The Magic Story

Author Unknown
Version7/27/2011

This book is a free book brought to you by Christopher

Westra. You may freely share it with anyone. In fact, we
hope you do!
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The Magic Story
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TableofContents

Introduction ....................................................................................................................................3
Part 1 How the Magic Story was found.................................................................4
Part 2 The Magic Story.................................................................................................... 14
Additional Resources ............................................................................................................ 26

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Introduction
An immediate worldwide sensation was created after The
Magic Story first made its appearance in 1900 in the original
Success Magazine.
After dozens of reprints, it is finally available in eBook form
so that you may benefit from its powerful message.
It is claimed that many who read or hear this story almost
immediately begin to have good fortune so it is worth a few
minutes of your time to find out if it works for you.
The book is in two parts. Part 1 reveals the story how The
Magic Story was found by a starving artist named
Sturtevant.
Everyone he told the story to prospered by it. It seemed to
change people's lives for the better...like magic.
Part 2 is the actual Magic Story as found by Sturtevant.

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Part 1 How the Magic Story was found

I was sitting alone in the cafe and had just reached for the
sugar preparatory to putting it into my coffee. Outside, the
weather was hideous. Snow and sleet came swirling down,
and the wind howled frightfully. Every time the outer door
opened, a draft of unwelcome air penetrated the uttermost
corners of the room. Still I was comfortable.
The snow and sleet and wind conveyed nothing to me except
an abstract thanksgiving that I was where it could not affect
me. While I dreamed and sipped my coffee, the door opened
and closed, and admitted - Sturtevant. Sturtevant was an
undeniable failure, but, withal, an artist of more than
ordinary talent. He had, however, fallen into the rut traveled
by ne'er-do-wells, and was out at the elbows as well as
insolvent.
As I raised my eyes to Sturtevant's I was conscious of mild
surprise at the change in his appearance. Yet he was not
dressed differently. He wore the same threadbare coat in
which he always appeared, and the old brown hat was the
same. And yet there was something new and strange in his
appearance. As he swished his hat around to relieve it of the
burden of snow deposited by the howling nor'wester, there
was something new in the gesticulation.
I could not remember when I had invited Sturtevant to dine
with me, but involuntarily I beckoned to him. He nodded and
presently seated himself opposite to me. I asked him what
he would have, and he, after scanning the bill of fare
carelessly, ordered from it leisurely, and invited me to join
him in coffee for two.

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I watched him in stupid wonder, but, as I had invited the

obligation, I was prepared to pay for it, although I knew I
hadn't sufficient cash to settle the bill. Meanwhile I noticed
the brightness of his usual lackluster eyes, and the healthful,
hopeful glow upon his cheek, with increasing amazement.
"Have you lost a rich uncle?" I asked. "No," he replied,
calmly, "but I have found my mascot." "Brindle, bull or
terrier?" I inquired. "Currier," said Sturtevant, at length,
pausing with his coffee cup half way to his lips, "I see that I
have surprised you. It is not strange, for I am a surprise to
myself. I am a new man, a different man, - and the
alteration has taken place in the last few hours.
You have seen me come into this place 'broke' many a time,
when you have turned away, so that I would think you did
not see me. I knew why you did that. It was not because
you did not want to pay for a dinner, but because you did
not have the money to do it. Is that your check? Let me
have it. Thank you. I haven't any money with me tonight,
but I, - well, this is my treat." He called the waiter to him,
and, with an inimitable flourish, signed his name on the
backs of the two checks, and waved him away.
After that he was silent for a moment while he looked into
my eyes, smiling at the astonishment which I in vain strove
to conceal. "Do you know an artist who possess more talent
than I?" he asked, presently. "No. Do you happen to know
anything in the line of my profession that I could not
accomplish, if I applied myself to it? No. You have been a
reporter for the dailies for - how many? - seven or eight
years. Do you remember when I ever had any credit until
tonight? No. Was I refused just now? You have seen for
yourself. Tomorrow my new career begins. Within a month I
shall have a bank account. Why? Because I have discovered
the secret of success."
"Yes," he continued, when I did not reply, "my fortune is
made. I have been reading a strange story, and since
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reading it, I feel that my fortune is assured. It will make

your fortune, too. All you have to do is read it. You have no
idea what it will do for you. Nothing is impossible after you
know that story. It makes everything as plain as A, B, C.
The very instant you grasp its true meaning, success is
certain. This morning I was a hopeless, aimless bit of
garbage in the metropolitan ash can; tonight I wouldn't
change places with a millionaire. That sounds foolish, but it
is true. The millionaire has spent his enthusiasm; mine is all
at hand."
"You amaze me," I said, wondering if he had been drinking
absinthe.
"Won't you tell me the story? I should like to hear it."
"Certainly. I mean to tell it to the whole world. It is really
remarkable that it should have been written and should
remain in print so long, with never a soul to appreciate it
until now. This morning I was starving. I hadn't any credit,
nor a place to get a meal. I was seriously meditating suicide.
I had gone to three of the papers for which I had done work,
and had been handed back all that I had submitted. I had to
choose quickly between death by suicide and death slowly
by starvation. Then I found the story and read it. You can
hardly imagine the transformation. Why, my dear boy,
everything changed at once, - and there you are."
"But what is the story, Sturtevant?"
"Wait; let me finish. I took those old drawings to other
editors, and every one of them was accepted at once."
"Can the story do for others what it has done for you? For
example, would it be of assistance to me?" I asked.
"Help you? Why not? Listen and I will tell it to you, although,
really, you should read it. Still I will tell it as best I can. It is
like this: you see, - - -" The waiter interrupted us at that
moment. He informed Sturtevant that he was wanted on the
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telephone, and with a word of apology, the artist left the

table.
Five minutes later I saw him rush out into the sleet and wind
and disappear. Within the recollection of the frequenters of
that cafe, Sturtevant had never before been called out by
telephone. That, of itself, was substantial proof of a change
in his circumstances.
One night, on the street, I encountered Avery, a former
college chum, then a reporter on one of the evening papers.
It was about a month after my memorable interview with
Sturtevant, which, by that time, was almost forgotten.
"Hello, old chap," he said; "how's the world using you? Still
on space?" "Yes," I replied, bitterly, "with prospects of being
on the town, shortly. But you look as if things were coming
your way. Tell me all about it."
"Things have been coming my way, for a fact, and it is all
remarkable, when all is said. You know Sturtevant, don't
you? It's all due to him. I was plumb down on my luck, thinking of the morgue and all that, - looking for you, in
fact, with the idea you would lend me enough to pay my
room rent, when I met Sturtevant. He told me a story, and,
really, old man, it is the most remarkable story you ever
heard; it made a new man out of me.
Within twenty-four hours I was on my feet and I've hardly
known a care or a trouble since." Avery's statement, uttered
calmly, and with the air of one who had merely pronounced
an axiom, recalled to my mind the conversation with
Sturtevant in the cafe that stormy night, nearly a month
before. "It must be a remarkable story," I said,
incredulously. "Sturtevant mentioned it to me once. I have
not seen him since. Where is he now?" "He has been making
war sketches in Cuba, at two hundred a week; he's just
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returned. It is a fact that everybody who has heard the story

has done well since.
There are Cosgrove and Phillips, - friends of mine, - you
don't know them. One's a real estate agent; the other's a
broker's clerk, Sturtevant told them the story, and they have
experienced the same results that I have; and they are not
the only ones.
"Do you know the story?" I asked. "Will you try its effect on
me?"
"Certainly; with the greatest pleasure in the world. I would
like to have it printed in big black type, and posted on the
elevated stations throughout New York. It certainly would do
a lot of good, and it's as simple as A, B, C: like living on a
farm. Excuse me a minute, will you? I see Danforth over
there. Back in a minute, old chap." If the truth be told, I was
hungry. My pocket at that moment contained exactly five
cents; just enough to pay my fare up-town, but insufficient
also to stand the expense of filling my stomach.
There was a "night owl" wagon in the neighborhood, where I
had frequently "stood up" the purveyor of midnight dainties,
and to him I applied. He was leaving the wagon as I was on
the point of entering it, and I accosted him. "I'm broke
again," I said, with extreme cordiality. "You'll have to trust
me once more. Some ham and eggs, I think, will do for the
present." He coughed, hesitated a moment, and then reentered the wagon with me. "Mr. Currier is good for
anything he orders'" he said to the man in charge; "one of
my old customers. This is Mr. Bryan, Mr. Currier. He will
take good care of you, and 'stand for' you, just the same as
I would. The fact is, I have sold out. I've just turned over
the outfit to Bryan. By the way, isn't Mr. Sturtevant a friend
of yours?" I nodded.

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I couldn't have spoken if I had tried. "Well," continued the

ex-"night owl" man, "he came in here one night, about a
month ago, and told me the most wonderful story I ever
heard. I've just bought a place in Eighth Avenue, where I
am going to run a regular restaurant - near Twenty-third
Street. Come and see me." He was out of the wagon and the
sliding door had been banged shut before I could stop him;
so I ate my ham and eggs in silence, and resolved that I
would hear that story before I slept. In fact, I began to
regard it with superstition. If it had made so many fortunes,
surely it should be capable of making mine.
The certainty that the wonderful story - I began to regard it
as magic - was in the air, possessed me. As I started to walk
homeward, fingering the solitary nickel in my pocket and
contemplating the certainty of riding downtown in the
morning, I experienced the sensation of something stealthily
pursuing me, as if Fate were treading along behind me, yet
never overtaking, and I was conscious that I was possessed
with or by the story.
When I reached Union Square, I examined my address book
for the home of Sturtevant. It was not recorded there. Then
I remembered the cafe in University Place, and, although the
hour was late, it occurred to me that he might be there. He
was! In a far corner of the room, surrounded by a group of
acquaintances, I saw him. He discovered me at the same
instant, and motioned to me to join them at the table.
There was no chance for the story, however. There were half
a dozen around the table, and I was the furthest removed
from Sturtevant. But I kept my eyes upon him, and bided
my time, determined that, when he rose to depart, I would
go with him.
A silence, suggestive of respectful awe, had fallen upon the
party when I took my seat. Everyone had seemed to be
thinking, and the attention of all was fixed upon Sturtevant.
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The cause was apparent. He had been telling the story. I

had entered the cafe just too late to hear it. On my right,
when I took my seat, was a doctor; on my left a lawyer.
Facing me on the other side was a novelist with whom I had
some acquaintance. The others were artists and
newspapermen.
"It's too bad, Mr. Currier," remarked the doctor; "you should
have come a little sooner, Sturtevant has been telling us a
story; it is quite wonderful, really. I say, Sturtevant, won't
you tell that story again, for the benefit of Mr. Currier?"
"Why yes. I believe that Currier has, somehow, failed to
hear the magic story, although, as a matter of fact, I think
he was the first one to whom I mentioned it at all. It was
here, in this cafe, too, -at this very table.
Do you remember what a wild night that was, Currier?
Wasn't I called to the telephone, or something like that?
To be sure! I remember, now; interrupted just at the point
when I was beginning the story. After that I told it to three
or four fellows, and it 'braced them up,' as it had me. It
seems incredible that a mere story can have such a tonic
effect upon the success of so many persons who are
engaged in such widely different occupations, but that is
what it has done.
It is a kind of never-failing remedy, like a cough mixture
that is warranted to cure everything, from a cold in the head
to galloping consumption. There was Parsons, for example.
He is a broker, you know, and had been on the wrong side
of the market for a month. He had utterly lost his grip, and
was on the verge of failure.
I happened to meet him at the time he was feeling the
bluest, and before we parted, something brought me around
to the subject of the story, and I related it to him. It had the
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same effect on him as it had on me, and has had on

everybody who has heard it, as far as I know.
I think you will all agree with me, that it is not the story
itself that performs the surgical operation on the minds of
those who are familiar with it; it is the way it is told, -in
print, I mean. The author has, somehow, produced a
psychological effect which is indescribable. The reader is
hypnotized. He receives a mental and moral tonic.
Perhaps, doctor, you can give some scientific explanation of
the influence exerted by the story. It is a sort of elixir
manufactured out of words, eh?" From that the company
entered upon a general discussion of theories.
Now and then slight references were made to the story
itself, and they were just sufficient to tantalize me, -the only
one present who had not heard it.
At length, I left my chair, and passing around the table,
seized Sturtevant by one arm, and succeeded in drawing
him away from the party. "If you have any consideration for
an old friend who is rapidly being driven mad by the
existence of that confounded story, which Fate seems
determined that I shall never hear, you will relate it to me
now," I said, savagely.
Sturtevant stared at me in wild surprise. "All right," he said.
"The others will excuse me for a few moments, I think. Sit
down here, and you shall have it. I found it pasted in an old
scrapbook I purchased in Ann Street, for three cents and
there isn't a thing about it by which one can get any idea in
what publication it originally appeared, or who wrote it.
When I discovered it, I began casually to read it, and in a
moment I was interested. Before I left it, I had read it
through many times, so that I could repeat it almost word
for word. It affected me strangely, -as if I had come in
contact with some strong personality.
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There seems to be in the story a personal element that

applies to every one who reads it. Well, after I had read it
several times, I began to think it over. I couldn't stay in the
house, so I seized my coat and hat and went out. I must
have walked several miles, buoyantly, without realizing that
I was the same man, who, in only a short time before, had
been in the depths of despondency.
That was the day I met you here, -you remember." We were
interrupted at that instant by a uniformed messenger, who
handed Sturtevant a telegram. It was from his chief, and
demanded his instant attendance at the office. The sender
had already been delayed an hour, and there was no help
for it; he must go at once. "Too bad!" said Sturtevant, rising
and extending his hand.
"Tell you what I'll do, old chap. I'm not likely to be gone any
more than an hour or two. You take my key and wait for me
in my room. In the escritoire near the window you will find
an old scrapbook bound in rawhide. It was manufactured, I
have no doubt, by the author of the magic story. Wait for
me in my room until I return."
I found the book without difficulty. It was a quaint,
homemade affair, covered, as Sturtevant had said, with
rawhide, and bound with leather thongs. The pages formed
an odd combination of yellow paper, vellum and homemade
parchment. I found the story, curiously printed on the lastnamed material. It was quaint and strange. Evidently, the
printer had "set" it under the supervision of the writer. The
phraseology was an unusual combination of seventeenth and
eighteenth century mannerisms, and the interpolation of
italics and capitals could have originated in no other brain
than that of its author. In reproducing the following story,
the peculiarities of type, etc. are eliminated, but in other
respects it remains unchanged.
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Part 2 The Magic Story

Inasmuch as I have evolved from my experience the one

great secret of success for all worldly undertakings, I deem
it wise, now that the number of my days is nearly counted,
to give to the generations that are to follow me the benefit
of whatsoever knowledge I possess. I do not apologize for
the manner of my expression, nor for the lack of literary
merit, the latter being, I wot, its own apology. Tools much
heavier than the pen have been my portion, and moreover,
the weight of years has somewhat palsied the hand and
brain; nevertheless, the fact I can tell, and what I deem the
meat within the nut.
What mattereth it, in what manner the shell be broken, so
that the meat be obtained and rendered useful? I doubt not
that I shall use, in the telling, expressions that have clung to
my memory since childhood; for, when men attain the
number of my years, happenings of youth are like to be
clearer to their perceptions than are events of recent date;
nor doth it matter much how a thought is expressed, if it be
wholesome and helpful, and findeth the understanding.
Much have I wearied my brain about the question, how best
to describe this recipe for success that I have discovered,
and it seemeth advisable to give it as it came to me; that is,
if I relate somewhat of the story of my life, the directions for
agglomerating the substances, and supplying the seasoning
for the accomplishment of the dish, will plainly be perceived.
Happen they may; and that men may be born generations
after I am dust, who will live to bless me for the words I
write.
***
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My father, then, was a seafaring man who, early in life,

forsook his vocation, and settled on a plantation in the
colony of Virginia, where, some years thereafter, I was born,
which event took place in the year 1642; and that was over
a hundred years ago. Better for my father had it been, had
he hearkened to the wise advice of my mother, that he
remain in the calling of his education; but he would not have
it so, and the good vessel he captained was bartered for the
land I spoke of. Here beginneth the first lesson to be
acquired:
Man should not be blinded to whatsoever merit exists in the
opportunity, which he hath in hand, remembering that a
thousand promises for the future should weigh as naught
against the possession of a single piece of silver.
When I had achieved ten years, my mother's soul took
flight, and two years thereafter my worthy father followed
her. I, being their only begotten, was left alone; howbeit,
there were friends who, for a time, cared for me; that is to
say, they offered me a home beneath their roof - a thing
which I took advantage of for the space of five months.
From my father's estate there came to me naught; but, in
the wisdom that came with increasing years, I convinced
myself that his friend, under whose roof I lingered for some
time, had defrauded him, and therefore me.
Of the time from the age of twelve and a half until I was
three and twenty, I will make no recital here, since that time
hath naught to do with this tale; but some time after, having
in my possession the sum of sixteen guineas, ten, which I
had saved from the fruits of my labor, I took ship to Boston
town, where I began to work first as a cooper, and
thereafter as a ship's carpenter, although always after the
craft was docked; for the sea was not amongst my desires.

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Fortune will sometimes smile upon an intended victim

because of pure perversity of temper. Such was one of my
experiences. I prospered, and at seven and twenty, owned
the yard wherein, less than four years earlier, I had worked
for hire. Fortune, howbeit, is a jade that must be coerced;
she will not be coddled. Here beginneth the second lesson to
be acquired:
Fortune is ever elusive, and can only be retained by force.
Deal with her tenderly and she will forsake you for a
stronger man. (In that, methinks, she is not unlike other
women of my knowledge)
About this time, Disaster (which is one of the heralds of
broken spirits and lost resolve) paid me a visit. Fire ravaged
my yards, leaving me nothing in its blackened paths but
debts, which I had not the coin wherewith to defray.
I labored with my acquaintances, seeking assistance for a
new start, but the fire that had burned my competence,
seemed also to have consumed their sympathies. So it
happened, within a short time, that not only had I lost all,
but also I was hopelessly indebted to others; and for that
they cast me into prison.
It is possible that I might have rallied from my losses but for
this last indignity, which broke down my spirits so that I
became utterly despondent. Upward of a year I was
detained within the goal; and, when I did come forth, it was
not the same hopeful, happy man, content with his lot, and
with confidence in the world and its people, who had entered
there.
Life has many pathways, and of them by far the greater
number lead downward. Some are precipitous, others are
less abrupt; but ultimately, no matter at what inclination the
angle may be fixed, they arrive at the same destination failure. And here beginneth the third lesson:
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Failure exists only in the grave. Man, being alive, hath not
yet failed; always he may turn about and ascend by the
same path he descended by; and there may be one that is
less abrupt (albeit longer of achievement) and more
adaptable to his condition.
When I came forth from prison, I was penniless. In the
entire world I possessed naught beyond the poor garments
that covered me, and a walking stick that the turnkey had
permitted me to retain, since it was worthless. Being a
skilled workman, howbeit, I speedily found employment at
good wages; but, having eaten of the fruit of worldly
advantage, dissatisfaction possessed me.
I became morose and sullen; whereat, to cheer my spirits,
and for the sake of forgetting the losses I had sustained, I
passed my evenings at the tavern. Not that I drank
overmuch of liquor, except on occasion (for I have ever been
somewhat abstemious), but that I could laugh and sing, and
parry wit and badinage with my ne'er-do-well companions;
and here might be included the fourth lesson:
Seek comrades among the industrious, for those who are
idle will sap your energies from you.
It was my pleasure at that time to relate, upon slight
provocation, the tale of my disasters, and to rail against the
men whom I deemed to have wronged me, because they
had seen fit not to come to my aid. Moreover, I found
childish delight in filching from my employer, each day, a
few moments of the time for which he paid me. Such a thing
is less honest than downright theft.
This habit continued and grew upon me until the day
dawned which found me not only without employment, but
also without character, which meant that I could not hope to
find work with any other employer in Boston town. It was
then that I regarded myself a failure.
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I can liken my condition at that time for naught more similar

than that of a man who, descending the steep side of a
mountain, loses his foothold. The farther he slides, the
faster he goes. I have also heard this condition described by
the word Ishmaelite, which I understand to be a man whose
hand is against everybody, and who thinks that the hands of
every other man are against him; and here beginneth the
fifth lesson:
The Ishmaelite and the leper are the same, since both are
abominations in the sight of man - albeit they differ much, in
that the former may be restored to perfect health. The
former is entirely the result of imagination; the latter has
poison in his blood.
I will not discourse at length upon the gradual degeneration
of my energies. It is not meet ever to dwell much upon
misfortunes (which saying is also worthy of remembrance).
It is enough if I add that the day came where I possessed
naught wherewith to purchase food and raiment, and I found
myself like unto a pauper, save at infrequent times when I
could earn a few pence, or mayhap, a shilling. Steady
employment I could not secure, so I became emaciated in
body, and naught but skeleton in spirit. My condition, then,
was deplorable; not so much for the body, be it said, as for
the mental part of me, which was sick unto death.
In my imagination I deemed myself ostracized by the whole
world, for I had sunk very low indeed; and here beginneth
the sixth and final lesson to be acquired, (which cannot be
told in one sentence, nor in one paragraph, but must needs
be adopted from the remainder of this tale).
***
Well do I remember my awakening, for it came in the night,
when, in truth, I did awake from sleep. My bed was a pile of
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shavings in the rear of the cooper shop where once I had

worked for hire; my roof was the pyramid of casks,
underneath which I had established myself.
The night was cold, and I was chilled, albeit, paradoxically, I
had been dreaming of light and warmth and of the depletion
of good things. You will say, when I relate the effect the
vision had on me, that my mind was affected. So be it, for it
is the hope that the minds of others might be likewise
influenced, which disposes me to undertake the labor of this
writing.
It was the dream which converted me to the belief - nay, to
the knowledge - that I was possessed of two entities: and it
was my own better self that afforded me the assistance for
which I had pleaded in vain from my acquaintances. I have
heard this condition described by the word "double."
Nevertheless, that word does not comprehend my meaning.
A double, can be naught more than a double, neither half
being possessed of individuality. But I will not philosophize,
since philosophy is naught but a suit of garments for the
decoration of a dummy figure.
Moreover, it was not the dream itself, which affected me; it
was the impression made by it, and the influence that it
exerted over me, which accomplished my enfranchisement.
In a word, then, I encouraged my other identity. After toiling
through a tempest of snow and wind, I peered into a window
and saw that other being. He was rosy with health; before
him, on the hearth, blazed a fire of logs; there was a
conscious power and force in his demeanor; he was
physically and mentally muscular. I rapped timidly upon the
door, and he bade me enter.
There was a not unkindly smile of derision in his eyes as he
motioned me to a chair by the fire; but he uttered no word
of welcome; and, when I had warmed myself, I went forth
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again into the tempest, burdened with the shame which the
contrast between us had forced upon me. It was then that I
awoke; and here cometh the strange part of my tale, for,
when I did awake, I was not alone. There was a Presence
with me; intangible to others, I discovered later, but real to
me.
The Presence was in my likeness, yet it was strikingly unlike.
The brow, not more lofty than my own, yet seemed more
round and full; the eyes, clear, direct, and filled with
purpose, glowed with enthusiasm and resolution; the lips,
chin - ay, the whole contour of face and figure was dominant
and determined. He was calm, steadfast, and self-reliant; I
was cowering, filled with nervous trembling, and fearsome of
intangible shadows.
When the Presence turned away, I followed, and throughout
the day I never lost sight of it, save when it disappeared for
a time beyond some doorway where I dared not enter; at
such places, I awaited its return with trepidation and awe,
for I could not help wondering at the temerity of the
Presence (so like myself, and yet so unlike) in daring to
enter where my own feet feared to tread.
It seemed also as if purposely, I was led to the place and to
the men where, and before whom I most dreaded to appear;
to offices where once I had transacted business; to men with
whom I had financial dealings. Throughout the day I
pursued the Presence, and at evening saw it disappear
beyond the portals of a hostelry famous for its cheer and
good living.
I sought the pyramid of casks and shavings.
Not again in my dreams that night did I encounter the Better
Self (for that is what I have named it), albeit, when,
perchance, I awakened from slumber, it was near to me,
ever wearing that calm smile of kindly derision which could
not be mistaken for pity, nor for condolence in any form.
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The contempt of it stung me sorely.

The second day was not unlike the first, being a repetition of
its forerunner, and I was again doomed to wait outside
during the visits which the Presence paid to places where I
fain would have gone had I possessed the requisite courage.
It is fear that deported a man's soul from his body and
rendered it a thing to be despised. Many a time I essayed to
address it but enunciation rattled in my throat,
unintelligible; and the day closed like its predecessor.
This happened many days, one following another, until I
ceased to count them; albeit, I discovered that constant
association with the Presence was producing an effect on
me; and one night when I awoke among the casks and
discerned that he was present, I made bold to speak, albeit
with marked timidity.
"Who are you?" I ventured to ask; and I was startled into an
upright posture by the sound of my own voice; and the
question seemed to give pleasure to my companion, so that
I fancied there was less of derision in his smile when he
responded.
"I am that I am," was the reply. "I am he who you have
been; I am he who you may be again; wherefore do you
hesitate? I am he who you were, and whom you have cast
out for other company. I am the man made in the image of
God, who once possessed your body. Once we dwelt within it
together, not in harmony, for that can never be, nor yet in
unity, for that is impossible, but as tenants in common who
rarely fought for full possession.
Then, you were a puny thing, but you became selfish and
exacting until I could no longer abide with you, therefore I
stepped out. There is a plus-entity and minus-entity in every
human body that is born into the world. Whichever one of
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these, is favored by the flesh becomes dominant; then is the

other inclined to abandon its habitation, temporarily or for
all time.
I am the plus-entity of yourself; you are the minus-entity. I
own all things; you possess naught. That body which we
both inhabited is mine, but it is unclean, and I will not dwell
within it. Cleanse it, and I will take possession."
"Why do you pursue me?" I next asked of the Presence.
"You have pursued me, not I you. You can exist without me
for a time, but your path leads downward, and the end is
death. Now that you approach the end, you debate if it be
not right that you should cleanse your house and invite me
to enter. Step aside, from the brain and the will; cleanse
them of your presence; only on that condition will I ever
occupy them again."
"The brain has lost its power," I faltered. "The will is a weak
thing, now; can you repair them?"
"Listen!" said the Presence, and he towered over me while I
cowered abjectly at his feet.
"To the plus-entity of a man, all things are possible. The
world belongs to him, - is his estate. He fears naught,
dreads naught, stops at naught; he asks no privileges, but
demands them; he dominates, and cannot cringe; his
requests are orders; opposition flees at his approach; he
levels mountains, fills in vales, and travels on an even plane
where stumbling is unknown."
Thereafter, I slept again, and, when I awoke, I seemed to be
in a different world. The sun was shining and I was
conscious that birds twittered above my head. My body,
yesterday trembling and uncertain, had become vigorous
and filled with energy. I gazed upon the pyramid of casks in
amazement that I had so long made use of it for an abiding
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place, and I was wonderingly conscious that I had passed

my last night beneath its shelter.
The events of the night recurred to me, and I looked about
me for the Presence. It was not visible, but anon I
discovered, cowering in a far corner of my resting place, a
puny abject shuddering figure, distorted of visage, deformed
of shape, disheveled and unkempt of appearance. It tottered
as it walked, for it approached me piteously; but I laughed
aloud, mercilessly.
Perchance I knew then that it was the minus-entity, and that
the plus-entity was within me; albeit I did not then realize it.
Moreover, I was in haste to get away; I had no time for
philosophy. There was much for me to do - much; strange it
was that I had not thought of that yesterday. But yesterday
was gone - today was with me - it had just begun.
As had once been my daily habit, I turned my steps in the
direction of the tavern, where formerly I had partaken of my
meals. I nodded cheerily as I entered, and smiled in
recognition of returned salutations. Men who had ignored me
for months bowed graciously when I passed them on the
thoroughfare. I went to the washroom, and from there to
the breakfast table; afterwards, when I passed the taproom,
I paused a moment and said to the landlord:
"I will occupy the same room that I formerly used, if
perchance, you have it at disposal. If not, another will do as
well, until I can obtain it."
Then I went out and hurried with all haste to the cooperage.
There was a huge wain in the yard, and men were loading it
with casks for shipment. I asked no questions, but, seizing
barrels, began hurling them to the men who worked atop of
the load. When this was finished, I entered the shop. There
was a vacant bench; I recognized its disuse by the litter on
its top. It was the same at which I had once worked.
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Stripping off my coat, I soon cleared it of impedimenta. In a

moment more I was seated, with my foot on the vice-lever,
shaving staves.
It was an hour later when the master workman entered the
room, and he paused in surprise at sight of me; already
there was a goodly pile of neatly shaven staves beside me,
for in those days I was an excellent workman; there was
none better, but, alas! now, age hath deprived me of my
skill. I replied to his unasked question with the brief, but
comprehensive sentence: "I have returned to work, sir."
He nodded his head and passed on, viewing the work of
other men, albeit anon he glanced askance in my direction.
Here ended the sixth and last lesson to be acquired,
although there is more to be said, since from that moment I
was a successful man, and ere long possessed another
shipyard, and had acquired a full competence of worldly
goods.
I pray you who read, heed well the following admonitions,
and since upon them depend the word "success" and all that
it implies:
Whatsoever you desire of good is yours. You have but to
stretch forth your hand and take it.
Learn that the consciousness of dominant power within you
is the possession of all things attainable.
Have no fear of any sort or shape, for fear is an adjunct of
the minus-entity. If you have skill, apply it; the world must
profit by it, and therefore, you.
Make a daily and nightly companion of your plus-entity; if
you heed its advice, you cannot go wrong.
Remember, philosophy is an argument; the world, which is
your property, is an accumulation of facts.
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Go therefore, and do that which is within you to do; take no

heed of gestures that would beckon you aside; asking of no
man permission to perform.
The minus-entity requests favors; the plus-entity grants
them. Fortune waits upon every footstep you take; seize
her, bind her, hold her, for she is yours; she belongs to you.
Start out now, with these admonitions in your mind.
Stretch out your hand, and grasp the plus, which, maybe,
you have never made use of, save in great emergencies. Life
is an emergency most grave. Your plus-entity is beside you
now; cleanse your brain, and strengthen your will. It will
take possession. It waits upon you.
Start tonight; start now upon this new journey.
Be always on your guard. Whichever entity controls you, the
other hovers at your side; beware lest the evil enter, even
for a moment.
My task is done. I have written the recipe for "success." If
followed, it cannot fail.
Wherein I may not be entirely comprehended, the plusentity of whosoever reads will supply the deficiency; and
upon that Better Self of mine, I place the burden of
imparting to generations that are to come, the secret of this
all-pervading good - the secret of being what you have it
within you to be.
The End

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