{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_21041/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_21041","id":"gutenberg_21041","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21041","summary":null,"tags":["Bates, E. Katherine (Emily Katherine)","Category: Biographies","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Parapsychology","Psychics -- Biography","Spiritualism"],"text":"Produced by Anne Storer, Suzanne Shell and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note: Inconsistency between TOC and Chapter headings\nhave been retained as in the original.\n\n\n\n\n                            SEEN AND UNSEEN\n\n                                  BY\n                          E. KATHARINE BATES\n\n                                NEW YORK\n                        DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANY\n                        214-220 EAST 23RD STREET\n\n                                 1908\n\n\n\n\n                   _First Published    July    1907_\n\n                   _Second Impression  October 1907_\n\n                   _Third Impression   March   1908_\n\n                               ----------\n\n                   _Popular Edition            1908_\n\n\n\n\n                                  To\n\n                               C. E. B.\n\n                             IN MEMORY OF\n\n                      ONE WHO LOVED AND SUFFERED\n\n                   AND IN THE SURE AND CERTAIN HOPE\n\n                       OF A JOYFUL MEETING WITH\n\n                         HIM, AND WITH OTHERS\n\n                           WHO HAVE CROSSED\n\n                               THE BAR\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nCHAPTER                                               PAGE\n\n          INTRODUCTION                                  ix\n      I.  EARLY RECOLLECTIONS                            1\n     II.  INVESTIGATIONS IN AMERICA, 1885-1886          13\n    III.  AUSTRALIA AND NEW ZEALAND                     49\n     IV.  HONG KONG, ALASKA, AND NEW YORK               71\n      V.  INDIA, 1890-1891                              80\n     VI.  SWEDEN AND RUSSIA, 1892                       97\n          AN INTERLUDE                                 129\n    VII.  LADY CAITHNESS AND THE AVENUE WAGRAM         144\n   VIII.  FROM OXFORD TO WIMBLEDON                     161\n     IX.  1896, HAUNTINGS BY THE LIVING AND THE DEAD   176\n      X.  FURTHER EXPERIENCES IN AMERICA               195\n     XI.  A HAUNTED CASTLE IN IRELAND                  218\n    XII.  1900-1901, ODDS AND ENDS                     232\n   XIII.  1903, A SECOND VISIT TO INDIA                260\n    XIV.  A FAMILY PORTRAIT AND PSYCHIC PHOTOGRAPHY    274\n          APPENDIX                                     298\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nMany years ago, whilst living at Oxford, I was invited by a very old\nfriend, who had recently taken his degree, to a river picnic; with\nNuneham, I think, as its alleged object.\n\nUnfortunately, the day proved unfavourable, and we returned in open\nboats, also with open umbrellas; a generally drenched and bedraggled\nappearance, and nothing to cheer us on the physical plane except a\nquantity of iced coffee which had been ordered in anticipation of a\ntropical day.\n\nUnder these rather trying conditions I can remember getting a good\ndeal of amusement out of the companions in the special boat which\nproved to be my fate. Our host, being a clever and interesting man\nhimself, had collected clever and interesting people round him, on the\n\"Birds of a Feather\" principle, and I happened to sit between two\nladies, one the wife (now, alas! the widow) of a man who was to become\nlater on one of our most famous bishops; the other--her bosom friend\nand deadly rival--the wife of an equally distinguished Oxford don.\n\nThe iced coffee combined with the pouring rain may have been partly to\nblame, but certainly the conversation that went on between the two\nladies, across my umbrella, was decidedly _Feline_.\n\nTo pass the time we were valiantly endeavouring to play \"Twenty\nQuestions\" from the bottom of the boat, and the Bishop's widow was\nasking the questions. She had triumphantly elicited the fact that we\nhad thought of a _cinder_--and an historical cinder--and the twentieth\nand last permissible question was actually hovering on her lips. \"It\nwas the cinder that Richard Coeur de Lion's horse fell upon,\" she\nsaid eagerly. Of course, we all realised that this was a most obvious\n\"slip\" in the case of so highly educated a woman; but the Bosom Friend\ncould not resist putting out the velvet paw: \"A little confusion in\nthe centuries, I think, dear,\" she said sweetly. The unfortunate\nquestioner practically \"never smiled again\" during _that_ expedition.\nBut a still more crushing blow was in store for her.\n\nThe conversation turned later upon questions of style in writing or\nspeaking, and with perhaps pardonable revenge, she said to her rival:\n\n\"I always notice that you say 'one' so often--'_one_ does this or\nthat,' and so forth.\"\n\n\"Really, dear? That is curious. Now I always notice that _you_ say 'I'\nso continually!\"\n\nThe cut and thrust came with the rapidity of expert fencers.\n\nAnd this brings me to the real gist of my story.\n\nIt is considered the most heinous offence \"_to say I_,\" and every\nconceivable device is resorted to, no matter how clumsy, in order to\nprevent the catastrophe of a writer being forced to speak of himself in\nthe first person.\n\nTo my mind, there is a good deal of affectation and pose about this, and\nin anything of an autobiography it becomes insupportable.\n\n\"The writer happened upon one occasion to be present, etc.\" \"He who pens\nthese unworthy pages was once travelling to Scotland, etc. etc.\"\n\nWhich of us has not groaned under these self-conscious euphemisms? \"Why\nnot say '_I_' and have done with it?\" we are wont to exclaim in\ndesperation after pages of this kind of thing.\n\nNow I propose \"to say _I_\" and \"have done with it,\" and not waste time\nin trying to find ingenious and wearisome equivalents.\n\nThat is my first point.\n\nSecondly, in this record of psychic experiences I mean to keep clear of\nanother intolerable nuisance--I mean the continual introduction of\ncapital letters and long dashes in order to conceal identity in such\nepisodes.\n\nThe motive is admirable, but the method is detestable.\n\nOne can only judge by personal experience. I know that when I read a\nrather involved narrative of sufficiently involved psychic doings, and\nMr Q----, Miss B----, Mr C----, and Mr C.'s maternal aunt Mrs G----\nfigure wildly in it, I am driven desperate in trying to force some idea\nof personality into these meaningless letters of the alphabet.\n\nTo conceal the identity of Mr Brown, who was once guilty of seeing a\nghost, may be and most frequently is, a point of honour, but why not\ncall him Mr Smith, and say he lived in Buckinghamshire, and thus rouse\na definite mental conception in your reader's brain, instead of\ncalling him Mr Z. of W----, and thus setting up mental irritation\nbefore the ghost comes upon the scene?\n\nHaving cleared the ground so far, I will now mention my third and last\npoint.\n\nIt is usual when writing reminiscences of any kind to anticipate your\nreader's criticisms, and try to increase his interest in your\nexperiences by a sort of false humility in deprecating their value.\nThe idea is doubtless founded on a sound knowledge of Human Nature,\nbut it may easily fall into exaggeration. Nothing is, of course, so\ndisastrous as to praise beforehand a person, a picture, a voice, a\npoem, a book, or anything else in the wide world, in which we wish our\nfriends to take any special interest. Such a course naturally rouses\nunconscious antagonism in poor, fallen Human Nature before we even see\nor hear the object of our later bitter aversion. But there is a medium\nin all things, and it is scarcely polite to put the intelligence of\nour readers sufficiently low to be manipulated by such obvious arts.\n\nMoreover, it has been well said that the history of any one human\nbeing--truthfully told (I would add, intelligently assimilated)--would\nbe of enthralling interest and value. If this be true on the ordinary\nphysical, intellectual, and spiritual planes it should not be _less_\ntrue, surely, where a fourth plane of psychic experience is added to the\nother three?\n\nThen again, there is no need to apologise for experiences limited in\ninterest or in amount.\n\nThese terms are of necessity comparative. For example, my experiences\nare limited compared with those of some people I have known, who have\nbeen either more highly endowed with psychic gifts or who have\nconsidered it advisable to cultivate such gifts to a high point of\nefficiency; or lastly, with whom opportunities for experience have been\nmore numerous. But, on the other hand, my experiences have been great\ncompared with those of some people at least equally interested in these\nsubjects.\n\nGeographically speaking, I have been peculiarly fortunate, having had\nthe opportunity of witnessing phenomena of this kind in many countries,\ndiffering widely in Race, Climate, and other conditions.\n\nI have been told many times that I could develop clairvoyance,\nclairaudience, or sit as a materialising medium, but have had no desire\nto go further in these matters.\n\nI have seen quite as much as I wish to see, I have heard quite as much\nas I wish to hear, and should be very sorry personally to increase\neither of these psychic possibilities by the practice that makes more\nperfect.\n\nSome consider this lamentable cowardice and want of faith. Each one must\njudge for himself in such a matter. Faith in this connection may easily\ndegenerate into foolhardiness.\n\n\"Greater is He that is for you than all those who are against you\" has\nbeen quoted to me again and again in deprecation of my attitude in these\nthings. It has always appeared to me a matter in which individual\njudgment must be exercised, and upon which no broad and general lines of\nconduct can be laid down.\n\nOne man can cycle fifty miles in the day, and dance all night, and be\nthe better for the experience. Another attempting the same feat, but\nnot having the same constitution, might do himself lasting injury. It is\nexactly the same thing on the psychic plane. Our psychic constitutions\ndiffer at least as much as our physical ones. We may overtax either, and\nwith similar consequences. We have no right to expect protection or\nimmunity on either plane, where we neglect the warnings of that inner\nmonitor who is always our best guide.\n\nAs a final word of warning, I would say: \"Beware of your motives in\ncultivating psychic capacity.\" It is so easy to mistake love of\nnotoriety, even in one's own little _milieu_, for love of Truth. There\nis always an eager, curious crowd anxious to get \"messages\" or \"hear\nraps,\" or to see any other little psychic parlour tricks which we may be\ninduced to play for their benefit. At first one feels it is almost a\nsacred duty to satisfy, or attempt to satisfy, these psychic cormorants;\nbut later, wisdom comes with experience.\n\nAt one time I felt bound to collect my friends and acquaintances round\nme and tell them all I knew upon these subjects, and doubtless it was\nright to do so whilst I \"_felt that way_,\" to quote an expressive\nAmericanism.\n\nBut the inevitable day came when I realised that I had spent my strength\nand my muffins in vain; for these gatherings generally took the form of\ntea-parties, not too large to cope with single-handed--say from ten to\ntwenty people. They came at 4.30 P.M. and stayed till 8 P.M., when most\nof them remembered they ought to have dined at 7.45 P.M., and went away\nsaying \"How immensely they had enjoyed themselves,\" and \"How\ninteresting it all was.\"\n\nAnd so far as any permanent good came of it, there the matter ended.\n\nBelieve me, when people are prepared for this development of their finer\nsenses _they will come to you_. There is no need to go into the highways\nand hedges and compel them to come in. If they do come they won't\nstay--why should they? _They have not got there yet_, to use a\nthoroughly hateful and ungrammatical but absolutely accurate sentence.\n\nIf you try to carry them on the back of your own knowledge and\nexperiences, you can do so for a time, but eventually they will struggle\ndown, or you will put them down from sheer fatigue, and then they will\nrun back to the spot where you found them, and thence work out their own\npsychic evolution either in this or in some future term of existence.\n\nWhen their interest is exhausted--to say nothing of your patience--you\nwill hear that they have called you a crank and lamented your \"wasting\nyour time over such nonsense.\" That will be _your_ share of the\ntransaction.\n\nI know this _because I have been there--moi qui vous parle_.\n\n\"Let every man be persuaded in his own mind,\" but don't try to persuade\nanyone else. When the right time comes he will ask your help and counsel\nwithout any persuasion.\n\nOf course, I am speaking only of private work. Lectures and congresses\nare of the greatest possible value; for no one knows whom he may be\naddressing on these occasions, and the seed may be falling into soil\nprepared, but often unconsciously prepared, for its reception.\n\nTo sum up the whole matter:\n\n1. Be strong in the conviction that eventually good must always conquer\nevil, but remember also that you individually may have a very bad time\nmeanwhile if you go amongst mixed influences and evoke that which at\npresent you are not strong enough to withstand.\n\n2. Know when to speak and when to be silent.\n\n3. Receive what comes to you spontaneously, but never allow yourself to\nbe cajoled or persuaded into developing your mediumship to gratify\ncuriosity; not even on the plea of scientific duty, unless you are fully\nconscious in your own mind that this is the special work which is laid\nupon you.\n\nAnd bearing these three simple rules in mind, we may go forward with\nbrave hearts and level heads on the Quest which has been so plainly\nopened out to us in this twentieth century.\n                                              E. KATHARINE BATES.\n\n\n\n\nSEEN AND UNSEEN\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nEARLY RECOLLECTIONS\n\n\nHaving set myself to write a personal record of psychic experiences, I\nmust \"begin at the beginning,\" as the children say.\n\nWhen only nine years old I lost my father--the Rev. John Ellison Bates\nof Christ Church, Dover--and my earliest childish experience of anything\nsupernormal was connected with him. He had been an invalid all my short\nlife, and I was quite accustomed to spending days at a time without\nseeing him. His last illness, which lasted about a fortnight, had\ntherefore no special significance for me, and my nurse, elder brother,\nand godmother, who were the only three people in the house at the time,\ngave strict orders that none of the servants should give me a hint of\nhis being dangerously ill. These instructions were carefully carried\nout, and yet I dreamed three nights running--the three nights preceding\nhis decease--that he was dead. I was entirely devoted to my father, who\nhad been father and mother to me in one, and these dreams no doubt broke\nthe terrible shock of his death to me. How well I remember, that cold,\ndreary February morning, being hastily dressed by candle-light by\nstrange hands, and then my dear old nurse (who had been by his bedside\nall night) coming in and telling me the sad news with tears streaming\ndown her cheeks. It seemed no news at the moment; and yet I had spoken\nof my dreams to no one, \"for fear they should come true,\" having some\npathetic, childish notion that silence on my part might avert the\ncatastrophe. In all his previous and numerous illnesses I had never\ndreamt that any special one was fatal.\n\nDuring the next few years of school life my psychic faculty remained\nabsolutely in abeyance. In a fashionable school, surrounded by\nchattering companions and the usual paraphernalia of school work,\nclasses, and masters, etc., I can, however, recall many a time when\nsuddenly everything around me became unreal and I alone seemed to have\nany true existence; and even that was for the time merged in a rather\nunpleasant dream, from which I hoped soon to wake up. This sensation was\nquite distinct from the one--also well known to me in those days and\nlater--of having \"done all this before,\" and knowing just what somebody\nwas about to say.\n\nProbably both these sensations are common to most young people. It would\nbe interesting to note which of the two is the more universal.\n\nI pass on now to the time when I was about eighteen years old, and a\nconstant visitor, for weeks and months at a time, in the house of my\ngodfather, the archdeacon of a northern diocese. His grandson, then a\nyoung student at Oxford, of about my own age, must have been what we\nshould now call a very good sensitive. It was with him that I sat at my\nfirst \"table,\" more as a matter of amusement than anything else, and\ncertainly young Morton Freer treated the \"spirits\" in the most cavalier\nfashion. They did not seem to resent this, and he could do pretty much\nwhat he liked with them. This may be a good opportunity for explaining\nthat when I speak in this narrative of \"spirits\" I do so to save\nconstant periphrasis, and am quite consciously \"begging the question\"\nvery often, as a matter of verbal convenience.\n\nIn those days I don't think we troubled ourselves much about theories,\nand when we found that Morton and I alone could move a heavy dining-room\ntable, or any other piece of heavy furniture quite beyond our normal\npowers, practically without exerting any strength at all, we looked upon\nit as an amusing experience without caring to inquire whether the energy\ninvolved had been generated on this side the veil or on the other side.\nWe could certainly not have moved such weights under ordinary\ncircumstances, even by putting forth all our combined strength, and we\ncould only do so, for some mysterious reason, when we had been \"sitting\nat the table\" beforehand. Ingenious Theories of Human Electricity raised\nto a higher power by making a Human Battery, etc. etc., were not so\ncommon then as now, and we accepted facts without trying to solve their\nproblems.\n\nThe dear, hospitable Archdeacon would put his venerable head inside the\ndoor now and then, shake it at us half in fun, and yet a good deal in\nearnest, and I think he was more than doubtful whether our parlour\ngames were quite lawful!\n\nWe were very innocent and very ignorant in those days on the subject of\npsychic laws; and probably this was our salvation, for I can remember no\nterrible or weird experience, such as one reads of nowadays when tyros\ntake to experiments.\n\nAnd yet my knowledge and experiences of later days lead me to endorse\nmost heartily the well-known dictum of Lawrence Oliphant--namely, that\nwhen he saw people sitting down in a casual, irresponsible way to \"_get\nmessages through a table_,\" it reminded him of an ignorant child going\ninto a powder magazine with a lighted match in its hand.\n\nStaying in this same house, I can next recall a flying visit from a\nbrother of mine, who had just spent three months, on leave from India,\nin America, where he had taken introductions, and had been the guest of\nvarious hospitable naval and military men, who had shown him round the\nWashington Arsenal, West Point Academy, and so forth. My kind old host\nhad begged him to take us on his way back to London; and I remember well\nhis look of utter amazement when Morton and I had lured him to \"the\ntable\" one afternoon, and he was told correctly the names of two or\nthree of these American gentlemen.\n\n\"I _must_ have mentioned them to my sister in my letters,\" he said,\nturning to the younger man. I knew this was _not_ the case, but it was\ndifficult to prove a negative.\n\nIt was a relief, therefore, when my brother suggested what he\nconsidered a \"real test,\" where previous knowledge on my part must be\nexcluded.\n\n\"Let them tell me the name of a bearer I had once in India--he lived\nwith me for more than twelve years--always returning to me when I came\nback from English furlough, and yet at the end of that time he suddenly\ndisappeared, without rhyme or reason, and I have neither seen nor heard\nof him since. I _know_ my sister has never heard his name. _That_ would\nbe something like a test, but, of course, it won't come off,\" he added\ncynically.\n\nThe wearisome spelling out began.\n\nThe table rose up at R, then at A.\n\n\"Quite wrong,\" my brother called out in triumph. \"I knew how it would be\nwhen any real test came. Fortunately, too, it is wildly wrong--neither\nthe letter before nor the letter after the right one, so you cannot\nwriggle out of it that way.\"\n\n\"Never mind, Major Bates,\" said Morton Freer good-naturedly. \"Let us go\non all the same, and see what they mean to spell out.\"\n\nFortunately, we did so, with a most interesting result; for the right\nname was given after all, but spelt in the Hindoostanee and not the\nEuropean fashion. The name in true Hindoostanee was Ram Din--but\nEuropeans spelt it Rham Deen--and so my brother himself had entirely\nforgotten when the A was given that it had any connection with the man's\nname. When the whole word was spelt out, of course he remembered, and\nthen his face was a study!\n\n\"Good gracious! it is right enough, and that is the real Hindoostanee\nspelling, too. I never thought of that when the A came!\"\n\nI think this episode knocked the bottom out of his scepticism for some\nyears to come.\n\nEven now this case precludes ordinary and conscious telepathy. Mr\nPodmore would be reduced to explaining that the Hindoostanee spelling\nwas latent in my brother's consciousness, though his normal self\nrepudiated it.\n\nAnother curious incident--still more difficult to explain upon the\nThought Transference Theory (unless we stretch it to include a possible\nimpact of _all_ thoughts, at all times and from all quarters of the\nglobe, upon everyone else's brain)--occurred under the same hospitable\nroof.\n\nOne of the Archdeacon's nieces came to stay in the house about this\ntime. She was considerably my senior, and was very kind to me, with the\nthoughtful kindness an older woman can show to a sensitive young girl.\nThis awakened in me an affection which, I am thankful to say, still\nexists between us. This lady was considerably under thirty years old at\nthe time, but to my young ideas she seemed already in the sear and\nyellow leaf from the matrimonial point of view! One must remember how\ndifferent the standard of age was more than thirty years ago!\n\nIt was also the time when marriage was looked upon not only as the most\ndesirable, but as almost the only _possible_, career for a woman.\n\nSo when Morton and this lady and I were \"sitting at the table\" in the\ngloaming one evening, I said, with trembling eagerness: \"Morton, _do_\nask if Carrie will ever be married,\" for the case seemed to me almost\ndesperate at the advanced age of twenty-seven or twenty-eight!\n\nI must mention that for some occult reason (which I have entirely\nforgotten) I trusted fervently that a Hungarian or Polish name might be\ngiven after the satisfactory \"Yes\" had been spelt out, but, alas!\nnothing of the kind occurred.\n\n\"The table\" began with a D, and then successively E, H, A, V were given.\nNo one ever heard of a Polish or Hungarian name of the kind, and I\nremember saying petulantly: \"Oh, give it up, Morton. It's all nonsense!\nNobody ever heard of a Mr _Dehav_.\"\n\nOnce more Morton rescued a really good bit of evidence by his\nimperturbable perseverance.\n\n\"Wait a bit! Let us see what is coming,\" he said.\n\nI took no further personal interest in the experiment. Either Morton\nconcluded the name was finished, or there was some confusion in getting\nthe next letters, owing doubtless to my impetuous disgust. Anyway, he\nwent on to say:\n\n\"Let us ask where the fellow lives at the present time.\" This was\ninstantly answered by \"_Freshwater_,\" and the further information given\nthat he was a widower.\n\nNone of us knew any man, married or single, who lived at Freshwater, and\nthe incident was relegated to the limbo of failures.\n\nSeveral years later, however, my friend _did_ marry a gentleman whose\nname (a very pretty one) began with the five despised letters, and he\nwas a widower, and _had_ been living in his own house at Freshwater at\nthe time mentioned. She did not meet him until some years after our\ncurious experience.\n\nAbout the same time, but in the south of England, my attention was again\ndrawn to metapsychics by an experience connected with the death of the\nfamous Marquis of Hastings, of horse-racing repute. As a young girl I\nlived close to the Mote Park at Maidstone, where his sister, the present\nLady Romney, was then living as Lady Constance Marsham. The Reverend\nDavid Dale Stewart and his wife (he was Vicar of Maidstone, and I made\nmy home with them for some years after leaving school) were friends of\nhers, and she sometimes came to see them in a friendly way in the\nmorning. On one of these occasions, when Lady Constance had just\nreturned from paying her brother a visit in a small shooting-box in the\neastern counties (I think), Mrs Stewart remarked that she was afraid the\nchange had not done Lady Constance much good, as she was looking far\nfrom well. In those days Lady Romney was an exceptionally strong and\nhealthy young woman.\n\nShe said rather impatiently: \"Well, the fact is I did a very stupid\nthing the other day--I never did such a thing before--I fainted dead\naway for the first time in my life.\"\n\nAsked for the reason of this, she told us that she and her husband and\nLord and Lady Hastings were dining quietly one evening together, two\nguests who had been expected not having arrived by the train specified.\n\nLooking up Bradshaw, and finding no other train that could bring them\nuntil quite late at night, the other four sat down to dinner. Soup and\nfish had already been discussed, when a carriage was heard driving up to\nthe door, and they naturally concluded that their guests had discovered\nsome means of getting across country by another line. Lord Hastings\nsaid:\n\n\"Tell Colonel and Mrs ---- that we began dinner, thinking they could not\narrive till much later, but that we are quite alone, and beg they will\njoin us as soon as possible.\"\n\nThe servant went to the door, prepared with the message given, flung it\nopen--but no carriage, no horses were there! Everybody had heard it\ndriving up, nevertheless.\n\nRemembering the old family legend that a carriage and pair is heard\ndriving up the avenue before the head of the Hastings family dies, Lady\nRomney fainted dead away, very much to her own surprise and\nmortification; for she was, and doubtless is still, an uncommonly\nsensible woman, \"quite above all superstitions.\"\n\nThe episode struck me as curious at the time; but the impression passed,\nand a few days later I went to pay a visit to friends of mine in\nBuckinghamshire. Soon after my arrival I happened to mention the story,\nand was much laughed at as a \"superstitious little creature, to think\ntwice of such nonsense.\" \"Of course, everyone had been mistaken in\nsupposing they heard wheels or horses' hoofs--nothing could be simpler!\"\n\nAnd yet before I left that house, three weeks later, all the newspapers\nwere full of long obituary notices of the Marquis of Hastings. These\nwere so interesting that my friend's husband had reached the second\nlong column in _The Times_ before any of us remembered my story, which\nhad been treated with so much contempt. It suddenly flashed across my\nmind: \"Owen! Remember the carriage and pair and how you laughed at me!\"\nThey were forced to confess \"_it was certainly rather odd_,\" the usual\nrefuge of the psychically destitute!\n\nA shake of the kaleidoscope, and I see another incident before me of\nmore personal interest.\n\nAt the time of the outbreak of the Afghan War, in the autumn of 1878, I\nwas living with very old friends in Oxford. My brother of the Ram Din\nincident was once more in India, and had been Military Secretary for\nsome years at Lahore to Sir Robert Egerton, who was at that time\nLieutenant-Governor of the Punjab.\n\nWhen the war broke out, my brother, of course, went off to join his\nregiment for active service; but at the time of my experience it was\nimpossible that he could have reached the seat of war, and I knew this\nwell.\n\nI was in excellent spirits about him, for he had been through many\ncampaigns, and loved active service, as all good soldiers do. Moreover,\nI had just read a charming letter which Sir Robert Egerton had sent him\non resigning his appointment as Military Secretary to take up more\nactive duty to his country.\n\nYet it was just at this juncture--when, humanly speaking, there was no\ncause for any special anxiety--that I woke up one morning with the\ngloomiest and most miserable forebodings about this special brother.\nNothing of the kind had ever occurred to me before, though he had been\nthrough many campaigns in India, China, Abyssinia, and elsewhere.\n\nIt was an overwhelming conviction of some great and definite disaster\nto him, and my friends in vain tried to argue me out of such an\nunreasonable terror by pointing out, truly enough, that he could not\npossibly be within the zone of danger at that time. I could only\nrepeat: \"I _know_ that something terrible has happened to him,\nwherever he is. It may not be death, but it is some terrible\ncalamity.\"\n\nI spent the day in tears and in absolute despair, and wrote to tell him\nof my conviction. Allowing for difference of time between Quetta and\nOxford, my mental telegram reached me in the same hour that my brother,\nwhilst on the march, and only thirty miles beyond Quetta, was suddenly\nstruck down in his tent by the paralysis which kept him confined to his\nchair--a helpless sufferer--for twenty-eight years.\n\nPerhaps, now that I know so much more of mental currents, I might have\nreceived a more definite message as regards the true _nature_ of the\ncalamity. It could not have been more marked, nor more definite as\nregards the _fact_ of it.\n\nMy condition of hopeless misery obliged me to put off all engagements\nthat day, and I did nothing but fret and lament over him, with the\nexception of writing the one letter mentioned, in which I told him of my\nstrange and sad experience.\n\nIn time, of course, the first sharp impression passed, and soon a cheery\nletter arrived from him, written, of course, before the fatal day. My\nexperience in Oxford occurred on the morning of 4th December 1878. It\nwas well on in January 1879 before the corroboration arrived, in a\nletter written to us by a stranger. Communication was delayed not only\nby the war, but also by the fact that my poor brother was lying at the\ntime deprived of both movement and speech, and could only spell out\nlater, by the alphabet, the address of his people at home.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nINVESTIGATIONS IN AMERICA, 1885-1886\n\n\nAn interval of seven years occurs between the events recorded in the\nlast chapter and my first visit to America, which took place in the\nautumn of 1885.\n\nDuring these years no abnormal experiences came to me, nor had I the\nsmallest wish for any.\n\nThe table turnings with Morton Freer were a thing of the past, and were\nlooked back upon by me in the light of a childish amusement rather than\nanything else. Quite other interests had come into my life, specially as\nregards literature and music; and I never gave a thought to spooks or\nspiritualism, nor did I really know anything about the latter subject.\nIt is true that on one occasion a curate at Great Marlow had spoken to\nme about Mr S. C. Hall and his researches, and I think he must have\ngiven me an introduction to the dear old man, for I remember going to\nsee him \"with a lady friend\" (he made a great point of this, somewhat to\nmy amusement), and finding a charming old man with silver locks, a fine\nhead, and a nice white frilly shirt.\n\nHe spoke of his dear friend \"Mrs Jencken,\" whom he considered the only\nreliable medium, and showed us some sheets full of hieroglyphics, which\nhe said were messages obtained through her influence from \"his dear\nwife.\"\n\nIt was all so much Greek to me in those days, and only true sympathy\nwith the poor old man's evident loneliness and adoration of his wife's\nmemory prevented my making merry over the extraordinary delusions of the\nold gentleman, when my companion and I had left his rooms in Sussex\nvillas.\n\nLater, I lived during two years with Mrs Lankester and her daughters\nwhilst looking after an invalid brother in London; and I need scarcely\npoint out that constant intercourse with Professor Ray Lankester in his\nmother's house was not calculated to encourage any psychic proclivities,\neven had these latter not been entirely latent with me at that time.\n\nI heard a great deal about the \"Slade exposure,\" both from Professor\nLankester and his friend Dr Donkin, who often came to us with him. When\narranging my American tour in 1885, Mrs Lankester kindly gave me an\nintroduction to Mrs Edna Hall, an old friend of theirs, who had been\nliving in their house during the whole period of the Slade trial. This\nlady--an American--lived permanently in Boston, and curiously enough (in\nview of the preceding facts) it was she who persuaded Miss Greenlow and\nme to attend our first _seance_ in Boston. Mrs Edna Hall had honoured\nMrs Lankester's introduction most hospitably; but she was too busy a\nwoman to do as much for us as her kindness suggested, and she had\ntherefore introduced us to another friend--Mrs Maria Porter--a most\npicturesque, clever, and characteristic figure in Boston society in the\neighties.\n\nBoth these ladies accompanied us to the \"Sisters Berry.\" Mrs Edna Hall\nhad no sort of illusions on the subject. She said quite frankly that she\nonly took us there because it was a feature of American life which we\nought not to miss, and which would probably amuse us, if only by showing\nthe gullibility of Human Nature.\n\nOne is always apt to read past experiences in the light of present\nconvictions. Fortunately, I kept a diary at the time, and have a\nfaithful record of what took place, and, which is still more valuable,\nof the impressions formed at the time.\n\nThe extracts connected with this _seance_ in Boston, and later\nexperiences in New York, are taken partly from my record at the time and\npartly from the chapter on \"Spiritualism in America,\" published in my\nbook entitled \"A Year in the Great Republic.\"\n\nSpeaking of this first _seance_ in Boston, I see that I have said:\n\n\"I went to the 'Sisters Berry' in a very antagonistic frame of mind,\n_determined beforehand that the whole thing was a swindle_ (italics are\nrecent), accompanied by friends who were even more sceptical than\nmyself, if that were possible.\" I go on then to describe the usual\ncabinet, and pass on to the following extract:--\n\n\nAn old Egyptian now appeared, and a man in the circle, who had been\nsitting near my friend Miss Greenlow all the evening, went up and spoke\nto him, and then asked \"_that the lady who had been sitting near him_\"\nmight come up also, which she did; but she said she could distinguish no\nfeatures, and only felt a warm, damp hand passed over hers. Miss\nGreenlow was next called up by the spirit of a young man who wished to\nembrace her, but who was finally proved to be the departed friend of the\nlady who sat next to her. Miss Greenlow returned to her seat, furious,\ndeclaring that it was a horrible, coarse-looking creature, unlike anyone\nshe had ever seen in her life.\n\nMrs Porter made valiant attempts to investigate the figures who came\nforth at intervals, but was invariably waved back by the master of the\nceremonies.\n\n\"Will that lady kindly sit down? This spirit is not for her. It wishes\nto communicate with its own friends, and she is disturbing the\nconditions, and forcing the spirit back into the cabinet.\"\n\nThere were evidently many old stagers there, who flew up like\nlamp-lighters on every possible occasion, with exclamations of: \"Oh,\nUncle Charlie, is that you?\" \"How do you do, Jem?\" and so forth.\n\nOne old lady, in a mob cap and black gown, was introduced as a certain\nSister Margaret who had taught in St Peter's School, Boston. She came to\nspeak to a former pupil, who gave her spiritualistic experiences in such\nremarkably bad grammar as reflected small credit on Sister Margaret's\nteaching of the English language.\n\nThis girl told us how anxious she had always been to see her old\nteacher, who had appeared to her several times in the _seance_ room, but\nnever in her old garments--a sort of sister's dress. After wishing very\nfervently one night, Sister Margaret appeared dressed in mob cap and\ngown, saying: \"Don't you see my dress? I came in it at your wish.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the girl; \"and I thank you for gratifying my wish. Since\nwhich time,\" she added, \"I have been a firm believer in spiritualism.\"\n\nA young French girl, in draggly black garments and a shock of thick\nblack hair, then came forward and rushed amongst us, trying to find\nsomeone to talk French with her. My friend Mrs Hall went up first, and\nthen I was told to go up and speak to her. I took hold of her hands, and\ngrasped them firmly for a moment. They seemed to be ordinary flesh and\nblood, but I am bound to confess that they appeared to _lengthen out_ in\na somewhat abnormal fashion when the pressure was removed.\n\nHer face was very cadaverous, and she spoke in a quick, hurried way, _as\nif time were an object_. She said she understood a little English, but\ncould not speak it. Her mother had been French; her father an Indian,\n\"un brave homme.\"\n\nIt seemed to me that a good deal of kissing and embracing went on. One\nold grey-headed gentleman was constantly walking up to the cabinet and\nbeing embraced by a white figure, whose arms we could just see, thrown\nround his neck, in the dim light. (I note that the light here was much\nless than with Mrs Stoddart Gray in New York.)\n\nThe only excitement was the chance of some disturbance before we left;\nfor Mrs Porter became more and more indignant with the \"gross\nimposture,\" which culminated when at length she was called up and told\nthat \"a young man wished to speak with her.\" She asserted that it was\n\"the most horrible, grinning, painted creature who hissed into her\nears.\"\n\nThe master of the house begged her to be patient, and try to hear what\nthe spirit wished to say, but with a very emphatic \"NO, NO, NO\" she\nresumed her seat, amidst a general titter of laughter.\n\nAt the last we were told that three little girls, whose mother sat near\nthe cabinet, wished to materialise, but found it difficult to do so,\nowing to the absence of children in the audience.\n\nThe mother seemed very anxious to see them; but suddenly the gas was\nturned up, and the _seance_ declared over--a very abrupt finale to a\npiece of unmitigated humbug, I should say.\n\n\nThese extracts sufficiently show the spirit in which I entered upon my\ninvestigations and the result of that spirit. I think even Mr Podmore\nwould have considered me _thoroughly sound_ on that first evening. I\nhave no doubt that the violence of Mrs Porter's antagonism, and the\nsmiling cynicism of Mrs Hall in face of the \"American experience\" she\nhad proposed for us, added to my own preconceived prejudices.\n\nI am aware that the Berry Sisters have been \"exposed,\" thus sharing the\nfate of all other public mediums. In the light of later experiences,\nhowever, I feel sure that I might have received something personally\nevidential on this occasion had my attitude of mind given hospitality to\nany possible visitors from the Unseen.\n\nThe next extracts from my diary refer to a _seance_ which we attended in\nNew York a few days after our arrival there, and some two or three\nweeks later than the Boston sitting already described.\n\nOur stay in Boston had extended to three months from the original\nfortnight we had planned for the visit. I had taken a few very good\nintroductions there: to Dr Oliver Wendell Holmes, Colonel Wentworth\nHigginson, and others of the Boston _alumni_, and as several receptions\nhad been kindly arranged for us, and my name had appeared many times\nduring the winter in various local papers, it would have been easy for\nthe Sisters Berry to find out something about me and my companion, and\nutilise the knowledge by faking up a convenient spirit, who could have\ntalked glibly of my literary tastes, and so forth. Nothing of the sort\noccurred, however, although our first _seance_ only took place a week or\ntwo before we left Boston, after my three months' stay there.\n\nThis fact should certainly be \"counted as righteousness\" to the much\nabused Sisters!\n\nIt was the more curious, that our first _seance_ in New York, within a\nfew days of our arrival, and in a metropolis where at the time we were\n_absolute strangers_, should have been so much more successful as\nregards evidential experiences.\n\nI will again quote from my diary of 1886. The medium visited on this\noccasion was Mrs Cadwell, who has since died.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe knew nothing beforehand of the medium, who lived in a small flat in\nan unfashionable quarter. Some eight people only were assembled in the\nextremely small room. All were perfect strangers to Miss Greenlow and\nme, but a fancied likeness in one lady present to a picture I had seen\nof Mrs Beecher Stowe led me to ask if it were she, and I was told that\nmy surmise was correct.\n\nThere was no room for a cabinet, so a curtain was hung across a tiny\nalcove, just the ordinary \"arch\" found in most rooms of the kind.\n\nWhen I went behind the curtain with the female medium, before the\nsitting began, there was barely space for us both to turn round in. The\ncarpet on either side the curtain was one piece. There was absolutely no\nroom for any trap-door machinery, even could such have been worked\nsuccessfully in the perfect silence in which we sat, within two feet of\nthe alcove. The room was about the size of the small back dining-room in\nan ordinary London lodging--say in Oxford or Cambridge Terrace, for\nexample.\n\nThe medium sat amongst us at first, only going behind the curtain after\na few moments, when she was \"under control\" as it is called.\n\nA little child of hers, who died some years ago at the age of four, is\nsupposed to help in the materialisations, but is never seen outside the\ncurtains. If she came out herself she would not be able to help the\nothers to do so. I mention these things in the words in which they were\ntold to me, offering no comment, but putting the case for the moment as\nspiritualists would put it. To do this, and then to give a faithful and\nunprejudiced account of what took place, seems to me the only fair way\nof treating such a subject.\n\nI was told again and again that too much concentration of thought on\nthe part of the audience was deterrent. This accounts for music as an\ninvariable accompaniment of all such sittings. It seems to harmonise the\ncircle, to break up over-concentration, and may also, unfortunately,\nserve to cover the doings of dishonest mediums.\n\nIt must not, however, be supposed that in this case the materialisations\nwent on only whilst we were singing. This might point to a possible\n\"trap-door theory,\" although in a city where flats abound (rooms, not\nhuman beings!) there would still be the difficulty of getting your\ndownstairs neighbours to look kindly upon such proceedings. As a matter\nof fact, we were often sitting in absolute silence when fresh \"spirits\"\nappeared.\n\nI can corroborate the assertion that too much concentration of thought\nupon them proves deterrent to the spirits, for on more than one occasion\nI heard a voice from the curtain or cabinet saying: \"Do get the people's\nminds off us; we can do nothing whilst they are fixed upon us so\nintensely,\" as though _thought_ in spirit life corresponded to some\nphysical obstacle on the earth plane.\n\nThe first spirit who came (the daughter of an old gentleman sitting near\nme) intimated through him that she would like me to go up and help her\nto materialise the white veil which all in turn wore, and which, though\nperfectly transparent, is considered a necessary shield between them and\nthe earth's influences; on the same principle, I suppose, that we put on\nblue spectacles to protect us from the blinding rays of the sun.\n\nShe came out from the alcove, held both her hands in front of her,\nturning them backward and forward that I might be satisfied that nothing\nwas concealed in them. The soft, clinging material of her gown ended\nhigh up on the shoulders, so there were no sleeves to be reckoned with.\nI stood close over her, holding out my own dress, and as she rubbed her\nhands to and fro a sort of white lace or net came from them, like a\nfoam, and lay upon my gown which I was holding up towards her.\n\nI touched this material, and held it in my hands. It had substance, but\nwas light as gossamer, and quite unlike any stuff I ever saw in a shop.\n\nThe very softest gossamer tulle that old ladies sometimes produce as\nhaving belonged to their grandmothers is perhaps the nearest approach to\nwhat I then lifted in my hands, but even this does not accurately\ndescribe it.\n\nWhen long enough she took up the veil, unfolded it, covering her head\nwith it, and saying very graciously \"Thank you\" to me.\n\nOther spirits now appeared for the other people in the room, who\nconversed with them in low tones.\n\nAll these had evidently materialised before and could consequently speak\nwith comparative ease. One, called the \"Angel Mother\" (the mother of the\nmedium), answered questions on the spirit life in a loud American voice,\nprefacing every remark, whether to man or woman, by an affectionate\n\"Well, de-ar!\" Her answers showed considerable shrewdness, but not much\ndepth, and were often rather wide of the mark.\n\n\"Nels Seymour\" (who appears to have belonged to a sort of Christy\nMinstrel Company over here) cracked jokes all the time with a gentleman\namongst the audience in a good-natured but flippant and very unspiritual\nmanner, and even the ladies joined in the undignified punning and \"play\nupon words\" that went on all the time.\n\nThe little child's voice came in as a relief every now and then. She\nspoke broken, childish English, but used the expressions of a grown-up\nperson. She described several spirits as \"chying\" (trying) to come, but\nnot being strong enough.\n\nI was becoming drowsy, and rather tired of the performance, when my\nattention was once more aroused by hearing that a very beautiful female\nspirit, with a diamond star in her forehead, had appeared and asked for\nme, saying she had been a friend of mine on earth, and wished to\ncommunicate with me.\n\nThis was conveyed to me by the little child's voice, the spirit herself\nnot having yet emerged from the curtain; but the medium's husband looked\nbehind it, and told me of the diamond star, which he said was some\n\"order\" in spirit life.\n\nHaving no idea who the friend might be, I begged for some further\nparticulars before going up to speak to her.\n\n\"She passed from earth life about five years ago, and in Germany,\"\nanswered the medium's husband, who had conducted the conversation behind\nthe curtain.\n\nThis was less vague, and now for the first time a suspicion of the\nspirit's identity crossed my mind; but I would not go up until a name\nhad been given, and I asked for this before leaving my seat.\n\nMy travelling companion--a recent acquaintance--had never heard me\nmention the lady in question, who _had_ died in Germany at the time\nspecified. The little child said the spirit would give the name through\nher, and the process was a curious one. Instead of mentioning the whole\nname or each letter of it to her father, the child _described_ each\nletter to him as you might describe the lines of the large capitals in a\nchild's reading-book. The father guessed the letter from the child's\ndescription, and asked me if the first one were correct? It was; but I\ndid not tell him so, merely saying I should like to have the Christian\nname in full before giving any opinion.\n\nIn due time the six letters (Muriel, we will call it) were correctly\ngiven, and I had then no further excuse for refusing to speak to the\nspirit.\n\nI went up to the curtain, and she appeared in front of it. I have been\nfrequently asked: \"Should you have recognised her as your friend had no\nname been given?\" With every wish to be perfectly truthful, I find it\ndifficult to answer this question, for the following reason:--None of\nthe \"materialisations\" I saw were exactly human in face. There was no\nidea of a mask or clever \"get up,\" but if one could accept the theory of\na body hastily put together and assumed for a time, the result is\nexactly what might have been expected under the circumstances.\n\nMy friend in real life was very pale, and had exquisitely chiselled\nfeatures, and the ones I now looked upon were of the same _cast_. The\nheight was also similar, and an indescribable atmosphere of refinement,\npurity, and quiet dignity, for which she had been remarkable; all this\nwas present with this materialisation. More than this I cannot say, for\nno materialisation I have ever seen could be truthfully considered\n_identical_ with the human original.\n\nI did not feel frightened, but I did feel embarrassed, and naturally so,\nconsidering how unwilling and grudging my recognition of her\nindividuality must have appeared. She seemed conscious of this, for\nalmost immediately she mentioned her hands, holding them out for\ninspection, and saying:\n\n\"Don't you remember my hands? I was so proud of my hands!\"\n\nNow, as a matter of fact, my friend was noted for her beautiful hands,\nbut she was too sensible and clever a woman to have been conceited about\nthem, and had too much good taste ever to have made their beauty a\nsubject of remark, even to an intimate friend.\n\nMoreover, the hands now _en evidence_, although well shaped and with\ntapering fingers, were as little identical with a human hand as the face\nwas identical with a human face.\n\nCasting about for something to say to her, my first thought was for an\nonly and dearly loved married sister of hers, also a friend of mine, and\nI mentioned the latter in a guarded way, saying: \"If you are in reality\nmy friend, have you no message for _your sister_?\"\n\nIn a moment, and without the slightest hesitation, she said: \"_Tell poor\nJessie_,\" going on with a message peculiarly appropriate to the facts of\nthe case, but of much too private a nature for publication.\n\nAlmost immediately afterwards, and _with no shadow of suggestion from\nme_, she added:\n\n\"_Poor Jessie! She suffered terribly when I passed away so suddenly._\"\n\nMy friend had died in a foreign country, under peculiarly sad\ncircumstances. She was young, beautiful, and accomplished; a prominent\nlocal figure in the well-known capital where she had spent several\nwinters. Her death was so sudden that there was not even time to put off\na large afternoon \"At Home\" arranged for that day. Moreover, this\nsister, by a most merciful chance, happened to be spending a few months\nwith her, out of England, at the time. These were all special facts,\nspontaneously referred to by her, but which would _not_ have applied\nequally well to the death of any other friend, even supposing such a\ndeath to have occurred abroad.\n\nThe spirit spoke feebly and with difficulty, \"not having much strength,\"\nshe told me.\n\nI asked if her father (who had died a few months previously) were with\nher.\n\n\"Not yet,\" she said gently; \"but I know that he has passed over.\" She\nthen kissed my hand, and faded away before my eyes, not apparently\nreturning to the curtain (close to which I stood), but vanishing into\nthin air.\n\nSome ten days later my friend and I went again to an evening _seance_ at\nthe same house, different people being present on this occasion. A\nstupid, \"_unintelligent_ sceptic\" woman put us all out of harmony by\nmaking inane suggestions, always declaring that \"_she would not for the\nworld interfere with the conditions_,\" but doing so all the same. The\n\"Angel Mother\" came again, and rather lost her temper, I thought, with\nan aggravating, illogical man in the circle, who hammered away about\nFaraday's opinions on the spirit world without much idea of what he was\ntalking about. \"Nels Seymour\" _appeared_, as well as spoke, this time.\nHe took my hand and kissed it; but he does not leave the cabinet, as he\nis the \"control.\" It was eleven years on this day since he had \"passed\nover,\" so he called it his \"birthday.\"\n\nA very beautiful female spirit materialised and offered to sit on my\nlap; an offer I closed with at once.\n\nShe was some five feet eight inches in height, and a large,\nwell-developed woman. Anticipating the possibility of her resting her\nfeet on the ground, and so concealing her real weight, I moved my own\nfeet from the ground the moment she sat down, which was easily done, as\nmy chair was a high one.\n\nShe remained for several minutes in this position, resting, of\nnecessity, her whole weight upon me, which was about equal to that of a\nsmall kitten or a lady's muff, in the days when small muffs were in\nfashion. There was an _appreciable_ weight, but I have never nursed any\nbaby that was not far heavier.\n\nThe veil this time was materialised in the usual way, my friend going up\nto watch the process.\n\nMy spirit friend appeared again, and more strongly this time. At a\npublic _seance_, where so many are eager to communicate with their\nfriends, it is impossible to monopolise more than a few minutes of the\npublic time, and consequently any communications are as hurried and\nunsatisfactory as a conversation with an intimate friend in the public\nreading-room of a hotel would be.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI pass over another most excellent and evidential incident as a\nconcession to family prejudice. It has already appeared in my book on\nAmerica entitled \"A Year in the Great Republic,\" and may be found there.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt a third materialising _seance_ at the same house an excitable Italian\nfriend of mine, who had never seen anything of the kind before, came\nwith much the same prejudices as I had felt at the Boston _seance_, and\ndisturbed the conditions very much by his attitude of determined\nantagonism; whilst his comparative ignorance of English, and my feeble\nItalian, made explanations, under the circumstances, rather hopeless.\nThe whole circle was put out of harmony, and a dead weight lay upon us\nall. The materialisations continued, it is true; but personally it was a\ngreat relief to me when my excitable friend left, declaring that\neverything he had seen was \"_physiquement impossible mon ange_.\"\n\nHe departed so abruptly as to bring down much abuse upon his absent head\nfor having \"broken the battery\" and almost \"killed the medium\" by his\nsudden disappearance from the circle.\n\nThis awful threat had so much power over the rest of the party that we\nsat out to the bitter end, leaving the medium at last still in her\ntrance, with husband and son hovering over her in an anxiety which, if\nacted, showed first-class dramatic power.\n\nMeanwhile I had made the acquaintance of a very beautiful and charming\nwoman in New York, to whom I had brought a letter of introduction.\n\nShe has had a tragic and remarkable history; is a woman of great mental\npowers, in addition to very remarkable beauty; and is of the highest\nrank, being an Austrian princess, I believe, in her own right, and\nhaving spent her youth in foreign courts.\n\nApart from these facts, which had been told me by a mutual friend before\nwe met, I knew nothing whatever of her family history, nor whether she\nhad brothers or sisters, alive or dead.\n\nI had spoken to her of my curious experiences, and she had discussed the\nmatter with me from the standpoint of a thorough woman of the world, of\nstrong mental power, who had seen too much of life to be dogmatic or\nnarrow in her views, but too much also to believe in what is called the\n\"supernatural,\" before every possible _natural_ hypothesis had been\nadmitted and dismissed as untenable.\n\nSitting in her pretty room the day before I left New York, we had talked\nfor some two hours on various subjects connected with life and\nliterature, and before the final \"adieux\" she said laughingly: \"Well,\nhave you been to any more _seances_?\"\n\nI said \"No,\" and that we did not intend to do so, as our time was now so\nshort. A few moments of careless talk on the subject ensued, and picking\nup a newspaper, I cast my eye over the usual list of mediums,\nclairvoyants, etc. A half-defined wish to see whether any spirit friend\nwould come to me under totally different conditions and surroundings,\nand in an entirely different quarter of the city, led to my copying out\none of the addresses at haphazard.\n\nI could not prevail upon my hostess to accompany me (she is delicate,\nand dreads night air), but I took the slip of paper to my hotel,\nthinking that my friend there might care to take the cars after dinner\nto this distant end of the city.\n\nMy English companion proved rather indifferent and disinclined towards\nthe expedition.\n\nThis was very natural. She was not magnetic in temperament, and had no\nexpectation of seeing any of her own friends, although, of course, she\nhad both seen and spoken to those who came for me.\n\nHowever, a good dinner at the excellent Windsor Hotel fortified us so\nmuch after our fatigues that at the last moment we agreed to make one\nmore attempt, no one, ourselves included, having known five minutes\npreviously that we should leave the house.\n\nOn this occasion we were ushered into a much more imposing drawing-room,\nand the lady herself was evidently some degrees higher in the social\nscale than our first mediumistic friend.\n\nThe arrangements also were quite different. As we sat waiting for a few\nminutes (having arrived very punctually), Mrs Gray looked at my friend,\nand then described an elderly lady with grey hair who was standing over\nher, but, of course, invisible to our eyes. Almost immediately Mrs Gray\nbegan rubbing her knees, and complained of pain in them, adding: \"The\nimpression of dropsy is being conveyed to me. This spirit seems to have\nsuffered from disease of that nature.\"\n\nMy friend--who was very self-contained and unemotional--gave no clue to\nthe fact that she recognised anyone by this description, but as we were\nreturning home in the cars she said quietly: \"It is curious Mrs Gray\nshould have described that old lady with grey hair--I suppose she meant\nmy mother. _She_ had grey hair, and died of dropsy.\"\n\nOn my expostulating with this lady for having given the impression that\nshe did not recognise the description at the time she said, with\nconscious pride: \"You don't suppose I was going to let the woman know\nthat she had described my mother?\"\n\nTo give a false impression in so good a cause as determined incredulity,\nseems not only justifiable, but actually praiseworthy to many minds.\n\nLater in the evening, the _seance_ being in full swing, a spirit dressed\nin some kind of white \"sister's\" dress appeared at the door of the\ncabinet; and Mrs Stoddart Gray asked if anyone in the circle could speak\nGerman, as this spirit did not seem to understand French, Italian, or\nEnglish, and she herself only recognised German by the sound.\n\nA gentleman volunteered his assistance, but apparently without much\neffect, and being a German scholar, I then offered to come to the\nrescue. The moment I went up to the figure she seemed to gain strength,\nand came quite out of the cabinet, and said to me in the most refined\nGerman (any readers who have studied the language know that there is as\nwide a difference between the highest and lowest type of German accent\nas between an educated Irish \"accent\" and an Irish brogue):\n\n\"_Ich bin die schwester von Madame Schewitsch_,\" mentioning the name of\nthe foreign friend with whom I had been spending that afternoon: \"_Ich\nweisz das Sie Heute Nach mittag bei meiner schwester waren._\"[1]\n\n [1] Translation: \"I am the sister of Madame Schewitsch--I know that you\n spent this afternoon with my sister.\"\n\nShe had evidently a strong, almost overwhelming desire to make some\ncommunication to me for her sister, but the difficulty in doing so\nseemed equally strong.\n\nIt lay beyond the question of language. She spoke with sufficient\nstrength, and I could understand perfectly her well-chosen and\nwell-pronounced words. But some insuperable obstacle seemed to prevent\nher telling me what she wished to convey, and the despairing attempt to\nsurmount this was painful in the extreme.\n\nI assured her of my willingness to help in any way possible, and made a\nfew suggestions, but all in vain.\n\n\"Is it that you are not happy?\"\n\n\"No--no! That is not it.\"\n\nIt seemed to me some sort of warning which she wished to convey, and had\nsome connection with illness, for the words _achtung_ and _krankheit_\n(warning and illness) were repeated more than once, but no definite\nmessage came.\n\nI then asked if she could _write_ it, and she caught eagerly at the\nidea. So I borrowed a pencil and some paper, and placed them on a small\ntable in the middle of the room, with a chair in front of it. She came\nquite close to the table (five gas burners were more than half turned\non, so there was plenty of light), sat down, and took up the pencil, but\nalmost immediately threw it down again, saying in a most unhappy and\ndespairing voice: \"_Nein! nein! Ich kann es selbst nicht schreiben!_\"[2]\nand vanished before my very eyes as she rose from the table. Now had\nthis been a case of fraud, and supposing that some woman had means of\ndiscovering the name of my New York friend and the fact of my having\nspent that very afternoon with her, what would have been easier than to\nwrite or give some commonplace message in a language of which she had\nalready proved herself mistress?\n\n [2] Translation: \"No! no! I cannot even write it!\"\n\nThe episode was so painful that I decided _not_ to write to Madame\nSchewitsch about it. I have therefore no absolute corroboration of the\nfact that the lady mentioned had a sister who became a nun, or who was\nconnected with some such establishment, and had passed over. This,\nhowever, is much more probable than not, because in every high-born\nCatholic family in Austria, one member in a large family almost\ninvariably takes the veil. I have given the real name in this case,\nhoping Madame Schewitsch may perchance come across my book, and supply\nthe information needed. I may remark, finally, that three or four months\nlater, whilst travelling in California, I heard from my excitable and\nsceptical Italian friend (who had given me the introduction to Madame\nSchewitsch) that this lady had had a long and most serious illness\nduring my absence in the West, and that her husband and he had both\nfeared she would never recover from it. This fear, fortunately, proved\nto be groundless.\n\nTo return to the sitting.\n\nAbout twenty minutes after the \"sister\" had disappeared, a figure in\nwhite came forward very swiftly, and without a moment's hesitation\npointed towards me, saying quickly: \"_For you._\"\n\nI went up at once, recognising who it was, but determined to give no\nsign of this fact.\n\nThe \"spirit\" looked at me for a moment with surprise, as one might look\nat any well-known friend who passed us in the street without a greeting.\n\nAs I remained silent she whispered: \"Don't you know me?\" I am afraid _I_\ngave the false impression this time, and asked her for her name.\n\n\"_Why, I am Muriel!_\" came the instant answer, mentioning the name of\nthe first friend who had appeared to me, after spelling out her name, at\nthe previous _seances_ held in another part of New York.\n\nOn this third appearance my spirit friend asked me to kiss her. I must\nconfess that I complied with some amount of trepidation, which proved to\nbe quite unnecessary.\n\nThere was nothing the least repulsive to the touch, although it was not\nexactly like kissing anyone on earth; but an indescribable atmosphere of\nfreshness and purity, which seemed always to surround this friend whilst\nliving, was very apparent under these changed conditions. Another\ncurious little point is that I had entirely forgotten my friend's love\nof violets (she always wore them when possible, and used violet scent)\nuntil I smelt them distinctly whilst speaking to her.\n\nIt must be remembered that until the day of the sitting, we had never\ndreamed of going to Mrs Gray's house, nor had we even heard her name. I\npicked it out of a newspaper by chance--amongst at least thirty others.\n\nUntil past seven o'clock that evening we had not decided to visit her,\nand the _seance_ began at eight P.M., no single person in the room being\npresent who had been at the house of the other medium some weeks\npreviously. Under these circumstances it would be difficult to account\nfor the fact of my friend's reappearance on the ground of collusion\nbetween the two mediums. Moreover, such collusion would not account for\nthe appearance earlier in the evening of a spirit claiming to be the\nsister of Madame Schewitsch.\n\nNo one hitherto has been able to suggest any _intelligent_ explanation\nof my personal experiences on these occasions. Conjuring tricks and trap\ndoors are, of course, \"trotted out\" by the _unintelligent_ sceptic, but\nthese do not meet the difficulty of an _accurate knowledge of names and\nof family matters of comparatively small importance_.\n\n\nAs I am just now chiefly concerned with presenting incidents in my life\nrather than in prosing over them, I resist the temptation to go further\ninto the question of _Materialisations_ either from the historical or\nethical point of view, and pass on to the subject of clairvoyance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II--_continued_\n\nINVESTIGATIONS IN AMERICA, 1885-1886\n\n\nIn speaking of clairvoyance I shall again have recourse to my notes\ntaken at the time of my American visit and on the spot.\n\nI am quite convinced that where a life has been in any way eventful or\nat all marked, any fairly developed clairvoyant can in some way \"sense\"\nyour mental and moral atmosphere.\n\nIn some three or four personal cases, the notes taken at the time of\nsuch visits, paid several thousands of miles apart, might almost be read\nas descriptive of the same interview, with different witnesses.\n\nMy travelling companion, who had led a very uneventful life, seemed to\npuzzle them much more. There was apparently nothing to lay hold of, and\nonly a very shadowy, indistinct picture was given in consequence.\n\nIn my own case the colours were put on freely, firmly, and without the\nleast hesitation, and in every single instance the sketch was remarkably\ntruthful, and yet would not have described the life of one other woman\nin three or four hundred.\n\nThat there is a good deal of guesswork done even under the supposed\ninfluence of \"trance\" is quite evident to me. I am not prepared to say\nthat such trances were in no case genuine, but the remarks made during\nthem were frequently of a tentative nature, and the slightest good \"hit\"\nwas followed up with as much ingenuity as Sir Richard Owen displayed in\nputting together his skeleton from a single bone.\n\nI was told some six or seven times that my mother (who died during my\ninfancy) was my guardian spirit, and six times her name was given to me,\nwith some difficulty in one or two cases, but invariably without the\nsmallest guessing on the part of the clairvoyant or any hint from me.\n\nOne of my most successful interviews in New York was with a Mrs Parks of\nPhiladelphia--a very pleasant, good-looking, healthy woman, quite unlike\nthe usual cadaverous medium with whom one is more familiar.\n\nHer terms being rather higher than those usually asked in America (where\ncompetition has made mediums a cheap luxury), I demurred at first; upon\nwhich she said brightly: \"Well, don't come if you don't feel like paying\nthat; but I never alter my prices. But I won't take your money if I\ndon't give you satisfaction. Some get satisfaction from one person and\nsome from another--you will soon see if I am telling you the truth about\nyour friends, and I won't take a penny from you if you are\ndissatisfied.\"\n\nI left the house saying I would think it over, and Mrs Parks did not at\nall press me to come, and from my manner could hardly have expected to\nsee me.\n\nI had a most satisfactory interview with her next day.\n\nAfter referring to my mother's presence, and giving her name without any\nhesitation, she gave me several messages with regard to character which\nwere singularly appropriate, and finished up by saying: \"Your mother\ndoes not wish you to go to mediums or mix yourself too much up with such\npersons. It is not necessary for you to do so; she says you have enough\nmediumistic power for her to be able to communicate with you directly.\"\n\nI could not help saying: \"Well, Mrs Parks, you are going very much\nagainst your own interests in giving me this message. I am a perfect\nstranger to you in this city. I have told you that I am making some\nlittle stay here, and as you have given me so much satisfaction I might\nhave been induced to come and see you several times again before\nleaving.\"\n\nShe laughed, and answered: \"That is quite true; but I am an honest\nwoman, and I am bound to give you the message that is given to me for\nyou, even when it goes against my interest.\"\n\nSeeing her bright, pleasant home, with every trace of comfort about it,\nand having received personal proof that money alone was not her\nconsideration, I could not help asking why she continued such an arduous\nlife.\n\n\"Well,\" she answered, \"the truth is that I do it now against my own\nwish. My husband has always objected to it more or less. He was afraid\nit might injure my health, and for two years I gave it up entirely.\nBut,\" she added, \"the spirits would not leave me alone. It seemed as if\nI _had_ to come back to it, as if I were refusing to use the powers\nthat had been given to me for the help and comfort of my\nfellow-creatures. I name a higher price than others, to limit my work\nand to keep away those who would only come from idle curiosity.\" She\nalso told me that sometimes she had to give orders beforehand that\ncertain people should not be admitted on any pretext whatever. \"I can\nsee their spirits round them before they reach the door very often, and\nI would not have such people, bringing such an atmosphere into my\nhouse--no, not if they gave me a hundred dollars for each sitting.\"\n\nI must mention one more incident connected with this period of my\ninvestigations, because it throws a strong light on some obscure\nproblems.\n\nWhilst consulting these clairvoyants, in widely different parts of\nAmerica, two very near relatives of mine were almost invariably\ndescribed, and the names--one male and one female--were generally given.\nThe mediums invariably went on to say that the female spirit was further\non in development than the male spirit. Now there were circumstances\nwhich made this statement, viewed from this world's standpoint, not only\nabsolutely mistaken, but almost ludicrously so. The woman's nature had\nbeen a far more faulty one--more impetuous, less balanced, and so forth.\nThe male spirit described had been a man of very exceptional character\nand spirituality, whilst on earth.\n\nIn spite of these facts the same \"mistake,\" as I considered it, had\nconsistently been made by every clairvoyant who described them; which,\nby-the-by, rules out telepathy as an explanation of these special\nexperiences. It certainly seemed strange that after giving accurate\ndescriptions of the two relatives referred to--names included--each\nclairvoyant should make exactly the same mistake upon so obvious a\nmatter as the question involved.\n\nSome months later, in the course of my travels, I found myself at Denver\nin Colorado. We stayed here, at first, one day only, to break our\njourney farther up into the Rocky Mountains. The previous day, when\nwandering about Colorado Springs, my friend and I had come across a lady\ndoctor by chance; and having asked some trivial question, we were\ninvited into her pretty little house, where we chatted for half-an-hour\non various subjects--including spiritualism. We gave no account of our\nexperiences, but simply mentioned the fact that we had some interest in\nthe investigation.\n\nHearing this, and that we were going on to Denver next day, this lady\ngave me the address of a young married friend who lived in that city,\nand who had during the previous two years suddenly developed strong\nmediumistic power, but was in no way a professional. She begged us to\ncall if possible, and I took down the address, but said it was very\ndoubtful if we could do so in the short time we should have at our\ndisposal.\n\nAt the end of a long afternoon's drive to the most interesting points of\nview in Denver, we found ourselves close to the quarter where this young\nwoman lived, and called at the house mentioned. The lady was not at\nhome, and a friend who received us explained that it would be impossible\nfor her to come down in the evening to see us, as she was delicate, and\nnot allowed to go out at night.\n\nAs we were leaving Denver early next morning, this made a meeting\nimpossible, so we left our cards, and a note to explain our visit. Going\ninto the hotel office after dinner that evening, I heard a gentleman\ninquiring for me by name, saying he had brought his wife to see me. I\nexplained that I was the lady he asked for, and he then said, with the\nstoical resignation of the typical American husband: \"I did not like her\nto come out, but she was bound to have her own way.\"\n\nThe lady in question came into my bedroom upstairs after dismissing her\nhusband, and said she \"preferred a room already permeated by my\ninfluence.\" She then continued very simply: \"I do not know whether I\nshall be able to help you at all, but it seems there is something I have\nto tell you or explain. When I read your note I felt bound to come,\nalthough my husband tried to dissuade me. It seemed to me as if the\nspirits came all the way with me in the cars.\"\n\nShe then gave me quite a good sitting, but on the ordinary lines, ending\nup by the description of the relatives mentioned, and by making the\nusual \"mistake\" about their relative spiritual positions.\n\nThis was all said in trance. When she returned to consciousness I said:\n\"Now, Mrs Brown (her real name), I must tell you honestly that you have\nmade one cardinal mistake, but I am also bound to say that five or six\nprofessional mediums have done just the same as regards the same\nmatter.\" I then explained, and asked if she could account for such a\npersistent and obvious misconception.\n\n\"Wait a moment,\" she answered; \"perhaps the spirits will tell me.\"\n\nShe looked up with a very intent expression for a minute, as though\nlistening to some explanation which did not cover the ground of her own\nexperience, and then said very quickly and in a monotonous voice, as\nthough repeating a verbal message:\n\n\"It has nothing exactly to do with our earthly idea of 'goodness.'\nSpiritual life can only come to those prepared for it, within the limits\nof their capacity. The male spirit you mention was a clergyman of the\nChurch of England. He was a very holy man, but he was in some way creed\nbound. He was a man of strong creed; he clung to his creed here, and\ncannot quite free himself from it even now, although he has advanced\nvery much in spiritual perception. Now his wife had a very sympathetic,\n_apprehending_ nature. She can therefore receive spiritual light more\nfully and freely. That is why she has risen to a higher plane. This is\nnot a question of character so much as of _spiritual capacity_, and in\nthis she is the more highly gifted of the two. She is on a different\nplane, but she is able to help her husband very much, and in time he\nwill join her, and they will progress together.\"\n\nAll this was said in a quick, decided way, and without the smallest\nhesitation.\n\nOne would hardly have expected a young woman in the midst of the Rocky\nMountains to know the exact meaning of the term \"_clergyman of the\nChurch of England_,\" for the word is almost unknown in America, where\nthey speak invariably of a _minister_. Yet the words were given with\nquick, firm precision, exactly as written down.\n\nLater, in San Francisco, a clairvoyant at once referred to my friend\n\"Muriel,\" and described her, but in rather vague terms. When I pointed\nthis fact out she said a little impatiently, as though we were wasting\ntime in quibbling: \"_Oh, well, it does not matter. The spirit tells me\nyou know perfectly well who it is. She has already appeared to you in\nNew York._\"\n\nI had gone to this particular medium with several young friends, who\nwere all in a very sceptical and rather frivolous state of mind. She\ndescribed \"an uncle,\" apparently over the heads of two of my friends,\nand gave the further information that he was surrounded by water, and\nappeared to have been drowned; also that he was extremely musical.\n\nThis was declared to be perfectly untrue and without a grain of\nfoundation, in fact.\n\nThe woman looked puzzled and a little mortified, but turned to others in\nthe circle, with better success, let us hope!\n\nOn our return home, when the young people were telling their mother of\nthe \"awful humbug\" amid shouts of laughter, the mother said quietly:\n\"But surely you remember, my dear children, hearing of your Uncle\nRobert, who was drowned years ago, before any of you were born? He _was_\na great musician. He wanted to give up his life to art, but he was\npersuaded to take up another profession.\"\n\n\nI give this as an instance of the carelessness with which, when we are\n_determined_ to find fraud, we may do so sometimes at the expense of\ntruth. These young girls had doubtless heard of their uncle, but the\nfact had possibly escaped their memories for the moment, and probably\nthey had no wish to recall anything which could cast a doubt on their\npreconceived notion that \"the whole thing was a swindle!\"\n\nBefore closing the chapter of my American experiences in the years 1885\nand 1886, I must give one more personal detail.\n\nWhen investigating various clairvoyants in the Eastern States in March\nand April of the year 1886, I had been told more than once that a\nguardian band of six spirits was forming round me, and would be later\nsupplemented by another band of six protectors. Whether this had any\nbearing upon the following incident, I must leave my readers to decide.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAbout three months after this pronouncement I found myself at Victoria,\nVancouver's Island. Miss Greenlow and I had gone there from San\nFrancisco for a week or two, not being able at that time to make the\nfurther trip to Alaska. After a very stormy voyage of two or three days\nwe reached Victoria one morning about six A.M. There was only one large\ndouble-bedded room available at the hotel, and we took this on the\nunderstanding that two separate rooms should be found for us before the\nevening.\n\nAs we lay on our beds for a few hours of much needed rest, quite\nsuddenly I realised that I saw something abnormal in the air--just above\nand in front of my head. I mentioned this with much surprise to my\ncompanion, who at once suggested the effects of liver after a sea\nvoyage so tempestuous as ours had been. For the first few moments I was\ninclined to agree with her, and said so; but very shortly my opinion was\naltered by the fact that what I saw first as an indistinct blur\ngradually assumed a definite shape, and I then found there were six\nlittle swallows in front of me, apparently connected with each other by\na waving ribbon, or so it appeared to me.\n\nOpening and shutting one's eyes did not affect the vision. There they\nremained, both at the moment and for several succeeding years, during\nwhich time I was constantly in the habit of seeing \"_my birds_,\" as we\nused to call them. About six months after their first appearance in the\npure, clear atmosphere of Victoria (Vancouver), I was driving across the\nBlackheath Common on a very bright, frosty day, and looking out of the\nopen window of my carriage, I saw my six birds as usual; but for the\nfirst time, parallel with them and lower down, were six new birds of\njust the same size and appearance (about half-an-inch between the tips\nof the wings).\n\nA few days later the new birds and the old ones had amalgamated, and\ntwelve little swallows floated in the air before my eyes. I could not\nsee them in the house. It needed the background of uninterrupted sky\napparently to throw them into sufficient relief to be recognised. After\nsome years, this special sign was withdrawn, and others have taken its\nplace. For example, I have seen in the same way, during the last\nfourteen years, an anchor, with the chain attached to it, and caught\nthrough one end of the former, a short reaping hook. This, doubtless,\nhas some symbolical meaning. Near the anchor I see a sacrificial altar,\nwith flames rising up from it; then a triangle, with loops at the\ncorners, which I was once told was the sign of Nostradamus. Then an\nold-fashioned mirror in a quaintly-shaped frame, and finally a long\nstaff, with the sign of Aries at one end. I have since realised that\nthis is very much like the \"Staff of Faith\" found on the top of many of\nthe tombs in the Roman catacombs. All these latter emblems come together\nas a rule, with a connecting thread binding them to each other. I cannot\nsee them at will, but when the atmosphere is at all clear they are\nrarely absent, when I have time to look for them. I was much amused once\nby an earnest Christian scientist, with whom I happened to be spending a\nfew days on the coast of the eastern counties. She had warned me\nrepeatedly against \"phenomena\" of every kind, spontaneous or induced. On\na specially bright morning we were sitting together in a beautiful park,\nwhich is thrown open to strangers on special days, and, forgetting my\ncompanion's prejudices, I exclaimed involuntarily:\n\n\"I never saw my signs more clearly than just now!--there must be\nsomething very pure about the atmosphere.\"\n\nThis was too much for my friend, who bent forward eagerly, saying:--\"_Do\nlet me try if I cannot see them too!_\"\n\nWell, she \"tried\" for the greater part of two hours, but absolutely in\nvain, and then got up, and suggested going home to luncheon. She added\nnaively: \"I _thought_ they must have something wrong about them, and I\nam quite sure of it now, _or I should have seen them_.\"\n\nBut it had taken her two hours of failure to be absolutely convinced\nthat they came straight from the devil!\n\nOne sign--also birds--appeared to me on one occasion only. We had\nreturned to Denver, where Miss Greenlow and I were to separate after a\nyear's constant travel together. She was going back to San Francisco to\ntake steamer for the Sandwich Islands, and thence on to Australia;\nwhilst I was returning to England for family reasons.\n\nI had arranged to dine with the hospitable Dean of Denver the evening of\nthe day of her departure, and I had not realised how much less lonely\none would have felt had my journey East corresponded more closely with\nher journey West, especially as she was obliged to leave the hotel about\nnine o'clock in the morning.\n\nWaking early, and lying in bed, feeling very melancholy at the idea of\nbeing left behind and alone in the very centre of America, I looked up,\nand, to my delight, saw a new sign.\n\nNot my little birds this time, but two big, plump father and mother\nbirds, with a short string attached, not horizontally as before, but\nperpendicularly. At the end of this little string was a tiny bird, even\nsmaller than the swallows, being evidently guided by the two big birds,\nand quite safe in their charge.\n\nMy room communicated with that of my companion, whose door was open,\nand I told her of this new \"sign in the heavens,\" adding that I hoped it\nhad come to stay. Fortunately, I found a pencil, and made a rough sketch\nat the time, or I might have been tempted to imagine that I had never\nseen it at all, for the trio never appeared again, though I have longed\nto see them, and have certainly required the consolation quite as much,\nmany times, since that far-away summer morning in Denver, Colorado.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn reaching home after this long American trip, I found a budget of\nletters awaiting me--amongst them a little registered box containing a\nkind birthday present from the brother who has been mentioned in the\nIntroduction to this book. Was it another case of mental affinity which\nhad induced him unconsciously to choose a gold brooch with two swallows\nin gold and pearls? Not an uncommon design; but _the birds were exactly\nthe same size as those I was in the habit of seeing just at that time_.\n\nI never told him how extraordinarily _a propos_ his present had proved,\nbut I have always looked upon that brooch as a mascot, and have\ncertainly worn it every day since it came into my possession.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nAUSTRALIA AND NEW ZEALAND\n\n\nShortly after the Jubilee of 1887 had taken place, I sailed for\nAustralia and New Zealand.\n\nMy first psychic experience in the Colonies took place in Melbourne,\nsome months after my landing in Tasmania.\n\nThe wife of one of the \"prominent citizens\" in Melbourne had been\nspecially invited to meet me at an afternoon reception in the house of\nfriends to whom I had carried letters of introduction, as she was said\nto be so deeply interested in everything psychic, and would greatly\nenjoy hearing my American experiences. Fortunately, the lady arrived\nlate, and we had already enjoyed some interesting conversation before\nshe came. A wetter \"wet blanket\" it has never been my fortune to\nencounter. She was a very handsome woman, and therefore good to look at,\nbut in the _role_ of sympathetic audience she was a miserable failure.\nShe sat with a cold, glassy eye fixed upon me, whilst I endeavoured to\ncontinue the conversation which had been interrupted by her arrival.\n\nShe might just as well have _said_ as have looked the words: \"Now go on\nmaking a fool of yourself!--that is just what I have come to see.\"\n\nThe position was hopeless. So I began to talk about the weather, which\nis disagreeable enough from sirocco in the hot spring months (it was the\nend of October) to be useful.\n\nPresently the daughter of the house came up to me, and said:\n\n\"Do, please, go on telling us your interesting experiences, Miss Bates;\nwe can talk about other things at any time, and we asked Mrs Burroughes\non purpose to meet you.\"\n\nThe lady in question had joined another group by this time, so I was\nable to whisper in reply: \"I am so very sorry, but I cannot possibly\ntalk of these things before your friend--she paralyses me absolutely\nfrom any psychic point of view. She is very handsome, and I like looking\nat her, but I cannot talk to her except about the weather.\"\n\n\"How very odd!\" was the unexpected reply. \"That is just what Lizzie\nMaynard says. And I did very much want Lizzie to hear about America too,\nbut she has gone off to the other end of the room, saying she knows you\nwon't be able to talk whilst Mrs Burroughes is here.\"\n\nThis was interesting, for I had not noticed the young girl mentioned,\nwho had not been introduced to me. So when my young hostess asked \"if\nshe might bring Lizzie to see me at my hotel next day,\" I gladly\nacquiesced, in spite of feeling very far from well at the moment.\n\nThis feeling of _malaise_ increased in the night, and was, in fact, the\nprecursor of a short but sharp attack of a form of typhoid which was\nrunning through the hotel at the time. Being in bed next afternoon about\nfour o'clock, I was dismayed to hear that Miss Maynard had arrived to\nsee me, and, moreover, had arrived _alone_. I had never spoken to the\ngirl nor even consciously set eyes on her before, but I knew she must\nhave come at least three miles from the suburb where she lived, and\nwould probably refuse to have a cup of tea downstairs during my absence.\nThere was nothing for it, therefore, but to make an effort, order tea to\nbe brought for her to my room, and send a message hoping she would not\nmind seeing me in my bedroom.\n\nShe came up--a modest, charming-looking girl of about twenty. I\nexplained the circumstances, and apologised for being unable to join in\nthe tea-party, but felt rather desperate when I realised that even the\neffort of taking any share in the conversation was beyond me.\n\nSuddenly a brilliant idea passed through my throbbing head. The day\nbefore, in planning the visit, which Miss Boyle had been unable to carry\nout herself, she had mentioned that her friend Lizzie Maynard was a very\ngood automatic writer, and this seemed a solution of the difficulty.\n\nSo when my little friend had finished her tea, but was still looking\ntired from the long walk, I said to her: \"I am so sorry to be so stupid\nto-day, Miss Maynard. I cannot talk, but I can listen; or do you think\npossibly you could get a little writing for me? Miss Boyle told me you\nwrote automatically sometimes?\"\n\n\"I will try, certainly,\" was the ready response. \"I never know, of\ncourse, what may come, and as this is our first meeting, it may be a\nlittle more difficult, but I should like to try.\"\n\nShe found paper and pencil, and sat by my bedside, holding the pencil\nvery loosely between the second and third fingers, instead of between\nthe thumb and first two fingers in the usual way.\n\nShe continued talking to me during the whole time, and not being well\nversed in automatic writing then, I could not believe that any writing\ncould really be going on in this very casual sort of way.\n\n\"Is any writing really coming?\" I questioned at last.\n\n\"Oh yes; but I can't make out the last long word,\" she said, turning the\npaper round, so that she could see it, for the first time. \"Kindly give\nme that word again,\" she remarked casually, and continued her\nconversation with me.\n\nFinally the three or four sheets of rather large but not always very\ndistinct caligraphy were submitted to me, and I saw that \"Miscellaneous\"\nhad been the long word at the beginning which Lizzie had asked to have\nrepeated.\n\nThe whole message was intensely interesting to me, for it began: \"_I who\non earth was known as George Eliot._\"\n\nNow I had more than once seen, but had never spoken to, George Eliot in\nearth life, and although admiring her genius, as all who read her books\nare bound to do, there seemed no very obvious reason why she should come\nto me. Moreover, Lizzie Maynard, a charming but not highly educated girl\n(as I discovered later), seemed to know little about the famous author\nbeyond her name. Another, and infinitely inferior, lady writer had been\ndiscussed with bated breath the day before in Lizzie's presence. Her\nbooks--just then in the zenith of their popularity--had newly penetrated\nto the Colonies, and were being talked of there as though Minerva\nherself, helmet and all complete, had suddenly arrived in Melbourne. I\nhad personally been greatly interested by one of this lady's earlier\nbooks, and had a much less definite opinion of the author then, than I\nhave at the present moment.\n\nThreshing my brains for any sort of tie with George Eliot, I remembered\nhaving often stayed at Oxford as a young woman, when Jowett of Balliol\nwas entertaining her and Mr Lewes, in his own home.\n\nOf course, there was no question in those far-away days of my being\nasked to meet such a brilliant star; but it amused me often to hear the\ndull and uninteresting people of some standing in the University, whom\nJowett had _not_ favoured with an invitation, declaring that nothing\nwould have induced them to accept it!\n\nThis was, however, but a feeble link, even when added to the righteous\nindignation one had so often experienced on hearing similar remarks\nmade, about a woman too far above her critics both in genius and morals,\nfor them to be able to catch the faintest glimpse of her personality.\n\nApparently it only now lay with me to cease asking _why_, and accept the\ngoods provided by the gods, making the most of such an opportunity. On\nthese occasions so many possible questions tumble over each other in\nthe brain that it is difficult to select any one to start with.\n\nAt length I asked the following question:--\n\n\"What did George Eliot think of the author who had been so much\ndiscussed and so highly applauded on the previous afternoon?\"\n\nVery quickly came the answer: \"_I have no sympathy there--a mere\npuppet._\"\n\nCertainly this was not thought reading; for my own opinion then was very\nindefinite, and Lizzie's views, as it turned out, were as enthusiastic\nas those of most people in the Colony. It was not until several years\nlater that I realised that an extraordinarily _apt_ criticism had been\nmade; for a puppet is made to dance by other entities.\n\nI was longing to ask another question, but had some natural hesitation\nin doing so before such a young girl. Moreover, I feared the answer must\nalmost of necessity be coloured by the traditions of the latter, and\ntherefore would be of no great value either way. But taking my courage\n\"in both hands,\" I put the question:\n\n\"Please ask George Eliot if she _now_ thinks that she was justified in\nthe position she took up with regard to George Lewes?\"\n\nThe answer came in a flash: \"CERTAINLY. _We are one here, as we were on\nearth._\"\n\nAnything less likely to emanate from the brain of an orthodox young girl\ncan hardly be conceived!\n\nAmongst other details, George Eliot said finally that she had come to\nknow my mother in spirit life, where she was called STELLA. Now my\nmother's name in earth life was Ellen, which has the same root for its\norigin. Of course, Miss Maynard did not then know whether my mother were\nalive or dead, and nothing naturally concerning her Christian name.\n\nThe last statement made by George Eliot on this occasion was that\n\"_before another year had rolled by, a great gift would come to me, and\nI must be very careful to use without abusing it_.\" I was too tired at\nthe moment to ask whether \"another year rolling by\" meant a whole year\nfrom 28th October 1887 (the date of the message), or the end of the\ncurrent year--namely, 31st December 1887.\n\nWhen the message had come to an end, Miss Maynard gathered up the\nscattered sheets, and promising to copy them out for me, took her\ndeparture, and left me to muse--so far as a racking brain would\nallow--on the curious and interesting result of her visit. No cup of tea\nto thirsty wayfarer was ever surely so grandly rewarded!\n\nMy next adventure had a distant connection with these Australian\nexperiences.\n\nI had come out to join the friend (Miss Greenlow) who had been my\ncompanion in America, and who had thence sailed for Sydney when I\nreturned for a year to England. She had been anxious for me to rejoin\nher in Australia, and from thence visit Japan and China; but my arrival\nhaving been delayed by literary matters, this lady had finally lost\npatience, and, without my knowledge, had gone on to New Zealand, and\nthence, as it turned out, to Samoa. When I heard of the New Zealand\nepisode there was nothing for it but to follow her there, on a\nwill-o'-the-wisp expedition, as it turned out, but, fortunately, I was\nunaware of this at the time. I say fortunately, because had I known that\nshe had already left Australia for Samoa, I should certainly have\nreturned to England, in despair of tracing her any further, and thereby\none of my most interesting experiences would have been lost.\n\nThe illness in Melbourne, already referred to, detained me for over a\nfortnight, so it was necessary to transfer my New Zealand ticket from\none boat to another. So the illness also must have been one of the\nfactors that was involved in the adventure, as I have called it. For the\ndelay led to my meeting--in a friend's house--Mr Arthur Kitchener (a\nyounger brother of Lord Kitchener), who was introduced to me on the\nspecial ground that we were to be fellow-travellers to New Zealand a day\nor two later. As a matter of fact, Mr Kitchener was on his way from\nEngland to New Zealand, where he was superintending a sheep-run for his\nfather in those days. He had come out by P. & O., and transhipped at\nMelbourne after two or three days' delay there.\n\nSeveral other passengers from the _Massilia_ were also going on to New\nZealand, and naturally they felt like old friends after the five or six\nweeks already spent together. They thought _I_ wanted to be alone, and I\nthought _they_ wanted to be alone, and so I kept severely to the upper\ndeck, feeling often lonely, and they all remained on the lower deck,\nwishing I would come down and talk to them sometimes. In spite of these\nmisconceptions on either side, Mr Kitchener and I became sufficiently\nfriendly for him to give me a very kind and hospitable invitation to\nspend the last few days of the year at his \"station,\" about nine miles\nfrom Dunback, in the Dunedin district. I think I must have told him of\nmy disappointment in missing my companion in Sydney, after travelling so\nmany thousand miles to join her, and doubtless he felt some interest in\nthis Stanley and Livingstone sort of chase, with two women taking the\nprincipal characters!\n\nAnyway, the invitation was given and accepted, and he kindly promised to\nask one or two people to meet me in his house.\n\nAll this came to pass some weeks later, on my return from the New\nZealand lakes, and just before an expedition to the \"Sounds,\" generally\nknown as the \"Sounds Trip.\"\n\nThis is a pleasure trip, organised for early January, which is, of\ncourse, midsummer there. It lasts for ten days, and gives one the\nopportunity of seeing to the best advantage these glorious inlets of the\nsea.\n\nMy week at the sheep station was to precede this, as I have explained;\nin fact, as the steamer sailed late in the afternoon, it was possible to\ngo on board without stopping for the night at Dunedin, whence we were to\nsail. But at the last moment a slight contretemps took place. Owing to\nsome delay the steamer would not be able to leave till Monday, instead\nof the Saturday morning as arranged, and our kind host insisted on\nextending his hospitality for the two extra days.\n\nNow each day there had been some talk about having an impromptu\n_seance_, and each day I had successfully evaded the arrangement. I have\na great dislike to sitting in casual circles with strangers, and it\nseemed to me that no good purpose would be served by doing so. It is\nimpossible on these occasions to convince anyone else that you are not\npushing or \"muscle moving,\" or generally playing tricks, and it has\nalways seemed to me that the time wasted over mutual recriminations on\nthese points, or the silly jokes that appear inevitable, when two or\nthree human beings at a table get together in a private house; might be\nmuch more profitably spent.\n\nTable turning as a parlour game is about as stupid and aimless an\namusement as I know. I represented all this to Mr Kitchener, but in\nvain. He had attended some psychic meetings in Dunback or Dunedin, and\nevidently wished me to reconsider the matter. Also it happened to be the\nlast day of the year, when people are always more inclined to be\nobliging, I suppose; anyway that Saturday night, 31st December 1887,\nfound me sitting down to a table in the little drawing-room of that\nfar-away sheep station.\n\nAs some reward for any virtue there may have been in yielding my point,\nI remembered suddenly that George Eliot's message on 28th October--two\nmonths previously--had been rather vague, and that it might be\ninteresting, if the chance came, to find out whether \"_before another\nyear has rolled away_\" meant a year from 28th October, or the year of\nwhich so few hours still remained to us.\n\nAfter the usual inanities--\"_I am sure you are pushing._\" \"No; _you_\nare! _I saw your fingers pressing heavily._\" \"_Why, how extraordinary!\nthat is exactly what I thought about you_,\" etc. etc., it was intimated\nthat a spirit was there giving the name of George Eliot, so I put my\nquestion at once.\n\n\"I did not mean another year from October last--I referred to this\nyear,\" was the answer.\n\n\"Shall I be able to write automatically?\" was my next query.\n\n\"No; leave that alone--it would be very dangerous for you at present.\"\n\n\"Shall I be able to hear? Shall I become clair-audient?\"\n\n\"No,\" came for the second time.\n\nMy next question naturally was: \"Then shall I be able to _see_ very\nsoon?\"\n\n\"Yes; for you will become clairvoyant for the first time. Remember my\nwarning to use but not abuse the gift.\"\n\nNow I must explain that all this time a good deal of the usual kind of\njoking had been going on. Moreover, I felt intuitively that Mr Kitchener\nthought I was deceiving myself into the idea that human muscles could\nnot account for the movements, and, in fact, the very worst possible\nconditions for getting anything of value were present.\n\nSo much so that I did not for one moment suppose that it was really\nGeorge Eliot, or that she would countenance that particular sort of\nbuffoonery, and the incident made no impression upon me at all. I had\nalready taken my hands off the table, when someone--Mr Kitchener, I\nthink--banged it down four times, and then triumphantly observed: \"_Yes,\nof course, you will see somebody during the night, or rather at four\no'clock in the morning, you see!_\" The whole thing was the kind of\nfiasco I had expected, \"degenerating into a romp,\" as poor Corney Grain\nused to remark about the \"Lancers\" and the stern old lady in the\nsuburban villa.\n\nThe bathos of table turning had surely been reached when it came to\nbanging the leg of the table down four times, and calmly announcing four\no'clock as the time for my first vision!\n\nBut the remarkable point is that I _did_ have my first vision that\nnight, though it had come and gone long before four A.M.\n\nIt is necessary to remember that the sun rises about three-thirty A.M.\nduring the end of December or first week in January out there, so it\nwould have been fairly light before four A.M.; whereas when I woke out\nof my first sleep that night, it was pitch dark.\n\nMy room was the usual whitewashed apartment to be found in the ordinary\ncolonial \"station,\" with a wooden bed standing about two or three feet\nfrom the wall, and parallel with the only window in the room; which\nfaced the door (at the foot of my bed), and was fitted with a very dark\ngreen blind, on account of the hot summer sunshine.\n\nBut it was now pitch dark in the room. I woke facing the window, but\nturned on my side, as one generally does on such occasions, and this\nbrought me face to face with the wall. To my infinite amazement there\nstood between the wall and my bed, a diaphanous figure of a woman, quite\nlife size or rather more, with one arm held out in a protecting fashion\ntowards me, and some drapery about the head. The features were,\nmoreover, quite distinct, and, as I afterwards realised, the counterpart\nof George Eliot's curious and Savonarola-like countenance. But at the\nmoment, oddly enough, I only thought of two things--first, how\nextraordinary that what had appeared to me such a silly waste of time\novernight should have had any element of reality about it! Then swiftly\ncame the second idea: \"And how in the world does it happen that I don't\nfeel a bit frightened?\"\n\nI lay there absolutely content and peaceful, with a feeling of blissful\nsatisfaction which I have never exactly realised either before or since\nthat one occasion.\n\n\"_Everything is all right--nothing can really ever go wrong--nothing at\nleast that matters at all. All the real things are all right. I can\nnever doubt the truth of these things after this experience. It was\npromised, and the promise has been redeemed._\" These were the thoughts\nthat passed idly through my brain as I lay--fully awake--and looked up\nat the comforting woman's figure. For it seemed more--much more--than a\nmere vision. I have spoken of the figure as diaphanous because it was\nnot as solid as an ordinary human being, but, on the other hand, I could\nnot see the wall through it: it was too solid for that. Then I\nremembered a story told in _The Athenaeum_--of all papers--and written by\na Dr Jephson, of his experience whilst paying a visit to Lord Offord,\nand making notes--late at night--in the library of the house for some\nliterary work on hand. He had finished his notes, put away the book of\nreference, looked at his watch, found the hands marking two A.M. (so\nfar as I remember), and had just said to himself: \"Well, I shall be in\nbed by two-thirty after all,\" when, turning round, he found a large\nleather chair close to his own, tenanted by a Spanish priest in some\nancient dress!\n\nThinking it might be an hallucination, he deliberately turned\nround--_away_ from the priest--rubbed his eyes, and then slowly looked\nback again. Still the priest was there, and Dr Jephson then realised for\nthe first time that, although not _consciously frightened_ or alarmed in\nany way, he was quite unable to _speak_ to the intruder. So he quietly\nchose a pencil, sat down, and calmly took his portrait. The priest\npolitely remained until the sketch was completed, and then vanished.\n\nThis story, read some years previously, flashed through my brain, and I\nthought: \"_I_ will try turning round, and then seeing if she is still\nthere.\" I turned deliberately, facing the window, and then realised that\nit was pitch dark in my room--not the faintest glimmer of light came\nthrough the heavily shrouded window. \"_Then it can't be four o'clock_,\"\nwas my triumphant comment.\n\nIt would have been too disappointing had my distinguished visitor\ncondoned the unblushing banging down four times of the table leg, by\nchoosing that hour for her arrival in my room! But then again, how could\nI _see_ her, since the room was quite dark? It was only necessary to\nturn round once more to the wall to realise that I _did_ see her in\nfact, although I ought not to have done so in theory! I saw her as\ndistinctly as I ever saw a marble statue in the Vatican Gallery by the\nlight of noon. Although I had recalled the Jephson story so\ncircumstantially, it never struck me that it might be interesting to\nattempt any conversation, and see whether I also were tongue-tied. I did\nnot _want_ to speak--there seemed no special reason for speaking. It was\nquite enough to lie there with this blissful feeling of protection and\nlove folding me round like a cloud with golden lining. And as this\nconsciousness held me in its loving grasp, to my infinite sorrow the\nkind, protecting figure disappeared, gently and very slowly, sinking\ninto the ground on the spot where I had first seen her; and once more\nall was dark in the room.\n\nI lay, too happy and peaceful for movement or even speculation for some\nten minutes, and then it struck me that I had better light the candle by\nmy side, and find out what o'clock it might be.\n\nNow I have a rather accurate idea of time, and can generally tell within\na minute or two how long any special work may have taken me. Looking at\nmy watch, I saw it was just two-twenty-five A.M., so I settled in my own\nmind that I must have seen the figure at two-fifteen A.M., or possibly\nat two-ten A.M., for I think the experience lasted nearly five minutes\naltogether. Anyway, I felt sure that ten minutes, as nearly as possible,\nhad elapsed between the sinking of the figure out of sight and my\nlighting the match in order to consult my watch. It may have been nine\nminutes, or possibly eleven, but I feel confident the time mentioned\nwould be within these limits.\n\nTherefore next morning, when our host appeared, and I was chaffed about\n\"the vision,\" I said boldly: \"You think it all nonsense, and I confess\nI did not believe anything that came last night when so much joking was\ngoing on, but I was mistaken. I _did_ see, for the first time in my\nlife, anything abnormal.\" And I repeated my experience, just as I have\nnow written it down.\n\nIncredulous looks greeted me, and then Mr Kitchener said quietly:\n\n\"Oh yes, you saw something at four A.M. I am not at all surprised to\nhear that.\"\n\n\"Not at four A.M.,\" I answered, \"but at two-fifteen A.M. I made a\nspecial note of the time. I was asleep again long before four A.M., and\nnever slept better in my life.\"\n\nHe looked puzzled, and then suggested that my watch must have gone\nwrong; but we compared notes, and our watches were registering exactly\nthe same hour within a minute or two.\n\nI found out later that, having learnt something of the Thought\nTransference Theory at the Dunedin Circle or Metaphysical Club which he\nhad attended, Mr Kitchener had attempted to _make me see_ a vision at\nfour A.M., but as he confessed he had been fast asleep _when_ I _did_\nsee (_an hour and three quarters before his efforts started_), it would\ntake a very ingenious person to prove that the latter had anything to do\nwith the occurrence.\n\nA deeply interesting corroboration reached me, however, a few weeks\nlater, by which time I had visited the \"Sounds,\" and many other places\nof interest, and had arrived safely at Auckland, in the North Island.\n\nOn the morning of my vision, I must not forget to mention, that I had\nspoken of it to Mr Kitchener's faithful Irish housekeeper, whose\nnationality I knew would prevent her thinking me a mere lunatic. By this\ntime scepticism had the upper hand, and I was beginning to try to\nexplain away everything in the true Podmorian spirit.\n\nCould Mr Kitchener or any other person present have had to do with the\nmatter? In this case my blissful feelings would naturally be merely the\nresult of imagination, and easily disposed of on this ground. So I\nquestioned the little housekeeper when she brought my hot water as to\nwhether it could have been possible for Mr Kitchener or anyone else in\nthe house to have access to a clean sheet or tablecloth, and to have\nmasqueraded in the garden outside my room. She indignantly denied the\npossibility. \"The linen is all locked up by me; besides, no one would\nhave been so wicked. It might have frightened you out of your senses,\nma'am! Do you suppose the master would have done such a thing?\"\n\nNo; I did not really accuse anyone of such a cruel and stupid joke.\nMoreover, it was a little difficult, even for Podmorian ingenuity, to\nexplain how man or woman, masquerading in a white sheet in the garden\noutside, could convey the fairly solid figure of a faked \"George Eliot,\"\nwho stood well out between the wall and my bed; and this through a thick\ngreen blind and curtains, when garden and room alike were shrouded in\n_absolute_ darkness!\n\nFoiled in all my attempts to find a \"sensible solution\" to the mystery,\nI determined to write and ask Lizzie Maynard of Melbourne if _she_ could\nthrow any light upon matters, my decision in taking this step being\nstrengthened by the curious coincidence which I had just\ndiscovered--_i.e._ that Mr Kitchener's housekeeper had lived with the\nMaynards when they had had a house in Dunedin, which was later burnt\ndown, as so often happens in the Colonies. \"Jane\" had lost sight of the\nMaynard family for years, and was much excited by my promising to write\nand tell them of my meeting with her.\n\nOf course, I mentioned my strange experience and all the details\nconnected with it--_except_ the exact hour of the occurrence. It was by\na pure oversight (as I supposed) that this fact was omitted. I have had\nreason since to believe that I was unconsciously impressed to leave out\nthis special detail, in order that I might receive far better evidence\nthan would have been possible under other circumstances. Had I mentioned\nthe hour of the vision, the imagination of my young friends in Melbourne\nmight have been at work as regards the hour of _their_ experience, which\nwas as follows:--\n\nSeveral weeks after leaving Dunback I reached Auckland, and received\namongst other letters one from Lizzie Maynard in answer to mine. Mr\nKitchener had also written, saying what nice girls my friends the\nMaynards must be, and how kindly they had written to his excellent\nlittle housekeeper, sending her welcome gifts, and saying that her\nplace had never been filled in their hearts, and so forth. Lizzie's\nletter to me began also about the excellences of \"Jane,\" and the\ncurious coincidence through which she had been once more put in touch\nwith her; then she went on to say:\n\n\"It is indeed very remarkable about your experience, dear Miss Bates,\nbut I think you will consider it much more remarkable when I tell you\nwhat _we_ were doing that night. I was spending the week-end with our\nmutual friends Captain and Mrs Boyle\" (in whose house she and I had\nencountered Mrs Burroughes), \"and Lily Boyle and I were sleeping in\nthe same room, as the house was full.\n\n\"On the evening of 31st December there was a little dance arranged, to\n'dance the old year out and the new year in,' and at midnight we\ndispersed, the visitors going home, and those in the house retiring to\nbed. Lily and I were too much excited to get into bed at once, so I\nsuggested that we should try to compose a letter to Miss Pearl\" (this\nbeing the lady whose writings they greatly admired. I had allowed them\nto use my name as an introduction, should they wish to communicate with\nher at any time).\n\nLizzie went on to say how nervous they were about writing the letter,\nfearing that so popular an author might not take any notice of the badly\nexpressed letter of two young colonial girls. However, she did her best,\nand Lily Boyle did _her_ best, and the result was a hopeless failure!\n\"Then,\" continued Lizzie, \"a happy thought struck me--George Eliot had\nused my hand to convey her message to you last October; might we not,\nremembering this, appeal to her to help us in our difficulty? So we gave\nup trying to write the letter ourselves, took down planchette from its\nshelf, and started again. In a few moments an excellent letter was\nwritten, giving your name as an introduction, with all the little\npoints you had specially begged us to remember in connection with Miss\nPearl's probable prejudices. It was so splendidly written, and so\nquickly, that you can imagine our delight! We could not bear to give up\nplanchette even after both our names had been signed, and I said\npleadingly: '_Oh, don't go away! Do stop and tell us something more._'\n\n\"In large letters, as you see\" (Lizzie enclosed the script), \"was\nwritten very decidedly:\n\n\"NO, I CANNOT STAY WITH YOU NOW--I HAVE PROMISED TO GO AND SEE\nSTELLA'S DAUGHTER.\n\n\"I remembered, dear Miss Bates, that G. Eliot had said your mother's\nname in spirit life was _Stella_, so, of course, we knew that she meant\nus to understand that she was going to see _you_.\n\n\"Unfortunately, you did not mention the hour of her visit, but we took\nthe time when enclosed message was written--very accurately--in order to\ntell you about it, and the hour was just twelve-thirty A.M. Do write and\ntell us that was the time when she appeared to you--we feel sure it must\nhave been--but are longing to have our idea confirmed, etc. etc.\"\n\nNow my young friends had evidently entirely forgotten the difference\nin time between Dunedin and Melbourne, and I must confess to my own\namazement when I found that it was considerably over the sixty\nminutes, which I should have vaguely supposed it to be.\n\nIn fact, I was rather disappointed to think there was so wide a margin\nbetween the two occurrences, until I casually asked a gentleman, who was\nstaying in my hotel, if he could tell me the difference in time between\nthe two cities.\n\n\"Not exactly, I'm afraid, but it is considerably over an hour. Ah,\nthere is a good atlas! I can easily calculate it for you.\" He remained\nsilent for a moment, and then raising his head, said: \"As nearly an\nhour and three quarters as possible.\" This was pretty good evidence of\nthe practically simultaneous experience of my friends in Melbourne at\ntwelve-thirty A.M., with my own at two-fifteen A.M. in the\nneighbourhood of Dunedin.\n\nWhen I first became acquainted with Mr Myers, shortly after my return\nfrom Australia and New Zealand, I told him this story. He was greatly\ninterested, but pointed out that it was useless from the evidential\npoint of view unless I would take the trouble to write one or two\nletters to the Colonies.\n\nSo I wrote to Mr Kitchener for confirmation of the fact that I was\nstaying in his house on the night of 31st December 1887, and had told\nhim of my experience next morning, exactly as here related. Then I had\nto get Miss Lizzie Maynard's testimony with regard to her letter to\nme, and finally, I think, the testimony of Lily Boyle and her father\nthat Miss Maynard was their guest in Melbourne on the occasion of the\nNew Year's Eve dance. These letters are presumably still amongst the\narchives of the Society of Psychical Research, and the story was\nprinted by them in their Proceedings some years ago.\n\nI may add a last evidential touch by saying that when I met Miss Pearl\nfor the first time after my travels, she referred to the letter she had\nreceived--under favour of my introduction--and quite spontaneously\nremarked upon its excellence, adding:\n\n\"I could scarcely believe that two young Australian girls, as they\ndescribed themselves to me, could have written such an admirable\nletter.\"\n\nI did not disclose the real source of the composition, as the popular\nauthor thinks that she has no belief in spiritualism.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nHONG KONG, ALASKA, AND NEW YORK\n\n\nThe spring months of 1888 found me at Brisbane, _en route_ for China,\nafter spending a pleasant month with old friends on a well-known\nstation belonging to the late Sir Arthur Hodgson, named Eton Vale, and\nsituated on the beautiful and healthy Darling Downs of Queensland.\n\nBefore returning to Sydney from New Zealand, my female \"Dr\nLivingstone\" had reappeared upon the scene in the most unexpected\nmanner. Our \"historical meeting\" took place in an Auckland hotel,\nwhere she suddenly turned up one day, driven back from Samoa by the\nintense heat. So after some gentle recriminations, she \"having\nsupposed the delay on my part might mean an entire change of plan,\"\nand I having supposed--from her letters--that Sydney was such a\nParadise that she could hardly be dragged from it even by a flaming\nsword, we agreed to cry \"quits,\" and continue our travels together. So\nMiss Greenlow spent the month of March in Sydney, whilst I paid my\nvisit to Queensland, and we met once more at Brisbane to take steamer\nfor Thursday Island, Cape Darwin, and eventually Hong Kong. Only one\nsmall matter of psychic interest occurred during this voyage.\n\nI have mentioned in a previous chapter the little \"swallows,\" which I\nfirst saw in San Francisco in the year 1886. I had been accustomed to\nseeing them ever since that date, and had been frequently commiserated\nfor incipient eye trouble in consequence, by more than one sceptical\nfriend.\n\nOn the very day we went on board the Hong Kong steamer at Brisbane, a\nnew sign appeared: a single bird, holding in its beak a ring with half\nhoop of five stones, presumably diamonds. I told my friend about this,\nbut neither she nor I could imagine any significance in it. At that time\nwe had not even met any of our fellow-passengers to speak to, for we\nwere all taken up with settling into our cabins and trying to make\nourselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit.\n\nFor a whole week the same little bird and the same ring were\npersistently held up before me. Then an inkling of the possible meaning\nbroke upon me suddenly. Within a fortnight of our sailing this suspicion\nwas confirmed, and the little bird's warning or suggestion amply\njustified. But \"that is another story!\" Curiously enough, the new \"sign\nin the heavens\" was withdrawn as soon as I had grasped its meaning.\n\nI must hasten over our delightful stay in Japan, because amongst much of\nextreme interest from artistic, social, and various other points of\nview, nothing occurred which has any special bearing on my present\nsubject.\n\nLeaving Japan eventually by sailing from Yokohama to Vancouver\n(Washington territory), the old threads were once more put into my\nhands.\n\nWe made the acquaintance on board the old P. & O. _Abyssinia_ of the\nlate Captain MacArthur, a kindly and genial naval man. He was an\nAustralian by birth, but belonged to our English navy, and was just\nreturning home on his promotion as commander.\n\nHe became rather interested in my \"queer ideas,\" and ended by suggesting\nsome experiments with \"the table,\" so he persuaded the ship's carpenter\nto put together a small rough wooden table. The sittings were held,\ngenerally after dinner, in either my cabin or that of my \"stable\ncompanion\" Miss Greenlow. So far as I remember, we three were the only\nsitters, and I am bound to confess the sittings were sometimes very\nmonotonous, even viewed from the indulgent perspective of a sea voyage.\nIn fact, I can now recall only one incident of any real value.\n\nThe dear old nurse, spoken of in my opening chapter, had now been for\nthree or four years on the other side of the veil, but had never given\nme the slightest sign of her presence. But she came several times during\nthis voyage, and always with the same object--namely, to entreat, and\nfinally _implore me_, to give up a projected tour in Alaska.\n\nMiss Greenlow and I had been prevented from undertaking this, two years\nearlier, when visiting Victoria (Vancouver), and she was very keen to go\nthere from Washington territory on this occasion. I was _not_ keen for\nthe expedition, but had made no strong objection to it, and it was\nunderstood that we should go together.\n\nThis was the tour which my old nurse now pleaded so anxiously should be\ngiven up, so far as _I_ was concerned.\n\n\"_It will ruin your health, my darling_,\" she said more than once.\n\"_Don't go there; take my advice._\" And on one occasion, just before\nlanding, she added: \"_You will find letters awaiting you which will\nenable you to make other plans._\"\n\nThis proved true--in a certain way. The first letter opened in the\nbudget which fell to my share, told me of the sudden death of our family\nsolicitor, which would have been a good excuse for a hasty return to\nEngland had any such pretext been necessary.\n\nBut this was not the case, for my companion, although quite determined\nto go to Alaska herself, was not in the least inclined to over-persuade\nme to accompany her. She was a very independent woman, quite accustomed\nto travelling alone, and I knew that neither her enjoyment nor her\nconvenience would be affected by my decision one way or the other. I had\nno wish to go myself, and, moreover, thought it quite probable that my\ndear old nurse's warnings might be amply justified. But there were other\ngrave considerations to be taken into account, and I still feel that I\nadopted the right, although not the pleasanter course, when I allowed my\nfellow-passengers to depart East, joking me on my want of faith in the\nwarnings from the spirits, and accompanied my friend, very unwillingly,\nto Alaska.\n\nMy nurse's earnest entreaties were only too fully justified on the\nphysical plane, to say nothing of the miserable discomfort of the trip\n(which in those days had to be made in an overcrowded cargo boat.) I\ntook a chill in those Arctic regions, which later developed into the\nlongest and most serious illness of my life. It took months to make even\na partial recovery, and the effects will remain during my life. Yet I\nhave never regretted my decision.\n\nThis little episode seems to throw some light upon the way such warnings\nshould be treated. To give no heed to them on the one hand, or to follow\nthem blindly, _in spite of every other consideration_, on the other;\nthese seem to me the Scylla and Charybdis of our lives. It shows that we\n_must_ judge for ourselves; we cannot shift the burden of responsibility\non any other shoulders. How could we gain the real education of life\nwere it otherwise?\n\nHad I turned my back on Alaska I should have gained enormously,\nphysically speaking, and yet failed in a moral test. But my dear old\nnurse, who considered only--probably _saw_ only--the physical evils to\nbe avoided, was entirely in the right, _from her standpoint_. The\nfaithful soul was doing her best to shield her nursling from danger.\n\nA severe illness was entailed by my Alaska experiences. \"Livingstone and\nStanley\" were once more separated. In other words, Miss Greenlow was\nobliged to return to England alone, leaving me to be nursed through a\nlong and painful illness by kind friends and connections in Toronto. One\nof my doctors--the brother of my hostess--kindly made time to take me\nand my nurse to New York, in order that he might put me under the\nspecial care of the ship's doctor, and also be able to certify, as\nrequired, that I was in a fit condition to undertake the voyage.\n\nIt was during the day or two spent in New York before sailing, that I\ninduced this gentleman to accompany me one evening to a _seance_ held by\nMrs Stoddart Gray, who has been previously mentioned in this narrative.\n\nDr Theodore Covernton had all the ordinary doctor's prejudices against\nanything unseen or unknown. He had read my book on America, and\nconsidered the chapter on \"Spiritualism\" a lamentable lapse \"from the\ngood sense shown in the rest of the book!\" I represented to him that for\na physician to deny all possibilities of Hypnotism or Mesmerism, Thought\nTransmission, etc., meant losing some very valuable aids in his\nprofession, and would probably soon mean being left pretty badly behind\nin the race.\n\nKnowing of no specially good hypnotist in New York, and as there was no\ntime to find one out, I boldly suggested that he should plunge into\nstill deeper depths of \"folly,\" and accompany me to the house of Mrs\nStoddart Gray.\n\nThe usual performances went on, but whether owing to Dr Covernton's\nattitude of mind or other causes, nothing of any special interest to him\nor to me occurred.\n\nOne incident impressed him, I think; certainly he could suggest no\npossible explanation of it, for it happened in a very fair amount of\nlight and close to our feet. A gentleman and lady were sitting in the\ncircle who had brought with them their little boy, a child of seven\nyears old. I had asked the lady if she considered it wise to bring so\nyoung a child into such a _milieu_, several hours after an English child\nwould have been put to bed, and her answer was cheery and\ncharacteristic:\n\n\"Well, I guess we shouldn't have much peace at home if we didn't bring\nCharlie along with us to see his Granny. We took him once, and since\nthen he always insists upon coming. He loves talking to his Granny, and\nhe is not a bit afraid of her.\"\n\nAt this moment a small frail woman stepped out from the cabinet, and\ncame right up towards us, motioning to the little grandson that she\nwished him to go into the cabinet with her. This he did without a\nmoment's hesitation, and the curtain fell, and concealed them both from\nview. The interview lasted for some minutes, and when the little boy\nreappeared, he was holding his Granny by the hand, and was evidently on\nthe best of terms with her. I do not expect my readers to believe me,\nbut this is exactly what happened next:\n\nThe child had brought some toys--a little train and some building\nblocks--\"to get Granny to play with him as usual,\" and the fragile old\nlady knelt down on the floor, and played with him just as any ordinary\nGranny might have done, only with far more agility.\n\nIn the very midst of their brick building and train starting, a terrible\ncatastrophe occurred, which spoilt the rest of the evening for the poor\nchild. Granny had evidently forgotten that her time was limited, by\nconditions of which we are still profoundly ignorant.\n\nQuite suddenly, and without a word of warning, she disappeared, not into\nthe cabinet at her back, but right through the carpet under our feet,\nand well within a yard of the said feet, and this with two or three\ngas-jets burning over our heads!\n\nThere was no mistake about it. Dr Covernton and I were sitting next to\nthe father and mother, whilst the child and his grandmother played at\nour feet. One moment she was there; the next she had disappeared like a\nflash into a mere cloud of mist, and even this was quickly withdrawn,\napparently through the floor. No trap-door theory could account for\nthis, because the _woman_ had disappeared, and only the wisp of ethereal\ngarments remained, before the latter were also dissipated. We must,\nmoreover, note the difficulty of working a trap door immediately under\nthe feet of a sceptical young physician, who at once investigated the\ncarpet, hoping in vain to find in it some solution of the mystery!\n\nI have already mentioned that the whole incident took place, in light\nsufficiently good to read a book without straining the eyes.\n\nThe poor little boy was terribly upset, and sobbed bitterly. His parents\nsaid they had brought him many times before, and such a _fiasco_ had\nnever before taken place. Mrs Stoddart Gray was very indignant about it.\n\n\"Too bad! She ought to have _known_ she was staying too long, and\nrisking a fright for the child. If she had only gone back into the\ncabinet he would not have been frightened. But she stayed too long and\nhad not enough strength to get back.\"\n\nThe child was too thoroughly frightened and upset to admit of any\nconsolation, and the parents were obliged to take him away, still\nsobbing, and asking _why_ Granny had gone away like that and given him\nsuch a fright.\n\nA year later, in London, I took Dr Covernton--by appointment--to see Dr\nCarl Hansen, who was then giving hypnotic treatment, and also doing some\nwork in demonstrations for the Society for Psychical Research. Dr Hansen\ntried in vain to put either Dr Theodore Covernton or myself under the\ninfluence, so was obliged to have recourse to his wife. Naturally this\nwas considered a \"_most suspicious circumstance_\" by my companion; but I\nnoticed that he was very much interested in his conversation with\nher--from the medical point of view--and he was sufficiently honest to\nadmit that he could not explain what happened in his presence, upon any\nnormal hypothesis.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nINDIA, 1890-1891\n\n\nIn the month of November 1890 I started with a young friend for my first\nvisit to India.\n\nMy companion was still at the age when social India was naturally more\ninteresting to her than either the historical or mystical aspects of the\ncountry. And, for myself, I went there in those days rather to see the\nglorious buildings of a magnificent Past, than with any view of wresting\noccult secrets from the Fakirs and Yogis of the Present.\n\nIt was well perhaps that one's ambitions were so limited by the\nPossible, for I am very much inclined to think that Mystic India is\nand must remain a sealed book for the English.\n\nWe must always remember the natural prejudices of a conquered race\ntowards the conqueror. In addition to this, the Hindoostanees consider\n(and who shall say without ample cause?) that Englishmen are\nhopelessly \"_borne_\" and sunk in materialism, incapable of exercising\nan imagination which they don't possess; with a top dressing of\nconventional orthodoxy, so far as their own special religion is\nconcerned, but with nothing but ridicule or thinly veiled contempt for\nthe religious channels through which other races may be taking their\nspiritual food. We have given them only too much reason for these\nconclusions.\n\nAs a consequence of this state of things, Englishmen and women are\nlooked upon as \"quite impossible\" from the Indian point of view, and a\ndevout and educated Hindoo would no more think of discussing his\ntranscendental ideas with such people than we should think of discussing\ndelicate questions of Art--in its various branches--with the first\nvillage yokel we happened to meet in the road. I was confirmed in these\nideas by noticing the difference in the welcome accorded to a charming\nyoung Swedish lady, whom we met at Benares on her wedding tour. She had\nbrought excellent native introductions from her own country, where\ncertain Rajahs and Maharajahs had been entertained by her King, and\nthanks to these, and, as she said, \"_to the fact of my not being\nEnglish_,\" she had access to many interesting places, and took part in\ninteresting functions, from which the rest of us were debarred.\n\nI am hoping to pay a third visit to India some day, with the special\nobject in view of occult investigation. It remains to be seen whether,\nby any fortunate accident, I may then be more successful in encountering\nanything more interesting than the ordinary clever conjurers, who\nsometimes pose as Fakirs, and may be found by the tourist on every hotel\nveranda in India.\n\nMeanwhile I am limited by the title of my book to personal incidents, as\nto which I find one or two notes in my Indian diary.\n\nMaking the usual tour, but including Lahore--where my brother had lived\nat Government House for several years as Military Secretary to Sir\nRobert Egerton (who was in _his_ day), Lieutenant-Governor of the\nPunjab--we came in due course to Delhi.\n\nOur first day there was devoted to tracing Mutiny relics of all kinds,\nand about four P.M. in the afternoon we drove out to the famous Ridge to\nsee the Mutiny Memorial. This, as most people nowadays know, is a red\nstandstone tower, with staircase of rough stone inside, and small\nwindows pierced through at varying intervals. It stands upon an\nextensive marble flooring, which is inscribed with the names of the\nvarious regiments--officers and men--who took part in the renowned\nsiege, and died for their country in consequence.\n\nAs we drove towards the Memorial, the whole place seemed to be in a\nflutter of excitement. Hundreds of coolies were flocking round, and we\nboth remarked how much more interested they appeared to be in these\nmonuments of past events than the corresponding class of English\nlabourers would have been. But on arrival we found there was no question\nof intelligent historical interest. The fact was that a poor coolie--who\nhad just climbed up the Memorial Tower by the inner staircase--had\nfallen out of one of the windows described, and was lying on the marble\nfloor below, at the far side from us, crushed and dying. We were told\nthat an Englishman had, fortunately, been present, and had driven off at\nonce for a doctor. So nothing could be done for the poor man until the\nlatter arrived.\n\nMeanwhile our native servant--Bobajee--had, of course, rushed off to\nsee what was to be seen of the tragedy, and, rather to my horror, my\ngirl friend seemed about to follow his example! It was terrible to think\nof the poor man lying there in his death agony; but he was already\nsurrounded by natives, and no real help could be given without fear of\ndoing more harm than good before the doctor was brought to the spot.\nTherefore merely to go and look on, without being able to succour,\nseemed to me an added horror to the tragedy, and I turned round rather\nsharply on my young friend, and expostulated with her. As a matter of\nfact, she did _not_ go; but I am obliged to mention the incident as\naccounting for a certain momentary excitement and annoyance on my part,\nwhich proved to be factors in the story about to be related.\n\nAllowing for difference of time between Delhi and London, a very old\nfriend of mine, Lady Wincote (who was then living in London, where I was\nin the habit of visiting her constantly when in town), was lying in bed,\nresting after a disturbed night, at the very hour of our visit to the\nMutiny Memorial.\n\nIt was about noon in England; she was fully awake, and had been reading.\nLooking at her watch she realised it was time to make a move if she\nmeant to come down for luncheon. Suddenly the door opened, and _I_\nwalked into her bedroom, and right round the bed, until I stood between\nher and the window, which was to her left as she lay in bed.\n\nI was dressed in ordinary outdoor attire, and seemed much excited and\nannoyed about something. I was talking continuously, as it seemed to\nher; but she could not make out any connected sentences, and \"wondered\nwhat had upset me\" so much. She spoke to me, asking what had happened;\nbut I took no notice of her questions, standing with my face to the\nwindow and my back to her for a few moments. Then I turned round, and\ndeliberately retraced my steps, past the ottoman, skirting round the\nbed, and was just disappearing through the door, when she made a final\neffort to attract my attention, asking a very practical question:\n\n\"Emmie! Do tell me before you go, what number you are staying at in\nOxford Terrace\" (the part of town where I always stayed at that time).\nLady Wincote said: \"You made no answer at all, but whisked out of the\ndoor in a great hurry, and then for the first time I remembered _that\nyou were in India_. It had all seemed so natural, as you had often been\nin my bedroom, that I only thought at the moment that you must have\nreturned unexpectedly to London from the country. My one anxiety was to\nknow which number on the Terrace would find you, in case you had changed\nyour address there.\"\n\nNow all this was, fortunately, written out to me by my friend on the\nvery day that it happened--_i.e._ 8th January 1891--and _crossed my\nletter to her telling her of the incident_. My letter was written a day\nor two later I think; but I was keeping a strict diary at the time, and\nunder date of 8th January have the record of the event, corresponding\nwith the date of Lady Wincote's letter to me.[3]\n\n [3] Both my diary and Lady Wincote's letter were shown to Mr Myers on\n my return to England, also my letter which crossed the one from Lady\n Wincote to me. He was greatly interested in the account.\n\nProbably in any case I should have written to tell this friend of the\nincident, on account of a conversation I had with Bobajee when he\nreturned from his ghastly entertainment. I had looked inside the\nMemorial, and had seen that the stone steps were crumbling away and\nlooked very unsafe, so when he came back and said: \"_Something bad\ninside there, Lady Sahib_,\" I concluded naturally that he was referring\nto the state of the staircase, and attributing the poor coolie's fall to\nsome such cause.\n\nBut he denied this strenuously: \"_No! no! Lady Sahib--some bad debil\ninside there. He threw coolie over!_\" Then he went on to tell us that on\none special night in the year no native man, woman, or child in the\nwhole city could be induced to pass the Mutiny Memorial at midnight. The\nfew daring souls who _had_ passed there, had found the tower all lighted\nup inside, and the Sepoys and the British soldiers had come back, and\nwere fighting their battles over again! The man spoke in simple good\nfaith, and assured me that all Delhi people knew this to be a fact, and\ngave the place a wide berth on that anniversary.\n\nThe idea of the \"bad debil\" throwing the poor coolie down from the top\nof the tower, followed by this curious legend, interested me as a bit of\nfolk-lore, but my companion was drastic in her remarks. \"Silly nonsense,\nBobajee!\" was her reception of the story; and this made me feel\nintensely sorry for the moment, that Lady Wincote, who would have been\nas much interested as myself, should not have been present. Did this\nmoment of intense desire for her, project itself into the appearance she\nsaw in her room? Who can say? Certainly it was a curious coincidence\nthat she should see me in an annoyed and excited state just when I was\nfeeling annoyed and excited--so many thousand miles away.\n\nDelhi seems to have been specially favourable to psychic experiences,\nfor I find another one recorded on the very day succeeding the last\nevent.\n\nMy friend, having some slight ailment, I had driven out alone with our\nnative servant, and we made a long tour, returning about six P.M. past\nLudlow Castle, of famous Mutiny memory, and still--in the year 1891--a\nGovernment bungalow.\n\nThe present Czar of Russia was travelling through India at the time as\nCzarewitch, with his cousin, Prince George of Greece, and they were\nexpected to arrive in Delhi that same evening. The Royal party and suite\nwere to be lodged at Ludlow Castle, and were expected within an hour.\n\nBobajee jumped off the box of my carriage, and urged me to \"go look,\nsee!\"\n\n\"No, Bobajee! Drive on--can't go look see--they no let me in.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, Lady Sahib,\" he said eagerly--\"everything ready--all gone\naway--nobody in there yet.\"\n\nWith our English notions this seems inconceivable, but it proved to be\nabsolutely true. I went in, expecting to be turned back ignominiously\nbefore I had crossed the hall, but there was positively no one there!\nThe place was like a City of the Dead. Yet within an hour, a banquet\narranged for about seventy people was to take place! I made the best of\nmy opportunity, ranged through the numerous bedrooms--with hanging\nJapanese blinds shutting them off and each one inscribed with the card\nof the special Russian or Greek general who formed part of the suite. At\nlength I strolled into the dining-room--a long, narrow room--arranged\nfor the coming festivity (at least sixty to seventy covers were laid),\nthe flowers arranged on the tablecloth in the pretty, artistic Indian\nfashion, all the beautiful glass and silver placed in readiness.\n\nNothing was wanting but the presence of the guests for whom all this\npreparation had been made.\n\nThe short Indian twilight was already upon us as I stood there for a\nmoment, contrasting the dead and almost eerie silence, with the lights\nand laughter that would so quickly replace it.\n\nA fireplace was close to me as I stood at the far end of the room,\nlooking down the whole length of the table. Glancing up, I realised that\nthe only picture in the room was hung over this fireplace. The picture\nin question had no artistic value--the painting was flat and poor; even\nthe subject did not strike me for the first moment as anything very\nremarkable. It was the portrait of a man in the prime of life--about\nthirty-five, I should have supposed--with the long whiskers and rather\nprim pose of a portrait made by an evidently poor artist, probably\nthirty or forty years previous to my visit.\n\nBut as I looked again, a curious sensation came over me. In spite of the\npainter's failure to convey anything more like a living man than a dead\npressed rose is like a living rose, there was something in the eyes of\nthe portrait that held me, something that rose triumphant above the\nartist's limitations. At the same moment I was conscious of a Presence\nbehind my back; of _somebody who was looking at the picture with me_; of\nsomebody who was saying to me (not with the outer, but an inner voice):\n\"_That is a picture of me, but I am not there--I am here, close to you;\nbehind your shoulder--I am looking at it with you._\"\n\nThe impression was so strong that it seemed almost as if a hand were\npressing on my shoulder. I turned round involuntarily, but no one was\nthere. Then I looked at the picture again, and always with the same\nweird sensation that the man whom the picture represented had been\nstrong enough to make me feel his actual presence in the room, although\nI could see nothing. There was no name on the picture of either subject\nor artist, no possible clue to identity, and looked at as a picture\nalone, there was nothing in the flat, conventional presentment of the\nfeatures to account for my experience. This made it the more remarkable.\nI could scarcely tear myself away from the almost overwhelming sense of\nthe presence of some strong and strangely magnetic personality, but the\nfast fading twilight warned me not to risk an ignominious retreat. So I\nwent hurriedly through the large and handsome drawing-room, which was\nfilled with portraits, chiefly of deceased governors and generals, many\nof them admirably painted, and a striking contrast to the one poor and\ncommonplace picture already seen.\n\nThe absolute incongruity between the impression received and the object\nwhich roused it, led me to make inquiries, in spite of my friend's jokes\nover my powers of imagination.\n\n\"Anyway, I am going to clear this up,\" I said with determination; and in\na few days my perseverance was rewarded, and my impression amply\njustified, by finding that I had been looking at the portrait--feeble\nand poor as it was--of _Brigadier-General Nicholson_.\n\nNone of my readers need to be told that if any dead man could impress\nhimself upon the living, this would be the man capable of such a feat.\n\nEven to this day there is a small religious sect in India called the\n_Nicholasain_, who have handed down the memory of this \"god rather than\nman,\" who had to dismount from his horse occasionally, to thrash his\nwould-be worshippers, and put a stop to their inconvenient adoration!\n\nNicholson's brilliant achievements in the Mutiny; his absolute control\nover men of the most diverse character; the devotion with which he\ninspired his soldiers, and his own glorious death in the very moment of\nvictory--all these are matters of history.\n\nI feel glad and grateful to have known, even for a few passing moments,\nwhat that influence had been; and when I found out Brigadier-General\nNicholson's grave at Delhi, after my Ludlow Castle experience, I left my\nflowers on the grave of an honoured acquaintance, rather than of a man\nknown to me only through historical records.\n\nOne more incident, or rather coincidence, and I must close my Indian\nchapter.\n\nThis also is connected with the Mutiny and with Delhi, but the special\ncoincidence, to which I refer, took place at Agra, when my friend and I\nwere staying at the hotel there in the early spring of 1891.\n\nOne of my oldest and most valued friends is Lieutenant-Colonel Alfred S.\nJones, V.C., formerly of the 9th Lancers, and one of our Mutiny heroes.\nAs everything connected with that historical tragedy seems to have\nperennial interest for every Englishman--no matter what his creed or\npolitics--I make no excuse for furnishing some details connected with my\nfriend's career. His record from Hart's Army List is as follows:--\n\n\"Lieutenant-Colonel Jones was present at the battle of Budlekee Serai,\nand at Delhi throughout the siege operations, including the assault and\ncapture of the city, having been D.A.Q.M.G. from 8th August to 23rd\nSeptember 1857. Served with the 9th Lancers in Greathead's pursuing\ncolumn, and was present in the actions of Bolimshuhur and Alighur and\nbattle of Agra--where he was dangerously wounded, having received a\nmusket-shot wound and twenty-two sabre cuts. He was mentioned in the\ndespatches of Sir Hope Grant on three different occasions, and has\nreceived the Victoria Cross for taking a nine-pounder gun, with the\nassistance of some men from his squadron, in the action of Budlekee\nSerai (medal with clasp and Brevet of Major).\"\n\nAlthough, as a child, I had heard of the bravery and the terrible wounds\nof one who was to become later in life one of my greatest friends, the\nactual details of the Agra catastrophe were hazy in my memory. Two\nthings, however, had remained firmly imbedded in my mind--first, that a\nbrother officer had told me that he was standing close by Colonel Jones\nwhen, as a young officer, the latter attended the Levee to receive his\nVictoria Cross, and that the Queen was so much agitated by his\nappearance that she could hardly pin it on. Also, that this brother\nofficer heard her whisper to her husband: \"My God, Albert! look at that\npoor boy! He has been cut to pieces!\"\n\nThe other childish memory is that the Taj had been turned into a\nhospital at the time of the Mutiny, and that my friend, amongst others,\nhad been nursed there. This latter proved to have been a mistake on the\npart of my informants. It was the Moti Musjid (the Pearl Mosque) which\nwas turned to this account, and in which my friend was nursed back to\nlife, to the surprise of all who knew the extent of his disaster.\n\nIt is specially important for people blessed, or cursed, with psychic\ngifts \"to give no occasion to the enemy\" by exaggeration or inexact\nmemory of details. So, with the wholesome dread of a well-read reviewer\nbefore my eyes, I determined to go to the fountain-head, and ask Colonel\nJones himself to supply me with the true incidents which make the Agra\nepisode a moving picture before our eyes. He has kindly consented to do\nthis, and I give the narrative in his own words:--\n\n\nAfter the fall of Delhi, a column, under General Greathead, was sent\ndown to Lucknow, and as three squadrons of the 9th Lancers were told off\nto go, I resigned my staff appointment, and went with my troop.\n\nAfter two fights--Bolimshuhur and Alighur--we were hurried off to Agra,\nsixty-six miles in thirty-six hours. But on arrival we found that the\nAgra people had recovered from their fright and Greathead was fool\nenough to believe their story that the enemy was twelve miles away, and\ntherefore took up ground for our camp, just by the graveyard and\nparade-ground, which you will remember. There was a high crop of\nsugar-cane, concealing everything beyond the parade-ground, and after\nmost of the officers of the whole force had gone off to Agra Fort to\nbreakfast with friends, cannon-shot began to fall amongst us; and\neveryone had time to fall in, as the horses had not been unsaddled.\n\nMy squadron, consisting of French's and my troops, was told off as an\nescort to Blunt's Battery, F.A., which formed the left of the line,\nconsisting of our other two squadrons, more F. Artillery, 8th and 75th\nRegiments, etc., all moving to the front through high crops.\n\nThen we saw the enemy--700 or 800 yards off--and Blunt unlimbered his\nguns, and began to fire, when we soon saw a body of cavalry moving off\nacross our front, to turn our left flank, and Blunt said we must go back\nto defend our camp. So he limbered up, and we all (_i.e._ our squadron\nand Blunt's guns) began to straggle back through the high crops. But\nBlunt said he must leave one troop with two of his guns, and French's\ntroop was stopped for the purpose. Instead of staying with it, he felt\nso sure we should have a chance at the cavalry we had seen (Mutineers)\nthat he came on with me, and together we formed up my troop on the\nparade-ground, close to Blunt's guns, which we saw already unlimbered.\n\nA squadron of Irregular (mutinied) cavalry was coming in our direction\nover the parade-ground, with a blue squadron of (mutinied) regular\ncavalry in support, both trotting; so, of course, we went for the Red\n(head of the echellon they formed).\n\nThen I saw French shot, and the hind quarters of his grey horse pass\nround the left flank of my little troop; then I gave the word GALLOP,\nand the Red squadron, to my surprise, _halted_.\n\nObserving its leader taking aim at me with his carbine, I inclined a\nlittle to my left, in order to stick him, never dreaming that I should\nbe hit before I could do so, and I was almost within reach before he\nfired, and his bullet went through my bridle arm, so I had to take my\nreins on my sword hand and jam my horse into the ranks, just behind the\nsquadron leader who had shot me.\n\nNow to clear up your mystery about my being left to my fate (I had\nspecially asked Colonel Jones how he happened to be left alone amongst\nthe Sepoys, whose numbers were registered by his sabre cuts in so\nghastly a fashion), I was not left to my fate; on the contrary, the man\non the left of my troop, who alone could see, put his lance through the\nsquadron leader, and stayed about--outside the ring--trying to get to me\nto the last, and got the V.C. on my report to that effect.\n\nMy troop, occupying, in double rank, about twenty yards, went straight\non after the twenty yards or so front of the enemy's probable front of\nperhaps fifty yards. So there were plenty of Sowars left to mob round\nme and to keep off the man who tried to save me. Of course, my men were\nquite right in pursuing the broken force as they did, right off the\nfield.\n\n\nThis account has the immense advantage of being taken verbatim from\nColonel Jones' letter just received by me. It has the _disadvantage_\nthat such a letter, from a brave man, would naturally possess--_i.e._\nthat of minimising his share in the episode to the point of making it\ndifficult for the lay mind to realise where the heroism came in--which\nheroism is a vital point in my \"coincidence.\" Fortunately, I have the\nbest authority for saying that the \"Blunt\" mentioned in this record\nalways maintained that Colonel Alfred Jones had \"saved his guns.\" It\nappears that at the time of the unexpected attack from the enemy,\nColonel Jones and two or three friends (who had not gone to the fort)\nwere breakfasting under the shade of the cemetery wall when the alarm\nwas given. My friend, wishing to rest his charger after the long forced\nmarch from Agra, had taken a spare troop horse, saddled with a _hunting\nsaddle_.\n\nWhen the round shot began to fall, there was no time to get his charger.\nThere was nothing for it but to put on sword and pistol and ride\nstraight in to the enemy's ranks. No wonder the poor people shut up in\nAgra were enthusiastic over this \"charge of cavalry in their shirt\nsleeves,\" as they called it.\n\nIn 1891 I was staying in Agra, at the hotel, with my friend of the Delhi\nincident. A certain Major Pulford, who had come to Agra to race some\nponies, divided us at the _table d'hote_. He and I had been neighbours\nfor two or three days, when he asked me carelessly one evening what _I_\nhad been doing that afternoon, as my friend confessed to having taken a\n\"day off.\"\n\nNow I had spent the afternoon at the Taj, and had made many inquiries\nabout the tradition that this building had once been turned into a\nhospital. No one knew anything about it. One old Hindoo, evidently\nthinking I wished him to say \"_Yes_,\" remembered hearing that this _had_\nbeen the case \"_about eighty years ago_.\" This last artistic touch of\naccuracy was fatal to his _bona fides_, and I turned away in disgust.\n\nSo I told Major Pulford my story, and we laughed over the well-known\nfact that a Hindoo of that class always tries to find out what you wish\nhim to say, and _then says it!_\n\nMajor Pulford asked why I was so keen on the subject.\n\n\"Because a very old friend of mine was badly wounded at Agra during the\nMutiny, and from a child I have had the impression that he was nursed in\nthe Taj.\"\n\n\"No,\" he answered. \"I am sure the Taj was never used as a hospital, but\nI think the Pearl Mosque may have been. This would account for the\nmistake, probably.\"\n\nNow the point in this incident is the fact that I _had not mentioned my\nfriend's name to Major Pulford_.\n\nHad the name been a more distinctive one, I might have mentioned it,\nalthough realising that Major Pulford was too young a man to have known\nanything about the Mutiny at first hand.\n\nWe talked casually on the subject for a few minutes, and then he said:\n\"Of course, I was a baby at the time, but I have read and heard any\namount about it, naturally. _My_ boyish hero was a fellow named Jones of\nthe 9th Lancers, who was so awfully plucky in their celebrated charge,\nwhen surprised by the enemy on the Agra parade-ground. I know nothing\nabout the fellow except what I have read. I believe he is alive still,\nbut they say he was almost cut to pieces then.\"\n\n\"_That is the friend whom I thought had been nursed in the Taj_,\" was my\nastonished answer.\n\nMajor Pulford's delight was unbounded to have come by so strange a\ncoincidence even thus near to the hero of his youth. For myself, I\nrecognised that I had sat next to the only man, probably then in India,\nwho could have given me the accurate and precise details of the whole\naffair!\n\n\"I know every inch of the ground, and just where it all happened,\" he\nsaid eagerly. \"Do let me drive you and your friend over there to-morrow\nin my buggy, and I will point out every detail.\"\n\nHe did so next day, leaving me with the most vivid impression of the\nscene of my friend's gallant fight for life, against such overwhelming\nodds.\n\nThat he should still be alive and active--nearly fifty years\nlater--seems little short of a miracle!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nSWEDEN AND RUSSIA, 1892\n\n\nTravelling in Sweden in the spring of 1892, I carried with me from\nEngland an introduction to the Swedish Consul at Gottenburg. One of\nthe sisters of this gentleman was married to an Englishman--a Mr\nRomilly--and he and his wife chanced to come over for a visit during\nmy stay.\n\nSpeaking of psychic matters one day, Mr Romilly told me the story of his\nfirst cousin (a well-known woman of title) and her Egyptian necklace. A\npresent had been made to her (I think on her marriage) of a very\nbeautiful Egyptian necklace with stones of the exquisite blue shade so\nwell known by travellers in Egypt.\n\nThese special stones, alas! must evidently have been genuine, and rifled\nfrom some old tomb, for the owner of the necklace appeared one night by\nthe lady's bedside, and warned her that she would have no peace so long\nas she persisted in wearing his property.\n\nSo the lady very wisely locked up the necklace in her dressing-case, and\nfondly trusted the Egyptian ghost would be satisfied.\n\nNot a bit of it! In a short time he appeared again, and told her that\nshe would be haunted by his unwelcome presence so long as the necklace\n_remained in her possession_. She then drove off with it, and deposited\nit with her lawyer, who locked it up in a tin case, doubtless with a\nsecret smile at his noble client's superstitions. But Nemesis lay in\nwait for him, and the last thing Mr Romilly had heard upon the subject\nwas that the lawyer himself was made so exceedingly uncomfortable by the\nattentions of the Egyptian gentleman that he was obliged to have\nnecklace and tin case buried together in his back garden! To have forced\na lawyer into such extreme measures was certainly a \"score\" for the\nghost!\n\nA few months later, I met the heroine of the story at a friend's house\nat tea, and speaking of her relation, who had married a Swedish wife,\nand whom I had met in Gottenburg, I alluded discreetly to the story of\nthe blue necklace.\n\nMy companion at once endorsed it _in toto_, and did not seem at all\nannoyed by the fact that her cousin had mentioned it to me. I remember\nthat Mrs Romilly \"laid the cards\" for me, with astonishing success, and\ntold me she had learnt the mystic lore from an old Finnish nurse, who\nhad been brought over from Finland by her own Swedish grandfather when\nquite a young girl, and had lived in the family until her death. She\nassured me that the Finns were specially gifted in all kinds of gipsy\nlore.\n\nFrom Stockholm we paid a visit to Russia, and in St Petersburg I had my\nfirst personal experience since leaving home.\n\nWe had engaged, as courier during our stay in the city, a German who had\nlived there for forty years, named Kuentze, I think.\n\nWe were staying at the Hotel de France, and this man told me one day\nthat a celebrated French _modiste_ had rooms in our hotel, having come\nthere to show her beautiful Parisian costumes, and to take orders as\nusual from the Russian Royal Family and Ladies of the Court. He also\nmentioned the Frenchwoman's recent misfortune in hearing--since her\narrival in Russia--that her trusted manager in Paris had disappeared\nsuddenly, carrying away with him 100,000 francs.\n\nTwo nights later I had gone to bed as usual about ten-thirty P.M., and\nmust have slept for nearly four hours, when I awoke feeling the heat\nvery oppressive. It was almost the end of June at the time. Getting out\nof bed to open my window still farther, I gazed down upon the courtyard\nwhich it overlooked, noting the absolute stillness of the house and the\nhot, oppressive air outside.\n\nSuddenly this stillness was rent by the most horrible and appalling\nshrieks! Peal after peal rang out. I have never heard anything so\nghastly nor so blood-curdling either before or since. For a moment it\nseemed that one _must_ be dreaming. What horrors, to justify such awful\nshrieks, could be taking place at this quiet hour and in this quiet,\nrespectable hotel?\n\nNothing less than murder suggested itself to me, and I quickly crossed\nthe room, and turned the key in the lock. My next thought was for my\ncompanion--the Miss Greenlow of American days. She was sleeping next\ndoor to me, with an intervening door between us.\n\nI hammered loudly upon this, and finally opened it. I knew she always\nlocked her outer door, but feared she might go into the passage, not\nrealising the danger in the moment of waking, and might fall into the\nmurderer's hands. So I called out: \"Wake up--wake up, Miss\nGreenlow!--_but don't open your door_. Someone is being murdered out\nthere.\"\n\nI had heard every other door in the passage opening, and the scared\ninmates rushing to and fro, so there was no question of feeling bound to\ngive the alarm.\n\nMiss Greenlow, being an extremely lymphatic person, was still sleeping\nthe sleep of the just. I gave her a good shake at last, finding knocks\nand calls of no avail; but she only turned over sleepily, murmuring:\n\"Oh, it's all right! I don't suppose there is anything much the\nmatter--do go to bed again!\"\n\nSo I returned to my own room, and as the horrible screams had now\nceased, I opened my door very gently, and looked down the dimly lighted\npassage. My room was a corner one, exactly at the head of the wide\nstaircase; to the left-hand side, for anyone mounting the stairs.\nExactly opposite my door, with a wide passage between, was the room\nwhich had been pointed out to me as belonging to the famous French\n_modiste_.\n\nMiss Greenlow was evidently the only person in the hotel who had slept\nthrough the horrors of that night, for small groups were gathered\ntogether at various points along the corridor, and at every door some\nscared man or woman was looking out, anxious, like myself, to solve the\ndreadful mystery.\n\nAt that moment my eyes lighted on my special German waiter talking in a\nhushed whisper to a musjig--in the usual red coat. So I beckoned to him,\nand very reluctantly he came to my door.\n\nBeing asked in German what was the meaning of the shrieks we had heard,\nhe said at once that a lady had been taken ill suddenly.\n\nThe man was a bad liar, and a child would have seen that he was\nrepeating a made-up story. But nothing more could be got out of him, so\nI dismissed him impatiently, saying: \"What is the good of telling me\nsuch nonsense? I shall find out for myself to-morrow.\"\n\nOnce more I shut and locked the door, and lay for an hour or two\nthinking over the ghastly disturbance, and wondering who could have been\nthe hapless victim. It was now about five A.M., and full dawn. As so\noften happens, even after the most sleepless night, I dozed off then,\nand slept for more than an hour, and during my sleep I dreamed--and this\nwas my dream. It must first be noted that the wide staircase I have\ndescribed as passing close to my room was thence continued upward to the\nnext floor. In my dream or vision I saw distinctly a woman in a white\nnightgown, with dark hair streaming down her back, rushing up this\nsecond flight of stairs in the most distraught and reckless fashion. In\none hand she held a knife, and was trying to stab herself with it, as a\nmusjig--in crimson coat--rushed after her, and endeavoured to wrench it\nout of her hand. Two or three other people ran up the stairs behind her,\nbut only this peasant seemed to have the courage or presence of mind to\ngrapple with her. In a few moments, as it seemed to me, the vision, so\nstartling and clear cut, faded away, and I sank into a dreamless sleep,\nI suppose, for it was past six A.M. when I woke finally.\n\nWhen the German waiter appeared with my breakfast I said rather curtly\nto him: \"You need not have troubled to make up that foolish story last\nnight; I know what happened--_I have seen it_.\"\n\nHe looked very incredulous, so I went on: \"The lady was trying to kill\nherself, and rushed up to the next floor with a knife in her hand. I saw\nthe musjig run after her and force it from her.\"\n\nThe man was absolutely speechless. He said not one syllable, either of\ncorroboration or denial, but left the room as quickly as possible,\nlooking scared, and certainly left the impression upon my mind that my\nvision represented what had actually taken place an hour or two\npreviously.\n\nTo my great surprise, however, our respectable and dependable courier,\nKuentze, gave quite a different version of the affair.\n\nHe came as usual to my room to take his orders for the day--Miss\nGreenlow being present--and at once referred to the terrible tragedy.\n\n\"Ah, poor lady! you remember my telling you about her the other day, and\nhow her manager had run away with all that money? Now _this_ frightful\nmisfortune has happened to her, and no one knows if she will survive it.\nShe is still alive, however, and is to be taken to the hospital at one\nP.M.\"\n\n\"But what has happened, Kuentze?\" I said impatiently, rather irritated,\nif the truth must be told, by his mysterious allusions and Miss\nGreenlow's assumption of profound indifference. Of course, no\nself-respecting person, having calmly slept through such a tragedy,\ncould be otherwise than indifferent next morning! Kuentze's story was far\nmore artistic than that of the waiter, and was skilfully interwoven with\nshreds of truth, as I discovered later.\n\nHe said that \"the poor lady\" was in the habit of making herself a cup of\ntea in the middle of the night when wakeful; also that she wore wide,\nhanging muslin sleeves with her night attire. She had risen as usual\nfrom a sleepless bed to make tea with her little Etna. Unfortunately,\nshe had set fire to a sleeve, which at once burned up, and in a few\nmoments she was enveloped in flames, owing to the flimsy material she\nwore. Then the shrieks began which had so thrilled our nerves. A Russian\ngentleman, sleeping near her, was awakened by the noise, and knowing\nthat she was a rich woman, and had brought many valuables with her, he\nconcluded she was being murdered; so he rushed to the rescue with a\nrevolver, found the burning woman, and he and the musjig at length\nsucceeded in putting out the flames.\n\nThe story was well told, and perfectly credible. Miss Greenlow could not\nresist pointing out how entirely it annihilated my vision. No\nsuicide!--no knife!--no rush up the staircase!--nothing, in fact, that\nmight not have been, and, of course, _must have been_ a mere freak of\nimagination during my troubled sleep. In the face of Kuentze's quiet and\ndetailed statement I could only agree with her, and so the matter rested\nfor some months. The poor woman meanwhile remained in the hospital, and\nher son and daughter were telegraphed for from Paris. We found them at\nthe hotel on our return there, three weeks later, from Moscow. There was\nthen some slight hope of ultimate recovery, but within six or seven\nweeks from the \"accident\" the unfortunate woman died from shock and\nexhaustion.\n\nFrom Russia we returned to Stockholm and Christiania, where Miss\nGreenlow took the steamer for Hull, and I went up into the Dovre Feld\nMountains to join a Swedish friend, already mentioned in my chapter on\nIndia.\n\nI told her my story of the poor French _modiste_ and her sad and painful\naccident, also about my curiously vivid and yet inaccurate vision, and\nwe discussed the latter in quite an S.P.R. spirit! We were then in a\nvery remote part of the Dovre Feld, where foreign papers were\npractically inaccessible.\n\nI had left my friend in Norway, and returned to England a week or two\nbefore receiving a very interesting letter from her.\n\nIn it she said: \"I have just got hold of some French papers, and I see\nthat poor woman you told me about, has just died in Petersburg, and the\nreal story has now come out.\n\n\"It seems that it _was_ suicide after all, so your vision was quite\ntrue!\n\n\"She had received large sums in advance for commissions from some of the\nRussian nobility, and had either spent or speculated with them. That was\nwhy she had to invent the story of an embezzling manager, to cover her\nown shortcomings. But the truth was leaking out in spite of her\nendeavours, and she made up her mind to commit suicide rather than face\nthe horrors of a Russian prison. The paper goes on to say that she chose\na most terrible death, little realising what the torture would be. It\nseems that she waited till the middle of the night you described, and\nthen covered her whole body with oil, and set fire to it! This accounts,\nof course, for the horrible shrieks you heard. In her awful agony she\nseized a knife--that she had either secreted or found in her\nroom--rushed out into the passage in a blaze, and when the musjig tried\nto stop her, she ran from him, and attempted to stab herself as she made\nher way up the stairs. All this you seem to have seen accurately; also\nthe fact that the musjig pursued her and succeeded in wrenching the\nknife from her hands before she had injured herself with it. The paper\nmentions that a Russian gentleman had gone to the rescue when he heard\nthe shrieks, but this was before she had got hold of the knife, and it\nwas the musjig alone who saved her, in the end, from immediate death.\"\n\nDuring this Russian visit we had gone down to Moscow from Petersburg,\nand here again a curious adventure befell me.\n\nIt was, as I have said, in the height of the summer, and one was\nthankful to have a large, handsome room, with three windows looking over\nthe square, and the famous Kremlin Palace in the distance. My room was\ndivided into two unequal parts, separated from each other by a door\nwhich was, during the hot season, thrown wide open and _fastened back\nsecurely_. Between this door and the one opening into the outer corridor\nthe washing apparatus stood, and also a wardrobe of white painted deal,\nwith a very poor lock to it, as I discovered later.\n\nOn retiring to rest the first night, I locked the outer door, undressed\nin this ante-room, and finally hung up my gown in the wardrobe I have\nmentioned. Then, after looking out of the windows on the fast\ndiminishing crowd below in the square, I went to bed, feeling quite\ncheerful, and looking forward to a long night's rest after a journey\nwhich had been hot and tiring.\n\nAs so often happens, one was probably over-tired, and sleep was not to\nbe wooed by any of the usual methods. In vain I counted sheep getting\nover a hedge, added a hundred up backward and forward, tried deep\nbreathing, and other little \"parlour games.\" It was absolutely useless.\nTwelve o'clock struck, then the half hour, and I gathered from the\nstillness below that the good Moscow citizens had retired to their\nrespective homes. This seemed an added insult! Then one o'clock struck,\nand after that I lay for a seeming eternity, before two strokes from the\nclock outside indicated the half hour. Scarcely had the reverberation\nceased when I heard cautious sounds in the corridor, which gave me a\ngood fright, and made me regret the silence I had found so irksome. The\nouter door of my room was quietly being opened, creaking on its hinges\nin the most ordinary and commonplace way, but evidently opening under a\nvery wary hand. \"Then I could not have locked it after all!\" And yet I\nfelt so convinced that I had done so! Certainly I had _intended_ to do\nso on my first night in a strange hotel! The best I could hope was that\nsome other new arrival had mistaken his room, and was returning late,\nand consequently trying to be as quiet as possible. This flashed through\nmy mind, and brought a moment's comfort. I expected to see a man's head\nround the open door at the foot of my bed, and to hear a hurried apology\nand still more hurried retreat. I say a _man's_ head, for the footsteps,\nthough so quiet and cautious, were without doubt a man's footsteps. But\nseveral moments passed in horrible suspense. The outer door had creaked\non its hinges and opened without a shadow of doubt. _Where was the man?_\n\nThe door had not closed again, so far as I could hear. From my bed I\ncould not command a view of the smaller portion of the room, where,\npresumably, he must be hidden. There was nothing but the wash-hand stand\nand the wardrobe there. What could he be doing or _waiting for_? My\ncomforting supposition of a mistake in the number of his room, made by\nan innocent guest, could not be stretched wide enough to account for the\nlong pause. Perhaps it was some robber lurking about the passages! He\nhad tried my door gently, and found it open. I had heard the door creak\non its hinges in spite of all his care. Now he was doubtless waiting to\nmake sure that this noise had not awakened me before beginning his\noperations!\n\nThis was the only reasonable supposition, and I lay in absolute terror\nfor some minutes, fearing to stir or almost to breathe at such close\nquarters, and quite incapable of rising and putting an end to my\nterrible suspense. I longed to hear the next \"quarter\" strike, but\nnothing relieved the dead silence in my room and in the streets outside.\nAt long last the _quarter to two_ struck, and something in the friendly\ntones of the massive clock relieved the tension and gave me courage--the\ncourage of desperation--to strike a match and light my candle before\nstarting on a tour of discovery. The middle door was fastened back, as I\nhad found it when taking possession of the room. In any case, that was\nnot the door which had been opened--the sound came from the _outer_\ndoor. I _must_ find out if anyone were hiding in the little\ndressing-room; and in any case, I must lock the outer door, which I had\nfelt so certain I had locked on coming up to my room. I passed through\nthe open _inner door_ with fear and trembling. To my relief, the small\napartment was apparently empty. The wardrobe stood partly open, but\nnothing more terrible than my own gown was inside it. Then I made my way\nto the outer door, which gave on to the corridor, determined to make\nsure of locking it firmly _this_ time. After all, it must have been a\nwandering guest, who had discovered his mistake at once, and retreated\nnoiselessly!\n\nI have seldom been more absolutely dumfounded than when I turned the\nhandle of that door, preparatory to locking it, and found _that it was\nsecurely locked already_, just as I had supposed! How could the hinges\nhave creaked then, and whose cautious footsteps had I heard?\n\nOnce more my eyes fell upon the wardrobe, with its cheap varnish and\nlock. I had certainly not locked _this_ overnight. Could it have creaked\nitself farther open? It did not for the moment strike me that the noise\ncame from another quarter, and that the footsteps were still to be\nexplained. I was only too thankful to find the barest apology of an\nexplanation. So I locked the wardrobe as carefully as possible, noticing\nthat the lock was not one of the first quality, and once more retired to\nbed, and put out my candle, greatly relieved.\n\nScarcely ten minutes had passed (as I afterwards ascertained) when the\nwhole scene was enacted once more! The same cautious tread, the same\nsound of the _outer door_ creaking slowly on its hinges--there was\nnothing in the least uncanny about it _per se_. It was just the normal\nnoise that any late comer would make who was thoughtful enough not to\ndisturb a sleeping house.\n\nBut my impatience got the better of my fears this time. I was not going\nto be decoyed out of bed a second time on a wild-goose chase. \"It must\nhave been that wardrobe door after all! As to the footsteps, I don't\nknow and I don't care! The cheap lock must have given way, and I shall\nfind the wardrobe door has swung open, I am sure.\"\n\nWith this comforting assurance I turned round, and in a few minutes fell\ninto a deep sleep, after the varied excitements of the night.\n\nNext morning I stepped gaily into the smaller division of the room to\nbegin my toilet, and triumphantly turned round to convince myself of the\ntruth of my theory about the wardrobe door. To my infinite astonishment\nand perplexity _the wardrobe was securely locked_, just as I had left it\nin the middle of the night.\n\nI have never had any explanation of this mystery; but I changed my fine\nbig room for a much less desirable one that morning, and made some\nexcuse about wishing for a quieter room at the back of the house.\n\nThe next evening, sitting in my new abode with my travelling companion,\nshe showed far more interest in my adventure than in the Petersburg\ntragedy and subsequent vision of mine.\n\nSo much so that I invited her to take a pencil and see if she could get\nany sort of explanation of the mystery; for although not at all\n_intuitive_, she knew something of what is called automatic writing.\n\nI give her narrative, not as being in the slightest degree evidential,\nbut for its intrinsic interest, and because I am personally convinced\nthat she had not sufficient imagination to have made it up on the spur\nof the moment.\n\nMiss Greenlow's \"message\" was to the following effect:--\n\nAbout fifty years previously, a Russian gentleman (an officer, I\n_think_, but am not certain of this) and his mistress had occupied this\nlarge front room. The man had spent all day at a rifle competition,\ncombined with some sort of merry-making, and had returned home very\nlate--at one-thirty A.M., in fact--very much the worse for drink. He had\nopened the door very carefully, trusting he should find the lady asleep;\nbut, unfortunately, she was not only wide awake, but extremely annoyed\nby his late return and the state in which he had come back to her. A\ndesperate quarrel had ensued, and getting frightened by his violence,\nshe seized his rifle, giving him a blow on the head with the butt end of\nit, hoping to stun him, but with no idea of murder in her mind. Whether\nshe gave a more severe blow, in her nervousness, than she had intended,\nor whether the rifle fell on some specially vital spot, was not\nexplained in the writing. Anyway, the blow proved fatal--to her extreme\nregret and remorse.\n\nUnder these circumstances one would have supposed that it would be more\nreasonable for the lady to haunt the room, and not the gentleman; but I\n\"tell the tale as 'twas told to us.\"\n\nIt is, however, remarkable that in most of these stories it is the\nvictim who appears--determined to enact the scene of his or her\ndeath--and not the murderer.\n\nI think we were also told, by-the-by, that I had slept in the room on\nthe anniversary of the occurrence.\n\nIt was obviously impossible to get any corroboration of such a story.\nTwo small points in it, however, were proved to be true.\n\nThe Moscow hotels, as a rule, were comparatively modern at the time of\nour visit, and therefore the \"fifty years ago\" seemed highly improbable.\nWe learned, however, through a few discreet questions later, that this\nparticular hotel _had_ been in existence so far back as fifty years, and\nalso that rifle competitions had taken place on certain occasions in\nthose far-off days.\n\nFor the rest I claim nothing. I have truthfully recounted my experience\nwithout a word of exaggeration, and have never been able to account for\nit normally.\n\nThe explanation given to us is, of course, just worth the paper it was\nwritten upon from any _evidential_ point of view.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI--_continued_\n\nSWEDEN AND RUSSIA, 1892\n\n\nTaking my experiences chronologically, I must now carry my readers back\nto England, where the autumn of this year found me in London.\n\nI had been asked to recommend a house for paying guests, well situated,\nin the West End of London, and newly started by a lady who had been left\na widow with very slender provision. Several kind women had interested\nthemselves in the case, and had wisely suggested thinking out a means of\nlivelihood in the future rather than merely supplying present wants.\n\nIt would be difficult to imagine a person _less_ suited for the sort of\nemployment chosen; but that is \"another story.\"\n\nI never care to recommend anything or anybody of which or of whom I have\nno personal knowledge; at the same time, I was anxious to help my kindly\nacquaintance in her philanthropy, and as I had arranged to spend some\nweeks in London that autumn--to be near an invalid brother--it struck me\nthat I might stay at the house so strongly recommended, instead of\ntaking private rooms as usual.\n\nSo I journeyed to Sussex Gardens, found a charming house, newly\nfurnished and decorated, and as clean as the proverbial \"new pin,\" and,\nmoreover, a very good-looking mistress of the house, still a youngish\nwoman of five or six and thirty.\n\nShe spoke most warmly of the kindness she had received from the lady who\nhad given me her address, showed me some pleasant rooms, and the\narrangement was quickly completed.\n\nI chose a small sitting-room in addition to my bedroom, although, as a\nmatter of fact, this was scarcely necessary, as I was the first guest\nreceived. Only one deaf old lady appeared upon the scene during the six\nweeks I spent there.\n\nI had not been forty-eight hours in the house before I discovered that\nmy hostess was a convinced and very remarkable psychic. Naturally she\nwas delighted to find someone to whom she could speak of her various\nexperiences without being laughed at or put down as a lunatic. At the\nsame time I am bound to confess that Mrs Peters, although extremely\ninteresting, was also rather agitating, and certainly much too erratic\nto make an entirely satisfactory _Chatelaine_. She was given to reading\n\"Aurora Leigh,\" instead of ordering dinner, and had to be sent for\noccasionally to sit at the head of the table, with a volume of\n_Browning_ or _Tennyson_ firmly clutched in her reluctant hand. Even\nwhen duly \"found and delivered,\" curious things happened during the\nmeals--especially at dinner in the evening, when she often put down\nknife and fork and directed my attention to the far end of the handsome\ndining-room, where she was wont to see the ghost of her late husband.\n\n\"Look, dear Miss Bates! Surely you _must_ see him--dear Henry, I mean.\nThere he stands, beard and all, just between the sofa and the wall. I\ncan see him as clearly as I see you!\"\n\nI am bound to say I never _did_ see \"dear Henry\"; but the fine tabby cat\ncertainly saw something in that corner, for it would rush most\nfrantically to the sofa, jump on to one end, and sit staring at Henry\n(presumably), with its tail stuck out and its fur rising up, glaring\ninto the corner with a look of combined fear and fascination.\n\nMy little sitting-room was invaded at all hours by my too interesting\nlandlady, who would suddenly remember some thrilling experience, which\nshe wished to share with me. At length I took to my bed for three days,\nnot in the least ill, but simply for a much-needed rest in the midst of\nall these excitements.\n\nA day or two after emerging from this haven of peace, I received a visit\nfrom a young lady, whose parents were well known to me in Yorkshire, and\nwho had recently become engaged to a very rich man, many years her\nsenior; in fact, considerably older than her own father, who had lately\npassed away. The daughters of this family were all devoted to their\nfather, and most of the visit was occupied in giving me details of his\nlast illness, and in my sympathising with her upon his loss. It was, in\nfact, far more a visit of condolence than of congratulation upon her\nfuture prospects of happiness. As to the latter, I found it difficult to\nbe quite truthful and yet conventionally ecstatic.\n\nTo marry a man nearly old enough to be your grandfather struck me as\nrisky, to say the least of it, even with all the emollients which\nriches and position undoubtedly add to domestic life.\n\nThe young woman in question did not at all resent my frankness on the\nsubject, but assured me that her greatest consolation in thinking of her\nlate father was the fact that she was about to make a marriage which he\nhad always wished, and of which he had emphatically given his approval\non his death-bed. \"I told him I had decided upon it, just before he\ndied, and he was so relieved and happy about it,\" she said simply as she\nturned to leave the room. Having mentioned that a younger sister was\nalso in town, I sent a message to the latter, asking her to take early\ndinner with me on the following Sunday, which happened to be my only\nspare day just then.\n\nOn the evening of this visit from the coming bride, I had accepted an\ninvitation to a large musical party in the house of the lady who had\nbegged me to interest myself in Mrs Peters. It was within a\nstone's-throw of Sussex Gardens, and I came down to dinner at\nseven-thirty P.M., intending to dress later, and go round there about\nnine P.M.\n\nFor an hour or so before dinner I had been conscious of a growing\ndespondency, to which I could attribute no cause, and this increased so\nmuch during the meal that Mrs Peters noticed it at last, and asked me if\nI were feeling unwell.\n\n\"No--not unwell--but I am absolutely miserable, and cannot imagine why.\"\n\n\"Then you have not had bad news?\" was the next remark. \"I feared you\nmust have had, seeing you so silent and not able to eat anything.\"\n\nIn answer to this I said that I had not even the excuse of hearing of\nother people's misfortunes, for a young lady had been calling upon me\nthat afternoon, who was about to make what the world calls a very\nsuccessful marriage. I did not, however, mention her name, as Mrs Peters\nknew none of my friends.\n\nDinner over, I felt still so unaccountably wretched that I determined to\ngive up the evening party, and write my excuses. Mrs Peters did her best\nto combat this decision, fearing that her kind benefactress might be\ndisappointed, and also urging that the evening's enjoyment would cheer\nme up. But finding me inexorable, she then said: \"Well, if you have\nquite determined not to go, shall I come into your sitting-room and see\nif we can get any explanation of your curious feeling of depression?\"\n\nI closed with this suggestion, knowing Mrs Peters to be a really\nremarkable sensitive.\n\nSo we sat in the dark for a few minutes; and then I heard a soft\n_frou-frou_ on Mrs Peters' silk gown, and knew she was tracing out words\nwith her hand in a fashion of her own.\n\n\"It is a spirit that young lady brought with her,\" she announced at\nlength. \"The spirit has remained here with _you_, and is worried about\nthis marriage you spoke of. She wants you to try and break it off. She\nseems to have been nearly related to the lady, or perhaps a godmother;\nanyway, she takes great interest in her.\"\n\n\"Will she give a name?\" I asked.\n\n\"ELIZA is all I get,\" Mrs Peters replied.\n\nIt then occurred to me that my young friend's name _was_ Eliza, and\nthat she had been so named after a great-aunt, to the best of my\nrecollection; but as she was invariably called Elsa, by friends and\nrelations alike, it was only by chance that I remembered hearing her\nteased about her far less romantic baptismal name.\n\nI asked if no surname could be given, thinking at the moment that it\nwould be Waverly--the family name; but my thought was evidently not\ntransferred to Mrs Peters, who said she could not get the name\naccurately, but that it was certainly _not_ Waverly. I found later that\nthe Great-Aunt Eliza had a name entirely different from that of her\ndescendants.\n\nNothing further happened on this occasion, except that I sent a message\nto \"Great-Aunt Eliza\" to say that nothing would induce me to take the\nresponsibility of trying to break off any marriage, either by the advice\nof people in this sphere or in any other sphere. In this case I should\nhave had neither the authority nor the influence to make any such unwise\nattempt.\n\nSunday came round in due course, and brought the bride's younger sister,\nthen a girl of twenty-four or twenty-five. We discussed the usual midday\nSunday dinner of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, Mrs Peters sitting at\nthe head of the table, I on her right hand, and Carrie Waverly next to\nme.\n\nSuddenly realising that my remarks to the latter were receiving very\nscant attention, I looked up, and found the girl's black eyes fixed in a\nbasilisk stare upon our unfortunate hostess, whose own eyes were cast\ndown, but who appeared uneasy and troubled by the determined gaze of my\nguest. At length the poor woman threw down her knife and fork, rose\nhastily from the dining-table, and made her way eagerly to the sofa at\nthe other end of the room, where she lay down at full length, murmuring:\n\"_I can't stand it any longer!_\"\n\nCarrie Waverly was at length induced to come away to my sitting-room and\nleave the poor woman in peace, which she did, asserting her complete\ninnocence, and assuring me she \"_only wanted to see if she could make\nMrs Peters look up at her!_\"\n\nI explained to her that \"sensitives\" may be as much upset by this sort\nof thing as another person would be by a blow on the back. She looked\nincredulous, and then said cheerfully: \"Well, if it is as bad as that,\ndon't you think you ought to go and see how she is?\"\n\n\"Two for yourself and your own curiosity and one for her!\" I thought;\nbut I took the hint, and found Mrs Peters still prostrate on the sofa,\nbut full of apologies for her sudden collapse:\n\n\"You must have thought me so very rude,\" etc., etc.\n\nI reassured her on this point, and expressed regret that my visitor\nshould have upset her so much by looking so fixedly at her.\n\n\"It was not her fault,\" said Mrs Peters eagerly. \"_It was the man\nstanding over her._ He had his hands upon her shoulders, and was trying\nso hard to influence her, and she was resisting it all the time, and the\nwhole conflict of their wills was thrown upon _me_, and I could not\nstand it at last--that was why I left the table,\" she gasped out.\n\n\"Could you describe the man at all?\"\n\n\"Quite clearly,\" she said. \"I shall never forget his face--I saw him so\ndistinctly.\" She then proceeded to describe in detail the very clear-cut\nfeatures and bushy eyebrows of Carrie Waverly's father, giving also his\ncolouring, which was very distinctive. I suggested trying to find out\nwhat he wanted to say to his daughter, but this distressed Mrs Peters so\nmuch that I was sorry to have made the suggestion.\n\n\"No! no! dear Miss Bates!--don't ask me to do that--dear Henry never\nlikes my taking messages from strangers--I have promised him that I\nwould never do it without his permission. It upsets me so much, and I\nfeel so weak already.\"\n\nSo I came away, promising to look in later and see if I could do\nanything for her.\n\nCarrie was naturally greatly interested by the accurate description\ngiven of her father, and was very impatient for me to pay Mrs Peters a\nsecond visit.\n\nI went in presently, and found the latter standing up, and in a state of\ngreat excitement. She had, in fact, been on the point of coming to us\nwhen I entered.\n\n\"Dear Henry told me to take that message after all,\" were the words with\nwhich she greeted me. \"There was some misunderstanding between the\nfather and this daughter, and he wants her to know that it is all right\nnow.\" (This seemed to me most improbable, as the devoted daughters and\nfather were always on terms of the greatest harmony and mutual\nunderstanding. _Yet it proved to be quite true._)\n\nMrs Peters continued: \"He is very much upset about this marriage. He\ntells me he was so anxious for it when on this side, but now he sees all\nthe difficulties and possible dangers. But he says it is too late to\nreconsider the step now; only he is so very anxious to secure the\ninterests of his daughter before she marries. He wishes to know whether\nher settlement is signed. _It is not one of which he would have\napproved._ And he says there are two houses, and one ought to be settled\nupon her--you _must_ ask about it, dear Miss Bates. He is most decided\nand so dreadfully upset about it all, because he says it was he who\nurged the marriage upon her.\"\n\nI spent the following fifteen or twenty minutes as a sort of\nmessenger-boy between Mrs Peters in the dining-room and Carrie Waverly\nin my sitting-room. Needless to say, _I_ knew nothing at all about the\nsettlements or how many houses the prospective bridegroom might possess,\nand having no sort of curiosity about the financial affairs of my\nneighbours, it was not at all pleasant to be employed in this way.\n\nMrs Peters, on the contrary, seemed to know everything connected with\nthe estate and the marriage settlement, _except the fact that the latter\nhad not yet been signed_, although reluctantly \"passed\" by both the\nlady's trustees. Wherefore this special limitation in the father's\nknowledge it is impossible to say. He certainly showed no limitation in\nhis knowledge of the bridegroom's character and disposition, and gave\nthe most elaborate and detailed instructions as to how his daughter\nshould behave towards her husband, and where she might, with advantage,\ncultivate tact and patience.\n\nMy advice to Miss Waverly was to say nothing on the subject to her\nsister, but she wisely, as it turned out, determined to take the\nresponsibility of telling her _everything_. She telegraphed to me next\nday, asking if she might come and see Mrs Peters and bring the bride\nwith her.\n\nThis was done, and they arrived, with several photographs, large and\nsmall, of the father, and also of the bridegroom, for identification.\nCarrie, in fact, tried--a little unfairly perhaps--to make Mrs Peters\nidentify the wrong person by forcing into notice a large photograph of\nthe _bridegroom_ (some years senior to the father), and saying\ncarelessly: \"_There, Mrs Peters--that is the face you saw yesterday of\nmy father, is it not?_\" But Mrs Peters would have none of it. She looked\nstaggered for a moment, then caught sight of the second picture, and\nturned to it with relief: \"_This_ is the face I saw, whether it is your\nfather or not,\" she answered, with decision.\n\nThe bride begged for a private interview with Mrs Peters, which lasted\nfor a considerable time. Of course, I knew nothing of this interview,\nnor should I feel at liberty to speak of it if I did know. I may,\nhowever, be permitted to say that I have the bride's own assurance that\nthe accurate knowledge then given her of her future husband's\ncharacteristics physical and mental, and the best way of dealing with\nthem, \"made all the difference in her married life.\"\n\nDuring that interview Mrs Peters also told her the number of years she\nwould be married; and the prophecy was accurately fulfilled, which is\nthe more remarkable, because, as a rule, it seems impossible to\npredicate time, even when events can be foreseen.\n\nI am happy to add that the marriage turned out a complete success, and\nthat a marriage settlement was made more in accordance with the father's\nwishes, although neither trustees nor principal in the transaction, had\nany idea that the actual arrangements were in any way due to the\nstrongly expressed wishes of a discarnate spirit.\n\nIf this book should ever fall into their hands, and they should trace\nthe story in spite of the thick veil I have thrown over all the\ncircumstances, I can only trust that, in gratitude for the results, they\nmay become reconciled with the channel through which these were made\npossible.\n\nPeople may say: \"What a terrible idea that a father or a husband should\ntrouble himself about such sordid details as money, houses, etc.\"\n\nBut this is an extremely foolish remark, although it may appear very\nspiritual on the surface. It is surely the most natural thing in the\nworld that a near relation--if permitted--should endeavour to secure\ncomfort and happiness for a dearly loved wife or daughter; especially\nwhen, as in the above case, he felt mainly responsible for a state of\naffairs which might have turned out so disastrously, save for his loving\ncare and foresight, exercised as these were from the other side of the\nveil.\n\nAt anyrate it disposes once for all of the weary old \"_Cui Bono_\"\nargument, which is so futile, and yet so constantly and triumphantly\nquoted by stupid people, who seem to took upon it as a patent\nextinguisher for any psychic gifts or experiences.\n\nIt is mainly in order to meet this senseless observation that I have\nincluded this story in my reminiscences.\n\nMost of us are debarred from answering the \"_Cui Bono_\" bray, by the\nfact that our most helpful experiences are generally of a too intimate\nand often sacred nature to be given to a scoffing world.\n\nBut this instance has the advantage of dealing entirely with material\nmatters, and thus being on a level with the ordinary intelligence.\n\nNobody can say in this case _no good was done_. It only remains to be\ndeeply shocked by the undignified, \"nay, almost blasphemous,\"\nintervention in mundane affairs of a spirit \"who should certainly have\nhad some more worthy occupation.\"\n\nIt is another case of the old man and the donkey. If discarnate spirits\n_don't_ trouble about the personal affairs of those on earth, the \"_Cui\nBono_\" argument is hurled at them. If they _do_, they are called\nblasphemous and irreverent!\n\nThe mention of the Waverly family reminds me of an incident which took\nplace when I was staying in their house in the country, a year or two\nearlier than the time of which I am writing. I have reserved it\npurposely as a sequel to this last story, which is in its proper\nchronological setting.\n\nIn the year 1889 I was spending a pleasant fortnight with the Waverlys\nin Yorkshire, at the very time when a dear old friend of mine (Mrs\nTennant) was dying in London. I had seen her only a week or two before,\nbut had no knowledge of her illness, as we were not in constant\ncorrespondence, although there was a deep and strong affection between\nus.\n\nI did not even hear of her death, in fact, till a few weeks after it\ntook place, having missed the announcement in the papers. When Mrs\nTennant's sister, Mrs Lane, wrote me the details, I had left Yorkshire,\nand was staying with cousins in Worcestershire. Thinking over the dates\nmentioned in describing the illness, I realised with a shock of pained\nsurprise that the final state of unconsciousness must have set in the\nvery evening when I was enjoying myself in Yorkshire, at a large\ndinner-party given by my host and hostess.\n\nIt seemed terrible to think that my dear and much loved friend should\nhave been lying unconscious upon her death-bed, and that no word or sign\nshould have come to me.\n\nThen suddenly I remembered a curious little incident connected with that\ndinner-party.\n\nI had been admiring a pretty little slate-coloured kitten belonging to\nthe house, which was calmly sitting upon the grand piano after dinner,\nwhen the ladies were alone in the drawing-room. After the gentlemen\njoined us, I was deep in conversation with my host (a remarkably\ninteresting and intelligent man), when I noticed a small _black_ kitten\nrun past my dress. Probably I should have remarked upon it had we been\nless occupied in talking, for I am extremely fond of cats and animals in\ngeneral. I did glance up, as a matter of fact, and satisfied myself that\nit was not the little slate-coloured kitty, which sat in still triumph\non the piano. Besides, this kitten was _black_, not slate. I thought no\nmore of it until the guests had left and Mrs Waverly and I were going\nupstairs to bed. She and I were very affinitive, but neither she nor her\nfamily had any special interest in psychology.\n\nOn this occasion, however, she said rather mysteriously: \"_I think\nsomething will happen to-night to you._\" A good many jokes had been made\nabout the probably uncanny atmosphere of my room, and the various spooks\nwho were doubtless sharing it with me, so I laughed, thinking this was\nonly the usual family joke. But Mrs Waverly was quite in earnest. At\nfirst she would give no reason for her remark, \"fearing I should tell\nher daughters,\" and that she would be laughed at in consequence.\n\nReassured on this point, she said to me quite seriously:\n\n\"Whilst you were talking to my husband this evening I saw a black kitten\nrun straight across your dress--just opposite to me.\"\n\n\"_Well, of course, I saw the kitten!_\" I answered, to her surprise; \"but\nthere is nothing very remarkable about a black kitten in the house.\"\n\n\"_But we have no black kitten_ in the house, or anywhere on the\npremises. Where did it go to? You never saw it again? No; it was not an\nordinary kitten, and I did not suppose till this moment that anyone had\nseen it but myself.\"\n\nIt was a fact that no one but Mrs Waverly and I had seen any kitten but\nthe slate-coloured one already mentioned.\n\nThinking over this in the light of the sad news of my dear old friend's\ndeath, and noting the correspondence in time between her loss of\nconsciousness and the appearance of the mysterious black kitten--seen\nonly by Mrs Waverly and myself--it was impossible not to ask in the\ndepths of my heart whether, perchance, the spirit of my faithful friend\nhad been trying to send me some symbol of her approaching death.\n\nIt may be objected that black cats are generally connected with good\nluck. Well, I think my dear \"London mother,\" as she called herself\nsometimes, would have explained this apparent contradiction very simply.\nShe had lived through much sorrow, and was often oppressed by sore\ndoubts of the Cosmic Love. I never knew any woman with such strong and\npassionate human sympathy, and to such fine spirits, the world, under\npresent conditions, must always offer terrible problems. Her sympathies\nwere sometimes too keen for that robust faith which can _always_ say:\n\"God's in His heaven! All's right with the world!\" Yet her last words\nwere: \"_I am so tired, and God will understand; and I am so glad to\ngo._\"\n\nTo finish my chapter on a merrier note, I will mention an amusing\nepisode connected with the evening of the black kitten's appearance.\n\nAmongst the guests invited to that dinner-party was a clergyman-squire,\na man of some means who had taken orders. A \"squarson\" is the\n\"portmanteau name\" for such a gentleman in Yorkshire, I believe; one who\ncombines squire and parson.\n\nThis particular specimen of the genus was both a vegetarian and a\ncelibate. The latter fact had been made clear to me by the many regrets\nexpressed in the neighbourhood that he had remained a bachelor owing to\nreligious scruples. The vegetarianism was equally certain, for I had\nheard orders given for special dishes to be prepared for this guest; and\nsitting next to him at the dinner-table, I knew that he had not touched\neither meat or game, although it was not a fast day.\n\nAfter dinner, when the gentlemen had joined us in the drawing-room, the\nconversation turned upon psychic matters and my experiences in America\nof a few years before. This extreme High Churchman denounced all these,\n\"lock, stock, and barrel.\"\n\nHe believed that everything might have happened as described, but was\nequally certain that the devil alone could have had a hand in \"such\ngoings on\"! Perhaps it will be wise to explain that he did not make use\nof this latter expression!\n\nMy host, instead of coming to the rescue, which he might have done, as\none of \"the Cloth\"; looked much amused when I fielded most of my\nadversary's theological balls.\n\nAt length, being unaccustomed to such irreverent handling, my enemy lost\nhis temper, and, as usual on such occasions, he tried to \"take my\nwicket\" by quoting texts against me!\n\n\"Well, all I can say is that everything you have told us is in direct\nopposition to Holy Writ. In fact, _we are specially warned in the\nScriptures that in the latter days seducing spirits shall arise_.\"\n\nAt this fatal moment, when the Theological Closure was descending upon\nmy unhappy head, a really brilliant thought occurred to me.\n\nWas it a seducing spirit or a friendly intelligence who reminded me\nthat my opponent had only quoted half the text--_the half that suited\nhim_?\n\nI pointed this fact out meekly.\n\nHe looked puzzled, and probably had honestly forgotten what he did not\nwish to remember.\n\n\"Finish the text? What do you mean?\" he said irritably.\n\nSo I finished it for him:\n\n\"In the latter days seducing spirits shall arise, _forbidding to marry\nand commanding to abstain from meats_.\"\n\nHe had pressed me very hard and rather unfairly. Still, the counsel of\nperfection would have been to refrain from the comment that, if _I_ were\na celibate and vegetarian, it was not the text I should have chosen with\nwhich to clinch an argument!\n\n\n\n\nAN INTERLUDE\n\n\nI have headed this chapter an _Interlude_, for the following reason:--\n\nIt is the only one in this book which does not record a personal\nexperience.\n\nThe opportunity came to me at Florence, two years ago, of hearing one of\nthe best old-fashioned Christmas ghost stories I ever came across; also\na ghost story which has two rather unique advantages. First, it has\nnever been published before; secondly, the percipient was the matron of\na boys' school (a well-known one), and wrote out her experiences _within\ntwelve hours of their occurrence_.\n\nNow, the matron of a large boys' school must, of necessity, be an\nexceptionally practical woman, and her daily experiences can scarcely\ntend to encourage undue Romance or Imagination.\n\nWhen I add that this story was given to me, and a copy of the original\nletter placed in my hands, by a sister of two of the schoolboys who were\nunder the matron's supervision, I shall have cleared the way for my\nghost to appear upon the scene.\n\nI must add, however, that I met this sister, a young widow, in\nFlorence, two years ago. She then told me this story, finding that I\nwas intimately acquainted both with the county and the small county\ntown where it happened.\n\nThe matron had gone there for the prosaic purpose of taking the baths\nfor her rheumatism.\n\nThe adventure took place in the early morning of 14th April 1875, and\nwas recorded, within a few hours, in a long letter written by the\npercipient to a favourite cousin.\n\nMy friend, Mrs Barker's brothers being at school at the time, begged to\nbe allowed to read this letter and take a copy of it. The copy was made\nby their sister--then a young girl--and I have it in my hands at the\npresent moment of writing.\n\nIt is, of course, necessary to change the name of the county and town,\nas the old family mansion, let in lodgings in 1875, has since then been\nsold and turned into a boarding-house.\n\nMrs Barker's mother made an expedition to this town, a few years ago, to\nverify the facts, and went over the house, which has been considerably\naltered and reconstructed inside since 1875.\n\nThe small park mentioned in the story is now built over entirely, as the\ntown has increased in popularity, owing to its baths, and the family\nportraits here mentioned have been removed since the house was sold.\n\nI will now quote _verbatim_ from the matron's letter, _written on the\nmorning of her experiences_.\n\n\n                                          \"The Priory, Grantwich.\n                                            \"14th April 1875.\n\"MY DEAR EDIE,--When you asked me once for a ghost story, I daresay you\nas little expected, as I did, how soon I should have to reveal to you an\nexperience which will doubtless give you, as it has me, much ground for\nthought and speculation about those mysterious laws which rule the\nspirit world.\n\n\"How true it is that Thought and Feeling annihilate Time and Space!\nSince last night, I seem to have lived through half a lifetime, such an\neffect have its events had upon my inner life. But before I begin to\nrelate the strange circumstances I have to tell you, I must describe to\nyou more particularly this house in which they happened.\n\n\"I think I told you that 'The Priory'--where I am now lodging--is an\nold mansion, belonging to the Carbury family. For some years past, it\nhas been let to the present occupiers who make the rent by letting\nlodgings. Some ancient pieces of furniture remain, and a great many\nportraits, none of the earliest date, but a handsome and respectable\ncollection--soldiers, bishops, and judges, in their uniforms, robes,\nand wigs, and ladies with powdered hair, hoops, and trains.\n\n\"Of these portraits, _two have engaged my attention, especially, from\nthe first moment of seeing them_, but I am not going to speak of them\nyet; my first object is to give you an idea of the house, or rather that\npart of it with which my story is connected.\n\n\"I think I have told you that the grand staircase goes up from the inner\nhall, and that round the staircase runs a gallery; in this gallery and\nin the hall below, are hung most of the portraits.\n\n\"On the first turn and landing of the staircase, there is a door opening\ninto a trellised walk which leads into the garden. On a level with this\ndoor is a large window which looks on to sweeps of soft turf, shaded by\nfine trees.\n\n\"Standing often to look from this window, as I passed up and down the\nstaircase, one tree has always riveted my attention. It is a large old\nplane-tree, standing by itself, and having a strange, melancholy,\ndecayed look about it. I noticed--why, I cannot imagine--that on one\nside of it the ground was bare and black, though everywhere else the\ngrass was green and fresh. I mention this, because it had struck me\n_before_ the strange events occurred which I am going to tell you.\n\n\"You must now go with me to the top of the staircase. Just at the top,\non your right hand, hangs one of the portraits I mentioned. It is a\nlife-sized painting of Captain Richard Carbury, who landed, on the 19th\nSeptember 1738, in the Colony of Georgia, with General Oglethorpe's\nregiment.\n\n\"Opposite to this, on the other side of the gallery, is the portrait of\na lady, with black, resolute brows and full, voluptuous mouth and chin.\nShe has a high colour, an exquisite hand and arm, and an Amazonian\nbearing.\n\n\"Passing from the gallery, you enter a long passage, leading to other\npassages and staircases, with which we have nothing to do.\n\n\"I only want you now to become acquainted with my own rooms. As you\nenter the passage from the gallery, two doors open, one on either hand.\nTo the right is my sitting-room, a square, cheerful room, looking on the\nstreet; to the left is my bedroom, which will require a more particular\ndescription.\n\n\"It is a large, low room. As you enter from the passage, the window,\nwhich looks into the garden, is opposite to you. In the middle of the\nwall to your right hand stands the bed, and opposite to that, the\nfireplace, and, as you will see, if you have taken in my description,\njust at the back of the portrait of the lady with the black eyebrows, is\nanother door. Opposite to this last is yet another, which caught my\nattention when I first entered the room from a peculiarity about it. The\nupper part of this door is of glass, rendered opaque by being washed or\nlined with some red substance.\n\n\"As soon as I was alone in the room I tried to open this door, but it\nwas firmly fastened. I don't know why I should have felt disquieted by\nthis circumstance, but certainly I did feel annoyed. I thought at first\nthat it probably opened into a dressing-room. There must have been a\nstrong light behind it, for a red light always fell on that side of the\nroom through the coloured glass, and I could see that red light in the\nmorning, before any light penetrated the window-blind.\n\n\"I think I have now told you all that is necessary for understanding my\nexperience.\n\n\"I must ask you to remember that yesterday was the thirteenth of April.\nI went to bed about eleven o'clock, and soon fell asleep. I could not,\nhowever, have slept long before I woke with an unusual feeling that\nsomething strange was going to happen.\n\n\"I awoke, not as one does in the morning, with a drowsy resolve not to\ngo to sleep again because it is time to get up, but as one awakes when a\njourney or some similar event is imminent, for which one's faculties\nhave to be clear, and one's body active and alert. I was rather\nwondering at and enjoying the unusual clearness and energy of thought of\nwhich I felt capable, when the clock in the hall began striking, and,\nalmost at the same moment, the clock of the old Church of St Andrew\nbegan striking also.\n\n\"I knew that both were striking twelve, though I did not count the\nblows, but just as the last stroke of the church clock died away,\nanother sound caught my ear.\n\n\"The door by the fireplace gave a loud crack and then opened, as if with\nsome difficulty.\n\n\"The _red door_ at the same time rattled, as if someone were trying\nvainly to open it. The room had previously been dark, but I now plainly\nsaw a tall figure come through the doorway and stand near the foot of\nthe bed. There was a dull, yellowish light round the figure, which\nillumined it, leaving the rest of the room in darkness; but this yellow\nlight, I perceived, became red at one point of the figure's left side,\nand shone down on the floor with a red glow, like that which came\nthrough the opposite door.\n\n\"The apparition stood quite silent whilst I looked at it. _The features\nand figure were familiar to me_ for they were those of Captain Richard\nCarbury, in the portrait, who had gone out to Georgia with the regiment\nof His Excellency, General Oglethorpe!\n\n\"As soon as I was sure of this, I said: 'You are Captain Richard\nCarbury?'\n\n\"The apparition nodded.\n\n\"'Why do you come to me?' I said. 'Cannot you speak?'\n\n\"He seemed to have some difficulty in doing so, but after two or three\nefforts, such as one makes to move a rusty hinge, he parted his lips,\nand said: 'Yes! I am Richard Carbury, and I am come to make you a\nwitness.'\n\n\"'A witness of what?' I said. 'Can I be of use to you? You come from the\nspirit world. Is it then permitted to mortals to have personal\nintercourse with spirits?'\n\n\"He held up his hand as if to silence me.\n\n\"'Listen to me,' he said. 'You are not frightened of me?'\n\n\"'No,' I replied; nor did I feel the slightest awe or fear. I felt\nstimulated, a kind of electricity ran through my veins--I longed\nearnestly to learn something of the mysterious realm from which he\ncame, but I had no vulgar or superstitious fear.\n\n\"'Nor need you have any dread,' he returned. 'I have no wish nor power\nto hurt you, but you must listen to my story. Once in fifty years I am\nallowed to leave my grave and revisit the scene of my tragical death,\nand this must always be on the 14th of April, which is the anniversary\nof the event.[4] I am also permitted to recount my story if I find\nanyone sleeping in this room who is willing to listen to me. Are you\nwilling?'\n\n [4] There is evidently some mistake here in the figures given by the\n ghost or received by the matron. If his death took place in 1741 (three\n years after landing in Georgia), his first spirit return was due in\n 1791, the second, 1841, and the third, not till 1891. It appears to\n have been anticipated by sixteen years, if the dates given are correct.\n A friend suggests that \"once _in_ fifty years\" does not necessitate\n exact _intervals_ of fifty years.\n\n\"I replied that I should gladly hear what he had to tell, but would he\nallow me to ask him one question?\n\n\"He inclined his head in assent, and I said I had always thought that\nthe spirits of the dead, if they were allowed to appear on earth, came\nwith shadowy and skeleton forms. Why did he appear with flesh like a\nliving man?\n\n\"'Ah!' he said, 'that is owing to the peculiarity of my grave. I am\nburied in salt.'\n\n\"' Have you anything more to ask?' said my visitor.\n\n\"'Nothing more at present,' I replied. 'I am ready now to hear your\nstory.'\n\n\"'I will make it as short as possible and not detain you long. You have\nnoticed my portrait in the gallery?'\n\n\"'Yes.'\n\n\"'And that of the lady opposite, my cousin, Lucretia Carbury?'\n\n\"'Certainly.' (Here the red door was violently shaken).\n\n\"'She cannot open it,' said Captain Carbury, 'it is sealed.'\n\n\"'When I went out to Georgia,' he resumed, 'in 1738, I was engaged to\nbe married to her; we had been betrothed by our parents in our\nchildhood, and family reasons made it almost a necessity that we\nshould be united, but as we grew up neither of us was very anxious to\nfulfil the engagement, and, to tell the truth, I was glad of the\nsummons to join my regiment. However, after three years in that\ndistant colony, I came home, having made up my mind I would marry\nLucretia and settle down on the family property--which could only be\nenjoyed by that means--for we were the only representatives of the\nfamily, and the property was so left by our fathers that only by\nmarrying could we enter into possession. _Either by marrying or by the\ndeath of one of us; when the whole of the property would go to the\nother._ I knew that Lucretia was at the old house at Grantwich, and I\ncame straight to her.\n\n\"'I had written to say when she might expect me, and she received me\nwith apparent kindness and agreed to all my propositions about our\nmarriage. I arrived late at night, and she let me into the house herself\nand got food for me. We supped together, and she pledged me in a cup,\nwhich I now know was drugged to make me sleep heavily.\n\n\"'I then retired to my room--this room, this bed, on which you now lie!\n\n\"'What I am now going to tell you has been made clear to me since; at\nthe time I was conscious of nothing. As soon as I got into bed, I fell\nasleep, and whilst I thus slept Lucretia came through that door\n(pointing to the red door opposite), and stabbed me to the heart. I\nwill show you the instrument with which she did it, if you like.'\n\n\"'Pray do,' I said, and he unbuttoned his scarlet uniform coat and drew\nfrom his left side a slender dagger or stiletto.\n\n\"I looked at it with great interest and asked if I might take it in my\nhand.\n\n\"'Certainly, if you wish it,' he said, 'but I do not advise you to touch\nit. It is rusty now from the salt, but I assure you it was bright and\nkeen when she drove it into my heart. The stroke was so cleverly aimed\nthat I died instantly. Lucretia then made a signal, which was answered\nby the entrance of a man, and between them they carried my body through\nthe door by which I entered to-night.'\n\n\"He paused, and I thought he looked more ghastly. 'Is anything the\nmatter?' I asked.\n\n\"'I am thinking,' he answered, 'that I can show you the rest, if you\nwill follow me, but I must tell you that when we leave this room and\nenter the gallery, it is possible the murderess will follow us. Shall\nyou be afraid?'\n\n\"'Not in the least,' I said, 'I will follow you with pleasure, but you\nmust allow me to put something on, as I am suffering from rheumatism,\nand am afraid of the cold and damp.'\n\n\"'By all means,' said Captain Carbury. 'I will wait for you in the\ngallery.'\n\n\"I then got up and put on my dressing-gown and slippers. Whilst I was\ndoing so, I heard a rustling in the passage as of a woman passing\nslowly along. I found Captain Carbury, and followed him along the\ngallery without looking round, but when we reached the end of the\ngallery and turned to go down the first flight of stairs, I saw the\nlady with the black brows--whom I now knew to be Lucretia Carbury, the\nmurderess--standing in the doorway, between the gallery and the\npassage.\n\n\"'I do not think she can come any farther,' said my guide, and he\nopened the door leading from the staircase into the garden.\n\n\"'I am showing you just where they brought me,' said he.\n\n\"'Who was the man?' I asked.\n\n\"'I never knew his name, but she married him afterwards.'\n\n\"He then moved across the lawn _to the bare spot under the plane-tree_.\nHere he stopped, and, pointing downwards, showed me on the bare ground\nan exact outline of the dagger which he had drawn from his side.\n\n\"'Here they dug my grave and here they buried me; a salt spring washes\nover me.'\n\n\"At this moment the great clock of St Andrew struck ONE.\n\n\"'All that you have told me is very sad and strange,' I said, 'but now,\nwill you allow me to ask you why you have appeared to me? Is there\nanything you want done on earth that I can do? Is there any restitution\nto be made, or justice to be administered? Anything that you require, I\nam ready to do, if you will grant me one favour when you return to the\nspirit realm.'\n\n\"I had been speaking with my eyes fixed on the ground, but now,\nhappening to raise them, I was surprised to see that my companion\nappeared to be sinking into the ground.\n\n\"'My time is up,' he said. '_Remember!_'--and, as his head disappeared,\nhis words came in a hollow, sepulchral voice from beneath _that spot of\nblack earth_--'remember you are my witness!'\n\n\"I was left standing alone under the plane-tree, with the thought, that\nin returning to my room, I might probably meet the restless spirit of\nLucretia Carbury.\n\n\"Nothing of the kind, however, occurred. I passed through the doors that\nhad opened at the touch of Captain Carbury, and I noticed that they\nclosed behind me without any effort on my part. I regained my bed, and\nalmost immediately fell asleep. All had passed so naturally, and as a\nmatter of course, that only when I woke this morning, and thought over\nthe events of the night, did I realise that I had passed through such an\nexperience as is given to few human beings.\n\n\"You see, dear Edie, that my narrative has taken so long to write that I\nhave no time to speak of other things, even if I could bring my mind to\nthink of anything else, which, I confess, I should have great difficulty\nin doing.--Ever your very affectionate,                  \"M. PORTER.\"\n\n\nCopied _verbatim_ from Miss Porter's letter, written on the morning of\n14th April 1875.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSo ends the story, with apologies to the S.P.R.!\n\nI claim nothing for it beyond the following _facts_:\n\nThe Priory still exists at Grantwich, and is known to have been the\nfamily mansion of the Carbury family.\n\nMiss Porter was undoubtedly matron of the school where my friend's\nbrothers were educated. She was a woman of unblemished character and\ntruthfulness, and would certainly not have _invented_ this long and\ndetailed account of her personal experiences within a few hours of their\noccurrence.\n\nMy friend most certainly copied this letter, which her brothers had\nobtained leave to read, from their school matron--Miss Porter herself.\n\nLastly, my friend, Mrs Barker's mother (who is still alive), verified\nthe existence of the Priory (as I have called it) in the town of\nGrantwich, and it _had_ been turned into a boarding-house at the time of\nher visit, having been previously let in lodgings. Also she found that\nCaptain Richard Carbury was _supposed to have died in Georgia in the\nyear 1741_, as is inferred in the story.\n\nAs the murderess and her accomplice alone seem to have been aware of his\nreturn on that fateful night, this would be the natural opinion of the\nworld.\n\nAs an old associate of the S.P.R., and quite conversant with their\nmethods, two criticisms of the story at once suggest themselves, in\naddition to the confusion of dates, which might perhaps be excused,\nowing to the abnormal nature of the interview described. But the obvious\nPodmorian remark would be that the whole adventure was a dream on the\npart of Miss Porter, induced by her interest in the two family portraits\nshe had seen, and the curious sensations she had experienced in looking\nat a specially gloomy tree in the park.\n\nThis would certainly cover the ground, but it proves, perhaps, rather\ntoo much.\n\nIt requires very robust \"Faith in Unfaith\" to suppose that a sensible,\npractical woman, suffering from rheumatism, should carry her dream to\nthe verge of following her dream man into the garden and grounds of the\nhouse. It may be urged that _she dreamt all this also_, but \"that way\nmadness lies.\" We must be able to formulate that certain acts of ours\ntook place during full consciousness, or daily life would become\nimpossible and moral responsibility would cease.\n\nMiss Porter might have been in a dream all through the night--granted.\n\nBut in these cases it is the \"morning that brings counsel.\" We are all\naware of the extraordinary lifelike dreams which, with the return of\nnormal memory, we recognise as dream visions, no matter how vivid and\ncredible they may have appeared to us in the night.\n\nBut with Miss Porter this normal process was reversed. She went to sleep\nquite calmly, and first realised, upon waking in the morning, how\nthoroughly _abnormal_ her experiences had been.\n\nI pass on to the next criticism, which a little \"editing\" on my part\ncould have averted:\n\n\"Is it credible that a woman, only just recovering from the surprise and\nmarvel of such an experience, should write about it, within a few hours,\nto a favourite cousin, as if she were preparing a story for _The Family\nHerald_?\"\n\nI confess that this was my own feeling when the record was placed in my\nhands.\n\nWe must, however, remember--first, that the percipient was obviously a\nlady of great courage, or she would not have followed her ghost into the\ngarden; secondly, that she was a keen observer and very accurate in\ndetails. Probably, many generations of schoolboys, passing through her\nhands, may have quickened her perceptions in both these ways.\n\nAs for the stilted style, that presents little difficulty, when one\nremembers that people of a certain rank in life never use a short word\nwhen a long one will answer the purpose!\n\nI claim nothing for the story, beyond the points already mentioned.\nThese are matters of _fact_.\n\nEach one must interpret it according to his own views and prejudices.\n\nIt is quite enough for me to be responsible for the truth and accuracy\nof _my own_ experiences, to which we will now return.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Note._--Since writing the above I have consulted the \"Century\nEncyclopaedia,\" and find there:\n\n\"Oglethorpe--James Edward, born in London, December 21st, 1696, died\nat Cranham Hall, Essex, England, 1785. An English General and\nPhilanthropist. He projected the Colony of Georgia for insolvent\ndebtors, and persecuted Protestants; conducted the expedition for its\nsettlement, 1733, and returned to England, 1743.\"\n\nThe apparent discrepancy between the date 1733 given in the\nEncyclopaedia, and the 1738 of Captain Carbury's ghostly narrative, may\nbe due to one of two causes:\n\nThe young girl copying Miss Porter's letter may have mistaken a three\nfor an eight rather easily.\n\nAgain, Captain Carbury did not state that he landed _with_ General\nOglethorpe, 19th September 1738, but with General Oglethorpe's regiment.\nThis latter may have been a reinforcement sent out to the General after\nhis first landing in the Colony.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nLADY CAITHNESS AND AVENUE WAGRAM\n\n\nHaving spent the winter months of 1894 (from January to April) in Egypt,\nI was returning thence in the latter month with my friend Mrs Judge of\nWindsor. Our route was _via_ Paris, and I had arranged to spend a week\nthere in the same hotel as the young Swedish lady whom I first met in\nIndia, and who has been referred to more than once in this record.\n\nShe told me she had made the acquaintance that winter of the famous\n\"Countess of Caithness and Duchesse de Pomar,\" and thinking it would\ninterest me to meet this lady, she had asked for permission to introduce\nme to her.\n\nAs it turned out, Madame Bruegel was unable to accompany me to the house,\nhaving several engagements for the afternoon, but she promised to \"put\nin an appearance\" later. So Mrs Judge and I drove off to the well-known\nmansion in the Avenue de Wagram, and were received very cordially by\nLady Caithness.\n\nI had once tried to read a very abstruse and mystic book by this lady,\nand had heard her spoken of as a more or less hopeless lunatic, \"who\nimagined herself Mary Queen of Scots,\" and so forth.\n\nOtherwise I went without prejudice, and being accustomed to judge for\nmyself in such matters, came to the conclusion that Lady Caithness was\nan extremely shrewd woman, with her head remarkably \"well screwed on,\"\nas the saying is. As regards her claims to be Mary Queen of Scots, I\nnever heard these from her own lips, although I saw her daily for a\nweek, and we had many interesting talks.\n\nShe certainly _did_ claim to be in very close relations with the\nill-fated Queen of Scotland, but I do not know what views she may have\nheld privately as to varied manifestations of the one spirit. I have\nheard Lord Monkswell propound an interesting theory, with Archdeacon\nWilberforce in the chair, to the effect that as one short earth life\ngave small scope for spiritual experience and development, he thought it\nquite possible that the same spirit might have several bodily\nmanifestations simultaneously, and that the judge and the criminal might\nconceivably be one and the same individual in two personalities!\n\nIt is possible that Lady Caithness may have had some such view, not\ntheoretically (as was the case with Lord Monkswell), but as a matter of\nconviction, and apart from the limits of Time and Space involved in the\nconception of the latter.\n\nI can only say that I never heard her speak of Mary Queen of Scots\nexcept as an entity, quite distinct from herself. But that she carried\nthe \"Marie\" _culte_ to great extremes is an undoubted fact. The hall and\nrooms on the ground floor of the Avenue Wagram House were arranged and\nfurnished in close imitation of Holyrood Palace. I counted over fifty\nminiatures and other pictures of the Scottish Queen in the Countess's\nbeautiful bedroom alone, and later on shall have to speak more\ndefinitely of one life size and exquisitely painted portrait of the\nQueen.\n\nBut to return to this first reception.\n\nI must confess that a somewhat inconveniently keen sense of humour found\nonly too much nourishment on this occasion.\n\nThe Countess was magnificently dressed, as was usual with her, in\npriceless lace, falling over head and shoulders, and a beautiful tiara\nof various coloured jewels arranged over the lace. This was eccentric\nperhaps, considering the occasion, but not laughable. Lady Caithness, in\naddition to geniality, had enough quiet dignity to carry off the lace\nand jewels with success. I was chiefly amused by the attitude of adoring\nhumility and flattering appreciation shown by the numerous ladies\nalready assembled when we arrived. Only one man was present, and he was\na priest. Later I learned to appreciate the friendliness of the Abbe\nPetit and to admire his intellectual courage and manliness.\n\nFor the moment, seeing him surrounded by these female worshippers,\nhanging upon his lips as he discoursed to us about new readings of old\ntruths, one was irresistibly reminded of certain scenes in Moliere's\n\"_Femmes Savantes_.\"\n\nA lively little American lady (married to an Italian count) plied him\nwith numerous questions in fluent French, spoken with an atrocious\naccent. Finally, she wished to hear the Abbe's views upon\n_Melchisedech!_ In the midst of other questions and answers, the kindly\nlittle man managed to turn round to her with a cheery \"_Ah, Madame la\nComtesse! pour le Melchisedech--nous reviendrons tout de suite a\nMelchisedech!_\" All the affairs of the religious universe were being\nwound up at a similar pace and in like fashion, and this final word of\ncheerful assurance would have proved absolutely disastrous to me had I\nnot been sitting close to my friend and able to whisper to her: \"_Please\ndig your nails into my wrist--hard._\" Any bodily pain was preferable to\nthe hysterical laughter which had been so long suppressed and seemed now\nimminent.\n\nBut there was worse to come!\n\nAn Englishwoman, the very type of the characteristic British spinster,\nturned round, and addressed M. l'Abbe in laboured and extremely British\nFrench (I must leave the accent to be imagined and supplied by my\nreader):\n\n\"Mais, Monsieur l'Abbe! c'est le Protestantisme que vous nous enseignez\nla.\"\n\nHe turned round upon her in his wrath:\n\n\"Mais, Madame--ou MADEMOISELLE.\" (No print can convey the utter scorn\nand contempt of this last word.)\n\nThe rest of the sentence was lost to us in the loud laugh of the genial,\ngood-tempered woman: \"_Moi_, Mademoiselle! J'ai ete mariee vingt ans et\nj'ai six enfants!\"\n\nThe whole scene was too funny for words, and, with the exception of this\ngood lady, all present took themselves as seriously as a University don!\n\nIt was a real relief when the solemnity of the reception broke up and we\nwere ushered into the adjoining dining-room for an excellent tea. Here\nI came upon my Swedish friend, who had only just arrived, and \"missed\nall the fun.\" She told me there was to be a _seance_ held in the house\nnext day, and that she had been asking the Countess if I might not be\npresent. \"_It might amuse you, Kat!_\" was her irreverent way of putting\nit. \"_Unfortunately, there seems to be some difficulty about it._\"\n\nAt this moment Lady Caithness came up, and cordially expressed her\nregrets that she could not accede to Madame Bruegel's suggestion.\n\n\"Had you been staying until next week, Miss Bates, I would gladly have\narranged for it, but to-morrow is a very special occasion. As a matter\nof fact, I have promised M. Petit that no one shall be present except\nhimself and me, and the two female mediums, of course. On Wednesday we\nare to have a crowded meeting here--all the well-known people in Paris\nwill come--and M. l'Abbe will read his paper explaining that he can no\nlonger blind his eyes to the new light breaking upon the world through\nscientific discovery, etc., but that he remains a loyal son of the\nChurch, if the Church will allow him to do so. It is, of course, a very\ntrying and anxious ordeal; for many priests will be present, also a\ncardinal and one or more of our bishops. So the _seance_ to-morrow will\nbe specially devoted to receiving last instructions for the paper he is\nabout to read, and some words, we trust, of encouragement and hope.\"\n\nOf course, I hastened to assure Lady Caithness of my full comprehension\nof her point, and added that I was only sorry she should have been asked\nto alter her arrangements on my account.\n\n\"But you will join us on Wednesday at the meeting, I trust? It will be\nheld at three P.M., in a large room on the ground floor, which is\narranged for such gatherings. I shall expect you then, so we will not\nsay good-bye.\"\n\nThis was heaping coals of fire on my head; for so observant a woman as\nLady Caithness must have noticed my difficulty in keeping a grave face\nearlier in the afternoon!\n\nNow comes a curious point. As we left the house Madame Bruegel in\nexpressing disappointment about the next evening, added: \"And yet\nsomehow I think you will go after all.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said involuntarily. \"I believe I _shall_ go, but I cannot think\nhow it will come about; nothing could be more decided than what we have\njust heard, and I cannot possibly put off my journey to England the end\nof this week.\"\n\nI think we were both a little disappointed when no letter arrived by the\nmorning's post. \"Local letters often come by second post,\" urged my\nfriend, who was very keen upon her presentiment.\n\nA long morning at the Louvre prevented my reaching home till one P.M.,\nwhen the _dejeuner a la fourchette_ was half way through its course. No\nletter on my plate! So Madame Bruegel and I agreed that the wish must\nhave been father to the thought with both of us, and put the matter out\nof our heads once for all.\n\nAt two-thirty P.M., however, a _depeche_ letter arrived for me.\n\nLady Caithness wrote to _beg that I would make a point of being with her\nthat evening by nine p.m._ \"You will think this very inconsistent with\nwhat I told you yesterday,\" she wrote, \"but I said only what was the\nexact truth, as matters then stood. It is the Queen herself who has\ncommunicated with me this morning, and _insists_ upon your being present\nthis evening. The Abbe and I can only bow to this decision. I need not\ntell you how pleased I shall be personally to greet you this evening.\"\n\nI was again shown into the spacious bedroom of the Countess, where she\n\"received\" in general, quite after the manner of the French kings in the\ndays of the old monarchy.\n\nHer bed was quite a State bed too, with its beautiful silk furnishings\nand heavy velvet hangings. On the wall behind this, was a very valuable\nfresco painting, representing Jacob's ladder, with the angels ascending\nand descending, executed by a famous modern artist.\n\nWe soon descended to the ground floor, and passing through the large\nlecture-room, of which Lady Caithness had spoken, and which had\nsufficient gilt and cane chairs to seat a large audience; we stepped\ndown some marble stairs into a small but exquisitely appointed room. It\nwas a sort of chapel, in fact, built \"by the Queen's instructions,\" and\nused for all purposes and occasions of direct communication with her. A\ngeneral impression remains with me of rare woods and exquisite marbles,\nand the walls were hung with framed tapestries representing various\nscenes in the Queen's life.\n\nTo me the most striking and beautiful thing in the room was a\nfull-length, life-sized portrait of Mary herself, so arranged that a\nhidden lamp threw its soft light on the features; whilst the hanging\nvelvet curtains of deep crimson on either side concealed the frame of\nthe picture, and conveyed the illusion that a living woman was standing\nthere ready to receive her guests.\n\nI have never seen anything more perfect than the way in which this\nimpression was conveyed, without a jarring note of sensational effect.\n\nThe two French women mediums were already in the room, and I am bound to\nsay they did not attract me pleasantly nor impress me very favourably.\nThey were mother and daughter, and \"Harpy\" was written large over either\ncountenance. Doubtless they were very good mediums, in spite of this\nfact. They _must_ have been so, unless one supposes that Lady Caithness\nand the Abbe Petit were themselves abnormally strong sensitives; in\nwhich case one would have thought this extraneous help would have been\nunnecessary.\n\nWe sat down at a fairly large wooden table, polished, but without\ncovering of any kind, and having only one solid support to it, coming\nfrom the centre, passing down as a single wooden pillar, and spreading\nout in the usual fashion at the bottom. I had noted this on first\nentering the room.\n\nThe two women sat together on my right-hand side. On my left was the\nAbbe, and the Countess sat exactly opposite to me, with a printed\nalphabet pasted on to a card, and a long pencil as pointer.\n\nThis made up the party. At a side table, placed some distance away, sat\na pleasant young French lady, who was writing automatically all the\ntime; a secretary to the Countess, I believe. This young lady had no\npossible connection with the table.\n\nThe _seance_ began with a few words of prayer from the Abbe for light\nand guidance.\n\nThe process was as follows:--First, the Countess and then I took the\nprinted alphabet, and pointed silently and at a fair pace to the\nletters, going on from one to the other without pause. At the letter\nneeded the table did not rise, but gave a sound more like a bang than a\nrap. I have never heard anything _quite_ so loud and definite in my long\ninvestigation. The sound seemed to come from _within the wood_, as in\nordinary \"raps,\" when these are genuine, but it was far louder and more\nrapid and decided than the usual _seance_ rap. There was no hesitation,\nno gathering up of force. Any amount of vitality was evidently present,\nand the intelligence, from whatever source, was unerring. The Countess\nand I were the only two persons who held the alphabet and pointed, and\nwhen _she_ held it the mediums could not have seen the letters from\ntheir position at the table with regard to hers. Yet the letters were\nbanged out (I can use no other expression) with absolute accuracy, and\nat a pace which, quick to start with, became more and more rapid as we\nwearied of the monotonous task and handed the alphabet to each other in\nturn.\n\nWhen the name of GOD or of OUR LORD came, only the first letter was\nindicated, and then the table swayed slowly to and fro in a very\nreverent and characteristic way for a few seconds; after which we began\nthe alphabet again for the next word.\n\nWhen these loud bangs came I could trace the reverberation in the wood,\nand it seemed to me practically impossible that the Harpies could be\nproducing them by any unlawful methods, whilst sitting in full light and\nwith immovable faces, the daughter writing down the letters as quickly\nas these were indicated.\n\nOne did not feel quite comfortable about making investigations in a\nprivate house without being invited to do so.\n\nAgain, if the women were tricking, and I caught them at it, there was\nalways the chance of a disagreeable scene with people of their class.\n\nOn the other hand, it was losing a great opportunity, to refrain, as a\nmere matter of courtesy. Also I comforted myself by thinking that if\nanyone needed to feel ashamed it would be the ones who cheated, and not\nthe detective.\n\nSo I pushed my chair a little nearer to the table, and the next time the\nCountess took the alphabet from me and the bangs were in full swing, I\nput my foot cautiously but very effectually _entirely round the one leg\nof the table, moving it also up and down freely_. Not a vestige of\nanother foot, nor even of the flimsiest particle of dress or other\nobstruction! I could positively and distinctly hear the reverberation of\nthe loud bangs on the wood, _between me and the centre of the table_,\nwhilst my own leg and foot were firmly embracing the single wooden\npillar upon which the latter stood. So the Harpies were justified, so\nfar as this one phenomenon was concerned. The letters written down so\nrapidly by the daughter on large sheets of paper presented an apparently\nhopeless jumble, but when the sitting was over at the last, the Abbe\nand I were able to make out the words and sentences without great\ndifficulty (he being accustomed to the task), and we then found a long,\ncoherent, and at anyrate perfectly sensible, message addressed to him,\nand referring to the points of his coming discourse. This had to be\nproved upon its own merits, and without prejudice, arising from the fact\nthat St Paul's name was given as the author. It was quite as helpful as\nsome of the Apostle's letters, with the advantage of being up to date as\nregarded the question in hand. After all, the Abbe was about to embark\nupon an enterprise requiring much courage and great tact, in the forlorn\nhope that the walls of narrow Orthodoxy and Priestcraft might fall down\nbefore the trumpets of advancing Knowledge and Light.\n\nIt may or may not have been St Paul who stood by the Abbe with words of\nencouragement that night; but I, for one, find no difficulty in thinking\nit conceivable that the great Apostle should take a keen interest in the\nevolution of the planet upon which he once lived.\n\nThe charming young lady delivered up her script also. It was interesting\nand well written, but the only paragraph which remains in my memory was\nan excellent analysis of the initial difference between Christianity and\nTheosophy.\n\nThe Abbe kindly copied it out for me next day, but I must quote from\nmemory.\n\n\"Christianity is a stretching down of the Divinity to Man.\n\n\"Theosophy is the attempt of Man, by his own efforts, to reach the\nDivine.\"\n\nThis seems to me both terse and true.\n\nWe had sat from nine P.M. till one A.M., and I think we were all\nrelieved when an adjournment for supper was suggested by Lady Caithness.\n\nHer son, the Duc de Pomar, joined us for _this_ part of the evening, and\nwas introduced to me. My enjoyment of the excellent fare, after so many\nhours of exhaustion, was only tempered by an unfortunate and violent\nquarrel between the mother and daughter mediums, on the score of the age\nof the latter! The mother declared her daughter was forty-five; the\ndaughter said: \"Not a day over thirty-five,\" and intimated that she\nsurely might be supposed to know her own age! The mother, however,\nmurmured provokingly: \"_Moi, je sais mieux que ca_\"; and so the wrangle\nwent on, until I made a diversion by taking leave of my hostess and\npromising to be present at the lecture the \"following afternoon,\" which,\nby the way, had become \"this afternoon\" by the time I left the Hotel\nWagram.\n\nWhen I entered the house once more, it was to be shown into the large\nlecture-room previously described, which was already three parts full,\nand very shortly entirely so.\n\nLady Caithness had kindly reserved a front seat for me, so I could see\nand hear without difficulty. On the raised platform stood my friend the\nAbbe looking very grave and rather nervous. A cardinal, two bishops, and\nsome half-dozen priests were seated close to him, and very shortly the\nlecture, which was, I think, extempore, began.\n\nThe Abbe was so manifestly in dead earnest and without any suspicion of\n_pose_, that one could not fail to be deeply impressed by the scene. It\nneeded all the help of a sincere purpose and a brave heart, to stand up\namongst those of his own cloth, and, in face of a partially indifferent\nand partially unfriendly audience, to declare boldly \"the faith that was\nin him\"--a faith that burned all the more brightly and warmly from the\nfact that it was being purged of the superstitions which must always\nbecome the accretions of every form of religion; the clinging refuse of\nweed and shell, which from time to time must be scraped off the bottom\nof the grand old ship if it is to convey us safely from port to harbour.\n\nThe Cardinal sat twirling his big seal ring, with a look of cynical\namusement on his face, or so it seemed to me.\n\nAs the Abbe proceeded to mention the advances made in science and the\nnecessity for a restatement of old truths, which should bring them into\nline with other truths of the nineteenth century, proving the essential\nunity of _all truth_, and breaking down the fallacy that the vital part\nof religion and the vital part of science have anything to fear from one\nanother, the Cardinal's face was a study to me.\n\n\"Yes, of course, we know all that, you and I, but what is the use of\nmaking this fuss about it? We belong to a system, and this system has\nworked very well for centuries past, and will work very well for\ncenturies to come if fools don't attempt to upset the coach by\nrestatements and readjustments, as they are called. The people _don't\nwant restatements_; they want a dead certainty, and that is just what we\ngive them.\"\n\nAll this I seemed to read in his clever, cynical countenance, in direct\nopposition to the thrilling sentences of the Abbe Petit as he leant\nforward and said, with uplifted finger and prophetic intensity:\n\n\"_La lumiere est venue, mes freres--et si vous ne la suivez pas--vous\nserez laisses seuls dans vos eglises._\"\n\nIt is impossible to exaggerate the affectionate solemnity of this appeal\nto his brother priests. The tragic note was relieved later by an amused\nsmile which rippled round the audience. This puzzled me until a kind\nFrench lady sitting next to me explained that the audience were amused\nby the \"_tres chers freres_\" (dearly beloved brethren), with which the\nAbbe addressed them in this rather unorthodox lecture. It was evidently\nlooked upon as a curious bit of \"professional survival.\"\n\nOn the following day (Thursday) I was invited to lunch with Lady\nCaithness at two P.M., and being a punctual person, I arrived at that\nhour. The powdered footman announced that his mistress had not yet\nemerged from her bedroom, and showed me up into the dining-room\nadjoining, where I awaited her. In a few minutes I was joined here by\nthe Abbe, who politely expressed his sorrow that he had not known of my\narrival earlier.\n\nAs we sat chatting together, he told me a curious experience of his of\nthe previous night, which will certainly \"cause the enemy\" to smile, if\nnot \"to blaspheme.\"\n\nHe said (of course, in French): \"I was sitting last night in my room,\nwhich looks over the back of the house, and where I can hear no sounds\nfrom the Avenue, and I was talking to 'La Reine.' Suddenly '_Elle m'a\nfrappe sur l'epaule_,' and then said she must leave me at once, in order\nto meet the Duchesse, who had just returned home. At that moment twelve\no'clock struck from a neighbouring church, and I looked at my watch, and\nfound it was indeed midnight. When Madame la Duchesse comes in, I am\nmost anxious to find out whether she and the Duc were returning home at\nthat hour. You will be my witness, madame, that I have told you of this\noccurrence before seeing the Duchesse.\"\n\nI assured him that I would gladly testify to this; and in a few moments\nthe Duc de Pomar arrived, and almost immediately after him, Lady\nCaithness emerged from her bedroom on the other side of the dining-room.\n\nWe sat down to luncheon, and I was much amused by the form of the Abbe's\nquestion later in the meal.\n\n\"_Madame la Duchesse! puis je vous demander sans indiscretion, a quelle\nheure vous etes revenue hier au soir?_\"\n\nLady Caithness looked a little surprised, but answered readily enough:\n\"Well, it must have been past midnight; I did not notice very\nspecially.\"\n\n\"Not past midnight, mother,\" corrected the Duc de Pomar; \"I heard a\nclock strike twelve just as we were driving through the Porte Cochere.\"\n\n\"_Bien, Madame, qu'est-ce-que je vous ai dit?_\" demanded the Abbe,\nturning to me in triumph. He then repeated his story, and I was able to\ncertify that he had already mentioned it to me on my arrival.\n\nThe following day I took my leave of Lady Caithness, with a happy\nremembrance of her and her great kindness and hospitality to me during\nthis pleasant week. She made me promise to let her know whenever I might\nhappen to be passing through Paris. I wrote to her the next year, when\nabout to make a short stay in Paris, on returning from Algeria, and\nreceived an answer from the Riviera. She had been wintering there, and\nhad been packed and ready for the return to Paris, when an obstinate\nchill had upset all plans. She begged me to go to the Avenue Wagram when\nI arrived and find out the latest news of her, as the doctors might give\nleave for the journey at any moment.\n\nTen days later I _did_ go to her house and interview the lady secretary\n(not the one I had seen), who was very grudging in her answers, and gave\nme the impression that she was accustomed to deal with persons who had\nsome \"axe to grind\" by claiming acquaintance with the Countess.\n\nI did not happen to have the letter in my pocket which authorised my\nvisit, and should probably not have produced it in any case. So I turned\naway rather shortly, leaving my card, saying: \"I must trouble you to\nforward this at once to Lady Caithness.\"\n\nThe moment the secretary saw my name, her manner entirely changed, and\nbecame as servile as it had been \"cavalier.\"\n\n\"Miss Bates, I see? Oh, certainly, I shall communicate at once with her\nladyship. I had no idea it was Miss Bates. Pray excuse me, so many come\nand ask for the Duchesse, and we have to be so very particular. But, of\ncourse, _you_ must be the lady the Duchesse is so very fond of. She has\nmentioned you often, and warned us to receive you with every courtesy.\"\n\nAnd that is my last recollection of the kindly woman, who died a few\nmonths later. No, not absolutely my last recollection: visiting Scotland\nin 1896, I made a point of going to Holyrood Chapel for the express\npurpose of finding her grave.\n\nThe plain stone slab and simple inscription seemed at first a curious\ncontrast to the gorgeous magnificence of her home and dress and\nsurroundings. Yet I am inclined to think that they represented a side of\nher character which was quite as real as the other.\n\nIn like manner, no one who knew of her only as a \"wild visionary\" could\nhave realised the shrewd, practical woman of business and of\ncommon-sense who shared the personality of Countess of Caithness and\nDuchesse de Pomar.\n\nI remember that Mr Frederic Myers made the same remark to me after a\nvisit he paid to her, just after my return to England, for the purpose\nof arranging matters with regard to her generous bequest to the Society\nfor Psychical Research.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nFROM OXFORD TO WIMBLEDON\n\n\nFrom Paris to England is not a long cry, and my next reminiscence is\nconnected with the University of Oxford.\n\nI was spending a few days there with a friend in the spring of 1896,\nand went with her one afternoon to an Oxford tea-party, with its usual\nsprinkling of women, married and unmarried; a few dons captured as a\nquestion of friendship, and more than a few undergraduates.\n\nAmongst the latter I chanced to hear the name of a very well-known\nbishop, whom I had first met and known rather intimately when I was a\nyoung girl, and he a young married curate. I had also known his wife\n(a few years my senior) very intimately in those far-off days, so my\ncuriosity was aroused to know if the young man in this Oxford\ndrawing-room should chance to be a son of this bishop, whom we will\ncall the Bishop of Granchester. I found that my surmise was correct;\nthe young man was introduced to me, and we were soon deep in an\ninteresting conversation about his parents, especially his mother, who\nhad died when he was barely three years old. He knew little or nothing\nabout her. His father had married again, and his paternal grandmother\n(still alive in 1896) had never cared for his mother--from feelings\nof jealousy probably--so there was no one to speak to the boy about\nher, and he was naturally delighted to hear all my girlish\nrecollections of her.\n\n\"Do come and have tea with me to-morrow afternoon, or any day that suits\nyou,\" he said eagerly. \"I have one or two old photographs taken of my\nmother when she was young, and I should like so much to know which of\nthem you consider the best.\"\n\nOf course, I agreed to go, Mr Blake-Mason promising to ask a \"chum\" to\nentertain my hostess whilst he and I discussed the photographs and the\nold days before he was born.\n\nReturning home from his rooms that February evening, I was conscious\nonce more of an unaccountable depression, and also a certain amount of\nnervous irritability, which other sensitives will understand, and which\noften precedes some psychic happening. Just after we had finished\ndinner, it struck me suddenly, and _for the first time_, that my\ndiscomfort might be connected with my afternoon visit. This young man's\nmother might be wishing to impress me in some way! I found that this was\nthe fact, but felt unequal to going further into the matter that night.\n\nI promised to listen to anything she might wish to say next morning, and\nhaving given this promise, all unpleasant and disturbing influences\ndisappeared, and I had a good night's rest. Next morning, after\nbreakfast, my hostess said very practically:\n\n\"Now do get this matter off your mind at once, or you will be worried\nabout it all day. I am going to order dinner, and shall then be in the\ndrawing-room, so you can have this room entirely to yourself.\"\n\nI sat down, and a very beautiful message was given to me by the friend\nof my girlhood.\n\nShe was evidently very much perturbed and very anxious about something\nconnected with her youngest son, whom I had met for the first time two\ndays previously, and about whose affairs, I need scarcely say, I was in\na state of profound ignorance. The little mother was anxious not to\n\"give him away,\" nor betray confidences, and so her words were very\nguarded. There was evidently nothing in the least dishonourable or in\nany way _unworthy_ of her son in question. I gathered, rather, that he\nmight be contemplating some step which she, from her wider outlook,\nconsidered undesirable and inexpedient; possibly even disastrous in the\nfuture.\n\nIt was no business of mine, and I make it a point of honour not to \"try\nto guess\" more than I am told, and to forget what I _am_ told as soon as\npossible, where the affairs of other people are involved.\n\nThis is, fortunately, easy for me as a rule, but in this case one\nsentence remains even now ringing in my ears, and if the son ever comes\nacross this record I hope he will forgive my reproducing his mother's\nlast beautiful words to me:\n\n\"_Tell my darling boy that life is so solemn and true love so sacred a\nthing. Tell him to be very, very sure, lest he lose the substance in\npursuing the shadow._\"\n\nThe first sentence is given verbatim. In the second my memory may be\nproducing the sense without the exact wording, but I have no doubt at\nall that my words practically convey what the mother wished me to \"tell\nher boy.\"\n\nThis message gave me a hard problem to solve: \"What should I do with\nit?\"\n\nOn the one hand, my having agreed to take the message, tacitly bound me\nto let him have it.\n\nOn the other hand, there were various questions to consider. In the\nfirst place, Mr Blake-Mason might probably, and very naturally, resent\nmy writing to him on the subject, especially as I had no reason to\nsuppose he had any knowledge of psychic matters.\n\nSecondly, he might suppose (quite untruly) that I had heard some private\naffairs of his discussed, and had taken upon myself to convey a personal\nwarning, under cover of his dead mother's wishes.\n\nThis was perhaps exaggerating a possibility, which, nevertheless, could\nnot be ignored.\n\nThirdly, he might consider me a harmless lunatic, conveying a message\nwhich had no slightest foundation in truth.\n\nFourthly, it might, on the other hand, give him the impression that\nhis mother must have some access to his most private affairs; in which\ncase he might become intensely interested in psychic matters, to the\nexclusion of more mundane affairs--always a danger with young\npeople--not to mention other possibilities of psychic disaster for\n_inexperienced investigators_.\n\nI went over all these chances _con_, to put against the one _pro_ of his\nmother's loving anxiety, and my sense of responsibility to her.\n\nFinally, I decided that there was no choice left for me but to send the\nmessage, and trust the consequences to a Higher Wisdom.\n\nI did this, adding a few words of explanation, and also of warning, in\ncase he should recognise my absolute _bona fides_ and his mother's\npersonality, and become too much absorbed by these psychic\npossibilities. Unfortunately, I added, in his own interests, _that it\nwas not necessary to acknowledge the letter._\n\n\"It would doubtless reach him, and I had nothing more to do with the\nmatter.\"\n\nI left Oxford next day, and have never seen the young man since; nor\nhave I ever heard from him. I concluded that he was annoyed, or that the\nmessage was quite wide of the mark. I never doubted his mother's\npresence with me, but I might have failed to reproduce her words to her\nson with sufficient accuracy for recognition.\n\nAnyway, I put the matter out of my head as one of those trying episodes\nto which all sensitives are exposed at times, when they think more of\nconscience than personal convenience.\n\nThree or four years passed before the corroboration of that message came\nto me, in a rather curious manner.\n\nA cousin of mine, having been badly wounded in the West African War, was\nsent to a London hospital to have the bullet, which had puzzled all the\nlocal surgeons, located and extracted.\n\nHe was at the hospital for several weeks during the London season of\n1899, I think. During these weeks I, in common with many other friends\nand relations, was in the habit of paying him occasional visits. I had\ngone to say good-bye to him on leaving town, when \"by chance\" (as we\ncall it) he mentioned, for the _first_ time, the name of his ward\nsister, adding how charming and kind and capable she had proved. \"By the\nway, she is a daughter of the Bishop of Granchester,\" he added. \"You\nknow everybody, Cousin Emmie! perhaps you know _her_,\" he said, smiling.\n\n\"No; I don't know her, Bertie! but I knew her mother and father very\nwell many years ago.\"\n\nNothing would satisfy him but that I should ask to see her when I left\nthe hospital, and as he seemed really anxious on the point I promised to\ndo so, though inwardly averse from disturbing a busy woman.\n\nI asked the hall porter for her, but said I had no special business, and\nwould not ask to see her unless she happened to be quite free. In a few\nmoments he returned, and showed me into a pretty sitting-room on the\nground floor, saying that the sister would be with me shortly. The door\nopened again to admit a bright, pleasant-looking young woman of seven or\neight and twenty, who gave me a most cordial greeting when she heard my\nname, saying: \"Oh yes, Frank told me all about meeting you at Oxford.\"\n\nI did not feel very keen about talking of \"Frank\" just then; but we sat\ndown, and had a long half hour's chat on much the same lines as my\nconversation with her brother three years before.\n\nI had said good-bye, and she had accompanied me across the hall to the\nfine stone steps leading from the hospital--she had, in fact, turned\ntowards her own apartments--when I felt I _must_ ask her one more\nquestion, so I also turned, and hurried back to her.\n\n\"Did your brother Frank ever tell you of a letter he received from me in\nOxford?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh yes,\" she answered, without a touch of embarrassment.\n\nThen I continued: \"I never heard from him about it. I told him he need\nnot write at the time, but I have been afraid he was hurt or annoyed,\nand thought it an impertinence on my part perhaps.\"\n\n\"Did Frank never write?\" she asked, with genuine astonishment. \"I know\nhe intended to do so. Certainly he was not annoyed in any way. Far from\nit. He was intensely interested, and _I have the best of reasons for\nknowing that that message from our mother made a very great difference\nin his life_.\"\n\nI thanked her for these words, without asking anything further. As I\nhave said, it was no affair of mine, from first to last; but the\nverification, after such a lapse of time, was doubly satisfactory to me.\n\nAgain I ask: How about the \"_Cui Bono_\" argument?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnother shake of the kaleidoscope, and I find myself at Wimbledon,\nstaying with a friend--now, alas! passed away--who had then a pretty\nhouse not far from the Common, and with whom I often spent a few days\nwhen in London.\n\nOn this occasion she had asked some friends to meet me at tea, amongst\nthem Mrs Alfred Wedgwood, to whom I had introduced her some years\npreviously, and my friends \"V. C. Desertis\" and his wife.\n\nA Miss Farquhar, whom I knew very slightly, was sharing a sofa with me,\nshe sitting at one end and I at the other, leaving a vacant space\nbetween us. Mrs Wedgwood was talking to Mr Desertis at the moment, but\nsuddenly looked across the room at our sofa, and began describing very\ngraphically an old man of benevolent aspect sitting between Miss\nFarquhar and myself, leaning on a stick, and wearing a soft felt hat.\n\n\"He has long hair, almost down to his coat collar, and he looks such a\ndear, kind old man!\" Mrs Wedgwood said; then turning round, she added:\n\"Surely some of you must recognise him! he is so very clear and distinct\nin his whole personality.\"\n\nMrs Desertis whispered something to her husband, who asked at once if\nthe old gentleman's hair was very white.\n\n\"Yes; quite white,\" said Mrs Wedgwood hopefully.\n\n\"And curly and long?\"\n\n\"Yes; curly and quite long, reaching to his collar,\" continued Mrs\nWedgwood, still more confidently.\n\nBut our hopes were dashed when Mr Desertis turned round drily to his\nwife: \"Then it cannot possibly be my father, as you suggested. His hair\nwas white, but _quite short_.\"\n\nIt was a cruel blow! But Mrs Wedgwood still affirmed that she had never\nseen anyone more distinctly, whether we recognised him or not.\n\nI may here mention that I had been sleeping very badly in this house for\nsome nights past, and regretted this the more, because I was shortly\ngoing to stay with a friend at Windsor for my first \"Fourth of June,\"\nand wished to be specially bright and well for the coming festivities.\n\nThese bad nights were later proved to have some connection with the\nbenevolent old gentleman just described!\n\nNow I will continue the sequence of events.\n\nMrs Wedgwood's clairvoyant description had been forgotten by us all, as\nI supposed, long before the afternoon came to an end. It had passed\nunrecognised, and other interesting matters arose in conversation.\n\nThe following day Miss Farquhar wrote a line to my hostess, asking if\nshe might come to tea towards the end of the week, as she had something\nvery interesting to tell us. She came, of course, and thus unfolded her\nbudget:\n\n\"None of you seemed very much impressed about that old gentleman Mrs\nWedgwood described here the other day, but her words were so graphic\nthat I felt sure she was really seeing him at the moment, so I\ndetermined to try and find out something about him.\n\n\"I went to an old lady I know, one of the oldest inhabitants, and asked\nher if she knew anything of your predecessors in this house. She told me\nan elderly couple had lived here, a husband and wife, that the husband\nhad died, and that although the wife lived away from Wimbledon now, she\ncould not bear to part with the house which her husband had been so fond\nof; so let it. In fact, my old friend seemed to think she must be your\npresent landlady.\"\n\nThis was said to my hostess, and proved to be quite true. The house had\nbeen let through an agent, and as the present owner lived in a distant\ncounty, nothing was known of her personally by my friend.\n\nThen Miss Farquhar continued: \"Hearing that the old man was so devoted\nto the house rather suggested a reason for Mrs Wedgwood seeing him here,\nso I asked my old lady if she had known this gentleman, and if so, would\nshe describe him. She did this, _almost word for word as Mrs Wedgwood\nhad seen him_. Also, she added, that he was a good deal of an invalid,\noften sat indoors, with a hat on for fear of draughts, and carried a\nstick, upon which he constantly leant for support.\"\n\nThis was very satisfactory, and we applauded Miss Farquhar's detective\ninstincts, and promised to let Mrs Wedgwood know about the matter.\n\nThe latter took it all very quietly, only remarking that she felt sure\nsomeone ought to be able to find out about the old man.\n\nA sudden thought struck me that my disturbed nights and uncomfortable\nfeelings, in a very cheerful and pretty bedroom, might possibly be\nconnected with the same old man. Without saying a word about this, I\nasked Mrs Wedgwood to come up into my room before she returned to\nLondon, and then I told her that I could not sleep, and had not had a\npeaceful night since I arrived. Could she find out what was the cause?\n\nMrs Wedgwood looked round for a moment, and then said in the most casual\nway: \"Not the smallest doubt of the cause. It is that old man, of\ncourse. He is earth-bound, I expect, and haunting the house. You had\nbetter take a message from him if you want to get rid of him. I would\nhelp you if I could, but I shall be late for my train if I don't start\nat once.\"\n\nNext morning I took the poor old gentleman's message, which began with\nan apology and regrets for disturbing me, but went on pathetically:\n\n\"You must forgive me, I was so very anxious to send a message to my\nwife, and I saw that you were a sensitive and could take it from me--I\ndid not realise that it might cause you so much discomfort. That lady\ncalled me earth-bound, but if I am, it is only through my deep love for\nmy dear wife, and I am permitted to watch over her. I was drawn here by\nmy old affection for this house, and also by your presence here, knowing\nyou could help me.\"\n\nHe then gave the message, of which I can only remember that it was most\ntouching in its expressions of deep affection and watchful care for his\nwidow.\n\nAs we did not know this lady's present address, and could not procure it\nwithout raising inconvenient questions, my hostess and I settled that\nshe should lock up the message, in the hope that some day we might be\nable to forward it.\n\nA year later I had a most unpleasant experience of being made to feel\nseriously ill when I came down for a night from town, and as another\nclairvoyant assured me that this resulted from the message remaining\nundelivered and the poor old man's frantic endeavours to reach his\nwife's consciousness, I told my Wimbledon friend that something _must_\nbe done. Either she must procure the lady's address \"_coute que coute_,\"\nor I could not come down again to Wimbledon until this step had been\ntaken.\n\nUnder pressure of this determination of mine the address was procured,\nand this led to a rather unpleasant experience.\n\nI wrote a very courteous letter to the lady, enclosing the message, and\nexplaining that I was quite debarred from visiting my Wimbledon friend\nuntil it was delivered, that I hoped, therefore, she would excuse my\nsending it, after more than a year's consideration of the question. I\nfurther intimated that although she might consider me a lunatic for my\npains, I trusted there could be nothing to vex or hurt her in so\ntouching an evidence of her husband's constant care and love, however\nlittle faith she might be disposed to place in the source from which the\nmessage was supposed to emanate.\n\nThe answer came as a shower bath on my unfortunate head.\n\nThe old lady (?) was furious. She had never heard of such wicked\nnonsense! \"_Her dear husband was quite the gentleman, both in clothes\nand appearance, and he was not old--not a day over sixty-eight--when he\ndied_,\" etc. etc.\n\nIt would have been amusing if it had not been rather pitiful to think of\nthe poor \"young\" man of sixty-eight trying so hard to reach such a\ntermagant!\n\nLater, I heard that the military man, through whom the old lady's\naddress had been given to my Wimbledon hostess, had asked the husband of\nthe latter if I were a lunatic, by any chance!\n\nAnd this is how some of us welcome our friends from the other side of\nthe veil! The marvel to me is that Love can still be stronger than\nDeath, in face of such ingratitude and stupidity!\n\nI have already mentioned my extreme sensitiveness to the atmosphere\n(psychic) of rooms, especially rooms where one sleeps. I find another\ninstance of this in my notes.\n\nI was paying a first visit to a friend in the south of England, and a\nvery bright, cheerful room had been allotted to me there.\n\nFrom the first night I felt a strong influence of a man in the room.\nKindly note that I do not say the influence of a _strong_ man; on the\ncontrary, the character appeared to me that of an essentially weak\nman--weak rather than wicked--sensual as well as sensuous--self-indulgent,\nand greatly wanting in grit and will power.\n\nMy hostess had two sons, one whom I knew, and the other, living abroad,\nwhom I had never met. The influence I felt was certainly not that of the\nson I knew, who was both manly and strong-willed, a fine soldier, and\n\"hard as nails,\" as men would say.\n\nI feared it might be the other son, however, and took an early\nopportunity of asking to see a photograph of the latter. My mind was\nquite set at rest. It was certainly not this man's influence that I had\nfelt so strongly in my room.\n\nAsking my hostess, _who_ had chiefly occupied the room, she said at\nonce: \"Both my sons have slept there at different times,\" adding, \"I am\nsure you have some of your queer ideas about the room--what is the\nmatter with it?\"\n\nI told her; \"Now that I am quite convinced that neither of your sons is\nimplicated, I will describe to you the character of a man whom I feel\nsure must have slept in that room and has left a strong psychic\ninfluence behind him.\"\n\nI then mentioned the characteristics already given, and one or two more\nwhich have escaped my memory.\n\nMy sceptical friend looked a little surprised. She said nothing at the\nmoment, but crossed the room to a cabinet, whence she took a photograph\nof a man which I had never seen, and placed it in my hands.\n\n\"I am bound to confess,\" she added, \"that you have exactly described the\ncharacter of my brother-in-law, who certainly has occupied the room more\nthan once.\"\n\nThe sequel to this little incident is rather significant.\n\nA year or two later, this lady and I, having both succumbed to influenza\nand bronchitis, were sent off to the same place abroad to recuperate.\n\nHer attack had ended sooner than mine, so that I joined her there, and\none of the first pieces of news she gave me was of the death of this\nbrother-in-law, adding: \"Poor fellow! He died from a very painful\ndisease, and suffered terribly. He had grave faults, but, as you said,\nthey came from weakness rather than wickedness. At anyrate, he was\nhumble-minded, for he wrote a touching letter to me when I lost a very\ndear relation lately, wondering why such a valuable life should have\nbeen taken and such a 'useless log' as himself be left alive.\"\n\nThis poor man had only just passed over when I joined my friend, and I\nfelt that he was in a very bewildered and sad state of mind. I could\nrealise his presence so clearly, partly, no doubt, from having sensed\nhis character so strongly, that the obvious thing seemed to be to try\nand help him on his new plane of life.\n\nTo the superficial mind it appears very absurd, and equally irreverent,\nto suppose that a faulty creature on this side the veil can help a\nfaulty creature on the _other_ side. Personally, I have never had any\ndifficulty in realising the power of prayer for those who have passed\nbeyond our mortal sight.\n\nSurely we are one large family, whether here or there? The best way to\nmake children love each other is to persuade them to _help_ each other.\nIs it strange that the same rule should apply to the universe that\napplies to the tiny portion of it that we know?\n\nAnyway, I am quite sure in this case that my prayers did help and\ncomfort this poor man in his dark experience.\n\nIn a few weeks the position seemed to be altogether lightened. He\nthanked me for my sympathy and companionship, and I have never heard of\nhim since.\n\nThe caviller will say at once: \"Could not someone else have done the\nwork equally well--either a near relation in the other sphere or a\nministering angel?\"\n\nThe answer is: \"Certainly they could have done it equally well, probably\nfar better.\"\n\nBut the point is that it happened to be the bit of work put into _my_\nhands, and at least I did my best. What more can any of us say?\n\nAgain I ask: How about the \"_Cui Bono_\" argument?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nHAUNTINGS BY THE LIVING AND THE DEAD\n\n1896\n\n\nIn this same year (1896) I remember another curious incident.\n\nI was staying in London during the season, and some girl friends were\nvery anxious that I should meet a lady whom they knew intimately and\nwished me to know also. As so often happens under these circumstances,\nwe were not in the least degree interested in each other; but that has\nnothing to do with my story.\n\nThe girls had asked various other friends, but this special lady was the\n_raison d'etre_ of the tea-party, and they begged me to come in good\ntime, because Mrs Halifax had several other engagements, and could not\npay them a long visit.\n\nSo I dressed hurriedly in order to keep the appointment, and went to the\nhouse feeling rather bored by the whole arrangement, little dreaming\nthat it would be the occasion of such an interesting personal\nexperience. The lady turned out to be exceedingly prosperous and\nextremely uninteresting, from my point of view. Probably she would have\ngiven her ideas of me in much the same way! I realised that she had\nbrought a son and a daughter with her, but did _not_ know that another\nyoung man (whose _face_ I have never seen) was also a son of hers. I\ntalked to the mother for the conventional quarter of an hour, and then\nturned with relief to the other son whom she had mentioned, and with\nwhom I found several old friends in common.\n\nMeanwhile the room was filling up with guests; amongst these late comers\nI noticed the entrance of a man whose face did not impress me at all\nfavourably. He looked dissipated and conceited. I did not speak to this\nman, but my strong impression about him is a factor in the story.\n\nWhen the lady, _par excellence_, of the entertainment rose to leave the\nroom, followed by her son and daughter, I noticed that a second young\nman was also in her train; but I had not seen him previously, for the\nvery good reason that he had been sitting behind my back all the\nafternoon.\n\nI did not see his face even now. My attention had been diverted from the\nHalifax party as they rose to take leave, and I only noticed the _back_\nof the second young man as they left the room, and was told later that\nthis was another son of Mrs Halifax, no other comment upon him being\nmade.\n\nIn those days I was able to do more work on the psychic plane than at\npresent, and often tried to help sad or wandering spirits by praying for\nthem when made conscious of their presence near me.\n\nWhen I woke in the night--after this tea-party--therefore, and felt a\npresence near me, it did not at first alarm me in any way.\n\nWhen fully awake, however, I quickly realised that this was no poor,\nsad, bewildered spirit, but a very malignant and revengeful one. I _did\nnot recognise the sex at the moment_. In fact, my consciousness was\nentirely engrossed by realising that this was a question of my prayers\nbeing needed by no spirit more urgently than by my own.\n\nSomething very malignant was in the room--something or someone far too\nactively and insistently wrathful and malignant to listen to any prayers\nor entreaties.\n\nThis conviction grew so strong upon me that I lighted my candle, and\ngetting out of bed, prayed for protection against the evil thing that\nwas present in my room.\n\nI think I must have remained at least ten minutes on my knees, and I can\nremember distinctly the feeling of alarm and hopelessness that came over\nme when I realised how strong were the Powers of Darkness and how little\nmy prayers _seemed_ to avail me.\n\nShortly, however, faith returned, and with it the confidence of victory.\nI returned to my bed quite calm and strong, and fell asleep knowing that\nthe malignant presence was no longer there to worry and torment me.\n\nI have always found it as easy to communicate with incarnate spirits at\na distance as with discarnate ones, so on awaking in the morning, and\nremembering my disagreeable experience, I asked a friend, \"still in the\nbody,\" what was the meaning of it.\n\nI had made up my mind that if it were in any way connected with the\nvisitors of the previous afternoon, it must be with the\ndissipated-looking young man, for whom I had conceived an instinctive\naversion.\n\nTo my infinite surprise _his_ name was not given, but that of the\nyounger Halifax son. \"It was Henry Halifax. It is a spirit which was\nhaunting him and came to you afterwards.\"\n\nNow, as I had not even seen this young man, as already explained, I\ncould not bear to think of any false and fanciful accusation being made\nagainst him; so remonstrated with my friend.\n\n\"Do be careful in giving me the name. Are you quite sure you mean Henry\nHalifax? Are you not thinking of Mr Loseby?\" (Mentioning the name that\nhad been given me of the other gentleman.)\n\n\"No; I mean Henry Halifax.\"\n\n\"But I did not even _see_ him,\" I urged.\n\n\"_No; but you were sitting with your back to him all afternoon. Don't\nyou know the back is more psychically sensitive than any other part of\nthe body?_\"\n\nNothing was said about the malignant spirit beyond the fact that it was\nsomeone \"haunting\" Henry Halifax.\n\nThe matter, once explained, I put it out of my head, having no special\ncuriosity as to the reason of the haunting, and supposing it might have\nbeen some male acquaintance of his.\n\nThat morning I went down to my Wimbledon friend for a night. I arrived\nin time for luncheon on Saturday morning, and after a pleasant walk on\nthe Common in the afternoon my friend suggested our coming home by a\ncertain florist's shop, as she wished to buy some plants for her\ndrawing-room.\n\nI had already met this florist's wife, a very \"spooky\" person, who had\nbeen introduced by us to Mr Myers and the Society for Psychical\nResearch. She was a handsome, fresh-coloured, practical woman, with\nnothing of the weird and pallid \"ghost seer\" about her comely face. But\nshe had had some wonderful experiences, and her children also; and these\nhad been already imparted to Mr Frederic Myers.\n\nWhen the business part of our interview was concluded Mrs Levret turned\nto me, and said: \"Well, ma'am, I _am_ glad to see you again in these\nparts. Have you had any curious experiences since I saw you last?\"\n\nNow Mrs Levret had so many curious experiences of her own, as to which\nshe was wont to be very voluble, that I had never before known her\nexpress curiosity about those of anybody else.\n\nThis just flashed through my mind as I answered her:\n\n\"No; nothing particular, Mrs Levret. By-the-by, I had a rather\ndisagreeable experience last night, but it has been explained.\" And in a\nfew words I mentioned what has been already described at length.\n\nFrom my words she must have gathered that I supposed the haunting spirit\nto be that of a _man_, and that I did not attach much importance to it\nany way.\n\nAs we left the shop my charming hostess, who was equally beloved by\nthose in her own class and those out of it, turned round, and said\npleasantly: \"We must hurry home now, Mrs Levret, but do come up\nto-morrow and see Miss Bates. She does not leave me till the evening,\nand I know you will enjoy having a talk with her.\"\n\nMrs Levret promised to come, and appeared next morning, having first\nascertained that the sceptical husband of my hostess would not be upon\nthe premises. \"He does laugh at me so, ma'am,\" she said apologetically.\nSo she was brought straight up to my bedroom next day, and we had an\ninteresting talk over her own strange adventures.\n\nSuddenly she looked up, and said: \"_A propos des bottes._\"\n\n\"How about that young man, ma'am? What are you going to do about him?\"\n\n\"What young man?\" I said, honestly puzzled. \"And what can I do about any\nyoung man?\"\n\nThe Halifax incident had so completely faded from my mind that I could\nnot for the moment imagine what she meant.\n\n\"The young man you told me about yesterday afternoon, ma'am,\" Mrs Levret\nanswered stoutly.\n\n\"But I can't do anything about him. What _should_ I do?\"\n\nThen she took up her parable in these words:\n\n\"Well, ma'am, I have been thinking a deal about that young man since\nyesterday. It seemed to take a sort of hold upon me. It seems given to\nme, ma'am, _that it is a young woman who is haunting him--a young woman\nwho is not in his own rank in life--someone whom he wronged_.\"\n\nI was amazed by these words, and still more by the keen interest Mrs\nLevret showed in the subject.\n\n\"But what can _I_ do in the matter, even if it be as you say?\" was my\nnext question.\n\n\"Well, ma'am, they give me to understand that the young man must be made\nto confess. He will never have any peace until he does. It seems to me\n_you_ might get him to confess.\"\n\nNow there could be no question of confession on the outer plane, as the\nyoung man was a perfect stranger to me, and there was small chance of\nour ever meeting again.\n\nBut I was aware that Mrs Levret was not speaking of the outer plane, so\nI agreed to take pencil and paper, and see if I could bring the spirit\nof Henry Halifax to me, and having done so, whether I could induce him\nto tell me the truth.\n\nHe came, but for a long time would say neither YES nor NO. \"_What\nbusiness is it of yours?_\" was the constant reply to my questions. And I\nam bound to say it appeared a very pertinent one, from the ordinary\npoint of view.\n\nClearly it _was_ no business of mine; but Mrs Levret was so much in\nearnest, and had impressed me so strongly with what \"_had been given to\nher_,\" that I felt I must persevere, in the young fellow's own\ninterests.\n\nSo I explained that I had no wish to pry into his private affairs from\nany mere unworthy curiosity, but that having myself felt the malignant\npresence that was said to be haunting him, and being told that only\nconfession would remove it, I hoped he would consider the matter\nseriously before obstinately closing the door of opportunity now open to\nhim. \"Who could foretell when he might have another chance?\"\n\nA long pause succeeded these words. I felt that the angry, irritable\nmood was passing over, and when my hand was next influenced to write,\nthe words that came were not the usual curt \"_None of your business_,\"\nbut an apology for his rude reception of my efforts to help him, and a\nfull confession, which entirely bore out Mrs Levret's impressions.\n\nHe told me that it was only too true that he had betrayed a young woman\nin a different rank of life from his own. She had died in child-birth\n_the preceding midsummer_, and had died cursing him for his perfidy.\nEver since (it was now late in June) he had been haunted by her\npresence, seeing nothing, but always conscious of a malignant spirit\ntempting him to his own destruction. The mental agony was so great that\nhe told me he did not think he could endure it much longer, and had\nalmost decided to put an end to his life (little realising, poor fellow,\nthat bad as this life might be, the next phase would be far worse for\nhim).\n\nAfter trying to soothe and comfort him, without in any way minimising\nthe weight of his sin or attempting to lessen his remorse for it, it\nstruck me that it would be well to try and have a little talk with his\npoor young victim. So saying good-bye, and promising to remember him in\nfuture, I asked mentally for _her_ spirit to come, and then tried to\ninfluence her in the direction of forgiveness. It was a hard struggle,\nand no wonder.\n\nThe poor young woman had trusted him, had been deceived, and finally\nlaunched into another sphere without any preparation for it. What wonder\nthat she haunted the man who had wronged her so terribly, through pure\nselfishness, and that any love she had ever borne him had long since\nturned to deadly hate!\n\nIt needed both time and patience to rouse even mere passive feelings\ntowards him. I spoke of his deep remorse and misery. At first she only\nanswered that she was very glad to hear it, because it showed she had\nsucceeded in making her presence felt.\n\nBy degrees, however, a more womanly view of the subject seemed to come\nto her. After all, he was the father of her child; the poor little\nbaby that had mercifully followed its mother into the Great Unseen.\nShe had loved him once, by her own showing. I made the most of this\npoint, and very slowly, very grudgingly, she gave me the promise I\nasked for--_i.e._ that she would at least cease this revengeful\nhaunting, even if she could not yet feel more kindly towards the one\nwho had injured her so deeply.\n\nHaving extracted this promise I felt that no more could be done for the\ntime being, and Mrs Levret, who had been sitting in unwonted silence\nduring both interviews, then took her leave.\n\nI have given this case and its treatment very much _in extenso_, not\nonly because it may be helpful to others dealing with erring and\nrevengeful spirits, but because on my return to London _every\nimportant point in this true narrative was amply corroborated_.\n\nIt took some time and a good deal of tact before the case was complete.\n\nFirst, I learned that Henry Halifax was by no means a _persona grata_ in\nthe house where I first met him, and that my young friends there had\nonly been allowed to ask him under some protest, and because the rest\nof his family were to be present.\n\nAsked _why_ this should be the case, their answers were naturally vague:\nthey only knew he was not very welcome.\n\nOf course, I did not pursue the matter with these young people. They\ntold me, however, that he was very much changed of late, and seemed so\noften moody, unhappy, and discontented.\n\n\"I am sure _we_ should be happy enough if we had such a luxurious home\nand all that money,\" said one of them naively.\n\nNow I happened to know rather intimately at that time another friend of\nthe Halifax family; a woman considerably older than the young girls\nmentioned, and as she had some little knowledge of psychic possibilities\nI determined to lay the whole story before her, trusting to her honour\nto keep it to herself, and not to allow any prejudice against Henry\nHalifax to arise in her mind should she know nothing of the\ncircumstances.\n\nShe had known the family from her childhood, and I knew, therefore,\nwould not be influenced by the word of an outsider under these\ncircumstances. But I discovered that the confession of Henry Halifax,\nthe spirit, was no illusion on my part, but _the absolute truth_.\n\nYoung, handsome, rich, with all the world before him (he was only\ntwenty-four at the time), this lady had been greatly puzzled by his\nintense depression of the last few months, and told me that he was\nconstantly speaking of suicide. It was supposed to be a purely physical\ncondition by his parents and others. She, however, knew an intimate man\nfriend of his. By one of those not uncommon mistakes, whereby each one\nsupposes the other to be in the confidence of a mutual acquaintance, she\nhad discovered that the real trouble was mental rather than physical,\nand that the death of the young woman of lower social position, in\nchild-birth, \"_last midsummer_\" was an actual fact!\n\nNeedless to say how great was her astonishment to find that the whole\nstory had been made known to me through such a curious train of\ncircumstances--first, my experience of the malignant spirit; secondly,\nmy happening to go to Wimbledon next day and mention the circumstances\nto the wife of the florist there; thirdly, _her_ strong and, as it\nproved, quite accurate impressions upon the subject; and fourthly, my\ntwo interviews:--first, with the betrayer, and then with the betrayed on\nthe psychic plane.\n\nSome few months later I was asked by the lady just mentioned if I should\nobject to meeting Henry Halifax at dinner next evening.\n\n\"Not at all,\" was my answer. In fact, I felt it might be part of some\npsychic plan that I should do so. Evidently this was not the case, for\nat the last moment a telegram came to his hostess to say he was\nunexpectedly prevented from returning to town.\n\nSo we have never met at all! But I trust the confession may have been as\nefficacious as Mrs Levret was told that it would be. Anyway, I can\ntestify that the gentleman in question is now happily married, and,\ntherefore, presumably no longer haunted by the revengeful spirit, who\nhas long since, let us trust, found happiness and peace in a higher\nworld than this.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSpeaking of haunting by the so-called dead reminds me of haunting by the\nso-called living.\n\nIn this same year (1896) I was staying in Cambridge for the first time\nin my life.\n\nOxford I have known since girlhood, but this was my first visit to the\nSister University; needless to say, however, that I have met many men\nwho have graduated there. Not knowing the town of Cambridge myself, I\nhad never made it a subject of discussion, and ten years ago I was not\neven aware that such a street as Trumpington Street existed, difficult\nas it may be for Cambridge people to credit this statement.\n\nIn any case, most emphatically, I did _not_ know that a very old friend\nof mine, who became later in life a judge, had ever lived in this\nstreet.\n\nHaving been a sailor in youth, he had gone up to Cambridge comparatively\nlate; this was shortly before my acquaintance with him began.\n\nNot knowing Cambridge at all, the question of where he lived there had\nnever entered into our conversations together. Probably I took it for\ngranted that he was living in his college (Peterhouse). The strong\nfeeling of friendship between us had become a warmer sentiment on his\nside, and this led later, and inevitably, to a thorough break in our\npleasant relations with each other.\n\nLong years passed, during which I neither saw nor heard of my friend.\n\nI knew that he had married, and had had a somewhat successful career as\na barrister in London, and that was all I knew about him.\n\nAfter staying for a week or two with friends in the neighbourhood of\nCambridge in 1896, I had taken rooms for a month _in_ Cambridge,\ninviting one of these friends to stay with me as my guest.\n\nWe came upon these special rooms in a curious way. Having worked through\na list of those suggested to us by a friend, none of which quite suited,\nI heard, by the merest chance, that possibly I might find what I wanted\nin Trumpington Street, at the house of a very respectable Cambridge\ntradesman. We went there, but only to find that the rooms vacant could\nnot be ready for me at the time specified, as some old customers were\ncoming to them for three or four days.\n\n\"But I want them for a _month_,\" I expostulated.\n\nThe landlady was firm; she could not disappoint these people after\npromising to take them in.\n\nIn spite of my disappointment, I admired her so much for this strict\nsense of honour that I determined to look at the rooms in case of\nrequiring any at a future date.\n\nWe went upstairs. The rooms were exactly what I required, and very clean\nand well furnished, so it ended by my agreeing to take them for a week\nlater, although at a considerable inconvenience.\n\nIt was in this casual way that I entered the house about the middle of\nMay 1896. My friend was not able to join me until the morning after my\narrival, so I spent the first evening alone, and retired to bed rather\nearly. I slept well enough during the earlier part of the night, but\nawoke about two A.M., having had a tiresome, worrying dream about the\nvery man I have mentioned, who had certainly not been in my thoughts for\nmany months, or possibly years.\n\nEven when fully awake, his influence was still in the room with me, and\nfalling asleep again, there he was once more in my dream, twitting me\nwith my want of appreciation of him in the past, and suggesting what a\nmuch more successful career I might have had through marrying him. This\nsort of thing went on for the rest of the night. Either I woke up with a\ndisagreeable start, still feeling the man's influence in the room, or\nsank into a troubled sleep, to be once more at the mercy of his\nreproaches!\n\nWhen morning came I was only too thankful to get up, and when my friend\narrived on her bicycle about noon, and asked me how I had slept in the\nstrange house, I was forced to confess that my night had been much\ntroubled by dreams about an old friend, of whom she had never heard,\nby-the-by.\n\n\"Oh, well, we all dream about old friends sometimes,\" she said, \"but I'm\nafraid in this case your dreams were not pleasant; you look tired out!\nAnyway, it is a mercy that it was not F----'s!\"\n\nAnd so with a joke the matter dropped.\n\nBut the following night the trouble was renewed. Even then I did not in\nany way connect it with the room in which I was sleeping, and I said\nnothing next day to my friend on the subject.\n\nBut the _third_ night matters had gone beyond a joke. The influence was\nstronger than ever, the gibes and reproaches more accentuated, and, in\naddition to these, there was on my side the exasperation engendered by\nthree sleepless nights.\n\nInstead of feeling depressed--as on the two previous occasions--the\n\"worm turned\" at last!\n\nI spoke out loud in my vexation, as though the man himself were there\nlistening to me.\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"I have no unkindly feeling towards _you_ of any kind.\nIf you have nothing better to do than to come worrying me and keeping me\nawake in this way, it just shows how wise I was _not_ to marry you! You\nhave nothing to do with my life now. And YOU CAN GO.\"\n\n\"Standing up\" in this way to the ghost of the living had a most\nexcellent effect, upon my mind at anyrate. I felt intensely relieved,\nand soon fell into a long and dreamless sleep.\n\nThis last experience first suggested the idea that this old friend _must\nhave some special connection with that house_. In the morning I\nconfessed to my friend that my second night had been as disturbed as the\nfirst, and the last the worst of all, adding: \"That man is simply\nhaunting the place. I am determined to try and find out if he ever\nlodged here.\"\n\nThis was by no means easy, as it turned out. His College career was\nalready buried in the snows of some twenty-five years. Moreover, when I\nquestioned the young daughter of our landlady as to how long her parents\nhad lived in the house, she said at once: \"Just seventeen years, ma'am.\nFather and mother came here the year I was born.\"\n\nThis did not help me much. I asked who had rented the house previously.\nReferring this question to her mother, she told me it had been taken\nfrom some people who had left Cambridge, and \"_Mother thought they were\nboth dead now_.\"\n\nThis was a second _cul-de-sac_ for me!\n\nBut I was determined to go on with my investigations, simply grounded\nupon the strong conviction that such repeated experiences _must_ have\nsome foundation in fact.\n\nThe girl saw I looked disappointed. \"Did you want to know about anyone\nwho lived here long ago?\" she ventured timidly.\n\n\"Yes; I wanted to find out whether an old friend of mine ever lodged\nhere; he belonged to Peterhouse,\" was my answer.\n\n\"Ah, then, I am sure he would not have lodged here,\" said the girl\nconfidently. \"None of the Peterhouse gentlemen come here. It is always\nthe Pembroke men who come to this house.\"\n\nIt seemed fated that I should hear no more about my living ghost.\n\nA few days later, however, the luck turned.\n\nI was told quite casually that Mr Pound, the well-known Cambridge\nchemist, had occupied our house years before, and I determined to verify\nthis some day. As Mr Pound combined the post office with his drugs, one\noften went into the shop, but hitherto I had only seen his assistants.\n\nGoing in one day with my friend for some stamps, Mr Pound himself handed\nthem to me.\n\nHere was my chance! I must confess that I hesitated to ask such an\napparently absurd question on such slender grounds. In any case, was it\nlikely that he would remember the names of all the undergraduates in\nthe University who might have lodged with him twenty or thirty years\nbefore? I whispered to my friend: \"Shall I ask him?\" but she did not\nhear, so even this small encouragement was denied me. I was actually\nturning to leave the shop, when resolution at length took the reins, and\nI found myself asking:\n\n\"Is it true, Mr Pound, that you lived many years ago at No. --\nTrumpington Street?\"\n\n\"Quite true,\" was the ready answer. \"I went there in the year\nfifty-five.\" (I quote this from memory, but it was in the fifties\ncertainly.)\n\n\"I wanted to ask a question about a gentleman who may have lodged with\nyou a good deal later than that--about seventy, I should think.\" And I\nmentioned the name of my friend.\n\nMr Pound's brow cleared at once, and he looked up with a beaming smile.\n\"Mr Forbes,\" he said--\"why, of course, I remember him well. He lodged\nwith me over eighteen months.\" Then turning to his assistant, he told\nhim to go into the parlour and bring out the large photograph album.\nThere was my friend, sure enough, with his big dog--the very photograph\nI had of him, given me in the early days of our acquaintance.\n\nMr Pound was full of reminiscences. My friend had evidently been a prime\nfavourite with him, and it was some minutes before I could squeeze in my\ncrucial question. It seemed almost impossible to expect him to remember\nthe exact rooms occupied by Mr Forbes, considering there were two or\nthree \"sets\" of rooms in the house, in addition to several bedrooms\nwhich were let separately.\n\nBut even here Mr Pound's memory proved invaluable. \"Which room he slept\nin? Why, of course, I remember distinctly. He had the large front\nsitting-room and the bedroom at the back of it; over our living-room in\nthose days.\"\n\nSo I was living in Mr Forbes' sitting-room, and sleeping in the bedroom,\nhe had occupied for more than eighteen months.\n\nMy Cambridgeshire friend was, fortunately, present as a witness that no\nword of mine had indicated this fact before Mr Pound corroborated my\nintuitive impression. She said afterwards, laughingly, that Mr Myers\nwould certainly think I had got up a special ghost story for him the\nmoment I set foot in Cambridge.\n\nHowever this may be, both he and Professor Sidgwick were greatly\ninterested in it, for, as they explained, there were fifty accounts of\nhaunting by the dead to one such example of haunting by the living.\n\nOf course, such a case presents innumerable difficulties; still the\nsalient fact remains, that after a lapse of nearly thirty years I traced\nthe rooms occupied by an old friend, in a city I had never before\nentered, and that this knowledge did not come to me by chance, but _as\nthe result of a series of investigations, started by me solely on\naccount of the experiences that came to me in a house and in a room of\nwhich I had absolutely no previous knowledge_. Those interested in these\nsubjects will naturally ask: \"_Do you suppose that the spirit of Mr\nForbes came to you at the moment of your remarks to him and his to you?\nIf so, was he conscious of any such experience?_\"\n\nI can answer this last question decidedly, and in the negative; for four\nyears later, circumstances brought me once more within the orbit of Mr\nForbes' life. He was then living in the north of England, and he and his\nwife and I have discussed the question more than once.\n\nWe can only suppose that the impression of his presence did in some way\ncling to the surroundings; that my sleeping there, even in complete\nignorance of his tenancy, enabled me, as a \"sensitive,\" to pick up this\nspecial influence from many others presumably present; and that the\nmemories of the past galvanised the impression into some sort of\ntemporary astral existence. The entity to whom I seemed to be speaking\nwas doubtless _not_ the Judge Forbes of later life, but some distorted\nimage of his earlier days of disappointed and often reproachful\naffection.\n\nWhen Mr Myers suggested that I should get Mr Pound to sign a paper\nmentioning that he had told me that Mr Forbes had occupied these special\nrooms twenty-seven years previously, the latter did so readily, only\nremarking that he had naturally concluded that I _knew_ my friend had\nlodged with him.\n\n\"Pound will 'smell a rat' if I go,\" said Mr Myers.\n\nSo I went myself, and thus the story was made evidentially complete.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nFURTHER EXPERIENCES IN AMERICA\n\n\nMy second visit to America was paid in the year of the Diamond Jubilee,\n1897.\n\nAfter wintering in the West Indies, I went on to America in the spring,\nchiefly with the view of meeting Mrs Piper for the first time, and\nsecuring a few sittings with her if possible.[5]\n\n [5] The portion of this chapter referring to \"Mrs Piper and her\n Controls\" is published by kind permission of Mr Ralph Shirley, editor\n of _The Occult Review_, in which my article under this heading appeared\n in March 1906.\n\nI was writing some articles for _Borderland_ at the time, and Mr Stead\nwas specially anxious for me to take this opportunity of \"sampling\" the\nfamous American sensitive.\n\nThis proved no easy task. My visit to Boston, unfortunately, occurred at\nthe very time when an organised attempt was being made by the American\nbranch of the Society for Psychical Research to get into some sort of\nevidential communication with the late Mr Stainton Moses through his\n\"controls\" _Imperator_, _Rector_, etc.\n\nIn vain I wrote to Dr Hodgson (to whom I carried letters of\nintroduction) telling him of my chief reason for visiting America a\nsecond time. Even the plea that I had known Mr Stainton Moses in earth\nlife, and that we had several intimate friends in common, was of no\navail.\n\nDr Hodgson expressed regrets, but assured me that _no_ sittings could be\nallowed under existing circumstances, and that it was impossible to make\nany exception to this rule.\n\nWe seemed to have arrived at a _cul-de-sac_, when a bright idea struck\nme.\n\nWhy not ask the UNSEEN themselves for a decision in the matter?\n\nI wrote again, therefore, to Dr Hodgson, suggesting this idea, and\nmentioning that I should arrive in Boston on a certain date, and could\nbe found at the Hotel Bellevue in that city.\n\nThe next day but one after my arrival, and quite early in the morning,\nDr Hodgson came to call upon me.\n\nIt was my first sight of that genial and delightful personality. At the\nvery moment of shaking hands, he said cheerily, and with a look of\nhalf-rueful amusement at his own discomfiture:\n\n\"Well, you've got to come! They insist upon it, so there is nothing more\nto be said.\"\n\nMy preconceived ideas of a critical, elderly, and white-haired\nprofessor, taking himself very seriously, were dissipated on the spot;\nand this was the beginning of a sincere and loyal friendship between us\nwhich lasted for nine years on this sphere, and will last, I trust and\nbelieve, through whatever forms of existence may succeed to this one.\n\nWe made arrangements at once for my joining Dr Hodgson next morning at\nArlington Heights, where my first sitting with Mrs Piper took place,\nand where I met for the first time this refined and interesting-looking\nwoman.\n\nI was told that with the advent of the Imperator and Stainton Moses'\ncontrols, the character of Mrs Piper's mediumship had undergone a\ncomplete change. The former communications through the voice ceased, and\ngave place to automatic writing, except at the moment of return to the\nphysical body, when a chance sentence or two might be uttered during the\ntransition period, but that these were not always intelligible to the\nlistener.\n\nMrs Piper's arm and hand became curiously \"dead\" and limp when\nunconsciousness set in; the blood departed, leaving it as white and\nhelpless as that of a corpse. By degrees this dead look disappeared. The\nblood flowed once more through the veins, and as I noticed this change,\nthe hand moved gropingly towards the pencil held out by Dr Hodgson, and\nfinally grasped it. The latter's long practice and infinite patience\nwere invaluable in making out the often rather illegible script. The\nhospitality he gave to all attempts at definite communications, however\nvague and shadowy at first; the infinite patience with which he repeated\nagain and again a question not fully comprehended--all this, combined\nwith intelligent criticism, alert, dispassionate judgment and balance of\nmind, made an investigator of psychic phenomena very rarely to be met in\na world where most of us evince in a marked degree \"_les defauts de nos\nqualites_.\"\n\nTo combine sympathy, patience, and receptivity with cool and critical\njudgment is well-nigh impossible for ordinary men and women.\n\nDr Richard Hodgson certainly solved the problem to a very remarkable\nextent.\n\nThe first thing that struck me in the two sittings I had with Mrs Piper,\nwas the hopeless breakdown of the Thought Transference Theory, as\naccounting for the automatic writing.\n\nThe ostensible reason for my presence at Arlington Heights was the idea\nentertained by the \"controls\" that, having known Mr Stainton Moses in\nearth life, I might be able to facilitate his communications. I hope\nthis may have been the case, but if so, it was certainly not due to any\npower of Thought Transference I may have possessed.\n\nAgain and again I asked for names of friends we had known in common, but\nnearly always in vain. Even when, in despair of getting these normally,\nI concentrated my mind consciously on some short and easy name, the\nlatter was not given.\n\nYet next day some of these names would appear spontaneously on the\nscript, when my mind was entirely occupied by other subjects.\n\nReferences were made to Mr Moses' lack of appreciation for music, and he\nasked whether our mutual friend Mrs Stratton still played LISZT. He also\nreferred to his visiting the Strattons, and finding them playing duets\ntogether, in London.\n\nOn my return to town Mrs Stratton fully endorsed the fact that Mr Moses\ndisliked music (this was unknown to me), but she denied emphatically\nthat she and her husband ever played duets in his presence. Mr Stratton,\nhowever, corrected this impression, and reminded her of several\noccasions when Mr Moses had come to them from University College, found\nthem at the piano, and being on very intimate terms, had begged they\nwould finish the passage or movement; and on one or two occasions this\nhad been done.\n\nThese slight but evidential incidents, forgotten by Mrs Stratton\nherself, and unknown to me, were conveyed quite correctly in the\nautomatic script through Mrs Piper--three thousand miles across the\nAtlantic--and nearly six years after the death of Mr Stainton Moses.\n\nThe most convincing test upon these occasions, however, was the\nreference to a Mrs Lane--the lady to whom Mr Moses had been engaged when\nhe passed away.\n\nVery few of his friends knew of this engagement, even in England. Dr\nHodgson, who had never met Stainton Moses in earth life, had naturally\nnot heard of it. It was only by chance that I knew anything of the\nmatter, and this merely through once meeting the lady at Mrs Stratton's\nhouse some time after Mr Moses had died. On that occasion Mrs Lane had a\nyoung daughter with her; I knew nothing of any other members of the\nfamily.\n\nDuring my second visit to Mrs Piper I mentioned meeting this\nlady--already a dim memory with me--and the \"control\" at once asked if I\nhad met a _sister_ also.\n\nI answered \"No,\" remarking that a young daughter had been with her.\n\nThe writing at once continued in these words:\n\n\"Well, now I am giving you this as a test: she _has_ a sister, and one\nwho has been the cause of the deepest sorrow of her life. You will find\nthis is true when you go back to England.\"\n\nThese words were amply justified.\n\nOn applying to Mrs Stratton for information, she denied the possibility\nof there being any truth in the test. She said: \"I have come to know Mrs\nLane very intimately since you met her here. I don't believe she has any\nsister; anyway, I am _quite_ sure she would have told me if a sister had\ncaused her such sorrow as you mention.\"\n\nI persevered, however, in getting at the truth of the matter by writing\nto Mrs Lane herself (an almost entire stranger), and asking if she cared\nto hear the references to herself in the Piper records; if so, would she\ncome and lunch with me?\n\nShe came, and when I reached the passage about the sister, expecting\nthat she would endorse Mrs Stratton's denial, I noticed, to my great\nsurprise, that her eyes filled suddenly with tears, and that she was\nliterally unable to speak through emotion.\n\nThe tears ran down her cheeks, when at length she said in a broken\nvoice: \"_That_ is the most convincing test he could have given me! No! I\nhave never mentioned that sister, even to Mrs Stratton, kind and good as\nshe has been\" (by this time I had spoken of Mrs Stratton's denial of the\nsister's existence). \"I could not speak of her to _anyone_. She was the\ncause of the greatest sorrow in my life; _but no one upon earth knew\nthis except Mr Stainton Moses_. I was engaged to him at the time, and he\nwas the natural person to turn to in my deep tribulation. No one else\never heard of the circumstances.\"\n\nAt this second sitting of mine Mr Stainton Moses spoke also of a\nvaluable watch he had possessed, and expressed some regret that it had\nnot been given to Mrs Lane at the time of his death.\n\nI knew nothing at all about any watch of his, but on appealing to one of\nhis executors, an old friend of mine, found there was such a watch,\nwhich had been a presentation one, and was of considerable value. Upon\nthe death of Mr Moses it had been given (quite with the approval of Mrs\nLane) to the son of a very old and esteemed friend.\n\nThis executor also told me, as a curious coincidence, that when I was\nstaying with the excitable sensitive in Sussex Gardens, mentioned in a\nprevious chapter, and he and his wife had come to tea with me one\nafternoon (to be introduced to this remarkable lady), she had given him\na similar message about the same watch, purporting to come from Stainton\nMoses.\n\nI remember perfectly well having asked Mr and Mrs Harrington to come to\ntea with me one afternoon to meet my eccentric landlady, and I also\nremember his having a long talk with her whilst his wife and I were\nimmersed in our own conversation. But I heard no details of this talk.\nHe had merely said how much interested he had been in meeting Mrs\nPeters, and that she evidently had some mediumistic power.\n\nIt was certainly curious that the watch should have been mentioned,\nfirst in Sussex Gardens, London, and six years later in Arlington\nHeights, Boston, and that on each occasion the same wish with regard to\nit should have been expressed!\n\nDuring this Arlington Heights sitting (the second one), Mr Moses also\nreferred to an MS., of which I knew nothing at the time. This allusion\nalso was verified by his other executor, the late Mr Alaric Watts, upon\nmy return to England.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nDuring this visit to America I also came across a Mr Knapton Thompson, a\nhard-headed Yorkshire man, who had invented a new kind of smokeless\ncombustion stove, which must have been a good one, for our shrewd\nAmerican cousins were employing him to put up these stoves in several\npublic buildings, including the Smithsonian Institute in Washington.\n\nMr Thompson combined psychic proclivities with his smokeless invention,\nand had become greatly interested in the New York medium, Mrs Stoddart\nGray, who has been already mentioned in connection with my own\ninvestigations, twelve years previous to my present visit. He had\nwritten to tell Mr Stead of his experiences, which included several in\nwhich the Julia of \"Julia's Letters\" had purported to be present.\n\nMr Stead had turned this gentleman over to me by giving me an\nintroduction, accompanied by the request that \"I should see the man and\nreport what I thought about him and his wonderful experiences.\"\n\nSo I asked Mr Thompson to call upon me, and arranged to be present with\nhim next day (Saturday) at Mrs Stoddart Gray's circle.\n\nI found that he had taken up his abode with the medium and her son\nduring his short stays in New York, with the openly expressed intention\nof finding out if there were any trickery behind the scenes. He had,\nhowever, convinced himself of her _bona fides_, and was deeply\ninterested in the interviews he was able to obtain by means of these\nmediums, with a daughter he had lost some years previously. He was much\npleased to find that I knew Mrs Gray already and could also testify to\nsome very remarkable phenomena occurring to me at her house.\n\nSo I met him there next afternoon, with every expectation of a good\nsitting. These hopes, however, were entirely destroyed owing to the\npresence of a noisy, vulgar man, whom they called the \"Whisky King.\" He\nmade the most inane remarks, cracked stupid jokes, antagonised every\nrespectable person in the room, I should suppose; and as all this took\nplace without a word of protest from the lady of the house, one can only\nconclude that she considered it worth her while to endure his\nvulgarities.\n\nCertainly the afternoon was spoilt for the rest of us, and I remarked\nupon this to a very pleasant, smart-looking young American lady when the\nsitting was over and we had retired to the reception-room to find wraps\nand galoshes, etc.\n\n\"Oh yes; wasn't he just exasperating?\" she said, with ready sympathy.\n\nShe looked much too young and smart and good-looking for the ordinary\ntype of \"investigator,\" and I could not refrain from asking how she had\ncome into this _galere_.\n\nShe explained her position readily, and it was very interesting to me.\n\nShe was a young married lady, and had first been brought to the house,\nsix months before, by a cousin of hers who was staying with them in New\nYork, and thought the experience might be amusing.\n\n\"We just came in for a joke,\" she said; \"but something happened which\ninterested me so much that I have come again several times, and until\nto-day have always had an interesting time.\"\n\nThen she told me about her first sitting.\n\nI had noticed upon her ungloved hand a very beautiful _scarabaeus_, set\nin fine gold, and evidently by an artist in the craft. \"Yes, it is a\nTiffany setting,\" she observed, seeing my eyes drawn to it. She took off\nthe ring, and gave it into my hands.\n\n\"That ring is really the cause of my being here to-day,\" she continued.\n\"The scarabaeus was given to me some years ago by Professor----\" (she\ngave the name of a well-known American Egyptologist). \"He made a great\npet of me when I was a child, and I begged it from him. When I was going\nto be married last year he insisted upon having it set for me by Tiffany\nas a wedding present, and he then told me there was no doubt at all\nabout its being a genuine _antique_. He had come across it many years\nbefore by a curious chance when travelling in Egypt, and had been\nassured that it was a genuine _Cleopatra_ relic. 'I can't answer for\nthat,' he said, laughing, 'but it is certainly many centuries old. I\nhave no doubt it is genuine so far as age goes.' Well, the night my\ncousin and I came here together I did not take off my gloves until\n_after_ we had gone in to the _seance_ room, so no one could have seen\nmy ring--and you know Mrs Gray's sittings always begin in the dark? I\ntook my gloves off when I found we had to sit in a circle holding hands,\nand one of the first materialisations was announced to be that of\nCleopatra.\" (_I_ had seen \"Cleopatra\" more than once in 1886, in the\nsame house--E. K. B.) \"She rushed across the room in the complete\ndarkness, seized my right hand, amongst all the hands in a circle of\ntwenty people or more, almost tore this special ring from my finger, and\nsaid in a tone of indescribable grief and longing: '_Mine! Mine!_ Ah,\n_Chem!_ CHEM!'\"\n\nThis was sufficiently startling, even apart from the mention of _Chem_,\nas the ancient name for Egypt, in a _milieu_ of this kind!\n\nThe ring was faithfully restored later in the evening; and the young\nlady who owned it had been sufficiently impressed by the circumstances\nto confide them to her kind professor, and also to pay more than one\nvisit to Mrs Stoddart Gray since the episode had occurred, which was\njust six months before our meeting there.\n\nDuring this second visit to America I made the acquaintance, and, I\ntrust I may say, gained the friendship, of Miss Lilian Whiting, so well\nknown by many thousands of grateful readers. We saw a great deal of each\nother in Boston, and during one of my long chats with her in her pretty\nsitting-room at the Brunswick Hotel, she told me of the visit of Lady\nHenry Somerset and Miss Frances Willard to that city, some years before\nour conversation. Miss Whiting also mentioned a friend who had\naccompanied these two ladies, and who had been taken ill, and had died\nvery suddenly in the hospital at Boston.\n\n\"I never met the lady,\" said Miss Whiting, \"but Miss Willard and Lady\nHenry told me they had been obliged to leave their friend behind owing\nto an attack of influenza, and asked me to call upon her someday. I went\na day or two later, carrying some fruit and newspapers with me. The\nmatron, whom I knew well, said her patient was doing splendidly, and was\nlikely to be leaving in a few days, but that as I was a stranger, it\nwould perhaps be better for me not to come in and see her that\nafternoon. So I left my little gifts, and was shocked next day to hear\nof her sudden and quite unexpected death. By-the-by, I believe she was\nStead's 'Julia'--I am not sure about this, but somebody told me so\nlately.\"\n\nMiss Whiting then mentioned the lady's name, which I withhold, as Mr\nStead still makes use of it as a test when strangers profess to be in\ncommunication with \"Julia.\"\n\nThe day following the _seance_ just described as taking place in New\nYork, Mr Knapton Thompson called at my hotel to ask me to accompany him\nto Mrs Stoddart Gray, as he had arranged to have a short \"_writing\nseance_\" that afternoon.\n\nThe son was the agent as usual. On this occasion he had an alphabet\nmounted on card, and pointed to the letters in turn, whilst his mother\nwrote them down as indicated. Thinking I would verify Miss Whiting's\nstory if possible, my first question was:\n\n\"Can Stead's Julia give me her surname?\"\n\n\"Julia O.\" was spelt out, and then the O was given again.\n\n\"They often do that,\" said Mrs Gray casually--\"begin the name over\nagain, I mean.\"\n\nSo it passed at that. The rest of the letters corroborated the surname\nmentioned by Miss Whiting.\n\nThen I asked: \"In what country did you pass away--Europe or America, or\nelsewhere?\"\n\n\"_America_\" was spelt out at once.\n\n\"In what city?\"\n\n\"_Boston._\"\n\n\"Was it in a private house, a hospital, a hotel, or _where_ did you\ndie?\"\n\n\"In a hospital\" was again spelt out.\n\n\"How long ago?\"\n\n\"_Five years_\" was the answer.\n\nI may note here that Miss Whiting had _not_ mentioned the number of\nyears, only having said \"A few years ago\" when speaking of the event.\n_Five years_ proved to be true. My last question was:\n\n\"What was your age when you passed over?\"\n\n\"_Twenty-three_\" was the answer.\n\nThis last, I felt sure, must be wrong. Miss Whiting had not mentioned\nany age, but it seemed to me unlikely that so young a woman should have\nbeen travelling round the country with two temperance lecturers.\n\nWhen these answers were being given, Mrs Gray's son, the medium, asked\nif he might put one hand on my wrist to come into magnetic conditions\nwith me.\n\nI agreed to this, but said I should turn my eyes away from the alphabet,\nlest my muscles should give him any unconscious indications.\n\nWhen I sent these answers to Mr Stead on returning to England, I wrote\ndown Julia O. (ignoring the repetition of the O); and in connection with\nthe other answers, told him, of course, of my previous conversation\nwith Miss Whiting, which reduced the whole episode to one of possible\nThought Transference.\n\nIn answering me he said: \"I am glad Julia was able to give her name,\neven if it were Thought Transference; but, as a matter of fact, it is\nnot her whole name which you received--she always signed her letters to\nme '_Julia O. O...._'\" This makes rather a good bit of evidence, seeing\nthat the second O _had_ been given, but discarded by Mrs Gray and myself\nas a repetition of the first letter of the _surname!_\n\nTo resume my experiences with Mr Knapton Thompson.\n\nIn the evening of this writing incident Mrs Gray had another public\n_seance_, at which I was again present, Mr Thompson sitting on one side\nof me.\n\nAfter some \"materialisations,\" for other members of the circle had\nappeared, Mrs Gray announced that Stead's \"Julia\" was present in the\ncabinet, and wished to speak to me.\n\nI went up at once, and the form came out and stood in very fair light\nfrom the gas-burners. She seized my hands with every appearance of\ndelight and eagerness, and her grasp was strong and tense. It is my\npeculiarity always to notice hands very accurately. They always seem to\nme to indicate character very closely; and apart from this, I am\nattracted by people who have well-shaped hands (not necessarily _small_\nones), and find it very difficult to ignore clumsy or ugly fingers,\nwhich, unfortunately, never escape my notice.\n\nNow the medium's hands were broad, short, and flabby, as I had had\nplenty of opportunities of noting in the afternoon when he held my\nwrist. The hands which grasped mine now were, on the contrary, well\nmade, small, and rather narrow, the true type of the American female\nhand.\n\nMr Thompson had come up also to greet \"Julia,\" and I whispered to him:\n\n\"Do ask Julia if there was not a mistake about her age this afternoon.\"\n\n\"No; you ask the question yourself, Miss Bates,\" he answered.\n\nSo I said rather eagerly: \"Julia, do tell us, please, if there was not a\nmistake this afternoon in your age--the answer was twenty-three. Is that\ncorrect?\"\n\nA very emphatic shake of the head signifying \"No\" was the reply to this\nlast question, but no sounds proceeded from the lips.\n\nDisappointed by this, I asked; \"Can you not speak to us?\"\n\nShe made a little gesture of rather helpless dissent; and Mrs Gray, who\nstood by, explained that probably all her strength had gone to building\nup the materialised body sufficiently to make it visible to us. Julia\nbowed her head in assent to this, and then, still speechless, retired\nonce more behind the curtains.\n\nI did not mention this appearance of Julia when writing to Mr Stead on\nmy return--I was so anxiously hoping that she might have tried to\nimpress the fact of having appeared to me, upon his consciousness, as a\ntest; but he said nothing about it in his first letters. So I let the\nmatter alone for a time, determining to tell him some day, but much\ndisappointed by the usual failure in getting corroborative evidence.\n\nA week later, however, at the end of a long letter on other subjects, I\nput this short P. S. in a casual way to him:\n\n\"Did Julia ever tell you that she had appeared to me in New York?\"\n\nIn answering my letter he replied--also in a P. S.:\n\n\"By-the-by, to answer your last query--yes. Julia told me weeks ago that\nshe had appeared to you in New York, _but that she could not give you\nher age on that occasion, because she was not accustomed to speaking\nthrough the embodiment_.\"\n\nNow in sending the list of questions and answers to Mr Stead I had\nmerely marked against the answer as to her age, \"_twenty-three_,\" that\ndoubtless it was an error, _but I had never hinted to him that I had\nasked her to correct the error in New York, or that she had been unable\nto speak on that occasion_.\n\nThis again was a good bit of independent evidence.\n\nI will now give a description of Mr Knapton Thompson's interview with\nhis daughter, on the same evening that Julia appeared to me. I have\nalready said that the magnet which drew Mr Thompson to these _seances_\nwas the opportunity given to him of meeting and talking to a daughter\nwho had passed away some years previously.\n\nOn this special evening the daughter materialised as usual, and came out\nfrom the cabinet. As Mr Thompson was sitting next to me at the time, I\ncould distinctly hear Mrs Gray whisper to him:\n\n\"Would you not like to take your daughter into the other room, Mr\nThompson? It is rather crowded here to-night. You would be quieter in\nthere.\"\n\nMr Thompson got up at once, and greeted the materialised form, and they\ndisappeared through the folding doors to the reception-room. Other\nmatters of interest were occurring, and I had quite forgotten the\nabsence of Mr Thompson in the dimly lighted room (in those days the\nlight was always dim _at first_), until I found he was again occupying\nthe seat next to my own. I had not noticed his return, and asked him at\nonce 'what he had done with his daughter.' A good half hour must have\nelapsed between his disappearance and return. He said, quite simply and\nas a matter of course: \"Oh, she did not care to come back into this\ncrowded room. We had half-an-hour's chat, and then she de-materialised\nin the other room, and I returned alone.\"\n\nI can only repeat that Mr Knapton Thompson was a shrewd, practical\nYorkshireman, and a very successful man of business, as was proved by\nthe orders he received in America for the stoves he had invented.\n\nHe was certainly under the impression that he could be trusted to\nrecognise his own daughter when allowed the privilege of half-an-hour's\nconversation with her, _tete-a-tete_ in a private room.\n\nI cannot end this chapter without saying something about Keely of\nPhiladelphia and his intuitional genius.\n\nI had hoped to have the opportunity of meeting this wonderful man during\nmy last stay in Philadelphia, U.S.A. (March 1897), but was disappointed\nin this expectation. Therefore, on the outer plane, my connection with\nKeely never went beyond a single interview with his wife; but this is a\nrecord of personal intuitions as well as of personal events, and I know\nno one with regard to whom my intuitions--absolutely lacking in any\nphysical ground of proof, or even mental ground of comprehension--have\nbeen stronger or more obstinate.\n\nAt the time of my first visit to America, so far back as 1885, I had not\nthe faintest conception of Keely's work, or what he claimed to have\ndiscovered or to be on the track of discovering. I never heard his name\nmentioned without being told at the same time that he was either a silly\nmadman or a conscious impostor, and as I came with an entirely\nunprejudiced mind (for I had never heard of Keely before landing in\nAmerica), it would have been natural to accept this universal opinion.\n\nYet something stronger than reason was always silently contradicting\nthese assertions, when made in my presence. Friends and acquaintances\nalike in those days laughed at Keely's claims, and denounced his boasted\ndiscovery as pure imposture.\n\n\"'Tisn't! 'Tisn't! 'Tisn't!\" that persistent little voice kept\nwhispering in my ear all the time, like a naughty, obstinate child who\ncontradicts from sheer ignorance--or was it a spiritual intuition? Time\nalone can answer that question; anyway, I kept my ideas to myself, for\nthey had no foundation in fact at the time of which I speak.\n\nIn 1897 the position for me was altered. A sensible and dependable\nfriend of mine--a well-known banker in Philadelphia--described to me his\nexperiences and those of other prominent citizens during a demonstration\nof Mr Keely's powers; and the old insistent voice that spoke to my\nignorance before, spoke now to some glimmering understanding of the\nclaim put forth. This claim--even then jeered at by the world at\nlarge--had to wait shivering in the cold another nine years, before Mr\nFrederic Soddy clothed it in respectable scientific garb by speaking\npublicly of the possibilities in the future connected with atomic\ndisintegration and consequent liberation of energy.\n\nBut the yelping curs of Calumny that pursued Keely during his lifetime\nare still upon the dead man's tracks.\n\n\"_His_ methods were fraud and imposture, anyway\"; \"His wires were tubes\ncontaining compressed air,\" and so forth. The M.F.H. of this pack of\nhounds was the son of a lady whose name will always be honourably\nmentioned with that of Keely as one of his most generous supporters.\n\nThe initial misfortune in the whole matter was the forming and starting\nof the Keely Motor Company to utilise the discovery, which should first\nhave been placed under the protection of Science.\n\nIgnorant and impatient shareholders thought only of their own material\nadvantages and dividends. They were Keely's first enemies, with their\nsensational and premature advertisements of results and \"_200\nhorse-power engines ready to patent, etc._,\" whilst the poor man was\nstill struggling with his tremendous problem--_i.e. to control_ the\nforce that he had discovered.\n\nHe attempted this first by confining it, but it blew everything to\natoms, and his own fingers off into the bargain!\n\nOccultists--including Madame Blavatsky--always declared this latent\natomic energy was a _fact_, but that Keely would never be allowed to\ndemonstrate it, for the world was not yet prepared for such a tremendous\ndynamic force to be let loose upon it, and that the most serious abuses\nand disasters would follow, if once he succeeded in bringing his\ndiscovery into practical working order.\n\nThey said it would be one of two things: either Keely's experiments in\nthis direction would continue to fail in the crucial point necessary,\n_or_ that if he succeeded it would be his own death warrant, lest any\nmischief should accrue from his making his methods public.\n\nIn view of these pronouncements, the succeeding events in Keely's career\nare interesting.\n\n_The Times_ (U.S.A.) of 6th March 1898 contained the following\nannouncement, under Keely's own signature:--\n\n\nAfter twenty-five years' labour I have solved the problem of harnessing\nthe ether (which elsewhere he says is only the _medium_ of the force he\ndiscovered) and adapting it to commercial uses. I have finished\nexperimenting.--My work is now completed.\n                                      (Signed)    JOHN W. KEELY.\n\n_On 18th November of this same year he died._\n\nWithin two months, his generous friend and patron, Mrs Blomfield Moore,\nfollowed him to another sphere. Keely's final discovery of the means of\n\"harnessing the ether,\" as he calls it, was through holding it _in\nrotation_ instead of in confinement.\n\nI am allowed to quote an extract from a private letter with regard to\nthis statement.\n\n\"This instrument ruptures the luminous envelopes of the hydrogen\ncorpuscles, liberating the mysterious substance, which is put into such\nhigh rotation that it forms its own wall of confinement at 420,000\nrevolutions per second, as calculated. Independent of this rotation in\nthe tube, where it is projected, it could be no more held in suspension\nthan a ray of sunshine could be held in a darkened room.\"\n\nI have been given to understand that a faithful account of everything\nthat has occurred in connection with Keely's discovery has been\ncompiled, and will be published \"_when the time comes for the truth to\nbe made known_.\"\n\nIt is, of course, possible that this disclosure may be anticipated by\nthe arrival of another \"crank and impostor\" of the Keely type. Let us\ntrust he may arise from _within_ and not from without, scientific\ncircles, and thus avoid his martyrdom!\n\nMeanwhile it may be interesting to quote from a published letter of\nLascelles-Scott, the Government physicist from Forest Gate, who visited\nKeely's workshop in the interests of Science, and who was allowed to cut\nand bring away with him pieces of the wire Keely was using. (Said to be\n_tubes_ by the wiseacres!)\n\nThe following is the essential portion of Mr Lascelles-Scott's letter. I\nonly omit courteous expressions of gratitude to the editor and \"to the\ninstitutions and individuals alike\" of the \"beautiful city of\nPhiladelphia\" where he was able to carry out his investigations.\n\n            Letter from Mr Lascelles-Scott to the Editor\n               of _The Public Ledger_, Philadelphia.\n\nThe only corrections of sufficient importance, to the general sense of\nmy observations at the Franklin Institute last Wednesday night, to call\nfor notice in your otherwise admirable report, are the following:--\n\nAlthough my observations were only put forward as \"preliminary,\"\ninasmuch as I have not yet _completed_ the outlined programme I had in\nview, no words actually used by me justified the expression that \"_I had\nformed no very definite opinions_.\"\n\nOn the contrary, I stated more than once the very _definite opinion that\nMr Keely has demonstrated to me, in a way which is absolutely\nunquestionable, the existence of a force hitherto unknown_. (The italics\nare mine.--E. K. B.)\n\nThe conditions under which the experiments were carried out (as I\ndistinctly stated) _were such as to preclude the possibility of the\nresults obtained being due to any ordinary source of power, evident or\nconcealed_.\n\nMoreover, I satisfied myself that the rotation of the \"vibrodyne\" was\nneither due to, nor accompanied by, any traces of electricity or\nmagnetism. So far my opinion is and was expressed as being of the most\ndefinite kind possible.\n\n... I stated, and the statement was greeted by the audience with great\nand prolonged applause, that, after a little adjustment of the\n\"Sympathetic Transmitter,\" it was found that by the sounding of one of\nthe small English tuning forks I had brought with me from the other side\nof the Atlantic, upon the said \"Transmitter,\" I could myself start the\nvibrodyne, and cause it to revolve rapidly, without Mr Keely's\nintervention, and I exhibited to the meeting, the fork actually used by\nme.--Thanking you in anticipation, etc., I am, sir, yours obediently,\n                                                     W. LASCELLES-SCOTT.\n\n\nOne would have supposed that this testimony, in addition to that of\nother scientists and practical electricians, would have sufficed to\ndisintegrate Atomic Stupidity and Calumny, and liberate the forces of\nHumility and Sane Investigation.\n\nBut prejudiced Ignorance dies hard!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTo end my chapter on a pleasanter note than this, I will quote from a\nprivate letter which I have been privileged to read, the beautiful words\nin which Keely describes his own achievements.\n\n\n_I have no power that is not communicated to me in the same way that\nthis machine receives its power: through celestial radiation from the\nSoul of Matter, the Mind force of the Creator, whose instrument I am. I\nknow who is leading me and making all things work together for good._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nA HAUNTED CASTLE IN IRELAND\n\n\nIn the year 1898 I was spending a few days in Castle Rush, which has\nbeen described by Mr W. T. Stead as the most haunted castle in Ireland.\nIt is one of the few old Irish castles still inhabited, and is naturally\nhaunted by the ghosts of the past in every meaning of the word.\n\nAt the time of my stay I was recovering from a severe illness, and, in\nfact, was sent off to bed immediately upon arrival by my kind hostess,\nwho, with true hospitality, thought more of her guest's comfort than the\nconventionalities of life, and would not hear of my lingering, even to\nmake acquaintance with my host, on the dark autumnal evening of my\narrival.\n\nThis had taken place after driving many miles and waiting for a dreary\nlong time in the little inn of a small Irish township. My doctor would\nnot hear of any railway travelling just then, so the whole forty miles\nfrom my last stopping-place had to be negotiated between the carriages\nof my past and present hospitable hosts.\n\nAs a matter of fact, I believe I slept in one of the haunted rooms, but\nit looked cheerful enough when I entered from the gloom and darkness\noutside; and a dainty little dinner sent up by my kind friends below,\nand eaten when snugly tucked in between the sheets and resting on soft\ndowny pillows, was enough to drive all thoughts of ghostly visitors from\nmy head.\n\nI am thankful to say that I neither heard nor saw anything during my\nshort visit, and should not even have known that my room had had any\nevil reputation but for the visit of an eccentric and clever old lady,\nwho had been specially asked to the castle to meet me.\n\nAfter luncheon we adjourned to my bedroom, at her suggestion, and she\nsaid casually:\n\n\"Ah, you have this room, I see. It was terribly haunted once, but I held\na sort of little service here some time ago, and cleared them all out.\"\n\nI must explain that this good lady took a very optimistic view of her\nown capacities and powers in general, and spoke--from the psychic point\nof view--with the honest pride that a flesh and blood charwoman might\ndisplay on going over premises that she had thoroughly scrubbed and\n\"cleaned out\"!\n\nOne morning after breakfast, my hostess, Mrs Kent, called to me to come\nquickly and see a curious sight. It was a pouring wet day--one of those\ndays when the heavens open and the rain descends in buckets! I could see\nnothing more remarkable than the damp, autumnal leaves, the bare trees\nswaying in the wind-washed spaces, and the pouring, ceaseless rain.\n\n\"Don't you see that girl over there?\"\n\nI looked again, and did see a girl just emerging from a clump of\nbeeches, and carrying a small trunk upon her head.\n\n\"What an extraordinary day to choose for travelling,\" I said drily.\n\n\"Ah, that is Irish superstition!\" rejoined my hostess. \"That is my last\nkitchen-maid you see--she is walking seven miles, with that trunk on\nher head, sooner than wait a few hours, when I could have sent her to\nthe station.\"\n\n\"Is she mad?\" was my natural comment.\n\n\"Oh no! only desperately frightened. She has not been here a week yet,\nand she is much too terrified to be coherent. All I can make out is that\nnothing on earth would induce her to spend another night at Rush. I\ncould have sent her over to Marley easily to-morrow morning at eight\no'clock, but she would not hear of it. And whether she has really seen\nanything, or only been frightened by the stories of the other servants,\nI don't know. Anyway, she has certainly the courage of her opinions, and\nis prepared to suffer for them! I would rather meet half-a-dozen ghosts\nthan carry that trunk on my head seven miles in this pouring rain.\" Then\nturning round carelessly, she remarked: \"I suppose _you_ have not seen\nor heard anything, Miss Bates, since you came? I hope not, for I am sure\nyou are not strong enough for mundane visitors yet, let alone the other\nkind.\"\n\nWe were passing through the handsome circular hall at the time, and I\nsaid eagerly: \"Oh no! Thank goodness, I've seen and heard nothing. I\ndon't think I should be allowed to see anything whilst I am so weak and\npoorly.\"\n\nAlmost at the moment of saying these words something impelled me to\nplace my hand upon a particular spot in the great stone wall by my side.\n\"But there is something _here_ I don't like,\" I said, tapping\nit--\"something uncanny--but I don't know what it is.\"\n\nMrs Kent made no remark; and I thought no more of the circumstance until\nthe following year, when I was told by Mr Stead that Mrs Kent was over\nin England, and had been lunching with him and asking for me.\n\n\"She was giving me a most graphic account of the way you 'spotted' those\nskeletons at Rush Castle,\" he said.\n\nI was completely puzzled by this remark. I had never spotted a single\nskeleton to my knowledge, either at Rush or elsewhere, and I told him\nso; but he persisted in saying that Mrs Kent had told him a very\ndifferent story, and that most certainly she had mentioned me as the\npercipient.\n\n\"She must have mixed me up with somebody else,\" was my final comment.\n\"No doubt many people have queer experiences there, and she might\nnaturally make such a mistake.\"\n\n\"Well, I gave her your address, and she is writing to ask you to have\ntea with her at the club, so you and she can fight it out there,\" he\nsaid; and the conversation drifted into other channels.\n\nNext afternoon I met Mrs Kent at her club, and before leaving,\nfortunately remembered the curious mistake about the skeletons I had\n\"spotted.\"\n\n\"But you _did_ 'spot' them,\" she said, laughing. \"Don't you remember my\nasking you if you had noticed anything curious, or heard or seen\nanything, during your visit? At first you said 'Thank goodness, no!' But\nimmediately afterwards you put your hand on a particular part of the\ncircular hall, and said: 'There is something uncanny just\nhere--something I don't like.'\"\n\n\"Yes; I remember all that. But what of it? You never told me anything\nabout skeletons.\"\n\n\"Of course not--you were not in a condition of health to discuss such\neerie questions just then. All the same, you had located the exact spot\nwhere only a week before your visit, my husband's agent told him that\ntwo skeletons had been found bricked up!\"\n\nShe then explained that the agent had been on the estate for many years,\neven before the death of the late owner of Rush--her father-in-law.\nHaving some business with her husband the week before my arrival, this\nagent had casually mentioned that he and the former owner had found\nthese skeletons in the very spot indicated by me, about forty years\npreviously, and, strange to relate, had bricked them up again instead of\nburying them. This last fact may account in part at least for the spooky\nreputation of Castle Rush.\n\nAll good psychics know that nothing disturbs a spirit so much as any\ninformality about his funeral arrangements!\n\nTo return to my visit to Castle Rush.\n\nSome years previously I had met, on an Orient steamer sailing from\nCeylon to Naples, a brother of the owner of Rush. He was a sailor, and\nas hard-headed and practical a man as it has ever been my lot to meet.\nIt was in no way through meeting him that my visit to Rush came about,\nbut owing to my acquaintance with Mrs Kent and _her_ family.\n\nI had been greatly taken by the genial common-sense of this Captain\nKent, and was much grieved to hear of his death when I stayed with his\nsister-in-law. It had occurred shortly before my visit, and under sad\ncircumstances.\n\nOn the surface he was certainly more lacking in sentiment than anyone I\never met, but must have been capable of very deep affection. When I met\nhim he had only been married for a few months. His wife died within two\nyears of their marriage, and going for a short holiday to Castle Rush\nsoon afterwards, he said to his sister-in-law:\n\n\"_I shall not live a year after her, I know!_\" He was the last kind of\nman to make such a speech, as both Mrs Kent and I observed when she\nmentioned it to me.\n\n\"But he was quite right, all the same,\" she added. \"_He died just three\ndays within the year from the time of his wife's death._\" Yet he was an\nexceptionally strong, sturdy, and wiry man at the time of his great\nsorrow.\n\nFrom Castle Rush I was going to the south of Ireland to visit relations\nat Cork.\n\nOn the morning of my departure I was down in the drawing-room, rather\nwondering _why_ I had been brought to this old Irish castle. No special\nobject seemed to have been achieved by my visit. I did not even know\nthen that I had discovered two skeletons! In those days I found so often\nsome train of circumstances--a borrowed book, a stranger coming across\nmy path, some unexpected visit paid, which were later found to have been\nfactors in a special experience--that I was rather surprised to realise\nthat I was leaving the \"most haunted castle in Ireland\" and that nothing\nhad happened.\n\nBut in the very moment of saying this to myself a curiously insistent\nimpression came to me quite suddenly, and \"out of the blue.\"\n\nThe impression was that the brother of my host, Captain Kent, was\nwishing very urgently to communicate something through me. I did not\nfeel equal to taking any message at the time--I have already explained\nthat I was only just recovering from a severe illness. Lunch and a long\ndrive to the station and a weary railway journey lay before me, so I\ndetermined to do nothing until I was safely established with my cousins\nnear Cork.\n\nAfter a long, cold, and wet journey I arrived in pouring rain, my train\nbeing more than a hour late. The kind General who came to meet me was\nstill patiently standing on the platform, but one of the two \"cars\" he\nhad engaged for me and my baggage had taken itself off! As the rain was\ndescending in water-spouts, I need scarcely say it was the \"covered car\"\nwhich had driven away!\n\nThis meant a thorough wetting for my cousin and me. How all the luggage\n(including a large bicycle, and two people, in addition to the driver)\nwas ever piled up on that small \"outside Irish car\" I have never been\nable to understand. Suffice it to say the miracle was performed, and we\ndrove up a hill at an angle of about forty-five degrees into the\nbargain!\n\nClearly these were not ideal conditions for receiving automatic\nmessages!\n\nI was put to bed at once with hot bottles and hot soup, and soon forgot\nmy past troubles in a long refreshing sleep.\n\nI was still in the invalid stage of \"breakfast in bed,\" and when this\nhad been cleared away, the remembrance of Captain Kent flashed into my\nmind, and I found pencil and papers at once, in order to redeem my\npromise.\n\nThe message was rather a curious one, and its opening sentence evidently\nreferred to the eccentric old lady whom I have mentioned as being asked\nto meet me at luncheon at Castle Rush.\n\nSo far as I can remember them, the words (very characteristic of Captain\nKent's genial but rather brusque style) ran as follows:--\n\nAfter speaking of the alleged hauntings at Castle Rush as having only\ntoo much foundation in fact, he went on: \"It's all rubbish, that old\nwoman saying she had cleared them all away! Nothing of the kind. There\nare plenty of malicious spirits about still, _and now that an heir is\ncoming to Rush they are keener than ever to try and work some mischief_.\nNo use saying anything to Tom (his brother). He will only laugh, and say\nit is all skittles. But tell my little sister-in-law to\nPRAY--PRAY--PRAY. That is all they need and all she needs either.\"\n\nNow this was not exactly the message one cared to send to a rather\nrecent acquaintance. To begin with, the reference to Mrs Kent's valued\nfriend in the opening sentence was scarcely polite! Then again, the\nprophecy of an heir to Rush was one that I regretted should have been\nmade, as it would probably only lead to disappointment. Mrs Kent's first\nchild had been a little son, from whose loss she had never recovered.\nWhen I was staying at the castle, two nice little girls, old enough to\ncome down to early dinner, at our luncheon hour, comprised the family.\nAnother child was certainly expected to arrive about Christmas-time (my\nvisit was paid in September), but Mrs Kent herself was fully convinced\nthat this would be _another girl_, as she said rather sadly. It seemed a\npity to disturb her mind by raising false hopes.\n\nBut, as usual, I felt bound to send the message, with the customary\nexplanations and apologies.\n\nMrs Kent was greatly interested by it and by the \"PRAY--PRAY--PRAY,\"\nwhich, as she explained to me, had a very special meaning for her. It\nhad only struck me as an exceedingly _unlikely_ message for the Captain\nKent I had known, to send to anyone.\n\nI am glad to be able to record that the Christmas gift did arrive in the\nshape of a baby boy, \"_heir to Rush_,\" who is still alive and\nflourishing, thank God! I hear that he calls himself \"the master,\" with\na true Irish brogue, and lords it over his elder sisters in the regular\nchieftain style!\n\nTo this year belongs another strong impression of psychic atmosphere,\nleft in a room which I occupied in the south of England.\n\nIt was a most comfortable room, with nothing in the least ghostly about\nit. Merely I had an unpleasant feeling that controversies and\ndiscussions had taken place in the room, and that a want of harmony hung\nabout it in consequence.\n\nOn mentioning this rather tentatively to the master of the house--a very\northodox clergyman--I was told: \"Oh dear, no! Nothing of the kind--you\nare certainly mistaken!\"\n\nBut when an opportunity arose I changed my room, and felt very much more\ncomfortable in consequence of doing so.\n\nSeveral times I had noticed on the hall table, letters which had come by\npost addressed to another clergyman, whose name I had not heard, and\nwho was certainly not staying in the house. Remarking upon this casually\nto a nice young governess one day, she said at once that the gentleman\nin question had spent several months with Mr and Mrs Dale in the\nVicarage, but that he had died a few weeks before my arrival. \"He slept\nin the room you had when you first came, by-the-by. I was so glad when\nyou changed your room.\"\n\n\"He was a clergyman, I see,\" was my next remark; and I looked at the\nenvelope which had led to this explanation.\n\n\"Yes; he was in orders, but he had become a complete agnostic for some\nyears. During the last few weeks of his life--when he had to keep his\nbed--Mr Dale was always going up there, and having long arguments and\ndiscussions with him; but I don't suppose it did much good: it only\nworried him very much. He was too ill to listen to long arguments then,\nand wanted just kind, soothing words, I should have thought.\"\n\nAs the girl retreated to the school-room I naturally pondered over this\nfresh testimony to the truth of psychic atmosphere. No sensitive can\nquestion the _fact_, but at present we know little or nothing of the\nlaws which condition the fact.\n\nMy friend Mr W. T. Stead kindly allows me to mention another incident\nconnected with personal experiences of mine in the year 1898.\n\nIn the opening month of that year he lost a much-valued friend, who had\nworked for him loyally, both in his office and also with regard to some\nof his philanthropic schemes.\n\nThis lady in a fit of delirium, incident upon a severe attack of\nillness, threw herself out of a window in her flat. A fortnight before\nthis sad occurrence, she had seen another resident in the same set of\nflats throw herself out of the window, and Mr Stead has always feared\nthat this acted as a suggestion upon her mind in delirium, and led her\nto do the same thing. Her own account of the cause of her action differs\nsomewhat from this impression, as will be seen later.\n\nMr Stead was naturally greatly affected by Mrs Morris' sudden death and\nthe circumstances attending it, and having some of her hair cut off\nafter her death, he sent portions of it to at least twelve well-known\nclairvoyants, hoping to receive some satisfactory solution of the\nmystery, and also, possibly, a sign decided upon between him and this\nlady. They were both interested in psychic matters, and had agreed to\nbelieve in no communications from the other side purporting to come from\none or other of them, unless this preliminary sign were given.\n\nMrs Besant--an intimate friend of Mr Stead--was one of the oracles\nconsulted, and was very confident of being able to find out all details,\nincluding the mystic sign.\n\nBut both she and Mr Leadbeater were as absolutely unsuccessful as less\ngifted mortals proved to be.\n\nIn spite of exceptional opportunities for coming in touch with the most\nnoted psychics, in spite of the valuable clue given by hair cut after\ndeath, the test seemed quite hopeless, since twelve of the best\nclairvoyants had been consulted, and all had failed in turn.\n\nA few weeks after hearing about this from Mr Stead, I was invited by an\nold friend in London to meet at her house, at luncheon, Miss Rowan\nVincent, a non-professional sensitive, well known to many of my readers.\n\nI had never seen this lady before, and had little speech with her during\nthe meal.\n\nShe was talking very earnestly to a military man--the son-in-law of our\nhostess--whilst the latter and I were having an interesting conversation\nto ourselves.\n\nGeneral Maxwell, having a train to catch, did not accompany us to the\ndrawing-room.\n\nOn arrival there Miss Rowan Vincent said to me very kindly: \"Can I do\nanything for _you_ now, Miss Bates? Shall I try if I can see anything\nfor you?\"\n\nSomething induced me, quite against my will, to say: \"Do you ever get\nmessages by writing, Miss Vincent?\"\n\n\"No; I have never done so, but I can try,\" she answered rather eagerly.\n\nHow I bewailed my stupidity in making such a suggestion! I had diverted\nher mind from her own special gift, which was that of seeing a person's\npsychic surroundings, and had switched her on to an entirely novel and\nuntried experiment. I had not even the excuse of being specially\ninterested in automatic writing, which was so easily obtained at home;\nwhereas I was greatly interested in seeing whether any of my \"other\nside\" friends could make themselves perceptible through this sensitive.\n\nHowever, the mischief was done past remedy. The suggestion had taken\nfirm root in Miss Rowan Vincent's mind, and she was not to be diverted\nfrom it. So I resigned myself patiently to the results of my own\nfoolish remark, whilst she took pencil and paper and sat down\nexpectantly.\n\nSoon she looked up, the writing having already begun.\n\n\"Do you know any William? There seems to be some message from a William,\nas far as I can make out.\"\n\nHaving had a favourite cousin of that name, I told her it might be quite\ncorrect, and I should be glad to receive any message that came.\n\nA few moments passed, and then Miss Vincent said, in a puzzled tone:\n\n\"It is not _from_ William--the message is _to_ some William--I cannot\nunderstand it at all.\" She pushed the paper rather impatiently towards\nme. Written upon it clearly but faintly were these words:\n\nDEAR WILLIAM,--I want to explain to you how I came to fall out of that\nwindow--it was not my fault really--someone came up behind and pushed me\nout.                                                      ETHEL.\n\nThe signature was rather indistinct, but quite unmistakable to _me_; but\nthen I knew the Christian name of Mr Stead's friend, and realised at\nonce that she was taking this opportunity of sending a message to him.\n\nI asked Miss Vincent what name was written at the bottom of the paper.\n\"It looks like Ethel,\" she said, \"but it is not very clear. I will ask\nthe spirit to write it again.\" A very bold and unmistakable signature\nwas at once given.\n\nI concealed my excitement, and said quietly to Miss Vincent:\n\n\"I think I know from whom the message comes and for whom it is intended,\nbut to make quite sure it would be very satisfactory if the spirit could\ngive through you a sign agreed upon by the sender and the recipient and\nunknown to everyone else.\"\n\n\"Well, I will try,\" said Miss Vincent at once. She had scarcely touched\nthe pencil when it began describing a circle. \"There is no doubt about\nmy having to make a circle,\" she said, laughing. \"Oh, now I am to put a\ncross into it,\" she added.\n\nWithin a few seconds both these were given, and to _our_ great\ndelight--as well as to his--the sign was recognised by Mr Stead as being\nthe one agreed upon, and which had hopelessly puzzled all the other\nmediums.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\n1900-1901\n\n\nI must now note a curious episode connected with my friend Judge Forbes,\nwhose astral influence I had traced clinging to the rooms he once\noccupied in Cambridge.\n\nAs before mentioned, he had married, and I had lost sight of him and his\nwhole family for many years. But we had several mutual friends, through\nwhom I had heard of the birth of his only son and only child, and later\nof the boy being sent to Eton, and eventually entering the army.\n\nThis was very shortly before the breaking out of the South African War,\nand the young fellow was one of many who were drafted from India, after\na few months' service there, to help to defend their Queen's possessions\nand their countrymen's lives and property in South Africa.\n\nLater, young Forbes was shut up in Ladysmith, and one cold, dismal day\nin January (6th January 1900) I was lying very ill in bed with a severe\nbronchial attack in the house of my eldest brother in Hampshire, when\nthe latter came home one evening from the Winchester Club and told us of\nthe celebrated _sortie_ and the death of three young English officers.\nThe name of Forbes of the Royal Rifles figured amongst these, and I\nfelt convinced that it must be the only child of my old friend.\n\nWithout hesitation I prepared to write a few short lines of sympathy\nwith the heart-broken father. In vain my sister-in-law protested against\nmy concluding at once that it must be the judge's son, since other\nmembers of the family of the same name were known to be in the army. I\nhad not a moment's doubt that this was the boy already mentioned, and\neven a silence of over twenty years seemed to present no difficulty in\nexpressing one's deep sympathy, in the face of such a sorrow.\n\nThe real drawback lay in my weak state of health and physical inability\nto write more than a few lines. But in these I expressed a hope that _in\ntime_ my poor friend might come to realise that his boy was \"as much\nalive and as near to him as ever--perhaps nearer.\"\n\nIt will indicate how entirely all relations between us had been broken\noff for many years, when I say that I did not even know the judge's\nprivate address, and was forced to send my letter to his court. In a day\nor two I received a very touching and grateful answer, pathetic not only\nin its grief, but even more in his frankly avowed inability to derive\nany consolation from the thoughts that my short note had suggested.\nResignation to the inscrutable will of God was the keynote of the\nletter. In some far-distant future he might be permitted once more to\nsee his beloved son, but meanwhile all was gloom and misery.\n\nThe episode was over. I had expressed my sincere sympathy with an\noverwhelming sorrow, I had received a most kind and appreciative\nanswer--no more could be done in the matter.\n\nThis was _my_ conclusion, but evidently not the conclusion of young\nTalbot Forbes. I had never seen this boy in my life, nor his mother; but\nI suppose my old friendship with his father, and my deep sympathy with\nthe latter, enabled the son to approach me soon after he had passed into\nthe next sphere.\n\nAnyway, he made me conscious of his presence by my bedside during the\ngreater part of the night following my receipt of his father's letter.\n\nOwing to my severe illness I was sleeping very little, and once or twice\nin the night an attendant came in to make up my fire and keep the\ntemperature of the room even, so that I had ample opportunity for\nrealising the presence of my hitherto unknown visitor.\n\nThose who know what \"hearing with the inner ear\" means will realise the\nmethod through which the following conversation took place, so far as I\ncan now recall it:--\n\n_TALBOT._--\"_Yes, it is Talbot Forbes. I want to speak to you. Please\nlisten to me! I want to tell you, you must do more for them than\nthis--you have to help them about me._\"\n\nE. K. B.--\"Who do you mean by '_them_'?\"\n\n_TALBOT._--\"_My parents, of course. Don't you understand what I am\nsaying? You have to do more for them--you must make them know I am close\nto them._\"\n\nNow I could only suppose that he wished me to write again to his father,\nand explain more fully my own ideas on the subject of our departed\nfriends. As this would have involved a wearisome and almost certainly\n_useless_ discussion on a topic which I had reason to know was very\ndistasteful to the boy's father, I said rather shortly, and I am afraid\nwith some of the petulance of an invalid:\n\n\"Oh, do be quiet, and leave me alone! I have done all I can, and there\nis no more to be said about it. I am very sorry for you, but I really\ncan't help you in this. I don't know your mother or what her views about\nit may be; and as for your father--well, I am not going to worry and\ntorment him about ideas that he dislikes and disapproves of, and just\nnow, too, when he is so miserable! No, I won't do it, not even if you\ncome and worry me about it every night.\"\n\nI was feeling ill and weary, and longing for sleep, and hoped this would\nbe a quietus to my young friend. Not a bit of it! His next remark was:\n\n\"_What does it matter what_ YOU _think or what you mean to do or not to\ndo? You have to help them, not to think about your own feelings._\"\n\nThis was frank at anyrate, but not altogether convincing. Soon\nafterwards, tired out with the discussion, I really did fall asleep, and\nonly woke a short time before my breakfast and daily budget of letters\narrived. Amongst these letters was one in an unknown handwriting, which\nproved to be from _Mrs_ Forbes, saying she had seen my letter to her\nhusband, and begging that I would tell her the grounds I had for my\nassurance that those we love are close to us after the great change we\ncall death.\n\nEvidently the boy knew that this letter was coming to me, and was trying\nto prepare me to answer it in such a way as should help him to convince\nhis mother of his continued existence in her immediate presence.\n\nAs this case is one well known to the Society for Psychical Research\n(the lady I have called Mrs Forbes appearing on their records both as\nMrs Scott and under the pseudonym I have borrowed from them), it is\nunnecessary to go into further details. Suffice it to say that my\nnocturnal visitor was successful in his aim.\n\nI answered his mother's letter as he wished. This led to a long\ncorrespondence between us, and to my making her acquaintance shortly\nafterwards and renewing my old friendship with her husband.\n\nMrs Forbes had several sittings with Mrs Thompson and other mediums,\nbecame convinced of her son's presence with her, and very soon was\nindependent of outside assistance in communicating with him. The judge\nalso declared himself \"unable to resist the evidence,\" but I don't think\nhe ever quite honestly _rejoiced_ in his convictions. It is hard to\neradicate prejudices and traditions after fifty years of age, and the\n_human_ element in his son's bright and happy messages always seemed to\nworry and perplex him a little.\n\nHe knows all about it now! Much as I deplore the earthly disappearance\nof such an old and faithful friend of my youth, I can sincerely rejoice\nin thinking of him as once more united with his son, in ways that will\nno longer appear to him unnatural or undesirable.\n\nDuring the judge's lifetime, and after the son's death, I often stayed\nwith him and his wife in their northern home. Mrs Forbes used frequently\nto say: \"It was _Talbot_ who brought us all three together, we must\nremember!\"\n\n\nPEKIN STORY\n\nIt was during my first visit to Judge and Mrs Forbes, in the north of\nEngland, that another curious experience came to me.\n\nThis happened on the 4th of July 1900, for I remember saying to Mrs\nForbes next morning: \"I shall remember the date from its being American\nIndependence Day.\"\n\nIt was the year of the Boxer rebellion in China, when the Pekin Embassy\nwas in a state of siege, and by July almost all hope that any Europeans\nwould be saved from their dire peril had faded away.\n\nThe Memorial Service, arranged by a too eager dignitary of the Church to\ntake place in St Paul's, had certainly been adjourned at the last\nmoment; but as days and weeks passed, and the little garrison was still\nunrelieved, very little hope was entertained. In fact, by July most\npeople hoped and believed that their troubles must be already over,\nthrough the merciful interposition of death.\n\nA connection of mine, whom I had known well when she was a child, but\nhad not seen for many years, was shut up with her husband, children, and\nsister in the Pekin Embassy at the time. Thousands were lamenting her\nsad fate, and I naturally amongst them; but I wish to make clear that,\nowing to the years that had elapsed since I had seen this special member\nof the family, it was not in any sense a very personal sorrow, nor was I\nthen--nor am I now--aware of any special tie of affinity between this\nlady and myself.\n\nI had gone to bed about eleven o'clock on the night of 4th July 1900,\nand had been in bed about half-an-hour, without any attempt at going to\nsleep, when suddenly I felt extremely alert in mind, very much as Miss\nPorter described herself in the Captain Carbury episode. Almost\nimmediately upon this feeling of mental alertness came the conviction\nthat Mabel M'Leod (as I will call her) was in the room, close to me, and\nthat she was in some dire and urgent need of help--instantaneous help, I\nmean. I could neither see nor hear on this occasion--I only _knew_ these\nfacts through some power of intuition, all the more remarkable because,\nhaving made up my mind that all was over at the Embassy, I had not been\nthinking of her or of her fellow-sufferers for some days past.\n\nMy thoughts were fully engaged at the time with the grief of my host and\nhostess.\n\nWith the knowledge of Mabel's presence came also the conviction that she\nwas _still alive_--in the physical body--and that it was no excarnate\nspirit that was appealing to me for help.\n\nThe impression was so vivid that I called out instinctively: \"What is\nit, Mabel? What can I do for you?\" There was no response, either by\noutward or inner voice, only the insistent appeal for help, and\nknowledge of some imminent danger at hand for her. I am trying to\nexplain that something more than the usual hourly peril in which they\nmust be living, _if on this side the veil_, was implied by the\nimpression I received. _It was some acute and additional danger which\nthreatened her at the moment._ Feeling it was useless to waste time\ntrying to find out by writing or other means what the exact nature of\nthis danger might be, I jumped out of bed as quickly as possible,\nsaying: \"Never mind trying to make me understand--I will pray for you,\nwhatever it is!\" So I knelt down, and prayed most earnestly that this\npoor woman, whose spirit had appealed for help at some dread crisis,\nmight be comforted, and delivered from any dangers threatening her at\nthe time.\n\nI had been very comfortably tucked up in bed, looking forward to the\npleasant drowsiness which promises sleep, and I am quite sure I should\nnot have put myself to all this inconvenience without a very strong\nmotive.\n\nWhen I felt the poor, tormented spirit was calmed and soothed by the\natmosphere of prayer, I returned to my bed, and eventually fell asleep.\n\nNext morning I told Mrs Forbes of my experience, making the remark\nquoted about the date.\n\nThe following week she and I were together at one of the meetings of the\nSociety for Psychical Research, at the close of which, in shaking hands\nwith Mr Frederic Myers, I begged him to make a note of my experience and\nthe date.\n\n\"Ah, Miss Bates!\" he said, taking out a small note-book, \"I will make a\nnote of it, but I fear there is not the remotest chance of any of them\nhaving been alive ten days ago.\"\n\n\"Then my experience goes for nothing,\" I answered. \"It was a living\nwoman, not an excarnate one, who came to my bedside on the 4th July.\"\n\nLater, when the Embassy was relieved, and this lady (who had presented\nsuch a \"stiff upper lip\" to Fortune) was once more safe at home for a\nmuch-needed rest, I found that she had gone through a special time of\naccentuated suffering just when I felt her presence in my room. Her\nhusband was down with dysentery, and she had not enough food either for\nhim or for her poor little children, and the strain was almost too\ngreat, even for that brave soul.\n\nOf course, she had been quite unconscious of any appeal to me.\n\nBut she has Scottish as well as Irish blood in her veins, and this\nheredity may have enabled her subconscious self to sense my locality and\nto realise my power and will to help her in her desperate need.\n\nTruly it was a case of \"vain is the help of man,\" or woman either! But\nwe know too little of spiritual laws to be able to deny off-hand the\nefficacy of _any_ earnest prayer.\n\nI saw Mr Myers make a note of the circumstance, but, unfortunately, this\ncannot be found amongst his papers. I asked Mrs Myers about it, and she\nremembered distinctly her husband having mentioned the case to her when\nhe returned home after that meeting, but when I last saw her, she had\nhunted amongst his papers in vain for the note which he made at the\ntime.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nEarly in January 1901, the day after Lord Robert's triumphant procession\nthrough London, I went to spend some weeks at an \"open-air cure\" in\nDevonshire, high up in the hills, and in a bleak part of the county.\nSeveral severe illnesses had left me so supersensitive to colds and\ndraughts that it seemed a vital necessity to take some such drastic\nstep, even at this inclement time of the year, unless I were prepared to\nsink into a state of chronic invalidism, and become a burden to myself\nand my neighbours for the rest of my natural life.\n\nAn old friend was \"second in command\" in this special establishment,\nwhich she had asked me to recommend, and a bright thought struck me that\nI might do my friend a good turn, and myself also, by spending a few\nweeks in the house.\n\nI did not bargain, however, for the deep snow which fell on the very day\nafter my arrival, nor for the howling west winds, which continued to\nblow during the whole of my stay.\n\nIn these parts, the west wind corresponds with our eastern variety, and\nis quite as cold and disagreeable.\n\nNor were the surroundings inside of a very cheerful nature. All the\nother patients (six or seven) were quite young girls, and all more or\nless consumptive. Several of them were very attractive, which made it\nseem all the more sad. Without exception, all were, or had been, engaged\nto be married, as the coping-stone to this tragedy of their lives! In\nseveral cases the engagements had been broken off, sometimes by mutual\nconsent, on the score of health. In a few exceptions, where love had\nproved stronger than prudence and common-sense, it was equally\nmelancholy to realise that the future could hold nothing but\ndisappointment on the one side, and a hopeless regret on the other.\n\nUnder these circumstances it was perhaps only to be expected that my\nfirst impressions of the establishment should not be entirely _couleur\nde rose_. Yet the house itself was pleasant enough, and the view from\nthe drawing-room windows was simply magnificent, including sea as well\nas moor.\n\nCurtainless windows, with sashes thrown wide open, and chilly linoleum\nto replace warm carpets, were rather a trial to the uninitiated, early\nin January, with deep snow on the ground and fires none too plentiful.\nIn addition to these drawbacks I had another personal one. Coming in the\nmiddle of the winter, it was naturally Hobson's choice as regarded the\nbedrooms. All the best and warmest aspects had been appropriated in the\nautumn, and an ugly little room, with cold, west outlook and depressing,\nmustard-coloured distempered walls, fell to my lot.\n\nYet even these facts did not sufficiently account for the extremely\ndepressing effect of that room upon me.\n\n\"Has anyone died here lately?\" was my first and natural query in a house\nof this kind.\n\nI had heard the girls casually mention two gentlemen patients who had\nbeen in the house the previous year--one of these had gone into rooms in\na neighbouring town with his nurse. I did not hear what had become of\nthe other one, and had not sufficient curiosity to ask the question.\n\nMy friend reassured me by saying she was sure no one had died recently\nin _my_ room. She had only lately come to the house herself, as I knew;\nhaving been matron for some years of a small hospital in the country.\n\n\"The second poor gentleman, who was a patient here, did die in the\nhouse, I believe, but that was months ago,\" she said, \"and I understand\nthat he had Laura Pearce's room,\" mentioning one of the girls, who had a\nspecially cheerful apartment. It seemed quite natural that a sick man,\nconfined to his bed, should occupy a large and sunny room, so I thought\nno more of the matter. Still, I was always conscious of an unpleasant\nand sad atmosphere in my own room, and took occasion one day to ask the\nlady at the head of the establishment whether she knew anything of the\npredecessors in the house.\n\nIt struck me that the psychic atmosphere in my room might be connected\nwith some of _them_.\n\nMiss Hunter replied laughingly: \"I can't tell you anything about them,\nfor the very good reason that they don't exist. _I_ am the first tenant\nof this house. It was only built two years ago, and remained vacant for\nthe first twelve months.\"\n\nThen I told her very cautiously of my feeling about my room, and that I\nhad supposed it might have to do with someone who had slept there before\nshe took the house.\n\nTwo or three of the young girls were in the room at the time, and it\nstruck me that one of them--the one who was there for her second\nwinter--looked a little surprised and interested; but the matron passed\noff the subject with a few bantering words, and again I had no suspicion\nof the truth.\n\nSix weeks passed, and my last night in the house had arrived. My nurse\nfriend was in the habit of giving me massage twice a day, before getting\nup in the morning and the last thing at night. She left me on this\noccasion about ten-thirty P.M., expressing a hope that I should soon\nsleep, and have a good night before my long journey next day.\n\n\"Not much doubt of that,\" I murmured. \"Why, I'm half asleep already!\"\nAnd I turned round, tired and yet soothed by the massage, and soon fell\ninto a deep and dreamless sleep.\n\nSeveral hours must have passed, when I woke up, trembling and\nterror-struck, after passing through an experience which seems as vivid\nto me to-day as on that February night or early morning. My heart was\nbeating, my limbs trembling, beads of perspiration covered my face, as I\ndiscovered later.\n\nNo wonder! I had been through an experience from which few, I imagine,\nreturn to tell the tale. For I had passed through every detail of dying,\nand dying a very hard and difficult death.\n\nBody and soul were being literally _torn apart_, in spite of the\ndesperate effort to cling together, and my spirit seemed to be launched\ninto unknown depths of darkness and possible horror. It was the feeling\nthat _I did not know where I was going nor what awaited me_ that seemed\nso terrible--this and the horrible fight for mastery between my poor\nbody and soul and some unknown force that was inexorably set upon\ndividing them.\n\nThis, so far as I can express it, exactly describes the experience I had\njust gone through, and from which I had awakened in such abject terror.\n\nAs the beating of my heart subsided, and I could think more calmly, I\nremembered with startling distinctness that in the very worst of the\nstruggle I had been vainly endeavouring to say that text in the\ntwenty-third Psalm which begins:\n\n\"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no\nevil; for Thou art with me: _Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me._\" I\ncould say the first part of it quite easily, but some fiendish enemy\nseemed bent upon preventing my saying the last sentence, and in my\nterrible dream, rescue and safety depended upon my getting to the end of\nthe text. I tried again and again, always to be driven back in despair\nbefore the crucial words were uttered. At last, with a desperate effort,\nI seemed to shake off the incubus which was weighing me down, and I\nfinished the words triumphantly, and so loud that I had positively\nwakened myself up _by shouting them out_. With returning memory I knew\nthis had happened, and hearing a door open and shut on the half landing\nbelow my room, I thought for the moment that someone must have heard me,\nand must be coming to see what was the matter. I looked at my\nwatch--just two-thirty A.M. No one appeared; and to my relief I\nremembered that this was just the hour when either Miss Hunter or my\nfriend went round to the invalids, giving them milk or bovril, in the\nnight.\n\nI had no inclination to seek out either of these ladies. The horror was\npast, and no one could undo what I had endured; so I lay quiet, and in\ncourse of time managed to go to sleep again, not waking until the\nservant came into my room to light the fire at seven-thirty A.M.\n\nIt happened to be a certain _Minnie_ on this occasion, a very\nrespectable young woman, who had accompanied Miss Hunter when she gave\nup the matronship of a well-known hospital, and who had therefore been\nwith her since this establishment had been started.\n\nMy night's experience convinced me so absolutely that, in spite of all\nthat had been said, the gentleman patient _had_ died in this room, and\nthat I had just gone through his death agonies, that instead of asking\nany question about it, I said very quietly to Minnie, as she was on her\nknees lighting my fire: \"The poor gentleman who died here last summer\n_died in this room, I find_.\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am,\" she said quietly, not knowing, as it turned out, that any\nmystery had been made about the fact.\n\nMy personal friend was guiltless of any deceit, for she had been told\nthe story about Laura Pearce's room, but the young girls confessed when\nI went down to breakfast that they had been specially warned not to let\nme know the true facts.\n\nMiss Hunter did not appear at breakfast, as she was suffering from a\nchill, so I went to her bedroom to say good-bye before going up to\nLondon.\n\nFeeling naturally annoyed and rather shaken by my night's experience, I\nsaid to her rather drily:\n\n\"You need not have taken the trouble to deceive me about my room, Miss\nHunter, nor to warn the girls to do the same. I know that gentleman died\nthere, for I have just gone through his experiences.\" And then I told\nher about my terrible night.\n\nAlthough forced to admit the facts, Miss Hunter fought every inch of the\nground, so far as the _painful_ experiences were concerned.\n\n\"Such an excellent man! so interested in everything--a _clergyman_, my\ndear Miss Bates, and so _good!_ How could there be anything painful\nconnected with his death?\" etc. etc.\n\nI suggested that, as Christians, we had the most overwhelming proof that\nholiness of life does not always preclude even mental suffering at\ndeath; but she would not hear of this argument, and doubtless considered\nit blasphemous.\n\nBy dint of questioning, however, I made two discoveries--first, that\nthe death was quite unexpected. The man had only been a fortnight in the\nhouse, and when I expressed surprise that he should have been moved\nthere so late in a fatal illness, she said unguardedly:\n\n\"_Oh, but he was very slightly ill when he came--it was more a\npreventive measure. None of us had any idea that he was a dying man, the\nsymptoms developed so suddenly._\"\n\nI also elicited another fact--_i.e._ that this delightfully interesting\npersonality \"so intellectual--so full of interest in everything\" (to\nquote Miss Hunter's words), had died at the age of forty, in the very\nprime of life. No wonder, under the circumstances of so short an\nillness, in the very zenith of life and enjoyment, that body and soul\nshould have been loath to separate, and thus free the imprisoned spirit!\nBut Miss Hunter was adamant, and would admit nothing.\n\nJust before leaving her, it struck me that I had not yet told her about\nthe text, so I repeated that episode, and then, for the first time, a\nstartled look came into her eyes. She was taken by surprise, and said\nhastily: \"That _is_ extraordinary! I was with him when he died in the\nnight, and he kept on asking for that text. That is not so remarkable,\nmany might have asked for that text, but I stopped once or twice after\nthe first sentence, and he kept on urging me: \"_Say it to the end, Miss\nHunter! Say it to the end!_\"\n\nLater the good lady even consented to write out the evidential points in\nthis story, which I sent at once to my friend Dr Richard Hodgson.\n\nImmediately upon my return to London on this occasion, I was attacked\nquite suddenly by a very acute form of rheumatism, which laid me on my\nback--perfectly helpless--for several days.\n\nWhen the doctor arrived, his first question was: \"Have you had any\nspecial shock lately? This particular form of rheumatism does not\ngenerally come on with so little warning _unless there has been a\nprevious shock_.\"\n\nI was about to deny this, thinking he referred to unexpected news, but\nwith the memory of my Devonshire experience so keen and clear, I felt\nbound to tell him that I had certainly had a shock to my nerves\ntwenty-four hours previously.\n\nSoon after this sudden and sharp attack of illness I found myself in\nPortugal for the first time in my life.\n\nI had gone there with an English friend--Mrs Frampton--in order to be\nnear connections who had lived in the country for many years.\n\nA cousin and I spent a delightful afternoon in that Cintra paradise of\n_Monserrat_, with General and Mrs Sartorius, who were living there at\nthe time of my visit to Portugal. I have heard that even this charming\nhouse could tell strange tales if only walls could speak. It is easy to\nimagine that any spirits--carnate or discarnate--might deem it a\nprivilege to haunt so exquisite a spot. Personally, I can only testify\nto the hospitality of our kind host and hostess and the excellence of\nthe spirit of \"Robur,\" which refreshed our weary bodies, and made the\nwalk back to the Cintra Hotel, through the lovely woodland paths, a\n\"thing of beauty and a joy for ever.\"\n\nTo return to Lisbon. My friend Mrs Frampton had never been present at\nany sort of psychic phenomena, so we planned a little sitting for her\nduring one of these Lisbon evenings.\n\nShe and I descended in solemn state to the fine library of our host, on\nthe ground floor, whilst his wife and sister elected to remain in the\ndrawing-room upstairs. A sister-in-law also begged to be excused from\naccompanying us, and spent the whole time occupied by our _seance_, in\nplaying Moody and Sankey hymns, doubtless hoping thereby to exorcise the\nevil spirits whom we should presumably evoke.\n\nUnfortunately, she did not play loud enough to divert the attention of\nthe Portuguese cook, who promptly gave warning next day, saying she\ncould not stand these \"devilish practices\"! We had failed to realise\nthat the very wall, close to which our small table was placed, divided\nthe kitchen from the large ground-floor library, so the poor woman\ndoubtless sat with her ear well jammed up against this partition, and\nconsidered every rap of the table leg on the floor, a distinct footstep\nof the devil!\n\nNothing more terrible happened to _us_ that evening than being forced to\nlook up our English history once more, in \"Hume\" and \"Green's Short\nHistory of the English People,\" both of which volumes were close at\nhand. For the whole _seance_ might have been an \"easy lesson in English\nhistory,\" with John, Duke of Northumberland, Lady Jane Grey, the Earl of\nLeicester, and the famous Elizabeth as its exponents. All these\npurported to be with us that evening, and I am bound to say that all\ndates and details mentioned, which our middle-aged memories could not\nverify at the moment, were in every case corroborated by reference to\nthe library books later.\n\nIt was just before leaving England for Portugal that I first met a lady\n(with whom I have since become more intimate), under rather exceptional\ncircumstances--these latter were unknown to me at the time.\n\nMy brother, Colonel C. E. Bates, was living at this time (1901) in rooms\nin Cambridge Terrace, and the drawing-room floor was occupied by a Miss\nIsabel Smith, who was then only a name to us both. His landlady had\ngiven him to understand that this lady had connections in India, and was\nthe niece of a General Propert, still on the active list, and an old\nfriend of my brother's in Indian days.\n\nThe last Sunday before starting for Lisbon I called in as usual to spend\nthe afternoon in Cambridge Terrace, and found that the \"drawing-room\nlady\" had just been paying him a visit, and had left him most\nenthusiastic.\n\nThis visit surprised me, because my brother, being a very great invalid,\nhad an inveterate dislike to meeting strangers, with whom he generally\nfound it difficult to carry on any lengthy conversation. But this\nvisitor had evidently been an exception. My brother expressed some\nregret that I should have missed seeing her, so to please him I\nsuggested sending his valet upstairs with his compliments, and asking if\nI might pay the lady a short visit, should she be disengaged.\n\nShe came downstairs kindly, a second time, and we had a pleasant chat,\nwhilst my brother and an old Indian brother officer carried on their\nconversation.\n\nI left England a few days later, and scarcely expected to see or hear\nany more of Miss Isabel Smith. Fate, however, ordained otherwise. Some\nweeks elapsed, and then I received a letter from my brother, mentioning\nthe curious circumstances that, he had just heard, had led to his making\nthe acquaintance of this pleasant neighbour. \"It is too long a story to\nwrite,\" he concluded, \"but I will tell you all about it next time we\nmeet.\"\n\nHe did so, and as his account exactly tallies with the one Miss Isabel\nSmith (now Mrs Finch) has kindly written out for me for insertion in\nthis volume, I will quote the latter from her own words. I must premise\nthat Miss Smith turned out to be naturally clairvoyant and\nclair-audient, rather to the disgust of my brother, who considered\nhimself superior to these \"superstitions.\" Her narrative is interesting\nnot only in itself, but because it is an object lesson in the curious\n\"hits and misses\" in psychic investigation. In this case a spirit\nconfessed to an impersonation; but it was an impersonation of the\nbrother of a man whom my brother had really known in India--a fact\nentirely apart from any possible knowledge on the part of Miss Smith,\nwho had never met my brother at the time of her adventure. I will now\ngive Miss Smith's narrative.\n\n\n\"When at Grindelwald in the winter 1900-1901 an excarnate entity came\nand spoke to me. He seemed much interested in the South African\ncampaign; told me he had been a soldier, first in the Rifle Brigade,\nthen in the Indian army. When I asked his name he said he was Henry\nArthur Chomley (the name of a celebrated ambassador was the one given),\nthat he was a brother of Sir Frederic Chomley, and had been in the\nRifle Brigade and in India, _and had passed over two or three years\nbefore_.\n\nWhen, shortly afterwards, I returned to Cambridge Terrace, he realised\nthe changed surroundings, and asked where I was. On learning I was in\nrooms he asked whether there was anyone else in the house, and on my\ntelling him there was a paralysed military man downstairs named Bates,\nhe exclaimed 'What! Charlie Bates? I knew him very well in India--do ask\nhim if he remembers me!'\n\nI said I did not know the gentleman, but would certainly ask him if an\nopportunity should occur.\n\nA few days after this, a message was brought up to me from Colonel\nBates, asking for my uncle, General Propert's, address in Burmah. This\ngave me the opening. I wrote giving the required information, and\nsuggested that I might come and have a talk with him.\n\nIn my next conversation with 'Colonel Chomley' I told him all this, and\nhe again said: '_Mind you ask him about me!_' I answered: '_How can I,\nwhen I don't know what Colonel Bates' ideas are on these subjects? He\nmight look on me as a dangerous lunatic!_'\n\nColonel Chomley remarked: '_I think you will find that he is interested\nin psychic matters._'\n\nI discovered that this was true, for on my first visit I saw a copy of\nthe S.P.R. Proceedings lying on the table.\n\nI found him interested, but unable to get beyond the 'subliminal\nconsciousness' theory.\n\nA few days later I asked Colonel Bates if he had ever met a Colonel\nHenry Arthur Chomley in India. He thought for a moment, then said:\n\n'Chomley? Why, of course I knew a Chomley, but I don't know his\nChristian name. He was Brigade Major at Meean Meer, and I took over the\nbrigade from him, and bought his horses, etc. Where did _you_ know him?'\n\nI then told him of the spirit who had given me the name of Henry Arthur\nChomley, who said he had known him in India, and had over and over again\nbegged to be remembered to him.\n\nThe day following this conversation Colonel Bates sent me up his Army\nList, open, and marked at the name of Colonel _Walter_ Chomley, and a\nnote explaining that it was not Henry Arthur, but _Walter Chomley_ whom\nhe had known at Meean Meer.\n\nI then asked 'Henry Arthur' if his name was Walter or Henry Arthur.\n\nHe said: '_Henry Arthur. Surely I ought to know my own name!_'\n\nColonel Bates told the story to you the next time you (_i.e._ E. K.\nBates) came to see him, and I remember we discussed it together when we\nmet again.\n\nShortly afterwards you wrote to tell me that you had looked up a\n_Debrett_ for 1895, and had there found _Colonel Henry Arthur Chomley, a\nbrother of Sir Frederic Chomley, of the Rifle Brigade, etc._, so that\nHenry Arthur Chomley was evidently alive in that year, and _had_ been in\nthe Rifle Brigade.\n\nI was much pleased to get this corroborative evidence, though the\nmistake in initials must have been Colonel Bates' error, and apologised\nto Colonel Henry Arthur Chomley in the Unseen.\n\nA few weeks later, however, you wrote again, and told me that you had\nbeen staying with a friend, who drove you over to call upon Colonel and\nMrs Henry Arthur Chomley, that he was a brother of Sir Frederic Chomley,\nand was certainly _alive_, although not _at home_, at the time of your\nvisit!\n\nThis information startled me, and my guide, at my request, went to look\nup the _soi-disant_ Colonel to find out what it all meant.\n\nThe latter then confessed to having taken a friend's name, said a sudden\nimpulse came over him when I first asked his name, and having told one\nlie, he felt bound to go on deceiving me, but that he had known both\nColonel Bates and Colonel Henry Arthur Chomley in India, and that his\nown real name was Anstruther!\"\n\n\nThis was Miss Smith's narrative.\n\nNow out of this curious jumble of true and false, two points remain\nclear:\n\nMy brother _had_ known a Chomley in India, and had succeeded him as\nBrigade Major at Meean Meer. This Chomley _was_ a brother of Sir\nFrederic Chomley, the well-known diplomatist, but his name was Walter,\nnot Henry Arthur. Yet Sir Frederic _had_ a brother named Henry Arthur,\nand the impersonating Anstruther had borrowed the wrong brother's name\nwhen trying to pose as the friend of Colonel Charles Bates. To make\nconfusion worse confounded, _Walter Chomley_ was alive, as well as\n_Henry Arthur_, at the time of Miss Mabel Smith's experiences, for I\nhave seen his death within the last eight months!\n\nThe second point is that, personally, my brother and I had reason to be\ngrateful to the deceiving Anstruther. He was certainly the means of\nintroducing a pleasant acquaintance to my brother and to me.\n\nMiss Mabel Smith's experience at Grindelwald reminds me of one of my own\nin the same place during the following year.\n\nI had gone there with a cousin, who was eager for skating and\ntobogganing, in January 1902, on my way to Rome. After a pleasant week\nat a charmingly quiet and comfortable hotel--the _Alpenruehe_ I think was\nthe name--my cousin wished, for purposes of policy, to change over to a\nmore famous, but noisy and overcrowded one.\n\nSo on the evening of 3rd February we found ourselves in this immense\ncaravanserai, having exchanged our large, comfortable, steam-heated\nrooms for small, oblong apartments, each provided with three doors as\nwell as the window, and a wood fire to be fed from small \"five-franc\nbaskets,\" and always going out at that!\n\nThere was deep snow on the ground and a heavy fog of snow falling when\nwe made our change, so that one was not in the most brilliant spirits;\nand being suddenly thrust into the midst of a big, heterogeneous company\nof strangers is never exhilarating.\n\nOur bedrooms, though small and not specially comfortable, were perfectly\ncommonplace, the very last _milieu_ with which one would have associated\nany interesting experience. The window of my room faced the door into\nthe passage, my bed lay between the two; right and left of it were two\nother doors, each communicating with other occupied rooms.\n\nTherefore I thought little the first night of noises and moving of\nfurniture, taking for granted that these must be occurring either right\nor left of me, and that the clearness of the atmosphere accounted for my\nodd impression that a table and chair--between my bed and the\nwindow--were being moved.\n\nThe following night (4th February), however, this fact was indisputable.\nI had heard both my neighbours retire to bed by ten P.M., as so many do\nwho have been skating and tobogganing all day long. I had sat up reading\nfor half-an-hour beyond this, and went to bed at eleven P.M., by which\ntime there was perfect silence in the hotel, as no special entertainment\nwas going on.\n\nVery shortly, this movement of the furniture began again, unmistakably\nin my room this time. Curiously enough, it did not frighten me at all\nnor suggest burglars (a far greater terror to me than ghosts!). I cannot\nat this distance of time remember _why_ the idea of Mr Myers should have\ncome to me in connection with these noises; but I am quite certain that\nI _did_ think of him at the time, and fully expected his name to be\ngiven, when I asked if anyone wished to speak to me and were trying to\nattract my attention by moving the furniture about.\n\nIt was greatly to my surprise, therefore, that the name of _Gifford_ was\ngiven. I may here note that this was the real name given to me. He said\nhe was a judge, one who had lived fifty or sixty years previously, that\nhe had once unintentionally condemned an innocent man to be hanged, and\nhe was evidently still greatly perturbed about this, and begged for my\nprayers.\n\nAll this put Mr Myers entirely out of my head--_unfortunately_, as\nevents proved.\n\nI had some further talk with Judge Gifford, but do not remember it in\ndetail.\n\nNext morning I told my cousin of my experience, and on the evening of\nthe following day mentioned it in the presence of some neighbours at\n_table d'hote_ who had introduced psychic subjects to us.\n\nThis gentleman and his wife were both impressed, and yet incredulous,\nand when my cousin laughingly declared that \"Gifford had come to _her_\nthe second night, but that she told him she was too tired out to listen\nto him,\" we all three supposed that she was turning the whole subject\ninto ridicule. This would have been quite characteristic of her,\nalthough I have always thought she had some mediumistic faculty, and was\none of the many people whom I should advise to leave these matters\nalone. I was the more convinced that she was merely \"chaffing\" on this\noccasion, because when I warned our acquaintances of her powers of\nexaggeration in \"making fun\" of things, she said nothing.\n\nBut when we had returned to our rooms that night she remarked quite\nquietly: \"But he _did_ come, Emmie! When you said that at _table d'hote_\nabout my exaggerating things, I let it pass, because very often it is\ntrue. But what I said this evening was _absolutely correct_, though\nperhaps it is as well those people should not believe it. Someone _did_\ncome to my bedside last night, and said: 'I am Gifford--will you listen\nto me?' And I said: 'No; not to-night. I am too tired,' just as I told\nyou.\"\n\nI think poor Gifford came again more than once to me; but I had done all\nI could for him, and explained this, adding that he must now leave me\nalone, which he did.\n\nLater my cousin returned to Paris, and I went on to Rome, where I\nreceived a letter from Dr Richard Hodgson enclosing some Piper script.\n\n_F. W. H. Myers communicating_, said that he had come to me on the\nevening of 4th February, that I seemed to recognise him, and that he\nthought he had \"got his message through to me,\" and hoped that I should\nwrite to Dr Hodgson to that effect.\n\nIn answering Dr Hodgson's letter I denied the Myers' episode _in toto_,\nso far as _my_ consciousness was concerned. In fact, the Gifford\nincident put all else so entirely out of my mind that I fear I did not\neven mention to Dr Hodgson that my _first_ thought that night had been\nconnected with Mr Myers.\n\nAnyway, the next letter from Boston enclosed an account of a sitting,\nwhere Mr Myers came and apologised for having misled Dr Hodgson about my\nrecognition of him.\n\nHis words were almost literally as follows:--\n\n\"I am extremely sorry, my dear Hodgson, about that affair with Miss\nBates. I should not have thought of mentioning it to you had I not felt\nconvinced that she recognised me. _Her astral body was quite aware of my\npresence_, and I quite thought she had realised it on the physical\nplane\" (the italics are mine).\n\nIt would seem that the Myers' message was in the very act of\ntransmission from my astral to my normal consciousness when this man\nGifford must have come, switching off the telephone for Mr Myers, and\ngetting on to it himself. Probably his great distress of mind would\nhave made him the stronger force of the two for the time being.\n\nThere must always be many disappointments of this kind in our research.\nThere is always something which so nearly succeeds and then just fails\nat last. This _must_ be the case where conditions are so fine and subtle\nand so easily disturbed, and where our own ignorance of many necessary\nfactors is so profound. This makes it none the less disheartening at\ntimes!\n\nLater I made an attempt with my friend Baroness Rosenkrantz of Rome to\nget a message through the other way--_i.e._ from Mr Myers and myself to\nDr Hodgson, _via_ Mrs Piper.\n\nThe Baroness and I had a little \"sitting\" alone, wrote one or two short\nmessages with a couple of extracts from Mr Myers' own writings, sealed\nup the envelope carefully, and I forwarded it to Dr Hodgson.\n\nBut the test failed. Two years later Dr Hodgson spoke of the letter as\nbeing still intact.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nA SECOND VISIT TO INDIA, 1903\n\n\nMy second visit to India took place in the early months of 1903, and I\napproached it this time from Burmah. Fielding Hall's \"Soul of a People\"\nhad thrown its magic spell over me, and Miss Greenlow and I were both\nanxious also to see the far-famed Shwe Dagon Temple.\n\nI came to the conclusion from what I saw, and still more from what I\nheard, that Mr Fielding Hall must have appealed sometimes to his\nimagination for his facts, and allowed an exquisite poetical fancy to\ncast its glamour even over these. But the beautiful Golden Temple of\nRangoon defies all powers of exaggeration. We went there again and\nagain, and wandered amongst its endless small temples, representing\nvarious forms of worship, including even a Chinese joss-house, which is\nstamped upon my memory through a disaster, which I have always connected\nwith this special temple; rank superstition though it be.\n\nWe had spent several weeks upon the Irrawaddy River; had wandered\nthrough beautiful, dusty Mandalay; had explored Bhamo and marvelled over\nthe exquisite visions of fairy-like beauty, painted anew for us morning\nand evening, on this most glorious river; and had finally returned to\nRangoon for a few days' rest before starting for Calcutta.\n\nIt was an exquisite evening, just before our departure, when we went,\ntowards sunset, to say farewell to the Shwe Dagon. At that hour it is to\nbe seen at its best, for the level rays of the Eastern sun, light up the\ngolden cupola into startling and fairy-like magnificence.\n\nHaving watched this glorious spectacle for some minutes, the air grew\nchilly, compared with the intense heat of the day, and darkness was\ncoming on apace as we turned to retrace our steps.\n\nA few days before, we had noticed a Chinese joss-house, standing in one\ncorner of the huge elevated platform upon which the Shwe Dagon rests. In\nthe maze of buildings, and owing to the swiftly falling darkness, we\ncould not at once locate this temple; and most unfortunately for _me_,\nwith the stupid persistence which such a failure sometimes brings, both\nMiss Greenlow and I were determined to find it out before leaving the\nGolden Temple. At last a joyous exclamation warned me that my friend had\nbeen successful in her quest.\n\nThe first time I had seen this joss-house I had run up the steps\nheedlessly, but felt such an unpleasant influence on entering it that I\ncame away at once, and only regret not having been equally prudent a\nsecond time.\n\nMiss Greenlow was gazing at some grotesque carvings in one corner of the\ntemple, still dimly visible, and called out to me to come and look at\nthem also. Very reluctantly I joined her, and stood for a few minutes\nwaiting, till she was ready to leave.\n\nThere was something so gloomy, so uncanny, and depressing--I must even\nsay _malignant_--in the building at this twilight hour, that I could\nstand the influence no longer, and as Miss Greenlow seemed inclined to\nlinger, I hurried down the stone steps, saying: \"_I can't stay in that\nplace! I will wait for you at the top of the marble stairs._\"\n\nNow these steps, broken and dirty, and lined by small booths selling\nevery imaginable toy and bit of tinsel, including small models of the\nvarious temples, led by steep flights up and down from the huge platform\nof ground I have mentioned. Some small link-boys were crowding round as\nMiss Greenlow rejoined me, clamouring to be allowed to light us down the\nsteps--a very necessary precaution, for the darkness was quickly\nreplacing the exquisite sunset colouring.\n\nI am, as a rule, rather a remarkably sure-footed person, and the\nlanterns of the boys threw ample light upon the steps, yet the first\nmoment of my descent I was considerably surprised to find myself at the\nbottom of the first whole flight of hard marble steps! I had no\nrecollection of a slip even--one moment I was standing, carefully\nprepared to descend; the next I was lying on my back at the bottom of a\nlong flight of steps, with the link-boys gaping in astonishment. They\ncould not have been more astonished than I was! The very swiftness of\nthe fall was probably my salvation; otherwise I think my spine _must_\nhave been injured. As it was, I was very much hurt, however; the pain\nwas intense for a time, and the muscles of my back were so swollen that\nthey stood up in ridges as big as a good-sized finger, for some time\nafter the escapade. In fact, it was quite six weeks before all local\ntrouble was over, and many more weeks before I had recovered from the\nunexpected shock.\n\nI have had several falls in my life, but never one other where there was\nabsolutely _no_ preliminary warning or sense of slipping, however swift.\n\nThe experience was exactly that of being suddenly _hurled down_ the\nsteps by some outside force. I can only add that I deeply deplored my\nunguarded words to Miss Greenlow, when I told her I was sure there was\nsome malignant spirit in the joss-house.\n\nPerhaps he wished politely to demonstrate the correctness of my remark.\n\nThe short voyage from Rangoon to Calcutta was made pleasant by the\nkindness of a European friend in Rangoon, who came \"to see us off,\" and\nasked if he should introduce to me a little Burmese lady, very rich and\nvery _devote_, who was on board with us, going to Calcutta to pay a\nvisit to her husband, who lived in that city.\n\n\"She is one of our principal native residents,\" my Rangoon friend\nexplained to me before introducing her. \"She is also intensely\ninterested in her Buddhist religion, and I think this may interest you,\nfrom what you have told me of your investigations.\"\n\nSo the little lady was duly presented, and thinking to open our\nconversation pleasantly, I remarked that Mr Rowell had told me that she\nwas much interested in religious questions, and that although not a\ntheosophist myself, I numbered several of them amongst my friends.\n\nBut I found myself quite on the wrong tack. She screwed up her little\nmouth, as if tasting some nasty medicine, and then said in excellent\ncolloquial English:\n\n\"Oh, they are no good at all. They have muddled everything up, and got\nit all wrong. That is why we are beginning to write tracts and send out\nmissionaries. The great Buddha made no propaganda; neither did we for\nmany, many centuries. We believe that people must grow into this\nknowledge; but now when you Western people come and take little bits of\nour system, and piece them together all wrong--well, then, we are forced\nto show you what is the truth! It is like a puzzle map, and all you\ntheosophists are trying to fit the pieces in, wrong side upward.\" And\nshe finished with a merry and apologetic laugh, remembering, no doubt,\nthat I had spoken of having friends amongst these \"stupid muddlers\"!\n\nShe gave me quite a number of the \"tracts\" of which she had spoken,\nsetting forth the true Buddhism, and mostly printed in Mandalay, and I\nmade a point of passing these on to some of the friends I had mentioned\nto her.\n\nI can only trust they were appreciated, and efficacious in reducing the\nconfusion resulting from trying to adapt Eastern mysticism to Western\nconsumption!\n\nOur conversation became still more interesting when I discovered that a\nmysterious fellow-passenger of ours on board the _Devonshire_, sailing\nfrom Marseilles to Rangoon, had taken this voyage at the expense of the\nBurmese lady, and, I am sorry to say, had occasioned her a great and\nquite inexcusable disappointment.\n\nThis man, whom I will call Dr Groene, was a professor at a celebrated\nuniversity in the south of Europe, and was certainly a scholar--if not a\ngentleman!\n\nHe had studied the Buddhist writings very deeply, and his name had been\nconveyed to this Burmese lady as that of one eager to throw off all ties\nof kinship, and retire--like the great Buddha himself--from the world,\nand find repose and enlightenment in a Burmese monastery. The only thing\nlacking in carrying out this excellent resolve was--as usual--_money_.\n\nThe native lady, delighted to hear of so learned a gentleman, and one\nholding such an honourable position in Europe, being converted to the\ntenets of her religion, and thus wishing to give the best example of\ntheir influence upon him, agreed joyfully to forward the funds for his\njourney and to make arrangements for his stay in Rangoon before\nproceeding to Mandalay, where he was to be received as a Buddhist priest\nafter a certain course of initiation.\n\nWe had all remarked Dr Groene on board--partly because he was so thin and\ntall, and walked the deck so persistently in fine weather or foul;\npartly because he owned an exceptionally fine and long beard, which\nparted and waved in the breeze as he passed to and fro in his lonely\nperambulations. I never saw him speak to anyone on board except my own\ntable companion, Dr Gall, the Secretary of the Church Missionary\nSociety, and a very interesting and intelligent man. This latter was\nalso a distinguished Arabic scholar, and had lent me some striking\nmonographs he had written on the Mohammedan faith, striking both by the\nscholarship and breadth of view and tolerance, which one does not\ngenerally associate with the Society that he represented.\n\nI had seen him more than once in the company of Dr Groene, and when we\nreached Colombo, and read in the papers handed to us on broad that our\nship contained the famous European professor who was journeying to\nMandalay to become a Buddhist priest, after a touching farewell with\nwife and children, Dr Gall expressed both astonishment and incredulity.\n\n\"He never said a word about it to me,\" was his remark. \"I know he has\nstudied the Buddhist religion very deeply, and he is anxious to get\naccess to some MSS., which he hopes to find in Burmah; but that is not\nthe same thing as becoming a priest. I expect the papers have\nexaggerated the facts.\"\n\nAs a matter of fact, Dr Groene certainly gave a lecture on Buddhism in\nColombo on the day of our arrival, for one of our fellow-passengers had\nthe curiosity to be present, but he, also, told me nothing had been said\nabout the lecturer becoming a priest.\n\nThe matter did not specially interest me; but on arrival at Rangoon, the\nonly decent (?) hotel was crowded, and most of us had to put up with a\nvery inferior class of accommodation.\n\nA few hours of this establishment sufficed for most of the passengers,\nwho promptly went up country or on the river; but Miss Greenlow and I\nwere obliged to spend three or four days in Rangoon, and Dr Groene was at\nfirst our only companion.\n\nSo, of course, we spoke to each other in self-defence. He talked of his\nhome life and university work, and casually mentioned the death of his\nwife, _five years previously_, and the children who were awaiting him\nat home.\n\nThis certainly tallied more with Dr Gall's ideas than the sensational\nColombo newspaper account of his wife and children, to whom, like the\ngreat Buddha, he had bidden an eternal farewell! Naturally one did not\ntouch upon this delicate subject, but I asked him how long he expected\nto remain in Rangoon. To my surprise, he said at once that his stay was\nquite uncertain--he might even be returning by the _Devonshire_, which\nwas to sail within a week of her arrival.\n\nIt seemed a long and expensive journey to take for so short a stay; but\ndoubtless he had business reasons, and the matter dropped from my mind.\n\nWhen we returned, three or four weeks later, he was no longer in Rangoon\napparently, and I did not expect to come upon his tracks again.\n\nThe Burmese lady explained the Groene mystery with some bitterness, and\nno wonder!\n\nHaving come out free, upon the understanding with her, already\nmentioned, she had taken a room for him at the hotel, and had busied\nherself in buying blankets and a carpet and other small luxuries, to\nbreak the Mandalay monastery to him as gently as possible.\n\nWhen three days passed and he made no sign of moving on, she quietly\nintimated that it might be as well to begin the new life without delay,\nand said she had written to her brother, himself a priest in the\nmonastery, to meet Dr Groene at Mandalay and present him to the\nauthorities at the monastery.\n\nThis must probably have been about the time that I asked him innocently\nhow long he would be staying in Rangoon.\n\nHis plan had doubtless been to go to Mandalay in a dilettante sort of\nfashion, and to live in the monastery for a time, with the hope of\ngetting access to some valuable and little known MSS.; but it did not\nsuit his plans at all to be met at once by the brother of his\nbenefactress, and kept under the eye of this priest, who knew exactly\nthe circumstances under which he had been enabled to take the long\njourney from Marseilles.\n\nBeing evidently a prudent man, he determined to seize the first\nopportunity for retreat from an impossible situation. How he raised\nenough money for the return voyage is not known. My Burmese acquaintance\nthought he must have applied to one of the Consulates, and that his\nuniversity position would doubtless ensure his raising a loan.\n\nAnyway, he shipped himself surreptitiously once more on board the\n_Devonshire_, and arranged that the letter, containing the usual excuse\nof a \"sudden telegram from Marseilles announcing the unexpected death of\na near relation,\" should not be handed to his benefactress until the\nanchor was safely weighed.\n\nIt was not a pleasant story, and treachery is no less perfidious for\nhaving an intellectual motive. I felt glad that Dr Groene was not a\nfellow-countryman.\n\nHaving disburdened herself on this one point of righteous indignation,\nour little Burmese lady became as bright and cheery as a child, wearing\nher collection of pretty native dresses, which could all have been\npacked easily into a fair-sized doll's trunk, with singular grace and\ncharm. When the tender arrived to disembark us in Calcutta, her husband\ncame with it, and was speedily introduced.\n\nWe had tea with them a few days later in their handsome Calcutta flat,\nand this gave me the opportunity for a long and interesting talk with\nthe husband, who proved to be a most intelligent and open-minded man.\n\nHe spoke of Fielding Hall's delightful book with appreciation tinged by\nkindly amusement.\n\n\"He has been many years in the country, but he still judges us as a\nforeigner.\"\n\nWhen I suggested that the judgment was at least very flattering to the\nBurmese, this Burmese gentleman laughed, and said:\n\n\"Flattering? Yes--but not always quite true. One must see from _inside_,\nnot from outside, to be quite true in one's judgments; and no foreigner\ncan see from outside. It is a question of race and heredity, not of\nhaving spent twenty or thirty years, or even a lifetime, in a foreign\nland.\"\n\nI suggested that those who saw from _inside_ only, might also lack some\nessential factor in forming an accurate judgment.\n\nHe agreed heartily to this, adding: \"Yes, indeed. The ideal critic must\nhave lived neither too near nor too far--mentally as well as physically;\nalso he must have intuition. Now Mr Fielding Hall is an artist as well\nas a poet, but in judging my country he lets his intuition run riot\nsometimes, as well as his imagination.\"\n\nAfter reporting this conversation, it is unnecessary to add that my\nBurmese friend spoke English rather better than I did myself.\n\nWe then talked about the position of woman in Burmah, and how much this\nhad been extolled and held up as a object lesson to the rest of the\nworld.\n\nIf the position of woman is the true test of a nation's civilisation, as\nhas been so often affirmed, then certainly Burmah must be in the van of\nthe nations! Yet this is scarcely borne out by facts.\n\nI put this point as politely as I could, and my mind was at once set at\nease by the purely impersonal way in which he met my remark.\n\n\"Of course, we are not in the van of the nations, and yet it is quite\ntrue that our women have an exceptional position--quite a good enough\none for an election cry for the Woman's Suffrage! Ah, yes! I have been\nin England,\" he added, with a merry twinkle in his little black eyes.\n\"But you must realise that the unique position of woman with us is\nsomewhat accidental. It is not the result of philosophical or moral\nconviction on the part of our men; it has been the natural outcome of\ncircumstances, and a question of expediency rather than of ethics. So it\nwas not really a 'test paper' for us at all! Our frequent wars in the\npast have taken the men out of their homes, and the women, at such\ntimes, were left alone to cope with not only the domestic, but the\nagricultural problems. All business of this kind passed through their\nhands, and in time they developed the qualities of industry, good\njudgment and power of taking responsibility, necessary for success in\nsuch a life. Then when the husbands came back and found everything going\non so well and without trouble to themselves, they were only too glad to\nfall in with the existing state of things. We Burmese are lazy fellows\nafter all. We can rise to a big call, but if our women will look after\nour business for us, we are quite content to smoke our pipes in peace\nand look on--and, of course, the one who makes the wheels go round is\nthe one who really drives the coach. Believe me, there is more of\nexpediency than nobility in the attitude of our men towards our women,\nand more of laziness than either, perhaps! But Fielding Hall would call\nthis blasphemy, I am afraid!\"\n\nAnd so, with a joking word, our interesting talk came to an end, leaving\nme with a sincere hope that I might some day meet again both the\nintelligent husband and the charming wife.\n\nI found the air at Simla quite marvellous for psychic possibilities,\nand this was certainly a great surprise to me; nor was it only a\nquestion of altitude and a dry atmosphere. Missouri and the Dhera Doon\nare celebrated for the purity of air and climate generally, but the\ninfluences there were quite different.\n\nEven Peshawar, with its glorious crown of snow-capped mountains, brought\nno special psychic atmosphere to me; nor the Khyber Pass, where I had\nthoroughly expected to be haunted by the horrors of the past; nothing of\nthe kind occurred. The beauty of the day when we visited this historic\npass was only to be matched by its own extreme natural beauty; but no\nhaunting memories hung round it for me.\n\nPerhaps a night passed in those rocky defiles might have brought some\nweird experience, but no European would be allowed to woo adventure in\nthis way, even with the laudable desire for advance in psychological\nphenomena! But I stayed there quite long enough to prove--for the\nhundredth time--that _an attitude of expectation_ acts with me as a\ndeterrent rather than encouragement, where the Unseen is in question.\n\nI had heard so much of Simla Society and Simla Scandals, and so little\nof Simla Beauty and Loveliness!--in Nature, I mean--not Human Nature.\n\nIt is true we were there at the most exquisite time in the year, when\nthe air was still fresh and keen, when the last snows and the first\nblooms of rhododendrons were greeting each other, when the long\nstretches of valley, brown and purple and emerald green, lay like soft\nvelvet in the immense distances towards the horizon line.\n\nAs I looked at all this, day after day, it seemed to me that Simla,\nwithout its crowds of social butterflies, male and female, and the dust\nand the flies, and even the heat that they bring with them, was one of\nthe most exquisitely beautiful spots that the Great Creator ever\n\"thought out\" in His mind. Nowhere have I seen such a _velvety_ effect\nof rolling hill and soft mountain-side; such gorgeous atmospheric\nvisions; such a carnival of beauty and colour.\n\nWe must have seen Simla at the most ideal time in the year, or people\nmust become _blase_ and blinded to its intoxicating beauty, thanks to\ntennis tournaments and Government House receptions and the whole stupid\nSocial mill.\n\nNot even the beauties of Kashmir have dimmed the memory of Simla for me;\nbut I would not go there again, and in the season, for anything that\ncould be offered to me.\n\nAll beauty is sacred, and I guard jealously my sacred memory of the\nplace, known to so many merely as a byword for folly and flirtation.\n\nSome strange and curious experiences came to me there, both in automatic\nwriting and other ways; but these are of too private a nature for\npublication.\n\nAnd so, with the beauty of Simla and the romance of Kashmir as jewels in\nmy memory, I must end my second visit to India.\n\nIt is said that pleasant as well as painful experiences are apt to run\nin _threes_. I trust this may be the case. If so, it will mean that once\nagain I shall tread upon Indian soil.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nA FAMILY PORTRAIT AND PSYCHIC PHOTOGRAPHY\n\n\nIn the very heart of Warwickshire there is a beautiful old \"half timber\"\nhall, approached by a noble avenue of elms. The hall has come down from\nfather to son, in the direct line, for nearly six hundred years, as the\ndates upon the front of the house testify.\n\nThe present Squire is not only an old friend of my early youth, but is\nconnected through marriage, and he and his wife and I have always been\non very friendly terms. He is the usual type of fox-hunting squire and\ncounty magistrate, did good service during the South African War by\nraising a corps of Yeomanry from the estate, and going out with them to\nfight his country's battles, and, needless to say, he received a hearty\novation from his wife and his county when he returned to them in safety.\nHe is devoted to his beautiful house and estate, and is the last man to\nentertain fancies or superstitions in connection with either.\n\nIt is necessary to give these few words of explanation before relating\nan \"incident in my life\" for which I have always found it difficult to\naccount, except on the supposition that some germ of psychic\nsensitiveness may exist, even under a hunting squire's \"pink coat and\ntop-boots.\"\n\nI have known Greba Hall since I was a child, and all its quaint old\nfamily portraits, especially those in the fine oak-panelled hall, with\nthe old-fashioned open fireplace and \"dogs\" of the fifteenth century.\nBut there were so many of these pictures massed together that I have\nnever distinguished one from the other, with the exception of the few\nimmediate ancestors of my friend.\n\nSome years ago I was staying with a lady who lived about three miles\nfrom Greba, and we had driven over there to have tea with the Squire's\nwife, whom I will call Mrs Lyon. The friend I have mentioned had become\ninterested in psychic matters since my acquaintance with her, and I had\ndiscovered that she possessed some psychometric capacity.\n\nIn the interests of non-psychic readers, I may explain that psychometry\nis the science of learning to receive impressions and intuitions from\nthe atmosphere surrounding any material object--a letter, a ring, a\npiece of pebble or shell, and so forth. We seem capable of impressing\nall material objects with our personality, and naturally this is\nespecially the case in letters written and signed by us.\n\nThe lady with whom I was then staying--Mrs Fitz Herbert--had tried\nreceiving impressions from letters several times, at my suggestion, and\nalways with more or less success. We had been speaking of this with Mrs\nLyon, who was always very sympathetic, and she suggested giving one of\nher own letters to Mrs Fitz Herbert to be \"psychometrised.\"\n\nThe latter was sitting facing a door which led from the hall to an inner\nroom, and over this door hung the half-length portrait of an old\ngentleman, whom I had never specially remarked before, as the picture\nwas hung rather high, and there was nothing very characteristic about\nthe face.\n\nMrs Fitz Herbert glanced at the portrait once or twice as she held the\nletter, and began her remarks upon the writer; but I had no reason to\nsuppose that the glance was other than casual and accidental.\n\nShe gave, however, a very remarkably accurate description (as it turned\nout) of Mrs Lyon's unknown friend, both as to his character and the\nspecial and rather unique conditions of his life.\n\nI was feeling naturally gratified that my \"pupil\" should have acquitted\nherself so well, when she suddenly uttered a little expression of pain\nand complained of severe headache.\n\nI knew that she suffered from these headaches at times, and was\ntherefore not surprised by her asking leave to ring for the pony\ncarriage at once, and we were soon on our way home.\n\nMrs Fitz Herbert was driving the pony, and as we turned out of the long\nelm avenue she murmured in a tone of relief:\n\n\"How thankful I am to have got away from that old man! I knew he was\ntelling me what to say about that letter, but afterwards he wanted to\ngive me some message himself, and I could not understand it, and that is\nwhat made my head so bad.\" Then she explained, seeing my bewilderment,\nthat she was referring to the old gentleman whose portrait hung over the\ndoor I have mentioned.\n\nI suggested that we had better try to find out what the old man wanted\nto say, and we arranged to do so that evening after dinner; but as Mr\nFitz Herbert (who had a very charming tenor voice) elected to come in\nand sing to us, the old gentleman's communication had to be postponed\nuntil the morning.\n\nMrs Fitz Herbert and I sat down in the drawing-room the next day, armed\nwith pencils and paper, so soon as her domestic duties were over. She\nwas most anxious that _I_ should take the message, but this seemed to me\nabsurd, considering that I had received no sort of impression about the\npicture and could not even recall the face. So she took up the pencil\nvery unwillingly, and after some difficulty the name of _Richard Lyon_\nwas given, with the information that he had owned Greba, and had passed\nover to the next sphere about one hundred and thirty years previously.\nBut when it came to trying to find out what he wanted to say, she\nprofessed herself quite unable to grasp it, and passed the pencil\ndeterminedly over to me.\n\nMuch to my surprise (for I had seemed to have no link with the old man\nat all), he was able to write through my hand with great ease.\n\nHe explained to me that he had been much devoted to the property, had\nlived only to improve it in every possible way, and that through his\nconcentration of interest on this one subject his life had been a very\nlimited one, and that now he could not get away from the remembrance of\nhis earth life and his beloved Greba.\n\n\"I suppose he is trying to explain that he is earth-bound,\" suggested\nMrs Fitz Herbert.\n\n\"Yes; that is just the truth,\" was the eager response through my hand,\n\"and it is so sad to think that my own descendants are the ones to keep\nme imprisoned in this way. I am told that I could progress, as they call\nit here, and be much happier if I could only forget Greba, even for a\ntime. And it worries me to see things done so differently and not to be\nable to do anything myself for the old place. There is no happiness for\nme here. Do ask them to set me free,\" he continued rather pathetically.\n\n\"But they don't _want_ to hold you down,\" I answered. \"Tell me how they\ndo it and what you wish them to do.\"\n\nThe old man then explained the position very carefully and sensibly. He\nadmitted that his own deep love for his old property and surroundings\nand his failure in life to develop any other very deep affection, was\nchiefly in fault, but he added, that his portrait being hung there, in\nthe hall of his descendants, was also very unfortunate for him.\n\n\"It drags me down--I don't know why--but I am sure I could get away more\neasily if they would not keep that picture in the old hall.\"\n\nA few more practical questions elicited the following instructions:--He\nsaid the picture might remain in the _county_, so long as it was not in\nany house owned by a _Lyon_ (there were several members of the family in\nWarwickshire); or it might be sent to London or elsewhere, and kept by\nmembers of the Lyon family, so long as they were not in the direct\ndescent, and _did not live in his old county_.\n\nWe drove over to Greba that afternoon, and took the \"message\" with us,\nknowing there was no fear of encountering the gibes of my fox-hunting\nfriend at three P.M. on any week day in the hunting season.\n\nMrs Lyon was extremely interested; she not only endorsed the _Richard\nLyon_ and his dates, but told us that he had done an immense deal for\nthe property, as her husband had often impressed upon her, and that at\nhis death, about one hundred and thirty years before, he had lain in\nstate for three days in the very hall where we had taken our tea, and\nwhere his picture now hung. This was great encouragement, so we put our\nheads together, wondering _how_ the poor old man's entreaty might be\ncomplied with.\n\nMrs Lyon remembered that several of the old portraits were shortly to be\nsent to a picture dealer in the neighbouring town (some ten miles away)\nto be cleaned, but this special picture was not in need of restoration,\nunfortunately.\n\n\"Still, I could put it with the others, and let it go to Warwick, and\nthen tell the man not to do anything with it--but what would Edward say?\nCan you _imagine_ his allowing the picture to be taken down upon this\nevidence?\"\n\nFrom an acquaintance with \"Edward\" extending over large tracts of years,\nI was forced to admit that even my robust imagination could not reach so\nfar. \"_Skittles!_\" or \"_Confounded cheek!_\" would be his mildest reply\nto such a request, even from the friend of his youth! I did not care to\nthink how much further his indignation might carry him!\n\nBut I felt so strongly that something outside myself had inspired the\nmessage, with its accurate instructions, that at last I prevailed upon\nMrs Lyon to promise she would mention the matter to her husband, and\nthus leave the responsibility of refusal with _him_.\n\nShe did so, and the refusal was all my fancy had painted--and more!\n\nSeveral months passed, and the following spring I was once more in the\nneighbourhood, staying with my own relations this time, who were related\nalso to the Squire and his wife.\n\nThe first piece of news I received at dinner the night of my arrival was\nthat the Greba Hall picture _had been sent in to Warwick!_\n\nI could hardly believe my ears. My relatives could tell me nothing\nbeyond the fact, and advised my paying an early visit to Greba Hall\nduring the absence of the master.\n\nI did this, and Mrs Lyon told me all she knew about the matter, which\nwas not very much.\n\n\"After you were here last,\" she said, \"I spoke to Edward as I promised,\nand, of course, he laughed the whole thing to scorn, and was very rude\nabout our tomfoolery.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know all about that,\" I answered hastily. \"But what happened\n_afterwards_--after I left Warwickshire, I mean?\"\n\n\"That was the queerest part of it all,\" she resumed. \"A few days after\nyou had gone away he stood under the picture one evening, coming in from\nhunting and waiting for tea in the hall, and said as he looked up at old\nRichard Lyon:\n\n\"'Do you suppose I should allow _your_ picture to be taken down--_you_\nwho did so much for my property? Of course not!'\"\n\n\"This happened once or twice, at intervals. Then he _said_ nothing, but\nI used to notice that he always looked up at the picture whenever he\ncame into the hall or stood by the fireplace. At last, about three\nmonths ago, he turned round suddenly, and said:\n\n\"'When are you going to send those pictures to be cleaned?' Now you know\nI had been keeping the other pictures back, with a dim hope that Edward\nmight relent. But I saw it was quite useless, so I told him they were\ngoing next day. To my intense surprise he said rather abruptly: 'Then\nsend this picture with them, and don't ask me any questions.'\"\n\nHis wife took the hint, and waited for no second bidding. Off went the\npicture to the Warwick shop, and there it remained for nearly six\nmonths.\n\nWhen it came back eventually, the Squire was very triumphant on the\nsubject, but I was equally triumphant in pointing out that nothing could\nalter the fact that the picture _had_ been sent away, in spite of his\nearlier denunciations of our folly.\n\nAlso I suggested that a good deal can happen in six months on either\nside of the veil, and that no doubt poor old Richard Lyon had had ample\nopportunity to \"get free,\" as he called it, thanks to the unaccountable\naction of his descendant!\n\nI have reserved this story for my last chapter for two reasons. It\nhappened within the last few years, but I cannot remember the exact\ndate, and dare not inquire from my irascible hunting friend; and also it\ndid not specially link on to any of the previous incidents described.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI must now pass on to the autumn months of 1905, which found me in\nEastbourne, where I have various kind friends.\n\nI had been going through a time of great anxiety, owing to family\nreasons, and went down to Eastbourne with every prospect of finding rest\nand peace there. I arrived on the 11th of November, and the first few\ndays amply justified my hopes.\n\nThen a feeling of the most intense depression came over me, quite\nunexpected and unaccountable. My family anxieties and responsibilities\nwere happily over. I had been able to make a wise, and, as it turned\nout, most admirable choice, in finding a fresh attendant for an invalid\nbrother, and there was nothing now to be done but to rest on my oars and\nbe thankful that a most trying time--requiring infinite patience and\ntact--was over.\n\nWhen this unaccountable depression came on so suddenly, I put it down to\nreaction, and expected it to pass away with returning strength, after\nthe heavy strain. But it _increased_ as the weeks passed on into\nDecember, and did not lift until about eight A.M. on the morning of 22nd\nDecember.\n\nThen I had one of the most vivid experiences of my life. As suddenly as\nthey had enveloped me some weeks before, so did the heavy clouds now\nroll off, leaving me with a sense of freedom and exaltation such as I\nhave seldom experienced. This sense of freedom and joy and happiness was\nso marked that I mentioned it at once to an intimate friend, who came to\nsee me that day after breakfast. I said to her: \"I can only describe it\nas if one had suddenly been let out of prison or taken from a dark,\ndismal room into one with glorious sunshine streaming through the\nwindows, where the very sense of being alive is sufficient joy; in fact,\nI never felt so thoroughly alive before. And the curious thing is that\nthere is no apparent reason for this--nothing is changed--I have not\neven had any specially pleasant letters. Life is just the same on the\nouter; but on the _inner?_ Well, I cannot describe it!\"\n\n\"But can't you account for it at all?\" asked my friend, who had been\nwith me through all the depressing influences of the former weeks and\nwas astounded, as well as delighted, by the inexplicable change in my\nspirits.\n\n\"Well, it is the day after the shortest day,\" I said, laughing. \"But it\nhas never had such an extraordinary effect upon me before.\"\n\nAll day long this exuberant feeling of delight and happiness remained. I\nhad no specially spiritual or religious experience in connection with\nit, but rather the happy feeling of confidence that a child might have,\nwho, after wandering about in unknown lanes and thorny paths, suddenly\nfound himself transported, with no effort of his own, to the dear,\nfamiliar house and loving home faces.\n\nFive days later, in a private letter, I read the first allusion to the\ndeath of Dr Richard Hodgson. It came to me in a letter from Mrs Forbes,\nnot as a fact, but as an uncorroborated report, which would probably be\nfound incorrect.\n\n\"_There is nothing about it in The Times this morning, so I don't\nsuppose it is true._\" These were her exact words. I don't think I ever\nreally doubted the truth of it, although it came as a bolt out of the\nblue.\n\nOnly a few days previously, a letter from an intimate friend of Dr\nHodgson in America (he had brought us together) mentioned her having\nseen him lately and thinking he was really much depressed over his work\nand other matters, \"_though, doubtless, if I taxed him with this he\nwould say it was quite untrue; but I feel quite convinced that it is\ntrue_.\"\n\nThese words had not at the time given me any clue to my own curious\ndepression, but when the first _rumour_ of his death reached me, I felt\nconvinced that it was true, and that I must have taken on his joyful\nconditions when he first found himself on the other side of the veil. I\ncan only surmise, therefore, that the weeks of my depression _may_ have\ncorresponded with feelings alluded to by his intimate friend; although\nless intuitive, if not less valued associates, may have noticed nothing\nbut his usual cheery and genial spirits.\n\nA telegram sent to Mr Stead showed me clearly that my inquiry had been\n_his_ first intimation of anything wrong. Then, in despair of getting\naccurate information, I wrote to Sir Oliver Lodge, who kindly responded\nat once, confirming my worst fears. He was good enough to send me later\nthe particulars of the event, supplied by Professor William James.\n\nIt was a bitter blow for _us_, but for _him_ how joyous an awakening!\n\nI am grateful for having had, through personal experience, even a dim\nreflection of that wonderful New Life, so overwhelming and so exuberant,\nthat its rays could reach to the hearts of some of those who had been\nhonoured by his friendship.\n\nOn comparing notes I found that, allowing for difference of time,\nforty-eight hours must have elapsed between his physical departure and\nmy experience of his awakening to new conditions.\n\nThere may be various ways of accounting for this. The spirit may not\nhave been wholly freed at once from its physical envelope, but may have\nremained possibly, in some condition of unconsciousness, after the\nstrangely sudden severance of the tie that binds body and soul together.\n\n\n_Note._--Since the above was written, I have received an explanation of\nthe lapse of time between the passing of Doctor Hodgson, 20th December,\nand my experience of 22nd December 1905.\n\nOn 6th February 1907 I had the privilege of a sitting with Miss\nMacCreadie, who not only gave an accurate description of Doctor\nHodgson's personal appearance, and of his sudden call hence, but added\nthat this spirit wished to explain to me that he had not been able to\nget entirely away from the body for quite two days after physical death,\nand that meanwhile he must have been in a state of trance. Miss\nMacCreadie did not know the name of the spirit whom she described so\naccurately, and whose message was thus conveyed to me.--E. K. B.\n\n\nSome time after Dr Hodgson left us, a friend in London wrote to me that\nshe had either just read or heard that he had made some communication,\nto the effect that \"_he was not very happy, as he had regarded his work\nonly from the intellectual point of view_.\"\n\nThis seemed to me a most unlikely sort of message to come from such a\nman.\n\nIn such cases there is nothing like going to the fountain-head for\ninformation, and this came to me in the following words, which are, I\nthink, characteristic and certainly sensible:--\n\n\"My work _was_ intellectual--how could I regard it from any other point\nof view? That has nothing to do with the spiritual side of things. My\nspiritual life was very latent, it is true; but it was sincere, so far\nas it went, and in this more favourable atmosphere, the buds are\nunfolding, and I am learning more and more of the love and wisdom which\nI always dimly saw and appreciated. It is the attitude of mind which is\nall-important, and my attitude, though critical, was never obstructive,\nas you know.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI should like to say a few words now on the subject of superstitions. We\nare _all_ superstitious in various ways and upon different points--I may\nlaugh at _your_ superstition because it does not happen to appeal to me,\nbut you may be quite sure you could find out my \"Achilles Heel\" if we\nlived together long enough.\n\nThe only difference between people is, that some are honest about their\nsuperstitions and others--are not!\n\nI met a lady not long ago at a foreign _table d'hote_ who started our\nacquaintance by remarking that she was thankful to say she had not a\nsingle superstition. Before we had spent ten days under the same roof I\ndiscovered that she believed in portents and lucky stones and the \"whole\nbag of tricks,\" and possessed the power of seeing people in their astral\nbodies.\n\nThis is to introduce my own strongest superstition, which is a horror of\nseeing the new moon for the first time through glass. _Breaking_ glass\nis almost as disastrous in my experience, even if the article itself\nonly costs a few pence.\n\nNow I do not for one moment suggest that either one or other is the\n_cause_ of my subsequent misfortunes. No one surely can be childish\nenough to suppose such a thing; yet I have known sensible people labour\nthis point in order to show me the folly of my ways--and thoughts.\n\nAgain, I am quite aware that some people may break as much glass or\nchina as the proverbial bull, and see the moon through the former medium\nevery month of their lives, and not be a penny the worse for it--beyond\nthe amount of their breakages. I only maintain that for _me_ these two\nthings are invariably the precursors of misfortune.\n\nWhen people say to me: \"How can a sensible woman like yourself be so\nfoolish as to think such things?\" I can only truthfully answer that I\nshould be very much _more_ foolish if so many years of my life had\npassed without my noticing the sequence of events.\n\nBut to _explain_ the phenomena is quite another matter.\n\nIt seems to me quite reasonable that, allowing the possibility of\ninfluences coming to us from the other side, some sign--no matter how\ntrivial--might be impressed upon us as a gentle warning to be prepared\nfor disasters, more or less severe.\n\nAnother curious thing is this: I have never found that avoiding seeing\nthe moon through glass _in any artificial way_ prevents disaster. I used\nto let kind friends, indulgent to my \"folly,\" lead me blindfold up to\nthe window, carefully thrown open for my benefit. I can remember a most\nelaborate scene of precaution once, in an American railway carriage\nbetween Philadelphia and Boston, when a charming American lady, about to\nlecture on Woman's Suffrage, and grateful to me for some points I had\ngiven her with regard to the woman's question in New Zealand, insisted\nupon having a heavy window pulled up by a negro attendant, when she\nfound out my little weakness.\n\nIt was all of no avail. Left alone, I should most certainly have seen\nthe moon through glass on that occasion, and I felt, even at the moment,\nthat I had not really altered anything by falling in with the kind\nAmerican lady's suggestion.\n\nIn September 1906 I was going through a course of baths at Buxton, and\non a certain Sunday (2nd September) I saw the moon through glass in my\nbedroom window in the most unmistakable way. There was no friendly\ncloud, no other twinkling light to throw the smallest shadow of doubt\nupon the fact. There was much good-humoured laughter over my\n\"superstition\" in the house; but I knew _some_ trouble was on its way,\nlittle dreaming that it was one which would alter my whole life.\n\nOn the Wednesday morning (5th September) I received the first intimation\nof what proved to be the last illness of a brother who has been\nmentioned in these pages already, and who had been an invalid for nearly\nthirty years. A point to be noticed is that on the Sunday, when the sign\ncame to me, he was in his usual health, and even on Monday went out for\na long drive. The first attack of angina pectoris only came on in the\nmiddle of the night of Monday-Tuesday, 3rd to 4th September.\n\nLater, when the disease had become acute, and I was in the south of\nEngland, living in hourly suspense, and receiving telegrams and letters\nseveral times a day, another curious incident occurred which has a\nbearing upon our subject.\n\nAs my readers are probably aware, in this sad and painful illness the\nonly proof of unselfish affection which one can give, may be to keep\naway from the patient, when you know that all is being done for him that\nskill and devotion can suggest. The smallest agitation is almost certain\nto bring on a fresh attack of the terrible pain, and so long as there is\n_any_ hope of a rally, or, in fact, any consciousness that can possibly\nresult in increased suffering, _everyone_ should be kept away from the\npatient except those who are in actual and necessary attendance.\n\nThis naturally entails great mental distress and suffering upon those\nwho are living from hour to hour, in a state of tension and suspense.\n\nAfter more than a fortnight of alternate hopes and fears, the position\nbecame almost unendurable, and I was making all preparations for a visit\nto the patient, or at least to the house where he lay (against my better\njudgment), when letters and a telegram arrived imploring me not to come,\nas a short visit from another relative had proved most disastrous in\nbringing on another attack of the terrible pain; from which he never\nreally rallied.\n\nUnder these distressing circumstances, there could be but one course\nopen to me.\n\nI was staying with my kind friends Admiral and Mrs Usborne Moore at this\nsad time, and can never feel sufficiently grateful for their goodness\nto me and sympathy with my distress.\n\nThe Admiral, as many of us know, is a most persevering student of\npsychic science, and I think it was by his suggestion, or at anyrate\nwith his approval, that I determined to pay a visit to a lady of whom he\nhad spoken to me--Mrs Arnold, a daughter-in-law of Sir Edwin Arnold--who\nis a gifted clairvoyant.\n\nI went alone to the house, that she might not be able to connect me with\nmy host and hostess; and the interview was a remarkable one.\n\nThere were many evidential points given, which, for family reasons, it\nis impossible to publish. She gave me the crystal ball to hold for a\ngood five minutes, in order that it might become impregnated by my\ninfluence; and then she took it from me, and began making a series of\nstatements, without pausing for a moment or attempting to \"fish,\" to use\na technical term.\n\nThese statements included my own life and studies and chief interests,\nand the number and sex of my immediate family; also the attitude of the\nvarious members towards myself, and in each case the special statement\nwas absolutely correct.\n\nHer first words were: \"You are in great anxiety, I see. It is about the\nillness of an elderly man. _Two_ people with whom you are in very\nintimate relations are ill, I see, but I will tell you now of the one\nyou wish to hear about especially.\"\n\nShe went on to describe not only my brother's surroundings and illness\nat the time, but also his permanent state of paralysis, adding that he\nwas now in the country, for she saw green trees all round him and\nwaving grass. As my brother's life for many years had been spent\nentirely between London and the seaside, this was a good bit of\nevidence. As a matter of fact, he was spending a few weeks in a\ncountry cottage for the first time in his life.\n\nThe single point where she failed was as to the _time_ of his passing\naway. She saw at once that the illness was one from which he could not\npermanently recover, and gave the approximate time very tentatively. \"We\ncannot see times exactly--they come only in symbols. For instance, I see\nnow falling leaves; it looks like an autumn scene, and so I infer that\nmeans later on--perhaps October or November.\"\n\nThis, as I have said, was the only mistake in the whole interview. My\nbrother passed to the Higher Life on 24th September.\n\nWhen I saw his valet in town later, I asked him about the trees, and he\nexplained that owing to the great heat, the leaves were all over the\nground, and gave an autumnal look to everything.\n\nMost of us noticed the same appearance in London and elsewhere, even\nquite early in September 1906.\n\nThe _second_ friend lying dangerously ill was a puzzle to me at the\ntime; but within five days of my brother's transition, I heard of the\ndeath of Judge Forbes, who was one of my most intimate friends, as Mrs\nArnold had truly observed. His illness was a very short one; but on\ncomparing notes with members of his family I found that he had taken to\nhis bed three days _before_ my visit to Mrs Arnold, and was already very\nseriously ill, although I had no knowledge of the fact for more than a\nweek after my interview with her.\n\nBefore closing these personal records I must say a few words on the much\nvexed question of psychic photographs.\n\nAs my friend Admiral Usborne Moore observes in a letter received from\nhim as I write these words: \"We are dealing with a great mystery here.\"\nHe is himself one of those who by persevering effort is helping us to\nsolve the mystery.\n\nIt is certainly the branch of psychic science which promises the best\nresults from an evidential point of view, but it must be a case of \"each\nman his own photographer.\"\n\nThere is always a tendency in human nature to be over-credulous as to\nour own achievements, and over-sceptical as to those of our neighbours.\n\nSo for many years probably, we shall only accept our \"very own\" psychic\nphotographs as quite genuine; but when a sufficient number of people are\nconvinced by their personal experiences in this line of research, there\nwill be some hope that the subject will go through the usual stages--(1)\nImpossible and absurd; (2) Possible, but very improbable; (3) Possible,\nand not even abnormal; (4) Finally, normal, and \"_Just what we knew all\nabout from the first!_\"\n\nMeanwhile some of us have been experimenting, with professional\nassistance, and in these cases the question is not \"Can such photographs\nbe faked?\" We all know nowadays that faking photographs is the easiest\nof all possible frauds. I have spent many a half hour doing the faking\nmyself, with an amateur photographer, by sitting for so many seconds in\na chair and then vacating it in favour of some other \"spook\"!\n\nNo, the whole question at present must be determined by our recognition\nor non-recognition of the photographs produced.\n\nIf Mr Boursnell or any other photographer can produce (_as he has done_)\nmy old nurse, who died twenty-three years ago, and was never\nphotographed in her life, then we must find some other suggestion than\nthat of \"common or garden faking\" as a solution of the mystery. There\nshe sits, as in life, with a little knitted shawl round her shoulders\nand the head of a tiny child upon her lap. The eyes are closed, and give\na dead look to the face, yet the features are to me quite unmistakable,\nand no one knew the dear old woman so well as I did.\n\nAgain, I have in my little picture gallery, an old and very well-known\nOxford professor, in whose house I stayed many times.\n\nQuite unexpectedly he appeared on one of Mr Boursnell's plates last\nsummer, and although this special photograph is fainter than the one\njust described, the likeness can only be denied by someone more anxious\nto be sceptical than truthful. I compared the photograph with an\nengraving of the professor in much earlier life--which is to be found in\nthe Life published since he passed away--with an artist friend (who had\nnot known him). We went over the features one by one, and my friend said\nshe noticed only one small difference, the exact length of the upper\nlip, and this, she considered, would be amply accounted for by the lapse\nof time between the two pictures and the slight lengthening of the upper\nlip owing to loss of teeth. The professor passed away as an old man; the\npicture engraved in the Life represents him as he was at least twenty\nyears before his death.\n\nBut the most interesting point to me in this photograph, is the\nappearance on his lap of a much loved dog, a rather large fox terrier\nnamed \"Bob.\" I had not noticed Bob until a daughter of the professor\npointed him out to me, and now I cannot understand having missed him at\nfirst.\n\nBob was not only the most important person in the Oxford household, but\nhe was good enough to be very fond of me, so it seems to me quite\nnatural that he should have come with his master to pay me a visit.\n\nI remember arriving at the house one dark winter's evening after an\nabsence of over two years, and Bob's welcome to me was so ecstatic that\nhe nearly knocked me down in a vain attempt to get his paws round my\nneck.\n\nI heard the professor, who was always rather jealous of Bob's\naffections, say in a whisper to his wife: \"Most touching thing I ever\nsaw, that dog's welcome when Miss Bates arrived!\"\n\nDear Bob! I am so glad he can still come and see me, with his dearly\nloved master.\n\nAnother shuffle of the photographs brings to the top a sweet girlish\nface and figure, \"sixteen summers or something less.\"\n\nShe appeared first upon a plate in the summer of 1905, but so\nindistinctly as to the _face_ that I could not recognise it.\n\nA few months ago the same figure appeared again, but quite clearly this\ntime, and involuntarily, as I looked at it, I exclaimed: \"_Why, of\ncourse, it is Lily Blake!_\"\n\nNow it is nearly thirty years since I met this charming child; during my\nfirst visit to Egypt. She and her father (a well-known physician) and\nher aunt, were spending a six weeks' holiday in Cairo, and I saw more of\nher than would otherwise have been the case, because she was the\nplaymate of another young girl--the child of friends of mine at\nShepheard's Hotel.\n\nLily was a sweet-looking, delicate girl, with soft, sleepy blue eyes,\nand was always dressed in a simple, artistic fashion. A few months after\nour return to England I saw in the papers the death of this pretty\nchild; for she was little more at the time. I wrote a letter of\ncondolence and sympathy, which was at once answered by the aunt in very\nkind fashion; and since then I have seen nothing to remind me of Lily\nuntil this last year has brought her once more within my ken. I am only\ntoo thankful to realise that any influence so pure and beautiful as\nhers, may be around me sometimes in my daily life.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd now let me say, in the words of our great novelist:\n\n\"Come, children, let us shut up the box and the puppets, for our play is\nplayed out!\"\n\nOnly I trust in this case we have managed to rise a little above the\nusual atmosphere of Vanity Fair.\n\nSurely the aim of all psychic research should be to give us a\n_scientific_, as we have already, thank God, a spiritual, foundation for\nthe \"Hope that is in us.\"\n\nSpirit photographs and spirit materialisations and abnormal visions or\nabnormal sounds amount to very little, if we look upon them as an end\nin themselves, and not as the symbols and the earnest of those greater\nthings which \"Eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither hath it entered\ninto the heart of _man_ to conceive.\"\n\nI remember, years ago, in the course of a deeply interesting\nconversation with Phillipps Brooks, the late Bishop of Massachusetts,\nthat I asked him what he thought about modern theosophy, which was just\nthen becoming a _culte_ in his native town of Boston. There was a great\ndeal of talk at the time about the new philosophy and the wonderful\nphenomena said to accompany its propaganda. Sir Edwin Arnold had written\nhis \"Light of Asia,\" and Oliver Wendell Holmes had welcomed it with\nwondering awe, as something approaching a new revelation. And smaller\npeople were talking about the historical Blavatsky tea-cups, and hidden\nheirlooms found in Indian gardens, and some of us were wondering how\nsoon we should learn to fly, and what would come next.\n\nThe bishop's answer to my question was so genial, so characteristic, and\nshowed such divine common-sense!\n\n\"It is not a question of _flying_,\" he said. \"I should like to fly as\nmuch as anybody; and a queer sort of bird I should appear!\" (He was well\nover six feet, and broad in proportion.)\n\n\"If you suddenly found you could fly,\" he continued, \"it would be\n_absorbing_ on Monday morning, _intensely interesting_ on Tuesday,\n_interesting_ on Wednesday, and _quite pleasant_ on Thursday, but by the\nend of the week it would be getting normal, and you would want to\ndiscover some other new power. No, believe me, the real question is not\n_flying_, but WHERE you would fly, and WHAT YOU WOULD DO WHEN YOU GOT\nTHERE.\"\n\nThis sums up the case in a nut shell, and seems to me only another way\nof saying: \"Don't forget the spiritual significance beneath the\nscientific symbol.\"\n\nAnd I would add: \"Let us all join hands in the interesting and absorbing\nwork of trying to make our symbols as scientific as we can, by finding\nout the laws which govern them, as well as all other things, in this\nuniverse of Love and Law. Probably we are here to learn, above all\nthings else, that Love and Law are ONE.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMany people have had far more remarkable experiences than mine. For\nvarious good reasons I have carefully abstained from any attempt to\ncultivate, or in any way increase, the sensitiveness which is natural to\nme.\n\nI can only assure my readers that my record has been absolutely\naccurate. In many cases it would have been very easy to write up the\nstories into some far more dramatic form; but by doing so the whole aim\nand object of my book would have been destroyed.\n\nI wanted to trace the thread of what we at present consider abnormal,\nthrough the whole skein of a single life, hoping thereby to encourage\nothers to do the same.\n\nIt is only by putting these things down, if not for publication, then in\nsome diary or commonplace book, that we can realise how far our normal\nlife is, even now and here, interpenetrated by another plane of\nexistence.\n\nAnd so farewell to all kind readers who have followed me to the end of\nmy personal record of curious events--curious chiefly by reason of our\npresent imperfect knowledge.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX\n\nI\n\n\nMuch has been said of the folly and triviality of all messages coming,\nor purporting to come, from the Unseen. I think here, as elsewhere, like\nclings to like, and we get very much what we deserve; or rather, to put\nit in a more philosophical and Emersonian way, we receive _what belongs\nto us_.\n\nEmerson tells us in one of his most illuminating passages, that\neverything which belongs to our spiritual estate is coming to us as\nquickly as it can travel. All the winds of heaven, all the waves of\nearth, are bringing it to us, and neither angel nor devil can prevent\nour taking what is ours or rejecting what is _not_ ours.\n\nThis is a universal law, and applies to automatic writing as to\neverything else. Emphatically we get what belongs to our spiritual\nestate.\n\nTherefore any casual and general remarks as to the foolishness of all\nautomatic writing, must of necessity be made by those who are ignorant\nof this spiritual law, or whose experience of such messages is very\nlimited.\n\nI intend to give a few which I have myself received, in the form of an\nAppendix to my book. With one exception, they all come from a very dear\nfriend, who passed into the other sphere little more than a year ago\nunder peculiarly happy circumstances. I do not wish to give his name,\nalthough it would add considerably to the interest of the narrative. I\nshall therefore call him Mr Harry Denton. The messages will be given\nexactly in the form in which they were received, and without any\nediting. We never discussed theological ideas from any standpoint of\n_creed_; but I imagine that my friend, when here, would have looked upon\nJesus Christ as one of the many inspired teachers of the world, and that\nhis views were cosmic rather than religious--_in any narrow sense_--and\ncertainly _religious_, in the broad sense of the term, rather than\n_theological_.\n\nThe first conversation (for this is a better description of my friend's\ncommunications than the word _message_) refers to my own attitude, as\ncompared with that of a lady friend of mine, regarding Jesus of\nNazareth.\n\n\nH. D.--I see a great stream of light round you, Kate, and it seems to\nhave come with your truer conception of Jesus Christ. It is all right\nfor your friend to say she prefers to put the matter aside and leave it\nalone. That is just the best thing she can do; in fact, the _only_ thing\nshe can do at present.\n\nThe seed is still underground, and the moment of emergence has not come.\nTo try and force it above ground just now, would be fatal. It would also\nbe immature and uncalled for. The old husks of man-made creeds must drop\noff gradually, leaving the bud they protected intact, not be torn off by\nan impatient hand.\n\nSo far her instinct seems to me a true one. But the case is widely\ndifferent for _you_. The husks _have_ fallen off, as a matter of fact,\nand the discomfort and sense of something wrong arose from your knowing\nthat you were only striving desperately to clutch on to them, when the\nfine, strong bud was there, able and ready to take its proper share of\nsunshine and rain, and even to bear the cold winds of misrepresentation\nand misunderstanding if need be.\n\n\"QUIT YOU LIKE MEN, BE STRONG.\" That is _your_ lesson-book, and you will\nnever feel happy or content until you are learning it.\n\nSurely you must feel how much you have gained since you faced your own\nfacts?\n\nE. K. B.--Yes, Harry, I do; but I don't quite understand _your_\nposition. Are you at the same point of view?\n\nH. D.--No; not yet. It is all rather foreign to my previous notions. I\nthought of Jesus of Nazareth as a great teacher--one of _the_ great\nteachers of the world--but I had still to learn His unique position as\nregards our chain of worlds.\n\nThey tell me here that He was the _first_ to attain to the full stature\nof the _Divine Man_ as he existed in the thought of the Absolute.\n\nSpiritual evolution is the process, apparently the only process, whereby\na Son of God in this sense can appear. And aeons of time have been\nnecessary to produce this fine Flower of Humanity. Your own band are\nhelping me to understand this. _Having attained, being the anointed\nOne_, it is given to Him to bring the whole race after Him.\n\nThis is quite a different conception from my former one, and the one\nheld by most of those whom in old days we called Unitarians.\n\n_You_ have had to _unlearn_, or rather to drop, some of the husks of old\ntradition which have been guarding the truth for you, whereas I have\nstill _to come up to the truth_; but the point reached will be the same,\nwhether the approach to it is from north or south--do you see?\n\nIn Christ Jesus, they tell me, we are _all_ new creatures, as a matter\nof fact; because, consciously or unconsciously, we are working together\nwith Him to realise and manifest ourselves, as made after the Image of\nGod.\n\nHe is the example and the pledge for us. St Paul saw this, of course,\nand your present position illuminates his teaching for me enormously. So\nI have much to thank you for, Kate. It is easier to learn from those we\nknow and trust, than from strangers.\n\nAnd, moreover, when we can learn from the loved ones on earth _as well\nas through the loved ones here_, it makes the links in the golden chain\ncomplete, and helps us to realise the unity and solidarity of our common\nexistence, _in the Father--with the Son_.             H. D.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nAnother morning I had told H. D. that I had been reading an article in\n_The Nineteenth Century--and After_, I think, entitled \"An Agnostic's\nProgress,\" and asked if he had sensed it through me at all.\n\nH. D.--Yes. We will begin with that this morning. I am very glad you\nread it, for it is curiously like my own experiences in the same line.\n\nSince coming over here, and thereby coming into such direct touch with\nyou, I have been able to grasp the key to much that puzzled me on the\nother side.\n\nAs my views became more spiritualised I saw there _must_ be more truth\nin the Christian religion than outsiders supposed, and yet I knew it\ncould not be absolutely true _in the form in which it has been handed\ndown_.\n\n_That_ was for me unthinkable, because I saw it would be a sudden and\ncatastrophic incursion upon a cosmos of Law and Order.\n\nIt would mean God working in the highest departments of His Creation, as\nHe is never seen to work in the lower ones. And my faith in Him\nprevented my entertaining such an idea! Schemes and plans of salvation\nbelong to the comparative childhood of the race, not to the full-grown\nspiritual man. They are still in the fairy-tale stage, holding a truth,\nbut acting only as the husk of the truth.\n\nThe unity of the race; the necessity for self-sacrifice in realising\nthat unity: that by giving our life for our brothers we save our _Life_,\nwhich is that unity in which the brethren are included--all this I could\naccept in Christ's teaching or the teaching of the Apostles; but the\nrest: the detail, the carefully arranged _scheme_ of the Atonement,\netc., as dogmatic doctrines--all these seemed to me so obviously the\ndesperate attempts of man at a certain stage of development to fit in\nspiritual facts with the most probable theories; and to say that men who\nwrote of these things were inspired, and _therefore infallible_, was\nabsurd.\n\nEven in my short life, I had seen the world pass through several stages\nof belief and assimilate them in turn.\n\nAs a child, I was told that God was angry with people for sinning and\nbreaking His commandments, and so Jesus Christ offered to come and die\non the cross to appease His just wrath.\n\nThat seemed a great puzzle to me, because, although it might account for\nwhat happened _before_ Christ came and _until_ He came, I could not\nunderstand why God _should go on letting people come into the world_ who\nwould break His laws, and make Him still more angry for centuries and\ncenturies. That seemed to me, as a child, so unnecessary.\n\nLater I was told it was not God's anger but His sense of justice that\nhad to be appeased and satisfied, which was a distinct step in advance.\n\nA little later, however, I read that this was not the hidden truth of\nthe doctrine. The religious world (the thoughtful section of it) now\narrived at the idea that it was not God who needed to be satisfied or\nappeased in any of His attributes, but MAN, and that GOD--in the person\nof his Son--came into the world to reconcile the world to Him, and not\nHimself to the world.\n\nThis was a complete _bouleversement_ of the whole situation, though it\ncame so gradually that few appreciated that fact.\n\nThe last suggestion appeared to me by far the most luminous. In human\nlife it is invariably the _lower_ nature that needs to be reconciled and\nconciliated; whilst the higher nature, in proportion to its\ndevelopment, is forgiving and tolerant and wide-minded, and does not\nprate about its own high sense of justice requiring to be appeased. The\nbest type of _man_ punishes a wrong-doer in order that he may learn to\ndo better and leave off tormenting and wronging his fellow-creatures;\nnot to appease any instinct in his own breast, for that would be\negotism, no matter how we might try to disguise the fact.\n\nNow if it would be a blot upon the best conceivable _man_ to be\negotistical, _a fortiori_ must it be upon God.\n\nTo conceive otherwise is to make God in the likeness of the lower and\nnot the higher humanity. I thought all that out very clearly.\n\nStill this crux remained for me, that to be suddenly, at any arbitrary\nmoment in the world's history, obliged, as it were, to send an\nabsolutely divine part of Himself into the world, was the way a _man_\nwould act faced by an unforeseen catastrophe, but not the way in which\nGod has acted throughout the rest of our history.\n\nA succession of teachers, enlightening the world by degrees, and\nculminating in the ANOINTED Son of God--the Flower of Humanity--_this_\nis entirely in line with the processes of Nature and the laws of God, so\nfar as we know them.\n\nAll progress has its culminating point.\n\nAEons have passed to produce the most exquisite crystals, the highest\nforms of vegetation, of animals, of men. Then came the slow processes of\ncivilising and educating men; the dim instincts of fear and\npropitiation, merging, by slow degrees, in the first conceptions of\nLove, as something apart from desire, and so forth.\n\nWas I to be expected to shut my eyes to all these known facts, and bolt\ndown the theories contained in one Book, written by human authors, no\nmatter how admirable?\n\nI felt it was impossible.\n\nThen I remembered with relief that these very dogmas, as a matter of\nfact, were in so fluent a state, that my own bare fifty years of living\nhad seen at least four different high-water marks!\n\nHere again therefore, under my very eyes, was the universal law of\nprogress working, the moment it _could_ work, by being released from the\nswaddling-clothes of the Roman Catholic Church, which, so far as it is\northodox, is fossilised.\n\nI saw also that the whole body of dissent had moved on, taking up its\npegs and planting them a little further on each time; till a City\ntemple, with its widening theology, was an established fact.\n\nProgress everywhere--slow, but sure--and the pace getting quicker, even\nin my short span! Still, the _uniqueness_ of Jesus of Nazareth and His\ninfluence over the nineteen centuries was a puzzle.\n\nBuddha's influence has lasted longer, Mahomet's almost as long (the two\ncancel any way), but I have always recognised an _advance_ in the\nteaching of Jesus Christ. He brought a fresh element, in the personal\nnote of the Sonship with GOD.\n\nI was at this point when I came over here. Now through your mind I have\nbeen able to see, and, oddly enough, to quicken in your soul, the seed\nalready planted there.\n\nThey tell me the illumination came to you years ago, at\nOberammergau--no, not when you were there for the Passion Play--four\nyears earlier.\n\nYou took it in with your head then, not with your heart. Old traditions\nwere too strong, I suppose, and you had not made up the last little bit\nof your mind, to be true to the convictions that had come to you through\nyour prayers for light.\n\nAnd so you have gone on, see-sawing to and fro, not really believing the\nold orthodox ideas, but not courageously sweeping them away for\nyourself. So although the key was in your hands, you have not used it\nuntil now. You have given me the key, and I have been allowed, as _my_\nNew Year's gift, to fit it in the door.\n\nThis is how Jesus Christ has stood so long at the door of _your_ heart\nand knocked. He could only enter through the one door--namely, _that one\nopened in the highest point of your spiritual realisation_. I see now\nthat He comes in at that door in each soul, and, as spiritual evolution\nunfolds in each heart, so is the special position of that door shifted;\nbut the fact of His presence is the vital one! It was not possible for\nHim to do otherwise than hide His face, as it were, whilst you were\nbarring His only door of access--_i.e. your true point of realisation_.\n\nIt all seems so clear to me now. And this is how He comes to so many in\ndifferent guises.\n\nHe is the Perfected Manifestation of GOD, as the Divine Man--the Flower\nof Humanity.\n\nBut He can come into the heart in the narrowest creed, so long as the\nholder of that creed is at _his true point of growth_ and not trying to\nstifle God's gift of ever-advancing truth by cowardly want of trust, or\nfear of being worse off in the end, by being absolutely honest to\nhimself and his own convictions in the present.\n\nIt has been a long message, and you have taken much of it awkwardly, but\non the whole it represents what I wanted to say.             H. D.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nH. D.--I feel now that you want to know what I meant by telling Miss R.\nit was the _likeness_ to the old world which puzzled me here.\n\nYou see, we have all imbibed traditional ideas with our mother's milk,\nhowever much our intellects may have modified them. Instinct is stronger\nthan intellect, because it is more elemental.\n\nThe first thing that struck me was that truths which are latent on\nearth are made manifest here.\n\n(Here comes an interpolation.)\n\nYou can take my words so easily that we must guard against wasting time\nin mere verbosity. I must teach you to condense more. We must strike\nsome sort of balance between my brevity and your amplification. At\npresent it is as well to get the instrument into proper working order\nbefore worrying too much over these details.\n\n(He then resumed.)\n\nIt is as if you turned the old earth garment inside out, and saw the\nvery fabric of it, which the earth looms have hitherto concealed by the\nwarp and woof of the manufactured article.\n\nFor instance, you are told on earth that you are making your own future\nconditions by right or wrong thinking. _Here_ you see the absolute,\n_material_ results of right and wrong thinking, just as if you were\nlooking at two different patterns, woven by two different workers. I\nsaid material results, because matter here is just as real as it was on\nearth, and just as illusory, in one sense, in both spheres. Your matter\nis unreal to us. Our matter is unreal to you. The truth is, both are\nshadows cast by an antecedent reality on the Screens of the Universe.\n\nThe screens are the school-houses through which humanity learns its\nlessons.\n\nDon't be worried! There is no real difficulty in using your hand; it is\nonly trying to compromise between your redundancy and my brevity.\n\nEarth is like a gallery of sculpture. (Note by E. K. B.--This simile had\nflashed through my brain, and H. D. at once said: \"Yes, that is very\ngood; you started it, and I pick it up and apply it.\") All the figures\nand groups are perfected and complete in their marble or bronze or\nterra-cotta, as the case may be.\n\nSome groups or figures are noble, others mediocre, others again may be\nsensual and degrading, but they have one quality in common--for good or\nbad, they are _ready made_.\n\nNow go into the sculptor's studio, having studied well in the great\nsculpture galleries of the world. You go to the studio, we will suppose,\nas a pupil. He puts a lump of clay into your hands, and for the first\ntime you are invited to model your own statues and figures, to embody\nyour own ideas in this clay, which corresponds to thought stuff _here_.\nYou are even made to understand that your houses will only be worthily\nfurnished by the work of your own hands. _Here_ it is the work of your\nown hearts, of your loving or unloving thoughts.\n\nSo the first lesson we learn over here is that THOUGHT is not only\nCreative Power, as you are often told on earth, but it is also the very\nstuff out of which the creation must be moulded. It is, in very truth,\nthe clay of the modeller.\n\nShakespeare said truly enough \"We are such stuff as dreams are made of,\"\nbut he was referring to our embodied selves.\n\nThe difference between the two worlds seems to me, so far as I have\narrived, as the difference between the pupil in the sculpture gallery\nand in the experimental studio. The chief part of the earth modelling is\nready made--made by the racial thought stuff and the racial manipulation\nof it.\n\n_Here_, for the first time, we must turn to and take a hand in the work\nourselves. It would not be possible to give such individual power in any\nlower sphere than this, for it would be misused, and would lead to\nterrible tragedies.\n\nYou see some slight hints of this in what is called Black Magic--the\nwilful and intentional throwing of evil conditions on other people,\nmaking hard and cruel images of them in the mind, and so forth. But all\nthat is as child's play to what would happen if the absolute clay were\nput into their hands, as it is here.\n\nIt is the difference between thinking out an ugly picture; and painting\nit and hanging it up in a gallery; for we have objectivity here as with\nyou. Naturally what comes into objective existence has more power than\nwhat remains latent. The latter can only influence exceptionally\nsensitive souls, and that to a comparatively small extent, whereas the\nformer, here as with you, has a much farther range of influence.\n\nSo this sort of gunpowder is not given to us until we are old enough to\nknow better than to burn our fingers with it, in trying to make\nfireworks!\n\nAt the same time, as all stages of evolution overlap, it is inevitable\nthat some hint of these possibilities should be already in your world.\nWoe be to those who misuse them!\n\nYou have taken enough for this morning.          H. D.\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nThe friend I have called Mr Harry Denton, during his psychic researches,\ncame, as many others have done, very strongly under the influence of\n\"Imperator,\" the chief of the Stainton Moses controls.\n\nI knew that this was the case, especially during the last three or four\nyears of my friend's life, and I always rather resented the fact, for\nthe limitations of Imperator have always appealed to me so strongly, as\nto dim, perhaps unduly, his undoubted claims to appreciation.\n\nI have read many of the private Stainton Moses' records (thanks to my\nfriendship with the executor, with whom these journals were left), and\nin all those referring to Imperator's communications, there was to my\nmind the same note of cock-sureness and mental tyranny.\n\nThere was too much of finality and self-assertion, too much of \"_Thus\nsaith the Lord_,\" about Imperator's remarks for my rebellious soul. I\ncould never be strongly impressed by any personality, however admirable,\nthat so palpably exacted allegiance and unquestioning obedience. These\nmust be the unconscious tribute to the Genius of Holiness, as to any\nother sort of genius; never an enforced levy upon us.\n\nSo at least it seems to me. Certainly I would not escape one sort of\npriestcraft to set up another in its place, whether the niche be filled\nby Mrs Besant or Mrs Eddy or Mr Sinnett, or any other fallible\nfellow-creature. Not even Imperator can strike me as infallible; and his\nown evident belief in that direction does not affect the question.\n\nIt seemed to me rather to be deplored that Mr Denton, with his wide\noutlook and cosmic conceptions, should fall so strongly under any\nspecial influence, even that of the admirable Imperator!\n\nSo I was curious to know what his views were upon this subject from the\nother side of the veil. I will now leave him to speak for himself.\n\n\nH. D.--You want me to tell you just my position about the Imperator\ngroup before and since I passed to this side? That is easily done.\nRemember, the teaching I got through Imperator was practically the first\n_spiritual_ teaching I ever had--the first I mean, of course, that I\ncould assimilate, because it appealed to my reason, as well as to my\nsense of the fitness of things--and therefore I can never feel\nsufficiently grateful to him and his group; and I see that they can\nteach many who would not be amenable to a more distinctly spiritual\nappeal.\n\nImperator is a great force in his way; a sort of plough that goes over\nthe hard, caked-up earth and throws it open to the sunshine and rain and\nall Nature's beautiful influences, to all the possibility of Divine\ninfluences on the corresponding sphere.\n\nBut the limitation of Imperator I see clearly now, as you always appear\nto have done.\n\nHe is, as you say, too final and too dogmatic. This is at once his\nweakness and his strength: his weakness, because it limits his own\nspiritual receptivity; his strength, because it focusses his power in\ndealing with materialistic minds.\n\nA more spiritually true perspective in his communications would rule out\nhalf the souls to whom his appeal is made.\n\n_Stainton Moses has also progressed beyond the Imperator influence, and\nthis is why the communications between them had become so clogged and so\nliable to error._\n\nS. M. could not switch on to the old wires, as in the days when his\nhorizon was bounded by them. This accounts, I see, for much of the\nmisconception and apparent inconsistency of the remarks made through Mrs\nPiper, but it was very disheartening for the investigator as time went\non and the \"Light\" became more and more clouded. Then there was the\nadditional fact to be faced, that Mrs Piper herself became, psychically\nrather than physically, exhausted, and less able to be used from this\nside.\n\nNow I see you want to know about Frank Strong, and what he said about\nsin existing only on your plane, and how inconsistent this was with the\nprevious teachings of Stainton Moses, who was supposed to be speaking\nthrough Frank's assistance.\n\nIt is so difficult to explain everything in black and white when there\nare so many shades of grey, so many degrees and amounts to be\nconsidered. It is like a question in mechanics.\n\nWith increased momentum you get an increased rate as multiplied by\nspace. I am not an expert, but this is practically true. In the same\nway, spiritual perception acts with increased momentum.\n\nAll sin is failure in spiritual perception. Spiritual perception\ncorresponds with the momentum of a falling body in mechanics. Only in\nDivine mechanics it is a _rising_ body; but the same law holds good.\n\nYou say truly that an action can only be called sinful when the sinner\nknows the higher and deliberately turns to the lower.\n\nThat is true; but it is only half a truth. It is still the _lack of\nknowledge_ that causes sin. With the fulness of knowledge of the higher\n(only another way of putting fulness of spiritual perception) _must_\ncome the righteousness of life.\n\nIt is the broken gleams, the little knowledge, which is truly a\ndangerous thing, for it brings responsibility, and therefore the\ncapacity for sinning. Yet the _choice_ between good and evil fully made,\nis the schoolmaster to bring us to the full realisation of our nature as\nSons of God.\n\nNow when Frank came over here, he was so greatly impressed by the\ndynamic force of spiritual perception that for the time he lost all\nsense of proportion and accuracy of judgment. Compared with the old\nearth temptations, those in his sphere seemed non-existent, whilst the\ntemptations to goodness were enormously increased.\n\nWhat wonder that in the delightful sensation caused by his sense of\nmoral and spiritual freedom from old shackles, he should exclaim with\nyouthful fervour: \"Sin is only possible in your sphere--it is unknown\nhere!\" Any communications of which he formed the channel, would of\nnecessity be coloured by this dominant idea of his. Everything is a\nquestion of degree, and he is learning that lesson now, I find. He says:\n\"Why do people in the earth life quote our words as if we were Delphic\nOracles?\"\n\nWhy, indeed? But I am afraid I did much the same whilst so strongly\nunder the Imperator influence.\n\nE. K. B.--Why is Imperator so slow in throwing off his own spiritual\nlimitations?\n\nH. D.--I can read your mind so easily. It is quick and alert, and has\nalready answered its own question. It is because he has a work to do on\nyour plane amongst those who could not come in touch with a higher\nspiritual development. There are spiritual as well as scientific\nmartyrs, you must remember; and he is one of them. But the Divine\nEconomy works very beautifully here. He is not conscious of any\nspiritual limitation, and therefore he is happy in his work, and the\nmartyrdom I spoke of is _unconscious_. When it becomes conscious, with\nhim it will mean that his present plane of work is finished, and that he\nwill be removed to another \"_Form_\" so soon as he is prepared to teach\nthere.\n\nHe is essentially a teacher, and a valuable one, for those who have not\nsoared beyond his present perceptions. It is all so much more simple and\nreasonable than you suppose. It is these crusted old creeds that have\nmisrepresented actual conditions, and yet they also have been, as\nImperator; doing their own work amongst the people to whom they have\nacted as necessary stepping-stones.\n\nThat is enough for to-day; take a rest now.            H. D.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nThe following conversation between Mr Denton and myself (the last of the\nseries which I propose to give) took place, I see, at Buxton, 4th\nSeptember 1906.\n\nThere had been some correspondence in _The Daily Telegraph_ about Time\nas a fourth Dimension, and I asked my friend if he could say anything to\nme on the subject. His reply was as follows:--\n\n\nTime is really a form of perception, _not a thing in itself_--do you\nunderstand?\n\nYour limitation of perception you call _Time_.\n\nAnother limitation is called _Distance_.\n\nThis also is an illusion, or a limitation, whichever you choose to call\nit.\n\n_The White Ray is the Absolute._ The spectroscope gives you the\nlimitation which makes the colours perceptible to your human eyes. For\nthe one who is free from these limitations, all colours exist and are\npresent in consciousness at the same moment. But they must be split up\nand observed severally to enter into the earth consciousness. It is\nexactly the parallel of Time.\n\n_Events in Time coincide with the colours in the Ray._ All exist\nsimultaneously for the one who is free from limitations. All must be\nbrought into sequence for the one who is bound by limitations.\n\nThis is really the key to so many puzzles, and accounts for so many\noccult phenomena.\n\nAs we transcend the normal earth limits ever so little, so do we develop\nthese abnormal powers, as they are called. But here, as everywhere, the\nreality is just the converse of the apparent.\n\nThe true norm is the Perfect Ray--the Ceaseless Sound--the Perfect\nVision; and the abnormal is the limitation upon the earth, or upon any\nsucceeding plane, short of the Absolute. But naturally we consider that\nnormal which happens to be our standpoint for the moment.\n\nAlready to me the earth limitations appear _abnormal_, and my more\nextended capacities mark the norm of existence for me. This must be the\ncase naturally.\n\n_Prevision_ would be more accurately termed _Whole vision_--seeing the\nwhole and not the tiny section.\n\nIn moments of intense joy or realisation of any kind, Time seems to\ncease, and a moment may hold an Eternity. Any absorbing emotion, joyful\nor sorrowful, may bring this experience. For the moment _you are out of\nyourselves_. This is literally true. You are living in the next\nDimension. Time and Space no longer exist for you. Most of you have had\nsome such experience, but of necessity it can be a flash only in the\nmidst of your normal life. Ask me something now.\n\nE. K. B.--A man writing lately in _The Daily Telegraph_ of Time as a\nfourth Dimension said something about the cube as being an infinite\nnumber of flat planes of infinite tenuity, heaped up one over the other.\nTo the person who knew only length and breadth, the cube would have no\nexistence. Such a person would realise only an infinite number of planes\nin sequence. Yet they would all _co-exist_ for the three-dimensional man\nof the present day. The suggestion appeared to be that, in exactly a\nsimilar way, events which to the three-dimensional man can only be\nperceived normally _in sequence_, would _co-exist_ for a\nfour-dimensional being. This would mean practically the annihilation of\nTime, as giving sequence. Do you see Truth in this idea, and can you\ntell me if it extends also to Space?\n\nH. D.--Certainly. That is just what I meant as regards Distance. _All_\nlimitations are mental, as a matter of fact. We have them here, but\ninfinitely fewer than in the old earth life.\n\nMind has always been able to flash from pole to pole and to affect those\nat a distance, because mind and distance occupy two different planes.\nThe latter is an earth limitation. As the veil lifts a little, even on\nyour side, so you become conscious that mind has these powers; but the\npowers were always there. It merely means that you have come up with\nyour own mental capacities to some small degree.\n\nE. K. B.--Is there any help here for my constant problem: Why should\none's individual life be only _now_ evolving in Eternity? Do you see\nwhat I mean?\n\nH. D.--Yes; but I hardly know the answer to that tremendous problem.\nStill, I will try to suggest a few thoughts to you.\n\nTo be conscious of holiness and virtue we must have known its\nantithesis--evil and separation, which are really synonymous. Separation\nfrom Holiness _is_ evil. It is a condition, a limitation.\n\nIt is to the Divine Essence just such a limitation as Time is to the\nmortal. Separation is therefore the antecedent cause of all\nlimitations. These _must_ exist where the Wholeness or Holiness is\nabsent.\n\nI must use the language of earth or you would not understand. Logically,\nof course, Holiness can never be absent, since it is the cause of all\nExistence; but it is _apparently absent_, and this apparent absence,\nthis separation, this evil in fact, acts as a spectroscope. _It\nanalyses, and thus brings into our consciousness the White Ray of the\nDivine Nature._\n\nWe can go no further than that. The Divine Chemistry, beyond this fact,\nmust remain a mystery, probably for ages to come.\n\nWe cannot tell _why_ things are thus arranged; we only know that it is\nso.\n\nAs well ask _why_ the White Ray of Light gives out its colours only\nthrough separating them.\n\nBut it is easier to speak of the co-ordination of _events_. Take your\nown suggestion of the cube--that will help us best.\n\nTake it that each life is a cube of planes, of experiences. These\nexperiences are co-existent and knit together, as firmly in the life of\na human being as the many planes are co-existing, and knit together in a\nmathematical cube. You can dissect the cube and slice off infinitesimal\nsmall planes in sections.\n\nSo is the individual life sliced off into an infinite number of planes\nby the sequences of Time (our three-dimensional condition).\n\nBut these experiences--great or small, important or trivial (from your\npoint of view)--_exist in the cube of that person's earth pilgrimage_,\nas the colours exist in the White Ray.\n\nThe Ray may be split up into sequence, but the colours belong to it all\nthe same, and by a _perfectly seeing eye_ would be known and recognised\nwithout the help of the spectroscope.\n\nThe true seer is the one who sees the cube of your life; before whom it\nis spread out, without Time Separations, into planes of experience. This\nis the real secret of all _foretelling_. Such people, when honest, have\nsome amount of access to the cube of earth life, some more, some less.\n\nMany mix up and confuse what they see; but they do see beyond the plane\nsection which Time gives to the normal human being.\n\nI think you have taken enough now.\n\nI will only add that, of course--as you know--there is nothing arbitrary\nin the cube of life, as I have called it. It is built up of necessary\nexperiences and necessary consequences. But it is built up by Love and\nWisdom, the two Elements of the Divine Nature, in which we live and move\nand have our being.                H. D.\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\nThe next selection that I shall give from my automatic script comes from\nan entirely different personality, which can be sufficiently indicated\nby the initials E. G.\n\n\nE. G.--Worship is a necessary part of each soul's training, and we can\nonly worship that which we feel to be above and beyond ourselves. As we\ngrow older and become more developed in spiritual consciousness, so do\nwe tend more and more to worship the inner and intangible, rather than\nthe outer and manifest. So whilst the instinct of worship is always the\nsame, the objects and methods must continually change with our own\nadvancing realisation and unfolding consciousness.\n\nThose limitations which once made for reverence are in time found to be\ncramping and to lead to superstition.\n\nIt is the same with the education of either children or of childish\nnations.\n\nIn both cases a _display_ of power is necessary to command obedience,\nbecause the childish mind can only apprehend from the outer, and realise\nthe existence of that which it sees physically demonstrated. Tell a\nchild of tender years that to be naughty is to be unhappy, and in\nninety-nine cases out of one hundred he will neither understand nor\nbelieve you. But take away his toys or his sweets or put him in a\ncorner; make him, in fact, _physically_ aware of the truth that to be\nnaughty is to bring unpleasant consequences upon himself, and you have\ntaken the only argument which he is capable of realising at a certain\npoint of consciousness.\n\nThis is why certain nations, at the child point of development, _must_\nbe treated as children. They don't realise the appeal to the spiritual,\nand will only misconceive you and your motives, and read cowardice in\nyour attempt to treat from a standpoint they have not reached.\n\nIt is the same with certain religions, and this is the cause of much\nfailure in mission work.\n\nTheosophy and Roman Catholicism appeal strongly to comparatively\nimmature minds.\n\nThose who care more for form than for essence are always in the immature\nstage.\n\nThey love big words and mysterious sayings and doings. To have something\napart from others--whether it be happiness or knowledge--is their idea\nof bliss. Hence in most theosophists, as in all Roman Catholic converts,\nyou find this note of immaturity and monopoly. I say _converts_, because\nthose born in the Roman Catholic faith are on different ground. Their\nspiritual life may grow and develop in spite of the creed limitations\ninto which Fate has cast them, but those who deliberately _choose_ such\nlimitations give the best possible proof of their own standpoint. And\nthe same may be said also of all strict creed religions.\n\nThey have their great and valuable uses, as prison bars have their uses\nin a community which has not learnt to respect the rights and property\nof its neighbours.\n\nWithdraw these bars and you let loose upon society a pestilential crew\nof murderers and marauders. Relax the bars of creed and you will find\nthe same result. But as bars are not necessary for the advanced souls\nwho recognise that to murder or defraud their fellow-creatures leads to\ntheir own misery, apart from any detection or punishment, so creeds are\nnot necessary, under a corresponding evolution of the spiritual\ninstinct, which tallies with the social and moral instincts noted above.\n\nAnd as treadmills and oakum picking can be dismissed in the one case, so\ncan much of the theological machinery for the discipline and punishment\nof sinners against spiritual laws be dispensed with, in the case of\nthose who are, spiritually speaking, _coming of age_.\n\nThey come then into the full liberty of Sons of God, and shall be no\nmore treated as servants, _but as sons_, as the Apostle puts it.\n\nThis brings me to my special subject.\n\nThere are many things of great and transcending interest which we are\nobliged to keep secret from our younger children, partly because they\nwould fail to understand, but still more because they would\n_misunderstand_, and this to their own hurt and disadvantage; not to\nspeak of possible injury to others through them.\n\nSpiritual Evolution is the true Doctrine, but it is not food for babes\nin spiritual life.\n\nTo have an unlimited series of advancing lives and advancing experiences\nunfolded before their eyes would not only dismay and bewilder, but would\nalso paralyse their energy for good, and terribly augment their capacity\nfor evil--for the _not good_.\n\nUntil they are sufficiently versed in spiritual experience to realise\nthe difference between purity and impurity, good and evil, God and the\nworld, fame and peace, pleasure and happiness, the peace which passes\nunderstanding and the false glamour of sensual passion and sensuous\nself-indulgence, so long it is dangerous for them to know, with absolute\ncertainty, the real facts of the case.\n\nEven the terrible and abhorrent pictures of an Eternal Hell, of endless\nflames and of undying worms, have had their uses.\n\nIn this form alone could the thoroughly immature mind be made to realise\nthe discomfort and misery that would inevitably attend wrong-doing. It\n_was_ a truth, although not a literal truth. Many literal truths convey\na false impression to the immature mind, whilst a symbolic truth may\nconvey as true an impression as such a mind is capable of receiving.\n\nThe old ideas of Heaven and Hell are already doomed; but other ideas,\nequally untrue from the literal point of view, still hold their own, and\nwill be more slowly eradicated. It is well this should be so. The world\nat large is not prepared yet to take this further step.\n\nFrequent examinations have been found useful and inevitable in school\ntraining, both as a test of progress and still more as an encouragement.\n\nIf you tell a school of boys and girls in January that a grand\nexamination will be held the following December, do you suppose they\nwill work as well and as diligently as if they knew there will be short\nexaminations at Easter and more important ones at midsummer?\n\nAgain, if you tell boys of ten years old, who are learning a little\nhistory, geography, and arithmetic, just in the Rule of Three and simple\nfractions, with perhaps a little Latin; of the Algebra and Euclid and\nConic sections and higher Mathematics, and Latin and Greek verse and\nHebrew and Philosophy, which they must some day confront, you will\npuzzle and paralyse their brains, and leave only a sense of misery and\nrevolt and helplessness, which will quickly show forth in reckless\ndespair, even concerning the tasks which are well within their present\ncapacity.\n\nGod, in His Infinite Wisdom (of which ours is the feeblest reflection),\nacts in precisely the same way as wise fathers and wise teachers.\n\nYour earth is more or less of an infant school, but before leaving it,\nsome of you must prepare for the higher classes and learn to take your\nown spiritual responsibilities.\n\nIt is seen that in these days of reaction and readjustment, many minds\nare puzzled and perplexed by the old doctrines, which they have\noutgrown, and which were never more than the outer husk and protection\nfor the inner kernel--the casket for the jewel of spiritual truth.\n\nThe one term of probation--the one chance for progress--the immediate\nHeaven or Hell--the Great White Throne of Judgment, instant and\ninevitable--all these correspond with the frequent examinations, with\nthe good and bad marks--the judging of the school work at the end of\neach term. The only difference lies in the fact that the schoolboy\n_knows_ he has other terms in front of him, and we are all aware that\nthis is a very unfortunate fact where an idle boy is concerned.\n\nHow often you may hear them say: \"Never mind! I'm a bit behind now--but\nI have three years more--I shall catch up later.\" And this is probably\njust what they fail to do; for with such characters it is always\n_to-morrow_ that is to see the reformation which so often comes only\nwhen life has taught its hard lessons to the defaulter.\n\nIs it not apparent, therefore, that there has been wisdom and goodness\nin our very theological mistakes and illusions?\n\nThe opposition to spiritualistic teachings has its good and healthy\nside. It is really the fierce antagonism of the undeveloped nature\ntowards a truth it dimly apprehends to be ahead of its own development;\nand, tiresome as it seems, and _is_ from one point of view, it is the\nbest safeguard for the world at large.\n\nUnimaginable horrors would come to pass upon the earth were Power as\nwell as Knowledge put into the hands of the crude and undeveloped.\n\nIt would be arming savages with Winchester rifles and quick-firing guns.\n\n_Never regret_, therefore, this opposition, even whilst fighting against\nit in individual cases.\n\nBoth _must_ grow together till the Harvest--the Tares and Wheat, the\nCrude and the Developed--and the former are the enormous majority.\n\nThis is the reason why all Truth must be born into each world through a\nfight and an agony; for it always comes as an advance upon normal\nconditions, no matter in which sphere it may be. And it is through the\nstruggle that the Victory comes and the Light is born.\n\nLet people jeer and deride when they hear of a future life, not so very\ndifferent from your own; of houses and lectures and boats and horses, of\npet animals, and so forth.\n\nThose who jeer and deride or talk of blasphemy are still at the orthodox\nstage, when it is well for them to know only of _one_ school, of _one_\nterm, of _one_ chance, and of an immediate and final judgment for the\ndeeds done on earth.\n\nOthers are old enough (spiritually speaking) to know the truth\n_i.e._--that GOD is in _all_, of an infinite series of spheres, through\nwhich each travelling soul must pass, gaining ever fresh light, growing\never into fresh knowledge and realisation of Divine Beauty and Divine\nLove; spheres differing little externally from the one left behind, but\nenormously in the capacities and qualities which by degrees the soul\nwill unfold in the Cosmic Journey.\n\nThe outer will become more and more the result of the inner condition;\nfor the creative faculty, scarcely born with you, flourishes in the\nascending spiral. Down here you are babes, with your clothes made for\nyou, your bottles filled for you, and dependent on others for the\nconditions of life, but by degrees you will enter on the full\nresponsibility and the full joy and glory of independent existence,\nwhich yet will be unified--first into the life of the Affinities--the\nTrue and completed Being--and then into the life of that Body of\n_Christ_, of which St Paul speaks in his prophetic moments, where \"there\nshall be neither Greek nor Jew, Barbarian, Scythian, Bond nor Free,\" but\n_Christos_, the glorified and crowned Humanity, shall be all in all--GOD\nIN MAN; the coping-stone of the Building, whose foundations were laid as\nMAN (the Image and Likeness of God) IN GOD.","title":"Seen and Unseen","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":88635}