individual with reference to his opposition to other persons, or to prevailing tendencies, and in so doing it may be convenient to speak of him as separate from and antithetical to the life about him: but this separateness and opposition are incidental, like the right hand pulling against the left to break a string, and there seems to be no sufficient warrant for extending it into a general or philosophical proposition. There may be some sense in which the question of the freedom of the will is still of interest; but it seems to me that the student of social relations may well pass it by as one of those scholastic controversies which are settled, if at all, not by being decided one way or the other, but by becoming obsolete. Footnote 3: The imitativeness of children is stimulated by the imitativeness of parents. A baby cannot hit upon any sort of a noise, but the admiring family, eager for communication, will imitate it again and again, hoping to get a repetition. They are usually disappointed, but the exercise probably causes the child to notice the likeness of the sounds and so prepares the way for imitation. It is perhaps safe to say that up to the end of the first year the parents are more imitative than the child. Footnote 4: “In like manner any act or expression is a stimulus to the nerve-centres that perceive or understand it. Unless their action is inhibited by the will, or by counter-stimulation, they must discharge themselves in movements that more or less closely copy the originals.”—Giddings, Principles of Sociology, 110. Footnote 5: H. M. Stanley, The Evolutionary Psychology of Feeling, p. 53. Footnote 6: Goethe, in various places, contrasts modern art and literature with those of the Greeks in respect to the fact that the former express individual characteristics, the latter those of a race and an epoch. Thus in a letter to Schiller—No. 631 of the Goethe-Schiller correspondence—he says of Paradise Lost, “In the case of this poem, as with all modern works of art, it is in reality the individual that manifests itself that awakens the interest.” Can there be some illusion mixed with the truth of this idea? Is it not the case that the nearer a thing is to our habit of thought the more clearly we see the individual, and the more vaguely, if at all, the universal? And would not an ancient Greek, perhaps, have seen as much of what was peculiar to each artist, and as little of what was common to all, as we do in a writer of our own time? The principle is much the same as that which makes all Chinamen look pretty much alike to us: we see the type because it is so different from what we are used to, but only one who lives within it can fully perceive the differences among individuals. Footnote 7: See the latter chapters of his Psychology of Suggestion. Footnote 8: See Harper’s Magazine, vol. 79, p. 770. Footnote 9: