of a Review; but on the three former something may be said.

Regarding the first, I believe there does exist a power or force resident in some persons which is called the "gift of healing." I cannot find, however, that this "gift" is confined to the clergy, nor, indeed, that it is necessarily connected with any form of religious profession at all. I have known personally of several people who appear to possess some such therapeutic force; none of them was a clergyman, and three possessed the power from an early age.

(I

One of these, indeed, called on me and complained much about having a power he did not in the least desire, and which interfered very much with his profession, since he was continually being called away to cure people. may say no idea of making any charge ever occurred to him.) He told me that, amongst other calls, he was constantly being pressed to go to the house of a very rich City merchant when any of the family suffered from aches or pains of body or brain, and that soon after he entered the room the trouble disappeared. I went to the City in order to corroborate the statement and found the person in question, who was the head of a large firm near St. Paul's Churchyard, and he said it was quite true, and that relief invariably followed his friend's visits. His object in calling on me was to ask if I could in any way relieve him of this undesired gift.

I should not, perhaps, have paid so much attention to him had I not had at the time a very near relative dying of rodent ulcer in the eye-a terribly agonizing affection-for whom no relief could be found save from one who possessed this power of healing. Her case being well known to the profession, I need hardly say all was done that the skill of specialists could suggest. The difficulty was with regard to the pain, for, as she could not take

morphia in any form, her sufferings were unrelieved. One day I called in a man who in his touch had "the gift of healing," which gift, I believe, he possessed from his youth. It was enough for him to hold the sufferer's hands for half an hour each day for her to be entirely free from pain for 24 hours. The patient was neither emotional nor imaginative. Indeed, when the healer had to go away for three days he begged her to imagine he was with her. She failed entirely to do so, and the pain was dreadful. In this case physical contact was needed, and by this means alone could the sufferer be kept free from pain till she died. need hardly say there was no suggestion of hypnotism in the treatment.

I

This power is called magnetic, psychic, occult, hypnotic, mesmeric, etc., all names without meaning. In the case I have mentioned no influence whatever was exerted over the mind, nor did the patient exercise any faith. All she did was to be thankful for actual results. I will make a suggestion as to the cause of this power in considering the next force "healing by faith."

In this we reach a profoundly interesting subject. It is obvious that this differs entirely from the previous power. That was resident in the healer: this, as I think we shall see, is in the patient, who, by the exercise of faith, puts it into action. Of course, the first idea in all ages and in all countries has always been that it is the object of faith that effects the cure; in short that it is objective and not subjective; but when it is carefully noted that however many and various are the objects in which faith is reposed the cures are always the same, it is clear that the object cannot be the active agency.

For instance, equally credible cures are recorded from faith in idols, fetishes, charms, repulsive objects, or

powders or draughts; apparatus such as a thermometer or special bits of wood or iron; or in the vision at Lourdes or the holy coat of Treves, or in relics of all sorts; or in kings or holy men, or in trees, flowers, fruits; or in impostors such as Dowie, or in systems of faith, or in the gods of Greece or Egypt; or in a thousand other objects, in themselves powerless.

The one thing that is common to all these various objects is the faith that rests in them; but how does this cure? The answer is interesting. I think it is now no longer disputed that a small part only of the mind is visible to consciousness, and that a great portion lies in the invisible, and can be discerned by its operation only. This unconscious part of the mind, amongst other functions, is incessantly employed in maintaining that equilibrium that we call health, a word that does not mean exactly the same to any two people. Whenever this is disturbed by accident or disease, the vis medicatrix naturæ, that wonderful curative agency, at once sets to work to repair the injury or destroy the poison. Time would fail to record the marvellous resources and extraordinary ingenuity of this unconscious curative power. Some of them are enumerated by Dr. Mitchell Bruce, Sir Frederick Treves and others; and physicians in all ages have recognized this power, which acts without any hesitation in novel and untried situations, and deals successfully with invading microbes of new diseases, the whole action postulating mind of a high order, though unconscious.

No true physician stands by his patient's bedside without reverently recognizing that the sufferer is already being treated by one greater than himself, and that his wisest course is to follow the lead given, and seek to help and not hinder the action of "nature." In many cases, however, this force, good and wise as it is, is not sufficient

of itself to cope with the complicated disorders which are the results of an effete civilization. In a state of nature little medicine and few doctors are needed.

Faith, however, can stimulate this latent power amazingly; and as is shown in hysteria when the power is disordered, it is capable of doing almost anything with the body, producing high temperature, blisters, tumors, and other affections at will. So also with regard to cures: when this process is sufficiently energized by faith, not only functional diseases can be removed, but material objects, such as warts and varicose veins, can be made to disappear. Without this vis medicatrix naturæ no cure is possible; the bones won't knit. the sores won't heal, while the germs kill, and diseases end fatally; but with it, energized by faith, it is difficult to set a limit to the power to

cure.

A question will certainly now be asked by Christian men: "If this power be natural, and healing by faith merely the excitation of a natural process, where does God come in, and where is the power of the Divine?" The question cannot, and need not, be shelved; and with reverence I would reply, "That process which you glibly call natural is a great power placed by God in the body for its own cure, and hence is Divine."

Respecting the faith, I would further add that though any faith, if strong enough, may effect a cure of the mere bodily ailment, faith in God alone can cure the man, can restore the spirit. and bring the sufferer into tune with the Infinite, and thus make the result a lasting blessing.

The "prayer of faith" which "saves the sick" is something quite different from the gift of healing or from "healing by faith." Both of these, as I have shown, are dependent upon either the exceptional possession or

stimulation of natural powers, and are not necessarily, though very frequently, connected with Christianity, but they are in common with all "good gifts," dependent, as St. James points of Lights."

out, on the "Father

"The prayer of faith" does not mean the exercise of any peculiar natural power by any healer, neither does it require the active exercise of faith on the part of the sufferer. What it does require is a soul so lofty, so spiritual, so full of faith, that in prayer it can reach God, and in accordance with His will bring down blessing on the sufferer. This, like all other contact of the human with the Divine, is a high and holy mystery, which may not be lightly touched by irreverent hands, but is one which, in speaking on spiritual healing, we must recognize as a real power, though one that can be reached by few; and which differs from other modes of healing in being absolutely dependent upon the Divine Will and the deep spirituality of the intercessor. One must never forget in these matters that to take it for granted that health is always a blessing, and is the will of God for us, and that all illness is a curse to be at once removed, is a cardinal error of the first magnitude. There is no rule, and there can be none, in these matters.

I have said I cannot here touch upon the miraculous, by which I mean instantaneous cure, not necessarily deThe Contemporary Review.

pendent on any discernible agency— even of faith.

Perhaps enough has been adduced to show that this proposed union for furthering "spiritual healing" is not the simple matter it appears, but is beset with difficulties, and certainly requires the greatest care if, indeed, it be possible at all. I think the nearest and safest approach to it is in the Guild of S. Luke, an association of Christian physicians and surgeons who meet annually in St. Paul's for divine worship. Here one may find some medical men who unite the healing art with some power to deal with souls. Such men are rare, though most of the greatest leaders in the profession have possessed something of the double qualification; and Professor Nothnagel's celebrated dictum that "a great physician must be a good man" carries in germ the same idea.

Apart from this happy combination, however, I have pointed out that there does reside in some persons a remarkable therapeutic agency, the cause of which I would suggest is, that by some unconscious means, and without effort, they are enabled to reach and stimulate the curative power resident in the patient. Further, concerning "healing by faith," which undoubtedly also does exist, I would add that it only displays its full benefits when that faith rests in God, and thus brings spirit, soul and body into harmony with each other and with their Maker.

A. T. Schofield.

IX.

Nearly a week had elapsed after his arrival at the Court of Pelesu before Saleh was permitted to see his father. If the King was really "asleep" on one occasion out of every ten when this

was reported of him, he was certainly the most somnolent person alive; and when he was not "asleep" he was either "eating" or "bathing," at least so the members of his household stated in reply to all Saleh's messengers.

With the recollection of his mother still very fresh in his mind, it seemed to Saleh to be at least a satisfactory feature in his father's character that he should be so much addicted to the bath; but as the days passed, and the duties of his bed-chamber, his meals, and his toilet still held the King a close prisoner, the youngster began to wonder which disgusted him the more, the lack of paternal, nay of human, interest in him which caused his father thus to postpone their meeting, or the poverty of invention among the royal retainers which was responsible for such flimsy explanations of his action.

But though the light of the kingly countenance was so steadfastly denied to him, Saleh saw during these days a great deal of some of his other relatives. His interview with his mother was repeated with frequency, and always resolved itself sooner or later into a long-drawn-out complaint about her wrongs, her poverty, and the unspeakable wickedness of Che' Jebah, his father's favorite concubine. Tungku Ampuan would keep him by her side in the loathsome atmosphere of her bedroom for an hour at a time while she delivered herself of these unvarying monologues, lying on her side and sucking at her opium-pipe, or squatting with her back to the pile of pillows chewing betel-nut as a cow chews the cud. Little by little Saleh began to perceive that she was not, as he had thought at first, an old woman,-that in all likelihood she had not yet turned her fortieth year; but that she was wrecked prematurely by too early marriage, unhealthy living, and addiction to the opium-habit. For the rest she was, to all intents and purposes, a monomaniac. He learned to dread his interviews with her quite indescribably.

He made the acquaintance, too, of his three sisters, one of whom was older while two were younger than himself;

Had he

but he found them hardly more satisfactory. He was never permitted to see them alone, and in their eyes he was primarily a man, and a man, too, about whom clung something reminiscent of the European. They would sit side by side, first in a decorous silence and an immobile modesty that baffled Saleh utterly, and later, when they became more accustomed to him, they would huddle together, as though for protection, and would exchange little foolish personal remarks about him one with another to an accompaniment of much childish giggling. been suffered to grow up in daily association with them, poor Saleh thought he might perhaps have learned to know his sisters, for surely they must each have some sort of individuality concealed beneath the cloak of these stifling futilities; but as it was, he was to them a stranger,- -a strange man,— and the barrier of sex made a wall between them which he could not scale. Against his will the memory would recur of the frank brother-and-sister relations which had subsisted between Mabel Le Mesurier and her brothers, between the two Fairfax girls and Harry, nay, even between Mabel Le Mesurier and himself. The contrast was merciless, and he, who during the last few weeks of his stay in England had fancied himself to be terribly alone, found that he was here, under his mother's roof, discovering the meaning of real loneliness.

The only relative for whom he found it easy to feel some real affection was Raja Pahlawan Indut, a cousin fifty times removed, whom Saleh remembered from the days of his childhood as a figure at once awful and heroic. There clustered about him a whole world of legend and romance, wild stories of love and war, in each of which he had played the leading part. Men said, Saleh recalled with a smile, that Ungku Pahlawan, as he was usually

called, was invulnerable; that he had the power of assuming invisibility at will; that his magic was only equalled by his valor, and the latter had been proved time and again, as even the white men acknowledged, on many a hard-fought field. Saleh, with these facts still crowding the nooks of his memory, was astonished to find the Ungku a singularly quiet, thick-set, little man, with quick, humorous eyes, square, capable hands, a moustache like a cat's whiskers, and a particularly gentle voice and manner.

That was the first impression which he created, but as Saleh learned to know him better, Ungku Pahlawan developed certain qualities which differentiated him from his fellows. To begin with, he was not in the least bit afraid of the King, and laughed openly at the rail-sitting courtiers who, he averred, did not dare to pay their respects to Saleh until they had had an opportunity of judging for themselves in what fashion his father was likely to receive him. Also he went in no awe of the Resident and of the white men, and he held and frankly expressed very strong opinions concerning the precise effect which the coming of these people had had upon Pelesu.

"They have robbed the land of manhood," he would say. "Our youth grow up knowing nought of arms nor of the lore that maketh the warrior. If today there chanceth a quarrel between two young cockerels, it is not fought to a finish with the 'steel-spurs,' as quarrels between men should be fought, but straightway both fly headlong to the police-station, there to make complaint after the fashion of weeping women. Of old, Ya Allah Muhammad Al-Rasul!-of old there were deeds to be done that it were fitting for a man to do. Now In the days which the white folk have filched from us, for a man who was a man supplies lay ever at the tip of his dagger! I never lacked

for aught in those so glorious times! Now..."

And the spittoon would be called into request as the only sufficient means of expressing his deep disgust.

He would tell Saleh tales by the hour together of the adventurous past in which he had been so prominent a figure, always comparing that eventful, lawless time with the ordered, dull monotony of to-day, and Saleh, boy that he was, would find himself kindling with enthusiasm for the romance of Malaya the untamed. He did not stay to think of the misery and the oppression from which the coming of the white men had relieved the bulk of the common people. He only knew that his own life had seemingly been spoilt by the Englishmen's determination to force a blending of the East with the West, the which, so Ungku Pahlawan declared, when applied to the whole of Pelesu, was rendering the country one unfitted for the habitation of a man who was a man. He was utterly out of love with the present: that of itself set him longing for the past. He knew that his English education and training had put him completely out of tune with surroundings which by right should have been congenial, and for the rest had given him, so he thought, little save an increased capacity for suffering. Where the English had been guilty of so hideous an error in the case of a single individual, was it not only reasonable to suspect that they had made blunders