Your conscience revolts, you say, to be made "a stalking horse; the puppet of a score or more of hidden wire-pullers." What do you know of us since you cannot see us; what do you know of our aims and objects; of us, of whom you cannot judge? . . . you ask. Strange arguments. And do you really suppose you would "know" us, or penetrate any better our "aims and objects" were you to see me personally? I am afraid, that with no past experience of this kind, even your natural powers of observation — however acute — would have to be confessed more than useless. Why, my dear Sir, even our Bahuroopias27 can prove a match any day for the acutest political Resident; and never yet one was detected or even recognized; and their mesmeric powers are not of the highest order. However suspicious you might ever feel about the details of the "brooch" there is one prime feature in the case which your astuteness has already told you can only be accounted for on the theory of a stronger will influencing Mrs. Hume to think after that particular object and no other. And if Mad. B., a sickly woman, must be credited with such powers, are you quite sure that you yourself would not also be made to succumb to a trained will, ten times stronger than hers? I could come to you to-morrow, and installing myself in your house — as invited — get an entire domination over your whole mind and body in 24 hours, and you never aware of it for one moment. I may be a good man, but so I may, for all you know, as easily be a wicked, plotting schemer, hating profoundly your white race which subjugated and daily humiliates mine, and — take revenge on you — one of the best representatives of that race. If the power of exoteric mesmerism alone were employed — a power acquired with equal ease by the bad as by the good man — even then you could hardly escape the snares laid out for you, were the man you invited but a good mesmeriser, for you are a remarkably easy subject — from the physical stand-point. "But my conscience, my intuition!" you may argue. Poor help in such a case as mine. Your intuition would make you feel but that which really was — for the time being; and as to your conscience — you then accept Kant's definition of it? You, perhaps, believe with him that under all circumstances, and even with the full absence of definite religious notions, and occasionally even with no firm notions about right and wrong at all, MAN has ever a sure guide in his own inner moral perceptions or — conscience? The greatest of mistakes! With all the formidable importance of this moral factor, it has one radical defect. Conscience, as it was already remarked may be well compared to that demon whose dictates were so zealously listened to and so promptly obeyed by Socrates. Like that demon, conscience may perchance tell us what we must not do; yet it never guides us as to what we ought to perform, nor gives any definite object to our activity. And — nothing can be more easily lulled to sleep and even completely paralyzed, than this same conscience by a trained will stronger than that of its possessor. Your conscience will NEVER show you whether the mesmeriser is a true adept or a very clever juggler, if he once has passed your threshold and got control of the aura surrounding your person. You speak of abstaining from any but an innocent work like bird-collecting, lest there be danger of creating another Frankenstein's monster. . . . Imagination as well as will — creates. Suspicion is the most powerful provocative agent of imagination. . . . Beware! You have already begotten in you the germ of a future hideous monster, and instead of the realization of your purest and highest ideals you may one day evoke a phantom, which, barring every passage of light will leave you in worse darkness than before, and will harass you to the end of your days.