We have obtained a fair conception of the wonderful palace, the human body, its numberless apartments and their luxurious furnishings, but do not comprehend their meaning, except in a remote and unsatisfactory mechanical sense. _We_ are the blind that inhabit it. Most of these apartments will remain meaningless to our understanding until we ascertain what use the sovereign, the soul, which reigns therein, is making of them, not only mechanically, but _spiritually_ as well. For the soul lives in them all, though it is supposed that it lives only in its throne-room of the brain and that it never descends from the throne set up in the same. Just here biologists have blundered, trying to get hold of _psyche_ by pursuing matter bereft of life; or investigating life in other beings instead of that inherent in themselves. The vivisection of all the frogs in the world will not give us the first knowledge of the frog's soul; certainly not of _our_ soul. The knowledge of the anatomical construction of the larynx has brought us no nearer the knowledge of the mystery of the voice than that of the brain has brought us to that of the soul. We must understand the process by which the mechanism of the brain is set in _motion_ before we can begin to understand our mode of thinking. We must comprehend the manner in which a musical instrument is to be used before we can begin to draw music from the same. And so must we understand the spirit which moves the mechanism of the voice (of which so far we have known but a single factor), if we want to understand our mode of using it. Does any one seriously think that by photographing vocal sounds, or passing a mirror down his throat and watching the movements of the vocal cords, he will observe anything that will lead him to an intimate knowledge of nature's subtle process by which vocal sounds are produced? As well look at the face of a clock and see its hands move, and then say you have arrived at a knowledge of the hidden intricate mechanism of the works of the clock. The mechanism of the instrument of the voice is a thousand times more intricate than that of a clock. It lives, it breathes, it moves, it expands and contracts, it rises and falls, it gathers, it gives--now here, now there. Starting from the supposition that life is too subtle, too intangible a thing to have its innermost operations disclosed by the clumsy work of our hands or the dull vision of our eyes, though increased in power a thousandfold, I matched the subtle work of my voice with the subtler of my brain, and thus, undisturbed by any extraneous agency whatever, watched the process by which, first, simple mechanical, then articulated sounds, and finally sounds linked together into speech, are produced. In so doing I traced sounds through the labyrinth of numerous avenues to their original sources--_the organism of all our faculties, instead of being confined to their end organs, being widespread over our entire system_.