"Christian Science," he says--"mind-cure--faith-cure--oh yes, they 'demonstrate' over things, as the phrase goes. I admit it, at least in some instances. But, at their very best, they all _take time_. The patient must wait to exalt himself into some vision or condition he is told about, or to accept some theological doctrine or other, whether true or false. Suppose a man is knotted up with rheumatism, has a fit, or is insane. I don't wait for him to build up a belief, or to get into harmony with the Highest. I take him just as he is, clap my sensitizers on him, go to work myself, and, if he is not too far gone for aid on earth, I restore an equilibrium of body and brain. If I do this--if I instantly drive away the worst kind of pain--if I retrieve lost consciousness or a disordered mind--I can put faith enough into my patient for a beginning. Later, I will attend to his theology to the extent of my knowledge, if he desires my services as a priest." The operation of Prof. P.'s sensitized appliances, according to his claim for them, is correction and vitalization of both mind and body, when disarranged or "ill," and then concentration of power in accordance with location of disease or pain. "As strange as it may seem," he says, "these little pieces of metal take upon themselves the physical and mental conditions of sickness, which can even be conveyed by them from one person to another, as I have proved by various experiments. But these conditions can be discharged from the plates, or 'grounded,' like electricity, and this, too, without destroying the higher, firmer, normal charge of health and strength. "Do you look incredulous; do you smile with a tinge of pity?" asked Prof. P., as he talked. "Wait a minute. You have heard of Dr. Luys, one of the most distinguished physicians in the world, Charcot's favorite assistant, and now the head of the great Charity Hospital of Paris. Not long ago he had a patient--a young woman who had suffered nervous prostration, and was losing her mind from melancholia. She was affectionate, and greatly attached to her family. But she became aware that her love was strangely turning to aversion, which she could not control. Frightened and ashamed, she went to Dr. Luys. He tried everything he could think of to cure her, but unavailingly. At his wits' end--not knowing _what_ to do--he took up, one day, a large electro-magnet, and, as a pure experiment of impulse, fastened it to her head. He was suddenly called away for three-quarters of an hour. Returning, he found his patient weak, but her head better and clearer than usual. Dismissing her, he put the magnet on his own head, took the chair she had sat in, and remained there as long as she had done. He then went to dine with his wife and children, of whom he is very fond. But, greatly to his surprise, he found that, with no fault of their own, they were not agreeable to him. _He had taken the conditions of his patient._