity of his gatherings.

The saint is not displeased, but his disciples look daggers! The yogi was inaccessible to the general public. Worldly people do not like the candor which shatters their delusions. Saints are not only rare but disconcerting. Even in scripture, they are often found embarrassing! I followed Bhaduri Mahasaya to his austere quarters on the top floor, from which he seldom stirred. The contemporaries of a sage are not alone those of the narrow present.

The sage locked his vibrant body in the lotus posture. In his seventies, he displayed no unpleasing signs of age or sedentary life. Stalwart and straight, he was ideal in every respect. His face was that of a rishi, as described in the ancient texts. Noble-headed, abundantly bearded, he always sat firmly upright, his quiet eyes fixed on Omnipresence.

He offered me some mangoes. His own face was always serious, yet touched with an ecstatic smile. His large, lotus eyes held a hidden divine laughter. They are discovering India anew, with a better sense of direction than Columbus! I am glad to help them. The knowledge of yoga is free to all who will receive, like the ungarnishable daylight. Alike in soul though diverse in outer experience, neither West nor East will flourish if some form of disciplinary yoga be not practiced.

The saint held me with his tranquil eyes. I did not realize that his speech was a veiled prophetic guidance. They and their students will be living volumes, proof against the natural disintegrations of time and the unnatural interpretations of the critics. I remained alone with the yogi until his disciples arrived in the evening.

Bhaduri Mahasaya entered one of his inimitable discourses. Like a peaceful flood, he swept away the mental debris of his listeners, floating them Godward. His striking parables were expressed in a flawless Bengali. This evening Bhaduri expounded various philosophical points connected with the life of Mirabai, a medieval Rajputani princess who abandoned her court life to seek the company of sadhus.

One great sannyasi refused to receive her because she was a woman; her reply brought him humbly to her feet. Mirabai composed many ecstatic songs which are still treasured in India; I translate one of them here:. Grateful friends are only the Lord in disguise, looking after His own. How then have I denied myself anything? I know the joy of sharing the treasure. Is that a sacrifice? The shortsighted worldly folk are verily the real renunciates! They relinquish an unparalleled divine possession for a poor handful of earthly toys!

I chuckled over this paradoxical view of renunciation—one which puts the cap of Croesus on any saintly beggar, whilst transforming all proud millionaires into unconscious martyrs. Their bitter thoughts are like scars on their foreheads. The One who gave us air and milk from our first breath knows how to provide day by day for His devotees.

With silent zeal he aided me to attain anubhava. Although it throws me ahead of my story by a number of years, I will recount here the last words given to me by Bhaduri Mahasaya. Shortly before I embarked for the West, I sought him out and humbly knelt for his farewell blessing:. Take the dignity of hoary India for your shield.

Victory is written on your brow; the noble distant people will well receive you. Methods of controlling life-force through regulation of breath. French professors were the first in the West to be willing to scientifically investigate the possibilities of the superconscious mind. The existence of a superconscious mind has long been recognized philosophically, being in reality the Oversoul spoken of by Emerson, but only recently has it been recognized scientifically.

Theresa of Avila and other Christian saints were often observed in a state of levitation. Math means hermitage or ashram. Overhearing this provocative remark, I walked closer to a sidewalk group of professors engaged in scientific discussion. If my motive in joining them was racial pride, I regret it. I cannot deny my keen interest in evidence that India can play a leading part in physics, and not metaphysics alone. The professor obligingly explained. But the Indian scientist did not exploit his inventions commercially. He soon turned his attention from the inorganic to the organic world.

His revolutionary discoveries as a plant physiologist are outpacing even his radical achievements as a physicist. I politely thanked my mentor. I paid a visit the next day to the sage at his home, which was close to mine on Gurpar Road. I had long admired him from a respectful distance. The grave and retiring botanist greeted me graciously.

He was a handsome, robust man in his fifties, with thick hair, broad forehead, and the abstracted eyes of a dreamer. The precision in his tones revealed the lifelong scientific habit. Their members exhibited intense interest in delicate instruments of my invention which demonstrate the indivisible unity of all life.

The microscope enlarges only a few thousand times; yet it brought vital impetus to biological science. The crescograph opens incalculable vistas. How admirable is the Western method of submitting all theory to scrupulous experimental verification! That empirical procedure has gone hand in hand with the gift for introspection which is my Eastern heritage. Together they have enabled me to sunder the silences of natural realms long uncommunicative. Love, hate, joy, fear, pleasure, pain, excitability, stupor, and countless appropriate responses to stimuli are as universal in plants as in animals.

A saint I once knew would never pluck flowers. Shall I cruelly affront its dignity by my rude divestment? Come someday to my laboratory and see the unequivocable testimony of the crescograph. Gratefully I accepted the invitation, and took my departure. I heard later that the botanist had left Presidency College, and was planning a research center in Calcutta. When the Bose Institute was opened, I attended the dedicatory services. Enthusiastic hundreds strolled over the premises. I was charmed with the artistry and spiritual symbolism of the new home of science.

Its front gate, I noted, was a centuried relic from a distant shrine. The garden held a small temple consecrated to the Noumenon beyond phenomena. Thought of the divine incorporeity was suggested by absence of any altar-image. To my amazement, I found boundary lines vanishing, and points of contact emerging, between the realms of the living and the non-living.

Inorganic matter was perceived as anything but inert; it was athrill under the action of multitudinous forces. They all exhibited essentially the same phenomena of fatigue and depression, with possibilities of recovery and of exaltation, as well as the permanent irresponsiveness associated with death. Filled with awe at this stupendous generalization, it was with great hope that I announced my results before the Royal Society—results demonstrated by experiments. But the physiologists present advised me to confine myself to physical investigations, in which my success had been assured, rather than encroach on their preserves.

I had unwittingly strayed into the domain of an unfamiliar caste system and so offended its etiquette. It is often forgotten that He who surrounded us with this ever-evolving mystery of creation has also implanted in us the desire to question and understand. Through many years of miscomprehension, I came to know that the life of a devotee of science is inevitably filled with unending struggle. It is for him to cast his life as an ardent offering—regarding gain and loss, success and failure, as one.

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By a continuous living tradition, and a vital power of rejuvenescence, this land has readjusted itself through unnumbered transformations. Indians have always arisen who, discarding the immediate and absorbing prize of the hour, have sought for the realization of the highest ideals in life—not through passive renunciation, but through active struggle.

The weakling who has refused the conflict, acquiring nothing, has had nothing to renounce. He alone who has striven and won can enrich the world by bestowing the fruits of his victorious experience. Problems hitherto regarded as insoluble have now been brought within the sphere of experimental investigation. Hence the long battery of super-sensitive instruments and apparatus of my design, which stand before you today in their cases in the entrance hall.

They tell you of the protracted efforts to get behind the deceptive seeming into the reality that remains unseen, of the continuous toil and persistence and resourcefulness called forth to overcome human limitations. All creative scientists know that the true laboratory is the mind, where behind illusions they uncover the laws of truth. They will announce new discoveries, demonstrated for the first time in these halls.

Through regular publication of the work of the Institute, these Indian contributions will reach the whole world. They will become public property. No patents will ever be taken. The spirit of our national culture demands that we should forever be free from the desecration of utilizing knowledge only for personal gain. In this I am attempting to carry on the traditions of my country. So far back as twenty-five centuries, India welcomed to its ancient universities, at Nalanda and Taxila, scholars from all parts of the world. This restraint confers the power to hold the mind to the pursuit of truth with an infinite patience.

I visited the research center again, soon after the day of opening. The great botanist, mindful of his promise, took me to his quiet laboratory. My gaze was fixed eagerly on the screen which reflected the magnified fern-shadow. Minute life-movements were now clearly perceptible; the plant was growing very slowly before my fascinated eyes.

The scientist touched the tip of the fern with a small metal bar. The developing pantomime came to an abrupt halt, resuming the eloquent rhythms as soon as the rod was withdrawn. The effect of the chloroform discontinued all growth; the antidote was revivifying. My companion here in the role of villain thrust a sharp instrument through a part of the fern; pain was indicated by spasmodic flutters.

When he passed a razor partially through the stem, the shadow was violently agitated, then stilled itself with the final punctuation of death. Usually, such monarchs of the forest die very quickly after being moved. The ascent of sap is not explicable on the mechanical grounds ordinarily advanced, such as capillary attraction.

The phenomenon has been solved through the crescograph as the activity of living cells. Peristaltic waves issue from a cylindrical tube which extends down a tree and serves as an actual heart! The more deeply we perceive, the more striking becomes the evidence that a uniform plan links every form in manifold nature. The life-force in metals responds adversely or beneficially to stimuli. Ink markings will register the various reactions.

Deeply engrossed, I watched the graph which recorded the characteristic waves of atomic structure. When the professor applied chloroform to the tin, the vibratory writings stopped. They recommenced as the metal slowly regained its normal state. My companion dispensed a poisonous chemical. Simultaneous with the quivering end of the tin, the needle dramatically wrote on the chart a death-notice. The life-pulse in metals is seriously harmed or even extinguished through the application of electric currents or heavy pressure. Would it not be easily possible to employ some of them in quick laboratory experiments to indicate the influence of various types of fertilizers on plant growth?

Countless uses of Bose instruments will be made by future generations. The scientist seldom knows contemporaneous reward; it is enough to possess the joy of creative service. With expressions of unreserved gratitude to the indefatigable sage, I took my leave. No diminution came with the years. An enormous unsuspected pharmacopoeia of useful drugs was revealed.

The cardiograph is constructed with an unerring accuracy by which a one-hundredth part of a second is indicated on a graph. Resonant records measure infinitesimal pulsations in plant, animal and human structure. The great botanist predicted that use of his cardiograph will lead to vivisection on plants instead of animals. Experimentation on vegetation will contribute to lessening of human suffering.

It has been determined within the past few years that when the nerves transmit messages between the brain and other parts of the body, tiny electrical impulses are being generated. These impulses have been measured by delicate galvanometers and magnified millions of times by modern amplifying apparatus. As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc.

Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant. Passar bra ihop. Diana Tempest Mary Cholmondeley. Red Pottage Mary Cholmondeley.