found by long experience that the only way to live at all with Mary was to give in to all her whims. In a household where personal labour was exacted from each member, Mary spent her days in idleness. Where her sisters dressed plainly, she went clad in fine and dainty raiment, and where implicit obedience was required of the others, Mary ignored, and more often opposed, the wishes of her father; and in the clashes between them, her mother and sisters usually—at least in her younger years—ranged themselves on her side, and against her father. Mary's hysteria was, of course, her most effective argument in securing her way. Like the sword of Damocles, it hung perilously over the household, which constantly surrendered and conceded and made shift with Mary to avert the inevitable climax. Confusion and excitement and agony of mind lest Mary should die was the invariable consequence of her hysterical outbreaks, and the business of the house and farm was at a standstill until the tragedy had passed.
These attacks, which continued until very late in Mrs. Eddy's life, have been described to the writer by many eye-witnesses, some of whom have watched by her bedside and treated her in Christian Science for her affliction. At times the attack resembled convulsions. Mary fell headlong to the floor, writhing and screaming in apparent agony. Again she dropped as if lifeless, and lay limp and motionless, until restored. At other times she became rigid like a cataleptic, and continued for a time in a state of suspended animation. At home the family worked over her, and the doctor was sent for, and Mary invariably recovered rapidly after a few hours; but year after year her relatives fully expected that she would die in one
