We taught and trained Devlin as we would train a dog, and he learned readily. He first learned to pull a rope with us, and soon understood the meaning of "belay." He learned to sweep and scrub decks, and, after a few trips aloft with us, learned to furl, to reef, and to "loose" a sail. He remembered every word spoken to him, and would repeat them at the right time; but we had rounded the Cape before he could converse, and then in short, jerky sentences; yet he learned to speak much more rapidly than could a child. We called him Devlin until we understood that he could not remember it as his name; then we addressed him as "Say." Little by little he learned the ropes, the compass, and the use of marlinespikes and deck gear, and, though still stupid, was in a fair way to become an able seaman again, but for an unfortunate speech of one of our number--I think it was Swansen--who, at our forecastle supper, jokingly called him a dog. Devlin immediately became a dog, snapping, snarling, barking, and growling, with all his tutelage gone from him. We mobbed Swansen, but it did not help the case; Devlin remained an imbecile until we reached port, where he went to a hospital. So, with our spirits clouded, we were glad to quit that good ship at Sydney, and separate, each going his own way. Mine led to other voyages until, as I have said, I quit the sea to work on shore; then, on through my struggles for a livelihood to the time of my mental breakdown; and I even remembered and lived the experience of the night at the theater and my visit to the hypnotist. And then I awoke, to find him standing over me, making passes upward and over my head. "Well," he said, as I glanced confusedly around the room, "how do you feel?" "Feel?" I answered. "Why, professor, I've dreamed of my whole life--only, it is fading away. Let me think. The ship--Swansen--the squall--no, it is going. I cannot remember. I cannot." "Go home," he said kindly, "and sleep all you can. Each morning will bring back fresh recollections, and in time your memory will be thoroughly restored." He was right. Next morning I recalled the incidents of my boyhood and my early seafaring experience, culminating in my signing able seaman in the _Chariot_. And as I viewed my face in the glass, I marveled at the change; I knew it as my face, and remembered it, but now remembered the face of my youth, which gave no promise of the worn and wasted features in the glass. Yet the following morning brought back more recollections of that voyage, and the next and the next still more, until at the end of a week I could review my past, perhaps with a keener memory than that of the ordinary man who has tired his brain and memory without the relief that had come to me. I called down blessings upon the head of that hypnotist, and in my gladness of heart thought of the poor devil in Bellevue Hospital, and went to see him.