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Title: Raymond, or Life and Death - With examples of the evidence for survival of memory and - affection after death.
Author: Lodge, Sir Oliver J.
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Raymond, or Life and Death - With examples of the evidence for survival of memory and - affection after death." ***

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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)

Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold
text by =equal signs=.

The original text contains many unclosed quotes that are obviously
the author's intention. These have been left as the original.

Line 19979: "bone or feather or flesh. Study may superadd properties"
'superadd' could be 'separate'.

Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as

Minor typographical errors have been corrected.

Variations in hyphenation of the word "Sandboat/Sand-boat" have been
left unchanged.

In the original version the formatting of the conversations between
the real world and the spirit world is often confusing. In this
transcripton I have adopted the following layout. Conversations or
questions arising from the real world - left justified. Conversations
or questions arising from the spirit world and anotations by
the author within these cross world conversations are shown as

Part II Chap. II: "prope funeratus / arboris ictu" changed to "prope
funeratus arboris ictu" to avoid unwanted '/'.

Line 1568: SO_{2} = SO[subscript]2 i.e. Sulphur Dioxide.

Line 6389: "(Mrs. Leonard here repeated the alphabet......" no
closing bracket in the original. Left unchanged.

Line 10366: Unnecessary ")" removed. Typographical error.



  Raymond, or Life and Death
  Modern Problems
  The Substance of Faith, Allied with Science
  Man and the Universe
  The Survival of Man
  Reason and Belief
  The War and After

[Illustration: RAYMOND]






  COPYRIGHT, 1916,




                "Divine must be
  That triumph, when the very worst, the pain,
  And even the prospect of our brethren slain,
  Hath something in it which the heart enjoys."



This book is named after my son who was killed in the War.

It is divided into three parts. In the first part some idea of the
kind of life lived and the spirit shown by any number of youths,
fully engaged in civil occupations, who joined for service when war
broke out and went to the Front, is illustrated by extracts from his
letters. The object of this portion is to engender a friendly feeling
towards the writer of the letters, so that whatever more has to be
said in the sequel may not have the inevitable dulness of details
concerning an entire stranger. This is the sole object of this
portion. The letters are not supposed to be remarkable; though as a
picture of part of the life at the Front during the 1915 phase of the
war they are interesting, as many other such letters must have been.

The second part gives specimens of what at present are considered
by most people unusual communications; though these again are in
many respects of an ordinary type, and will be recognised as such
by other bereaved persons who have had similar messages. In a few
particulars, indeed, those here quoted have rather special features,
by reason of the assistance given by the group of my friends "on the
other side" who had closely studied the subject. It is partly owing
to the urgency therein indicated that I have thought it my duty to
speak out, though it may well be believed that it is not without
hesitation that I have ventured thus to obtrude family affairs. I
should not have done so were it not that the amount of premature and
unnatural bereavement at the present time is so appalling that the
pain caused by exposing one's own sorrow and its alleviation, to
possible scoffers, becomes almost negligible in view of the service
which it is legitimate to hope may thus be rendered to mourners, if
they can derive comfort by learning that communication across the
gulf is possible. Incidentally I have to thank those friends, some
of them previously unknown, who have in the same spirit allowed the
names of loved ones to appear in this book, and I am grateful for the
help which one or two of those friends have accorded. Some few more
perhaps may be thus led to pay critical attention to any assurance of
continued and happy and useful existence which may reach them from
the other side.

The third part of the book is of a more expository character, and is
designed to help people in general to realise that this subject is
not the bugbear which ignorance and prejudice have made it, that it
belongs to a coherent system of thought full of new facts of which
continued study is necessary, that it is subject to a law and order
of its own, and that though comparatively in its infancy it is a
genuine branch of psychological science. This third part is called
"Life and Death," because these are the two great undeniable facts
which concern everybody, and in which it is natural for every one
to feel a keen interest, if they once begin to realise that such
interest is not futile, and that it is possible to learn something
real about them. It may be willingly admitted that these chapters are
inadequate to the magnitude of the subject, but it is hoped that they
are of a usefully introductory character.

The "In Memoriam" chapter of Part I is no doubt chiefly of interest
to family and friends; but everybody is very friendly, and under the
circumstances it will be excused.



  PREFACE                                                       vii



  I. IN MEMORIAM                                                  3

  II. LETTERS FROM THE FRONT                                     15

  III. LETTERS FROM OFFICERS                                     73


      INTRODUCTION                                               83

  I. ELEMENTARY EXPLANATION                                      86

  II. THE 'FAUNUS' MESSAGE                                       90

  III. SEQUEL TO THE 'FAUNUS' MESSAGE                            96

  IV. THE GROUP PHOTOGRAPH                                      105

  V. BEGINNING OF HISTORICAL RECORD                             117

  VI. FIRST SITTING OF O. J. L. WITH MRS. LEONARD               125

  VII. FIRST PETERS SITTING (Anonymous)                         129

  VIII. A TABLE SITTING                                         137

  IX. ATTEMPTS AT STRICTER EVIDENCE                             151

  X. RECORD CONTINUED                                           158

  XI. FIRST SITTING OF ALEC                                     162

            ON CROSS-CORRESPONDENCES                            171

  XIII. AN O. J. L. SITTING WITH PETERS                         174

  XIV. FIRST SITTING OF LIONEL (Anonymous)                      180

  XV. M. F. A. L. SITTING OF NOVEMBER 26                        188

  XVI. O. J. L. SITTING OF DECEMBER 3                           191

  XVII. K. K. AUTOMATIC WRITING                                 205


  XIX. PRIVATE SITTINGS AT MARIEMONT                            217


  XXI. TWO EVIDENTIAL SITTINGS OF MARCH 3                       237

  XXII. MORE UNVERIFIABLE MATTER                                262

  XXIII. A FEW ISOLATED INCIDENTS                               271


  INTRODUCTION                                                  283

  I. THE MEANING OF THE TERM LIFE                               289

  II. THE MEANING OF THE TERM DEATH                             296

  III. DEATH AND DECAY                                          302

  IV. CONTINUED EXISTENCE                                       308

  V. PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE                                  312

  VI. INTERACTION OF MIND AND MATTER                            317

  VII. 'RESURRECTION OF THE BODY'                               322

  VIII. MIND AND BRAIN                                          326

  IX. LIFE AND CONSCIOUSNESS                                    332

  X. ON MEANS OF COMMUNICATION                                  338


  INSIGNIFICANT TOPICS                                          349

  XIII. ON THE MANNER OF COMMUNICATION                          355

  XIV. VARIOUS PSYCHO-PHYSICAL METHODS                          362

  XV. ATTITUDE OF THE WISE AND PRUDENT                          367

  XVI. OUTLOOK ON THE UNIVERSE                                  374

  XVII. THE CHRISTIAN IDEA OF GOD                               378

  INDEX                                                         397


  RAYMOND                                    _Frontispiece_


  RAYMOND WHEN TWO YEARS OLD                                      8

  RAYMOND, 1915                                                  78


  SHOULDER INSTEAD OF HAND                                      112


  MARIEMONT                                                     224



  OF THE FIRST                                                  250

  ALEC ON BOARD                                                 252


  "GRANDFATHER W."                                              258

  "MR. JACKSON" WITH M. F. A. L. AT MARIEMONT                   258

  UNSHIPPED AND TAKEN TO WOOLACOMBE, 1907                       260

  AT MARIEMONT                                                  260

  THE MOTHER OF RAYMOND'S DOG "LARRY"                           278

  HOUSE IN SOMERSETSHIRE                                        278


  "And this to fill us with regard for man,
  With apprehension of his passing worth."

  Browning, _Paracelsus_.



The bare facts are much as reported in _The Times_:--

  SECOND LIEUTENANT RAYMOND LODGE was the youngest son of
  Sir Oliver and Lady Lodge, and was by taste and training
  an engineer. He volunteered for service in September
  1914 and was at once given a commission in the 3rd
  South Lancashires. After training near Liverpool and
  Edinburgh, he went to the Front in the early spring of
  1915, attached to the 2nd South Lancashire Regiment of
  the Regular Army, and was soon in the trenches near Ypres
  or Hooge. His engineering skill was of service in details
  of trench construction, and he later was attached to a
  Machine-Gun Section for a time, and had various escapes
  from shell fire and shrapnel. His Captain having sprained
  an ankle, he was called back to Company work, and at the
  time of his death was in command of a Company engaged
  in some early episode of an attack or attempted advance
  which was then beginning. He was struck by a fragment of
  shell in the attack on Hooge Hill on the 14th September
  1915, and died in a few hours.

  Raymond Lodge had been educated at Bedales School and
  Birmingham University. He had a great aptitude and love
  for mechanical engineering, and was soon to have become
  a partner with his elder brothers, who highly valued
  his services, and desired his return to assist in the
  Government work which now occupies their firm.

In amplification of this bare record a few members of the family
wrote reminiscences of him, and the following memoir is by his eldest



By O. W. F. L.

Most lives have marriages, births of children, productive years;
but the lives of the defenders of their Country are short and of
majestic simplicity. The obscure records of childhood, the few
years of school and university and constructive and inventive work,
and then the sudden sacrifice of all the promise of the future, of
work, of home, of love; the months of hard living and hard work well
carried through, the cheerful humorous letters home making it out all
very good fun; and in front, in a strange ruined and desolate land,
certain mutilation or death. And now that death has come.

    Unto each man his handiwork, to each his crown,
          The just Fate gives;
    Whoso takes the world's life on him and his own lays down,
          He, dying so, lives.[1]

My brother was born at Liverpool on January 25th, 1889, and was at
Bedales School for five or six years, and afterwards at Birmingham
University, where he studied engineering and was exceptionally
competent in the workshop. He went through the usual two years'
practical training at the Wolseley Motor Works, and then entered his
brothers' works, where he remained until he obtained a commission at
the outbreak of war.

His was a mind of rare stamp. It had unusual power, unusual
quickness, and patience and understanding of difficulties in my
experience unparalleled, so that he was able to make anyone
understand really difficult things. I think we were most of us
proudest and most hopeful of him. Some of us, I did myself, sometimes
took problems technical or intellectual to him, sure of a wise and
sound solution.

Though his chief strength lay on the side of mechanical and
electrical engineering it was not confined to that. He read widely,
and liked good literature of an intellectual and witty but not highly
imaginative type, at least I do not know that he read Shelley or
much of William Morris, but he was fond of Fielding, Pope, and Jane
Austen. Naturally he read Shakespeare, and I particularly associate
him with _Twelfth Night_ and _Love's Labour's Lost_. Among novelists,
his favourites, after Fielding and Miss Austen, were I believe
Dickens and Reade; and he frequently quoted from the essays and
letters of Charles Lamb.[2]

Of the stories of his early childhood, and his overflowing vitality
made many, I was too often from home to be able to speak at large.
But one I may tell. Once when a small boy at Grove Park, Liverpool,
he jumped out of the bath and ran down the stairs with the nurse
after him, out of the front door, down one drive along the road
and up the other, and was safely back in the bath again before
the horrified nursemaid could catch up with him. [_body of Memoir
incomplete, and omitted here._]

  [_Close of Memoir_]

That death is the end has never been a Christian doctrine, and
evidence collected by careful men in our own day has, perhaps
needlessly, upheld with weak props of experiment the mighty arch of
Faith. Death is real and grievous, and is not to be tempered by the
glossing timidities of those who would substitute journalese like
"passing-on," "passing-over," etc., for that tremendous word: but it
is the end of a stage, not the end of the journey. The road stretches
on beyond that inn, and beyond our imagination, "the moonlit endless

Let us think of him then, not as lying near Ypres with all his work
ended, but rather, after due rest and refreshment, continuing his
noble and useful career in more peaceful surroundings, and quietly
calling us his family from paralysing grief to resolute and high

Indeed, it is not right that we should weep for a death like his.
Rather let us pay him our homage in praise and imitation, by growing
like him and by holding our lives lightly in our Country's service,
so that if need be we may die like him. This is true honour and his
best memorial.

Not that I would undervalue those of brass or stone, for if beautiful
they are good and worthy things. But fame illuminates memorials, and
fame has but a narrow circle in a life of twenty-six years.

    Who shall remember him, who climb
    His all-unripened fame to wake,
    Who dies an age before his time?
    But nobly, but for England's sake.

    Who will believe us when we cry
    He was as great as he was brave?
    His name that years had lifted high
    Lies buried in that Belgian grave.

    O strong and patient, kind and true,
    Valiant of heart, and clear of brain--
    They cannot know the man we knew,
      Our words go down the wind like rain.

    O. W. F. L.





    Whoso bears the whole heaviness of the wronged world's weight
      And puts it by,
    It is well with him suffering, though he face man's fate;
      How should he die?



Of all my sons, the youngest, when he was small, was most like
myself at the same age. In bodily appearance I could recognise the
likeness to my early self, as preserved in old photographs; an old
schoolfellow of mine who knew me between the ages of eight and
eleven, visiting Mariemont in April 1904, remarked on it forcibly and
at once, directly he saw Raymond--then a schoolboy; and innumerable
small mental traits in the boy recalled to me my childhood's
feelings. Even an absurd difficulty he had as a child in saying the
hard letters--the hard G and K--was markedly reminiscent of my own
similar difficulty.

Another peculiarity which we shared in childhood was dislike of
children's parties--indeed, in my own case, a party of any kind. I
remember being truly miserable at a Christmas party at The Mount,
Penkhull, where I have no doubt that every one was more than
friendly,--though probably over-patronising, as people often are
with children,--but where I determinedly abstained from supper, and
went home hungry. Raymond's prominent instance was at the hospitable
Liverpool house, "Greenbank," which the Rathbones annually delivered
up to family festivities each Christmas afternoon and evening, being
good enough to include us in their family group. On one such occasion
Raymond, a very small boy, was found in the hall making a bee-line
for the front door and home. I remember sympathising with him, from
ancient memories, and taking him home, subsequently returning myself.

At a later stage of boyhood I perceived that his ability and tastes
were akin to mine, for we had the same passionate love of engineering
and machinery; though in my case, having no opportunity of exercising
it to any useful extent, it gradually turned into special aptitude
for physical science. Raymond was never anything like as good at
physics, nor had he the same enthusiasm for mathematics that I
had, but he was better at engineering, was in many ways I consider
stronger in character, and would have made, I expect, a first-rate
engineer. His pertinacious ability in the mechanical and workshop
direction was very marked. Nothing could have been further from his
natural tastes and proclivities than to enter upon a military career;
nothing but a sense of duty impelled him in that direction, which was
quite foreign to family tradition, at least on my side.


He also excelled me in a keen sense of humour--not only appreciation,
but achievement. The whole family could not but admire and enjoy
the readiness with which he perceived at once the humorous side of
everything; and he usually kept lively any gathering of which he was
a unit. At school, indeed, his active wit rather interfered with the
studies of himself and others, and in the supposed interests of his
classmates it had to be more or less suppressed, but to the end he
continued to be rather one of the wags of the school.

Being so desperately busy all my life I failed to see as much as I
should like either of him or of the other boys, but there was always
an instinctive sympathy between us; and it is a relief to me to be
unable to remember any, even a single, occasion on which I have been
vexed with him. In all serious matters he was, as far as I could
judge, one of the best youths I have ever known; and we all looked
forward to a happy life for him and a brilliant career.

His elder brothers highly valued his services in their Works. He
got on admirably with the men; his mode of dealing with overbearing
foremen at the Works, where he was for some years an apprentice, was
testified to as masterly, and was much appreciated by his "mates";
and honestly I cannot bethink myself of any trait in his character
which I would have had different--unless it be that he might have had
a more thorough liking and aptitude for, and greater industry in, my
own subject of physics.

When the war broke out his mother and I were in Australia, and it
was some time before we heard that he had considered it his duty
to volunteer. He did so in September 1914, getting a commission
in the Regular Army which was ante-dated to August; and he threw
himself into military duties with the same ability and thoroughness
as he had applied to more naturally congenial occupations. He went
through a course of training at Great Crosby, near Liverpool, with
the Regiment in which he was a Second Lieutenant, namely the 3rd
South Lancashires, being attached to the 2nd when he went to the
Front; his Company spent the winter in more active service on the
south coast of the Firth of Forth and Edinburgh; and he gained his
desired opportunity to go out to Flanders on 15 March 1915. Here he
applied his engineering faculty to trench and shelter construction,
in addition to ordinary military duties; and presently he became a
machine-gun officer. How desperately welcome to the family his safe
return would have been, at the end of the war, I need not say. He had
a hard and strenuous time at the Front, and we all keenly desired to
make it up to him by a course of home "spoiling." But it was too much
to hope for--though I confess I did hope for it.

He has entered another region of service now; and this we realise.
For though in the first shock of bereavement the outlook of life felt
irretrievably darkened, a perception of his continued usefulness has
mercifully dawned upon us, and we know that his activity is not over.
His bright ingenuity will lead to developments beyond what we could
have anticipated; and we have clear hopes for the future.

 O. J. L.

 MARIEMONT, _September 30, 1915_.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Written on a scrap of paper, September 26, 1915_,

"_To ease the pain and to try to get in touch_"

Raymond, darling, you have gone from our world, and _oh_, to ease the
pain. I want to know if you are happy, and that you _yourself_ are
really talking to me and no sham.

"No more letters from you, my own dear son, and I have loved them
so. They are all there; we shall have them typed together into a sort
of book.

"Now we shall be parted until I join you there. I have not seen as
much of you as I wanted on this earth, but I do love to think of the
bits I have had of you, specially our journeys to and from Italy. I
had you to myself then, and you were so dear.

"I want to say, dear, how we recognise the glorious way in which
you have done your duty, with a certain straight pressing on, never
letting anyone see the effort, and with your fun and laughter playing
round all the time, cheering and helping others. You know how your
brothers and sisters feel your loss, and your poor father!"

       *       *       *       *       *

The religious side of Raymond was hardly known to the family;
but among his possessions at the Front was found a small pocket
Bible called "The Palestine Pictorial Bible" (Pearl 24mo), Oxford
University Press, in which a number of passages are marked; and
on the fly-leaf, pencilled in his writing, is an index to these
passages, which page I copy here:--

  Ex. xxxiii. 14         63
  St. John xiv.         689
  Eph. ii.              749
  Neh. i. 6, II         337
  St. John xvi. 33      689
  Rom. viii. 35         723
  St. Matt. xi. 28      616
  Ps. cxxiv. 8          415
  Ps. xliii. 2          468
  Deut. xxxiii. 27      151
  Deut. xxxii. 43       150
  Isa. li. 12           473
  Isa. lii. 12          474
  Jude 24               784
  Ezra ix. 9            335
  Isa. xii. 2           451
  Isa. i. 18            445
  Isa. xl. 31           467
  Rev. vii. 14          788
  Rev. xxi. 4           795

MIZPAH. Gen. xxxi. 49.
  R. L.

The following poem was kindly sent me by Canon Rawnsley, in
acknowledgment of a Memorial Card:--



  WHO FELL IN FLANDERS, 14 SEPT. 1915 "_His strong young body is
  laid under some trees on the road from Ypres to Menin._" [From the
  Memorial Card sent to friends.]

    'Twixt Ypres and Menin night and day
      The poplar trees in leaf of gold
    Were whispering either side the way
        Of sorrow manifold,

    --Of war that never should have been,
      Of war that still perforce must be,
    Till in what brotherhood can mean
        The nations all agree.

    But where they laid your gallant lad
      I heard no sorrow in the air,
    The boy who gave the best he had
        That others good might share.

    For golden leaf and gentle grass
      They too had offered of their best
    To banish grief from all who pass
        His hero's place of rest.

    There as I gazed, the guests of God,
      An angel host before mine eyes,
    Silent as if on air they trod
        Marched straight from Paradise.

    And one sprang forth to join the throng
      From where the grass was gold and green,
    His body seemed more lithe and strong
        Than it had ever been.

    I cried, "But why in bright array
      Of crowns and palms toward the north
    And those white trenches far away,
        Doth this great host go forth?"

    He answered, "Forth we go to fight
      To help all need where need there be,
    Sworn in for right against brute might
        Till Europe shall be free."




And I think that I ought now to repeat the message which your
fathers, when they went out to battle, urged us to deliver to you who
are their survivors, in case anything happened to them. I will tell
you what I heard them say, and what, if they could, they would fain
be saying now, judging from what they then said; but you must imagine
that you hear it all from their lips. Thus they spoke:--

  "Sons, the event proves that your fathers were brave men.
  For we, who might have continued to live, though without
  glory, choose a glorious death rather than bring reproach
  on you and your children, and rather than disgrace our
  fathers and all of our race who have gone before us,
  believing that for the man who brings shame on his own
  people life is not worth living, and that such an one is
  loved neither by men nor gods, either on earth or in the
  underworld when he is dead.

  "Some of us have fathers and mothers still living, and
  you must encourage them to bear their trouble, should
  it come, as lightly as may be; and do not join them in
  lamentations, for they will have no need of aught that
  would give their grief a keener edge. They will have pain
  enough from what has befallen them. Endeavour rather to
  soothe and heal their wound, reminding them that of all
  the boons they ever prayed for the greatest have been
  granted to them. For they did not pray that their sons
  should live for ever, but that they should be brave and
  of fair fame. Courage and honour are the best of all
  blessings, and while for a mortal man it can hardly be
  that everything in his own life will turn out as he would
  have it, their prayer for those two things has been
  heard. Moreover, if they bear their troubles bravely, it
  will be perceived that they are indeed fathers of brave
  sons, and that they themselves are like them.... So
  minded, _we_, at any rate, bid those dear to us to be;
  such we would have them be; and such we say we are now
  showing that we ourselves are, neither grieving overmuch
  nor fearing overmuch if we are to die in this battle.
  And we entreat our fathers and mothers to continue to be
  thus minded for the rest of their days, for we would have
  them know that it is not by bewailing and lamentation
  that they will please us best. If the dead have any
  knowledge of the living, they will give us no pleasure by
  breaking down under their trouble, or by bearing it with
  impatience.... For our lives will have had an end the
  most glorious of all that fall to the lot of man; it is
  therefore more fitting to do us honour than to lament us."

  _Stat sua cuique dies; breve et irreparabile tempus
  Omnibus est vitae: sed famam extendere factis, Hoc
  virtutis opus._

  _Æn._ x. 467

    [Footnote 1: Swinburne, _Super Flumina Babylonis_.]

    [Footnote 2: _Note by O. J. L._--A volume of poems by O.
    W. F. L. had been sent to Raymond by the author; and this
    came back with his kit, inscribed on the title page in a
    way which showed that it had been appreciated:--

    "Received at Wisques (Machine-Gun School), near St. Omer,
    France--_12th July 1915_.

    Taken to camp near Poperinghe--_13th July_.

    To huts near Dickebusch--_21st July_.

    To first-line trenches near St. Eloi, in front of 'The
    Mound of Death'--_24th July_."]



I shall now, for reasons explained in the Preface, quote extracts
from letters which Raymond wrote to members of his family during the
time he was serving in Flanders.

A short note made by me the day after he first started for the Front
may serve as a preliminary statement of fact:--

  _Mariemont, Edgbaston, 16 March 1915_

  Raymond was recently transferred back from Edinburgh to
  Great Crosby near Liverpool; and once more began life in
  tents or temporary sheds.

  Yesterday morning, Monday the 15th March, one of the
  subalterns was ordered to the Front; he went to a
  doctor, who refused to pass him, owing to some temporary
  indisposition. Raymond was then asked if he was fit: he
  replied, Perfectly. So at 10 a.m. he was told to start
  for France that night. Accordingly he packed up; and at
  3.00 we at Mariemont received a telegram from him asking
  to be met at 5 p.m., and saying he could spend six hours
  at home.

  His mother unfortunately was in London, and for many
  hours was inaccessible. At last some of the telegrams
  reached her, at 7 p.m., and she came by the first
  available (slow) train from Paddington, getting here at

  Raymond took the midnight train to Euston; Alec, Lionel,
  and Noël accompanying him. They would reach Euston at
  3.50 a.m. and have two hours to wait, when he was to
  meet a Captain [Capt. Taylor], and start from Waterloo
  for Southampton. The boys intended to see him off at
  Waterloo, and then return home to their war-business as
  quickly as they could.

  He seems quite well; but naturally it has been rather a
  strain for the family: as the same sort of thing has been
  for so many other families.

  O. J. L.

First comes a letter written on his way to the Front after leaving

  _"Hotel Dervaux, 75 Grande Rue, Boulogne-s/Mer, Wednesday, 24 March
  1915, 11.30 a.m._

  "Following on my recent despatch, I have the honour to
  report that we have got stuck here on our way to the
  Front. Not stuck exactly, but they have shunted us into
  a siding which we reached about 8 a.m., and we are free
  until 2.30 p.m. when we have to telephone for further
  orders to find out where we are to join our train. I
  don't know whether this is the regular way to the Front
  from Rouen. I don't think it is, I fancy the more direct
  way must be reserved for urgent supplies and wounded.

  "My servant has been invaluable _en route_ and he has
  caused us a great deal of amusement. He hunted round at
  the goods station at Rouen (whence we started) and found
  a large circular tin. He pierced this all over to form
  a brazier and attached a wire handle. As soon as we got
  going he lit this, having filled it with coal purloined
  from somewhere, and when we stopped by the wayside about
  10 or 11 p.m. he supplied my compartment (four officers)
  with fine hot tea. He had previously purchased some
  condensed milk. He also saw to it that a large share of
  the rations, provided by the authorities before we left,
  fell to our share, and looked after us and our baggage in
  the most splendid way.

  "He insists on treating the train as a tram. As soon as
  it slows down to four miles an hour, he is down on the
  permanent way gathering firewood or visiting some railway
  hut in search of plunder. He rides with a number of other
  servants in the baggage waggon, and as they had no light
  he nipped out at a small station and stole one of the
  railway men's lamps. However, there was a good deal of
  fuss, and the owner came and indignantly recovered it.

  "As soon as we stop anywhere, he lowers out of his van
  the glowing brazier. He keeps it burning in the van! I
  wonder the railway authorities don't object. If they do,
  of course he pretends not to understand any French.

  "He often gets left behind on the line, and has to
  scramble into our carriage, where he regales us with his
  life history until the next stop, when he returns to his
  own van.

  "Altogether he is a very rough customer and wants a lot
  of watching--all the same he makes an excellent servant."


  "_Friday, 26 March 1915_

  "I arrived here yesterday about 5 p.m., and found the
  Battalion resting from the trenches. We all return there
  on Sunday evening.

  "I got a splendid reception from my friends here, and
  they have managed to get me into an excellent Company,
  all the officers of which are my friends. This place is
  very muddy, but better than it was, I understand. We are
  in tents."

  "_Saturday, 27 March 1915, 4.30 p.m._

  "We moved from our camp into billets last night and
  are now in a farm-house. The natives still live here,
  and we (five officers) have a room to ourselves, and
  our five servants and our cook live and cook for us
  in the kitchen. The men of our Company are quartered
  in neighbouring farm buildings, and other Companies
  farther down the road. We are within a mile of a village
  and about three or four miles to the southward of a
  fair-sized and well-known town. The weather is steadily
  improving and the mud is drying up--though I haven't seen
  what the trenches are like yet....

  "I am now permanently attached to C Company and am
  devoutly thankful. Captain T. is in command and the
  subalterns are Laws, Fletcher, and Thomas, all old
  friends of mine. F. was the man whose room I shared at
  Edinburgh and over whose bed I fixed the picture....

  "We went on a 'fatigue' job to-day--just our Company--and
  were wrongly directed and so went too far and got right
  in view of the enemy's big guns. However, we cleared out
  very quickly when we discovered our error, and had got
  back on to the main road again when a couple of shells
  burst apparently fairly near where we had been. There
  were a couple of hostile aeroplanes about too.... Thank
  you very much for your letter wondering where I am. 'Very
  pressing are the Germans,' a buried city."

[This of course privately signified to the family that he was at Ypres.]

  "_1 April 1915, 1.15 p.m._

  "We dug trenches by night on Monday and Wednesday, and
  although we were only about 300 to 500 yards from the
  enemy we had a most peaceful time, only a very few stray
  bullets whistling over from time to time."

  "_Saturday, 3 April 1915, 7 p.m._

  "I am having quite a nice time in the trenches. I
  am writing this in my dug-out by candle-light; this
  afternoon I had a welcome shave. Shaving and washing is
  usually dispensed with during our spell of duty (even by
  the Colonel), but if I left it six days I should burst my
  razor I think. I have got my little 'Primus' with me and
  it is very useful indeed as a standby, although we do all
  our main cooking on a charcoal brazier....

  "I will look out for the great sunrise to-morrow
  morning and am wishing you all a jolly good Easter: I
  shan't have at all a bad one. It is very like Robinson
  Crusoe--we treasure up our water supply most carefully
  (it is brought up in stone jars), and we have excellent
  meals off limited and simple rations, by the exercise
  of a little native cunning on the part of our servants,
  especially mine."

  "_Bank Holiday, 5 April 1915, 4.30 p.m._

  "The trenches are only approached and relieved at
  night-time, and even here we are not allowed to stir
  from the house by day on any pretext whatever, and no
  fires are allowed on account of the smoke. (Fires are
  started within doors when darkness falls and we have a
  hot meal then and again in the early morning--that is
  the rule--however, we do get a fire in the day by using
  charcoal only and lighting up from a candle to one piece
  and from that one piece to the rest, by blowing; also I
  have my Primus stove.) ... We are still within rifle-fire
  range here, but of course it is all unaimed fire from the
  intermittent conflict going on at the firing line....

  "I have a straw bed covered with my tarpaulin sheet--(it
  is useful although I have also the regular military
  rubber ground sheet as well)--and my invaluable
  air-pillow. I am of course travelling light and have to
  carry everything in my 'pack' until I get back to my
  valise and 'rest billets,' so I sleep in my clothes.
  Simply take off my boots and puttees, put my feet in a
  nice clean sack, take off my coat and cover myself up
  with my British Warm coat (put on sideways so as to use
  its great width to the full). Like this I sleep like a
  top and am absolutely comfortable."

  "I have been making up an Acrostic for you all to
  guess--here it is:

  LIGHTS. My first is speechless, and a bell Has often
  the complaint as well. Three letters promising to pay,
  Each letter for a word does stay. There's nothing gross
  about this act;-- A gentle kiss involving tact. A General
  less his final 'k,' A hen would have no more to say. Our
  Neenie who is going west Her proper name will serve you

  WHOLE. My whole, though in a foreign tongue, Is Richard's
  name when he is young. The rest is just a shrub or tree
  With spelling 'Made in Germany.'

  "That's the lot. The word has ten letters and is divided
  into two halves for the purpose of the Acrostic.

       *       *       *       *       *

  "My room-mate has changed for to-night, and I have got
  Wyatt, who has just come in covered in mud, after four
  days in the trenches. He is machine-gun officer, and
  works very hard. I am so glad to have him.

  "By the way the support-trenches aren't half bad. I
  didn't want to leave them, but it's all right here too."

  "_Thursday, 8 April 1915_

  "Here I am back again in 'Rest Billets,' for six days'
  rest. When I set off for the six days' duty I was
  ardently looking forward to this moment, but there is not
  much difference; here we 'pig' it pretty comfortably in a
  house, and there we 'pig' it almost as comfortably in a
  'dug-out.' There we are exposed to rifle fire, nearly all
  unaimed, and here we are exposed to shell fire--aimed,
  but from about five miles away.

  "On the whole this is the better, because there is more
  room to move about, more freedom for exercise, and there
  is less mud. But you will understand how much conditions
  in the trenches have improved if comparison is possible
  at all.

  "My platoon (No. 11) has been very fortunate; we have had
  no casualties at all in the last six days. The nearest
  thing to one was yesterday when we were in the firing
  trench, and a man got a bullet through his cap quite
  close to his head. He was peeping over the top, a thing
  they are all told not to do in the daytime. The trenches
  at our point are about a hundred yards apart, and it is
  really safe to look over if you don't do it too often,
  but it is unnecessary, as we had a periscope and a few

  "I am awfully grateful for all the things that have been
  sent, and are being sent.... I will attach a list of
  wants at the end of this letter. I am very insatiable
  (that's not quite the word I wanted), but I am going on
  the principle that you and the rest of the family are
  only waiting to gratify my every whim! So, if I think of
  a thing I ask for it....

  "By the way we have changed our billets here. Our last
  ones have been shelled while we were away--a prodigious
  hole through the roof wrecking the kitchen, but not
  touching our little room at the back. However, it is not
  safe enough for habitation and the natives even have left!

  "Things are awfully quiet here. We thought at first that
  it was 'fishy' and something was preparing, but I don't
  think so now. It is possibly the principle of 'live and
  let live.' In the trenches if we don't stir them up with
  shots they leave us pretty well alone. Of course we are
  ready for anything all the same.

  "Yes, we see the daily papers here as often as we want to
  (the day's before). Personally, and I think my view is
  shared by all the other officers, I would rather read a
  romance, or anything not connected with this war, than a
  daily paper....

  "Was the Easter sunrise a success? It wasn't here. Cloudy
  and dull was how I should describe it. Fair to fine
  generally, some rain (the latter not to be taken in the
  American sense).

  "I wonder if you got my Acrostic [see previous letter]
  and whether anybody guessed it; it was meant to be very
  easy, but perhaps acrostics are no longer the fashion and
  are somewhat boring. I always think they are more fun to
  make than to undo. The solution is a household word here,
  because it is only a half-mile or so away, and provides
  most things."

[The family had soon guessed the Acrostic, giving the place as
Dickebusch. The "lights" are--

  D um B
  I o U
  Cares S
  K lu Ck
  E dit H.]

 [_To a Brother_]

  "_Billets, Tuesday, 13 April 1915_

  "We are all right here except for the shells. When
  I arrived I found every one suffering from nerves
  and unwilling to talk about shells at all. And now I
  understand why. The other day a shrapnel burst near our
  billet and a piece of the case caught one of our servants
  (Mr. Laws's) on the leg and hand. He lost the fingers of
  his right hand, and I have been trying to forget the mess
  it made of his right leg--ever since. He will have had it
  amputated by now.

  "They make you feel awfully shaky, and when one comes
  over it is surprising the pace at which every one gets
  down into any ditch or hole near.

  "One large shell landed right on the field where the
  men were playing football on Sunday evening. They all
  fell flat, and all, I'm thankful to say, escaped injury,
  though a few were within a yard or so of the hole. The
  other subalterns of the Company and I were (_mirabile
  dictu_) in church at the time.

  "I wonder if you can get hold of some morphia tablets
  [for wounded men]. I think injection is too complicated,
  but I understand there are tablets that can merely be
  placed in the mouth to relieve pain. They might prove
  very useful in the trenches, because if a man is hit in
  the morning he will usually have to wait till dark to be

  "My revolver has arrived this morning."

  "_Sunday, 18 April 1915_

  "I came out of the trenches on Friday night. It was
  raining, so the surface of the ground was very slippery;
  and it was the darkest night I can remember. There was a
  good deal of 'liveliness' too, shots were flying around
  more than usual. There were about a hundred of us in our
  party, two platoons (Fletcher's and mine) which had been
  in the fire trenches, though I was only with them for one
  day, Thursday night till Friday night. Captain Taylor was
  in front, then Fletcher's platoon, then Fletcher, then my
  platoon, then me bringing up the rear. We always travel
  in single file, because there are so many obstacles to
  negotiate--plank bridges and 'Johnson' holes being the

  "Picture us then shuffling our way across the fields
  behind the trenches at about one mile an hour--with
  frequent stops while those in front negotiate some
  obstacle (during these stops we crouch down to try and
  miss most of the bullets!). Every few minutes a 'Very'
  light will go up and then the whole line 'freezes' and
  remains absolutely stationary in its tracks till the
  light is over. A 'Very' light is an 'asteroid.' (Noël
  will explain that.) It is fired either by means of a
  rocket (in the German case) or of a special pistol called
  a 'Very' pistol after the inventor (in our case). The
  light is not of magnesium brightness, but is just a
  bright star light with a little parachute attached, so
  that it falls slowly through the air. The light lasts
  about five seconds. These things are being shot up at
  short intervals all night long. Sometimes dozens are in
  the air together, especially if an attack is on.

  "Well, to go back to Friday night:--it took us a very
  long time to get back, and at one point it was hard to
  believe that they hadn't seen us. Lights went up and
  almost a volley whistled over us. We all got right down
  and waited for a bit. Really we were much too far off for
  them to see us, but we were on rather an exposed bit of
  ground, and they very likely fix a few rifles on to that
  part in the daytime and 'poop' them off at night. That is
  a favourite plan of theirs, and works very well.

  "We did get here in the end, and had no casualties,
  though we had had one just before leaving the trench. A
  man called Raymond (in my platoon) got shot through the
  left forearm. He was firing over the parapet and had been
  sniping snipers (firing at their flashes). Rather a nasty
  wound through an artery. They applied a tourniquet and
  managed to stop the bleeding, but he was so weak from
  loss of blood he had to be carried back on a stretcher.

  "I had noticed this man before, partly on account of his
  name. Last time I was in the fire trenches (about ten
  days ago) I was dozing in my dug-out one evening and the
  Sergeant-Major was in his, next door. Suddenly he calls
  out 'Raymond!' I started. Then he calls again 'Raymond!
  Come here!' I shouted out 'Hallo! What's the matter?' But
  then I heard the other Raymond answering, so I guessed
  how it was....

  "While at tea in the next room the post came and brought
  me your letter and one from Alec. Isn't it perfectly
  marvellous? You were surprised at the speed of my last
  letter. But how about yours? The postmark is 2.30 p.m. on
  the 16th at Birmingham, and here it is in my hands at 4
  p.m. on the 18th!

  "I was telling you about the difficulties of going to
  and fro between here and the trenches, but you will
  understand it is not always like that. If there is a
  moon, or even if there is a clear sky so that we can get
  the benefit of the starlight (which is considerable and
  much more than I thought), matters are much improved,
  because if you can still see the man in front, when he
  is, say, 5 yards in front of you, and can also see the
  holes instead of finding them with your person, all that
  'waiting for the "tail" to close up' is done away with....

  "Last night Laws, Thomas, and myself each took a party of
  about forty-five down separately, leaving the remainder
  guarding the various billets. Then when we returned
  Fletcher took the rest down.

  "It was a glorious night, starry, with a very young and
  inexperienced moon, and quite dry and warm. I would not
  have minded going down again except that I would rather
  go to bed, which I did.

  "Do you know that joke in _Punch_ where the Aunt
  says: 'Send me a postcard when you are safely in the
  trenches!'? Well, there is a great deal of truth in
  that--one feels quite safe when one reaches the friendly
  shelter of the trench, though of course the approaches
  aren't really very dangerous. One is 'thrilled' by the
  whistle of the bullets near you. That describes the
  feeling best, I think--it is a kind of excitement."

  "_Thursday, 22 April 1915, 6.50 p.m._

  "I have received a most grand periscope packed, with
  spare mirrors, in a canvas haversack. It is a glorious
  one and I am quite keen to use it, thank you very much
  indeed for it. Thank you also for two sets of ear
  defenders which I am going to test when firing off a
  'Very' light. A 'parachuted' star is fired from a brass
  pistol with a bore of about 1 inch and a barrel of about
  6 inches. The report is very deafening, I believe--though
  I haven't fired one yet.

  "The star, by the way, though it lights up the country
  for some distance, is not too bright to look at.

  "I have just remembered something I wanted to tell you,
  so I will put it in here.

  "When walking to and from the trenches in the darkness,
  I find it is a great help to study the stars (not for
  purposes of direction). I know very little about them,
  and I saw a very useful plan in, I think, the _Daily
  News_ of 3 April, called 'The Night Sky in April.' It was
  just a circle with the chief planets and stars shown and
  labelled. The periphery of the circle represented the

  "If you know of such a plan that is quite easily
  obtainable I should be glad to have one. The simpler the
  thing the better.

  "The books you had sent me, which were passed on to
  me by Professor Leith, are much appreciated. They
  circulate among officers of this Company like a
  library. At the time they arrived we were running
  short of reading-matter, but since then our Regimental
  Headquarters have come to the rescue and supplied each
  Company with half a dozen books, to be passed on to other
  Companies afterwards.

  "I enclose an acrostic that I made up while in the
  trenches during our last spell. It seems to be a prolific
  place for this sort of thing."


(One word of five letters)

  LIGHTS.   The lowest rank with lowest pay,
            Don't make this public though, I pray!
            Inoculation's victim, though
            Defeated still a powerful foe.
            When Government 'full-stop' would say
            It does so in this novel way.
            The verb's success, the noun's disgrace
            And lands you in a foreign place.
            A king of kings without a roar,
            His kingdom that no anger bore.

            The final goal--the end of all--
            What all desire, both great and small.

  R. L., _19 April 1915_

  [The solution of this is the word _Peace_ given
  twice--once inverted. The first 'light,' which is not
  'public' is 'Private'; the second is 'Enteric'; the third
  is a sign employed in Government telegrams to denote a
  full-stop, viz., 'aaa'; the fourth is 'Capture'; and
  the fifth (with apologies) is 'Emp,' and some occult
  reference to Edward VII, not remembered now; the kingdom
  without anger being Empire without ire.--O. J. L.]

  "_Friday, 30 April 1915, 4.10 p.m._

  "I wish you could see me now. I am having a little
  holiday in Belgium. At the moment I am sitting in the
  shade of a large tree, leaning against its trunk, writing
  to you. The sun is pouring down and I have been sitting
  in it lying on a fallen tree, but it makes me feel lazy,
  so I came here to write (in the shade).

  "Before me, across a moat, is the château--ruined now,
  but not by old age. It is quite a handsome building, two
  storeys high. It is built of brick with a slate roof;
  the bricks are colour-washed yellow with a white band 18
  inches deep under the roof; there are two towers with
  pointed roofs that stand to the front of the house,
  projecting slightly from it, forming bay windows. These
  towers, from the roof down to the ground, are red brick,
  as are the fronts of the dormer windows in the main

  "The larger and taller tower is octagonal and stands
  in the middle of the front, the smaller one is square
  and stands on the right corner. On each side of the
  main building are flanking buildings consisting on this
  (left) side of a brick-built palm-house and beyond that
  again a glass-covered conservatory. The other flank has
  a conservatory also, but I have not explored as far as
  that. The front of the building is about 70 to 80 yards


  "The main entrance is on the other or northern side. It
  is reached by a drawbridge over the moat. The house on
  that (north) side is not so much damaged. It has long
  windows with shutters that give it a continental air. I
  can't sketch it, so I have given you a rough elevation
  from the south. I am sitting to the south-west, just
  across the moat.


  "The place is in an awful mess. In some parts it is
  difficult to tell how the original building went. One can
  see into several of the rooms; the outer wall has fallen
  away, exposing about three rooms and an attic. In one
  room the floor has dropped at one corner to some 8 feet
  below its proper level, and a bed is just above poised on
  the edge of the room, almost falling out where the room
  is sectioned.

  "There is no glass in any of the green-houses--it is all
  on the floor. The palm-house is full of green tubs with
  plants in them, mostly overturned.

  "In the garden the trees are blossoming, some of the
  fruit trees are covered with white blossom; but many,
  even of these, are lying flat and blossoming in the moat.
  The drive runs down to the road on the south side in an
  absolutely straight line, flanked by tall trees. But many
  of these are down too. I was lying on one just now. The
  garden is in good order, though getting a little out of
  hand. There is a small plantation of gooseberry bushes
  that looks very healthy. Shell holes are all about,

  "The house, although it is not on an eminence, commands
  a good view to the southward and has a fine view of the
  German lines, which are slightly raised just here. The
  enemy evidently suspected this château was used as an
  observation post, as indeed it may have been.

  "We came out of the trenches on Wednesday night into
  Reserve Billets, and I was placed with No. 9 platoon
  (instead of my own) in a little house not far from this
  château. We are not allowed to leave it by day, or rather
  we are not allowed to show ourselves on the south side of
  it, as it might draw shell-fire on to it. But I managed
  to sneak away to the north under cover of a hedge without
  any risk of being seen.

  "After being relieved in the trenches on Wednesday, and
  marching back and having a meal with the other officers
  of C Company in the Reserve Billets (a brewery), it was
  one o'clock before I got to bed in our little house. And
  we had to 'stand to arms' in the morning for an hour
  while dawn was breaking (we always do, and at dusk too).
  So after this I went to sleep till 2 p.m. I sleep in an
  outhouse with no door, on straw laid on a brick floor.
  My ground-sheet on the straw, my coat over me, my feet
  in a sack and an air-cushion under my head, and I can
  sleep as peacefully as at home. The place is swarming
  with rats and mice, you can hear them directly you lie
  still. They go 'plop, plop, plop,' on the straw overhead,
  as if they were obliged to take long strides owing to
  their feet sinking into the straw. Immediately over my
  head, I should judge, there is a family of young rats by
  the noise. Occasionally they have a stampede and a lot of
  dust comes down on my face.

  "But one gets used to this, and muttering 'Nom d'un
  chien!' one turns the other cheek. By the way, they say
  these rats 'stand to' at dawn, just as we do.

  "I am terrified of a rat running over my face, but my
  servant sleeps with me, so I console myself that the
  chances are just even that they won't choose me. I wish
  he wouldn't snore though--he's lowering the odds.

  "Last night we had to turn out for fatigue parties. I
  took a party down to one of the fire trenches with 'knife
  rests.' These are sections of barbed wire entanglement.
  They are made by fixing cross-pieces on the ends of a
  long pole. The tips of these cross-pieces are joined
  together with barbed wire laid parallel to the centre
  pole. Then the whole is wound with more barbed wire laid
  on spirally, thus: [a sketch]

  These are slung out in front of the trenches and fixed
  together. They are now fixed also to the trench, because
  the Germans used to harpoon them and draw them over to
  their own side!

  "Well, we set off about 11 p.m. and took twenty-two
  of these down. We didn't exactly bless the full
  moon--although it showed us the holes and obstructions in
  the way. Still, we had no casualties and made good time.
  We got back about midnight. So I only slept till 12.30
  this morning! Of course I had to get up for an hour at
  dawn. I used the time to brew myself some cocoa. I am
  getting an expert cook, and can make that 'Bivouac' cocoa
  taste like the very finest chocolate....

  "Just before going into the trenches I received another
  of those splendid parcels of cabbage and apples. The
  apples are simply splendid. The cabbage is good, but I
  never cared very much for it--it is medicinal in this
  case. However, it is great to have such a fine supply
  of green stuff instead of none at all. The Mess does
  appreciate it.

  "I have been supplying our Mess (C Company) with butter.
  And the supply sent up to now has just effected this
  with none to spare. But I don't know whether you want to
  do this, and that is why I suggested cutting down the
  supply. I don't want you to think any of it has been
  wasted though--it hasn't, and is splendid stuff....

  "In the trenches one is not always doing nothing. These
  last three days in I have been up all night. I had a
  working party in two shifts working all night and all
  three nights, digging communication trenches. I used to
  go to bed about 4.20 a.m. and sleep till lunch-time, and
  perhaps lie down again for a bit in the afternoon. That
  is why my letters have not been so frequent.

  "It is extraordinary that what is wanted at the moment
  is not so much a soldier as a civil engineer. There are
  trenches to be laid out and dug, and the drainage of them
  to be thought out and carried through. Often the sides
  have to be 'riveted' or staked, and a flooring of boards
  put in, supported on small piles.

  "Then there is the water-supply, where one exists. I have
  had great fun arranging a 'source' in my trench (the
  support trench that I have been in these last three days
  and that I have been in often before). A little stream,
  quite clear and drinkable after boiling, runs out at
  one place (at about 1 pint a minute!) and makes a muddy
  mess of the trenches near. By damming it up and putting
  a water-bottle with the bottom knocked in on top of the
  dam, the water runs in a little stream from the mouth of
  the bottle. It falls into a hole large enough to receive
  a stone water-jar, and then runs away down a deep trough
  cut beside the trench. Farther down it is again dammed up
  to form a small basin which the men use for washing; and
  it finally escapes into a kind of marshy pond in rear of
  the trenches.

  "I quite enjoyed this job, and there are many like it;
  plank bridges to be put up, seats and steps to be cut,
  etc. One officer put half a dozen of his men on to
  making a folding bed! But it was not for himself, but
  for his Captain, who has meningitis and can't sleep. The
  men enjoy these jobs too; it is much better than doing

  "I will creep back to my quarters now and make myself
  some tea on my 'Primus' (no fires are allowed).

  "A cuckoo has been singing on a tree near me--in full
  view. (It left hurriedly when one of our guns went off
  close behind the château.) The first time I have ever
  seen one, I think. It is amazing how tame the animals
  get. They have so much ground to themselves in the
  daytime--the rats especially; they flourish freely in the
  space between the trenches.

  "Things are fairly quiet and easy here just now."

[In one of his letters to me (22 April 1915), he said he had plenty
of time now to watch the stars, and would like a set of star maps or
something in order to increase his knowledge of them. Accordingly,
I sent him a planisphere which I happened to have--an ingenious
cardboard arrangement which can be turned so as to show, in a rough
way, the stars visible in these latitudes at any time of day and any
period of the year.--O. J. L.]

  "_May Day 1915, 3.20 p.m._

 "Thank you very much for the planisphere and for your
 letter. I have often seen the planisphere before, but
 never appreciated it until now.

  "As to the 'Very' pistol, I quite agree that the 'barrel'
  is too short. If it were longer the light would be thrown
  farther, which would be much better. As it is, it falls
  between us and the Germans.

  "The German lights, which I now learn are fired from a
  kind of mortar and not by a rocket as I thought, are much
  better than ours; they give a better and steadier, fatter
  light, and they are thrown well behind our trenches.
  However, ours are much better, and theirs are worse than
  they used to be....

  "They have not turned the gas on to us here, though on
  some days I have smelled distinct traces coming down wind
  from the north. I should say it was chlorine rather than
  SO_{2} that I smelled. I don't know whether the ammonia
  preventive would be better than the soda one. In any
  case, the great thing is that one is provided. The soda
  method is the one in use, I believe, in the chlorine
  works at Widnes and elsewhere."

  "_Tuesday, 3 May 1915, 12.40 p.m._

  "For the first three days we are out here in new
  billets--officers in a comfortable little house. Last
  three days of our 'rest' (!) we are going into a wood
  quite close to our 'Reserve Billets.' We are in 'support'
  in case of a sudden attack. Roads are so much knocked
  about by shells that traffic is limited and restricted.
  So we might not be able to support quick enough unless we
  were close.

  "Everything is still very much upset, due to the
  penetration of our (French) line. They have been shelling
  our village from the rear (!) and most of the companies
  have had to quit. _We_ (C Company) are well back now....

  "Two of our platoons went digging last night. Mine was
  one. We left here about eight o'clock, and I got back
  at 1 a.m., and then I sat up with another subaltern
  (Fletcher) after I had had some supper until the other
  man (Thomas) had come in and eaten. We went to bed
  at 3 a.m. Breakfast at nine this morning, and we are
  _resting_. However, I am going to have an absolutely
  slack day to-day. A bath too, if I can manage it....

  "Last night the moon got up very late and was quite
  useless. They fire more when there is no light, they get
  scared--at least uneasy; they fire off 'Very' lights
  constantly, and let off volleys. We lie absolutely flat
  while this goes on. It is a funny sight; the men look
  like a row of starfish!"

  "_Tuesday, 11 May 1915, 9.15 a.m._ (_really Wednesday
  the_ 12_th. I had got wrong_)

  "We are within view of a well-known place [no doubt
  Ypres.--O. J. L.], and the place has been on fire in
  three or four places for about two days, and is still
  going strong. A magnificent spectacle at night. The place
  is, I believe, a city of ruins and dead, and there is
  probably no one to put a fire out. Probably, too, a fire
  is rather a good thing than otherwise; the place must be
  terribly in need of purifying.

  "I was awfully interested in father's dream.[3] Your
  letter is dated the 8th, and you say that the other night
  he dreamt that I was in the thick of the fighting, but
  that they were taking care of me from the other side.

  "Well, I don't know about 'the thick of the fighting,'
  but I have been through what I can only describe as a
  hell of a shelling with shrapnel. My diary tells me it
  was on the 7th, at about 10.15 a.m. Our Company were
  ordered forward from one set of dug-outs to others nearer
  the firing line, and the formation adopted was platoons
  in single file, with intervals between. That is, four
  columns of about fifty men each, in single file, with
  about 20 to 50 yards between each column. I was the third
  platoon, though I was not with my own but with No. 9.
  Fletcher brought up the last one, thus:--


  (My platoon is No. 11.--No. 9's platoon commander, Laws,
  is in England on sick leave, as his nerves are all wrong.)

  "Well, anyhow, we had not gone far before the gunners
  saw us, and an aeroplane was flying along above and with
  us. They sent over some 'Johnsons,' but these all went
  too far; we were screened by a reservoir embankment.
  However, we had to pass through a ruined village and they
  knew it, so they put shrapnel over it. Still we were
  unaffected. But when we came out into the open on the
  far side, we caught it properly. Shell after shell came
  over and burst above us, and when I and about three men
  behind me had just turned a corner one burst above, in
  exactly the spot I should have wished it to if I had been
  the enemy. I looked up and saw the air full of flying
  pieces, some large and some small. These spattered down
  all round us. I was untouched, but my servant, who was
  immediately behind me, was hit on the knee, but only
  wounded slightly. He was rather scared. I led him back
  round the corner again and put him in a ditch. The rest
  of the platoon got in too, while I was doing this. I
  thought that was the best thing they could do until the
  shelling ceased, but Fletcher shouted that we must get
  on, whatever happened.

  "So I called the men out again, and, leaving a man with
  the wounded, we set off. I don't believe it was right,
  but we just walked along. It felt rather awful. (When
  one is _retiring_ it is important not to let the men
  'double,' as they get out of hand; but in this case we
  were advancing, so I think we might have done so.) I felt
  very much protected. It was really a miracle that we
  weren't nearly all 'wiped out.' The shrapnel seemed very
  poor stuff. As it was, we had one man killed and about
  five or six injured, all more or less slightly.

  "We moved up into a support trench that same evening, and
  after a couple of days we moved a few yards farther to
  these trenches, which are also support trenches. Things
  are very quiet, and I am enjoying myself very much. If it
  wasn't for the unpleasant sights one is liable to see,
  war would be a most interesting and pleasant affair.

  "My friends the other officers of C Company have given
  me the honorary position of 'O.C. Works.' One is always
  'O.C. something or other' out here--all but the Colonel,
  he is 'C.O.' Orders for the day read: "O.C. Companies
  will do so-and-so.' Then there are O.C. Details, O.C.
  Reinforcements, etc. 'O.C.' of course stands for 'officer
  commanding.' Well, I am 'O.C. Works,' and have a fine
  time. I just do any job I fancy, giving preference to
  trench improvement. It is fine to have at one's disposal
  a large squad of men with shovels (or without). They
  fill sandbags and carry them, they carry timber and saw
  it, and in short do anything that is required. One can
  accomplish something under these conditions."

  _"6 p.m._

  "We have been told that we are being relieved to-night,
  and that we are going back to our old place (No. 2). So
  everything should be as before, once we are back. We may
  not manage to get _all_ the way back to-night, as we
  cannot travel by daylight as most of the road is under
  direct observation. If daylight catches us we shall
  encamp in dug-outs _en route_.

  "I am rather disappointed that we are going to-night, as
  Fletcher and I were going to rebuild our dug-out here.
  We both got very keen indeed and had laid out the plan
  carefully. (He has been an architect.)

  "I had another disappointment when I was back in
  the wood (as supports). It reminds me of one of our
  Quartermaster-Sergeants in Edinburgh. He is an Irishman,
  O'Brien. I found him on the platform while we were
  waiting to see a draft off; he looked very despondent.
  I asked him how he was, and was surprised when he
  replied, 'I've had a reverse, sorr!' It turned out that
  he had applied to headquarters for an improvement in his
  position, and was told he _didn't deserve any_. It had
  almost broken his heart!

  "Well, _I_ had a reverse. I was given the job of building
  a hut and was nearly through with it when we were ordered
  away. If we get back to the old wood again I shall go on
  with it, in spite of whatever the present tenants may
  have done in the way of completing it (our guns are now
  'going at it' hammer and tongs).

  "I did enjoy laying the sandbags and building a proper
  wall with 'headers' and 'stretchers.' I got a very
  good testimonial too, for the Sergeant asked me in all
  seriousness whether I was a brick-setter in civil life. I
  was awfully proud.


  "(I had to leave off here because we were ordered to
  'fire-rapid' in between periods of our artillery fire,
  and I had to turn out to watch.)"


The dream referred to, near the beginning of this long letter to his
mother, Mr. J. Arthur Hill remembers that I told him of, in a letter
dated 7 May 1915, which he has now returned; and I reproduce it

  "To J. A. H.

  "_7 May 1915_

  "I do not reckon that I often have conscious intuitions;
  and when I have had vivid dreams they have not meant
  anything, though once or twice I have recorded them
  because I have them seldom. I happen, however, to have
  had an intuition this morning, before I was more than
  half awake, which, though not specially vivid, perhaps
  I had better record, namely, that an attack was going
  on at the present moment, that my son was in it, but
  that 'they' were taking care of him. I had this clearly
  in mind before seeing the morning papers; and indeed
  I do not know that there is anything in the morning
  papers suggesting it, since of course their news is
  comparatively old. One might have surmised, however, that
  there would be a struggle for Hill 60, and I know that my
  son is not far off Ypres. (By the way, I have been told
  that the Flemish Belgians really do call it 'Wipers'; it
  does not sound likely, and it needs confirmation. I know
  of course that our troops are said to call it so, which
  is natural enough.) O. J. L."

I now (August 1916) notice for the first time that the coincidence
in time between dream and fact is rather good, especially as it was
the only dream or 'impression' that I remember having during the war.
Practically I do not dream.

But as this incident raises the question of possible presentiment I
must deny that we had any serious presentiment about Raymond. My wife
tells me that her anxiety about Raymond, though always present, was
hardly keen, as she had an idea that he would be protected. She wrote
to a friend on 22 March 1915:--

  "... I ought to get him back safe. I have a hole in my
  heart and shall have till he comes back. I only saw him
  for the inside of an hour before he left, as I was away
  when he came home for six hours...."

At the same time I must admit that on the morning of 15 September
1915 (the day after Raymond's death, which we did not know of till
the 17th) I was in an exceptional state of depression; and though
a special game, to which I had been looking forward, on the No. 1
Course at Gullane had been arranged with Rowland Waterhouse, I could
not play a bit. Not ordinary bad play, but total incompetence; so
much so that after seven holes we gave up the game, and returned to
the hotel. To make sure of the date, I wrote to Rowland Waterhouse,
asking him when that abortive match occurred, since I knew that it
was his last day at Gullane. He replies:--

"Violet and I left Gullane for Musselburgh on Wednesday, 15
September. Our final match ended that morning on the eighth tee"
[which that year was on the reservoir hill].

One more dream I may as well now mention:--

After the family had returned home from Scotland and elsewhere,
near the end of September 1915, and begun to settle down, Alec,
who had felt Raymond's death exceedingly, told me that the night
before he heard the news--or rather the early morning of the same
day, 17 September--he had had an extraordinarily painful and vivid
dream, quite an exceptional occurrence for him, and one of which he
had spoken to a manageress in the hotel near Swansea where he was
staying, describing it as the worst he had ever had in his life. He
did not know that it had any significance, and neither do I, as the
dream, though rather ghastly, was not about Raymond or anyone in
particular; but it seemed an odd coincidence that the ill news should
be, so to speak, on the way, at the time of a quite exceptional and
painful impression. The person to whom he told the dream handed him
the telegram a few hours later. He has written the dream down, but it
need not be reproduced.

No real provision is involved in any of this, unless it be that of
an hour or two in my own impression, in May; but for general remarks
on the question of the possibility of prevision Chapter V in Part III
may be referred to.

  "_Friday, 14 May 1915_

  "I had a glorious hot bath yesterday; Fletcher and I
  went up to the brewery here. The bath is zinc, and full
  length, and we have as much water, and as hot, as we

  "I spent some time too stemming the leaks in the roof
  of our shed. With my _two_ waterproof sheets I have
  rigged up a kind of chute above my bed, so that any water
  that comes through the roof is led down behind my head.
  I don't know what happens to it there. I thought of
  leading it across on to the man next me, as the Germans
  used to do in the winter campaign. They fitted a pump
  in their trenches and led the delivery pipe forward, so
  that the water used to run into ours--only the plan was

  "I wonder if you saw the appreciation of the soda cake
  on the back of my letter from the woods. M.P. stands for
  Mess President. Fletcher was M.P. and was a very good
  one. I am now, as he has done it for a long time and is

  "As cheerful and well and happy as ever. Don't think I am
  having a rotten time--I am not."

  "_Sunday, 5.40 p.m., 16 May 1915_

  "We had a very fine piece of news yesterday. Over three
  weeks ago we were called out one night and were urgently
  required to dig a certain new trench behind our lines.
  The men worked splendidly and got the job done in a very
  short time (working of course in complete darkness). The
  next day the Brigadier-General inspected the trench and
  sent in a complimentary message about it to our Colonel.
  The day after he complimented us again--for the same
  piece of work! Well, we have had several such jobs to
  do, and just recently we have been to Hill 60, where the
  bulk of our work was deepening the trenches and improving
  the parapets. We were lent for this purpose to another
  Division (the Division that is at the moment occupying
  that area), and were away from here exactly a week. We
  got a splendid testimonial from the General of this other
  Division, who told our Colonel he had got 'a top-hole
  battalion.' Arising out of all this, we have now been
  selected as a 'Pioneer Battalion,' We are relieved from
  all ordinary trench work for some time to come. We simply
  go out at night and dig trenches or build parapets and so
  forth, and have the day to ourselves. This was arranged
  yesterday, and last night we went out and returned here
  at 1.30 a.m. The work is more or less under fire, but
  only from stray shots and nothing very serious. Our
  Colonel is awfully pleased that we have done so well; and
  we are all pleased with the new arrangement. One great
  advantage is that we can settle down in our billets and
  are not continually having to pack up everything and move
  off. We can now start and make tables, chairs, beds, a
  proper door for the hut, a glass window, and so on....

  "As to aeroplanes, when one passes overhead a whistle
  is blown and every one either takes cover or stands
  perfectly still. The men are forbidden to look up. Then
  the whistle is blown several times when the danger is
  past. I am afraid, though, these regulations are more
  honoured in the breach than the observance.

  "We had quite a nice informal service here this afternoon
  sitting in a field. The chaplain has the rank of Major
  and has been out here seven months.

  "Yesterday the Captain, Fletcher, and myself went for a
  ride on horses. We went about five miles out, stopped for
  about twenty minutes at a little inn (the last in Belgium
  on that particular road), and then came back again. The
  country was perfectly lovely, though I did not appreciate
  it as much as I otherwise would have done, as I had a
  trooper's saddle and the Captain would trot. I got most
  awfully sore going out, and thought I should never be
  able to get back. However, I discovered a method at last,
  and that was to go at a full gallop. So I alternately
  went at a walk and 'hell for leather,' and got back in
  comparative comfort. I thoroughly enjoyed it; it was
  very bad for the horse, I am afraid, on the stone setts
  (_pavé_), but sometimes I could get him on to the softer
  bits at the side. I was terribly afraid some one would
  think the horse was running away with me and 'block' him,
  so I had to look as pleased as possible. And really I
  _was_ pleased, it was such a blessed relief after that
  awful trotting. I trotted along in rear of the other two
  until I could stand it no longer, and then I encouraged
  my nag and hit him until he broke into a canter, and
  then I roared past the others, who cursed like anything
  because theirs wanted to gallop too. My horse's cantor
  changed imperceptibly into a full gallop, and I 'got down
  to it' and felt like a jockey. After about half a mile I
  would walk until the others came up and passed me, and
  then I would go off again. All the same, I am very sore.

  "Good-bye for the present; it is lovely hot weather and
  we are all well--fit--and happy."

  "_Tuesday, 18 May 1915, 5.15 p.m._

  "MY DEAR NORAH AND BARBARA,--I don't expect I am far
  wrong in attributing my ripping present of dates and figs
  to you two. I did enjoy them, and they are not finished

  "They arrived by the first post after we had returned
  from our little trip. We were at Hill 60; it was so
  interesting and rather exciting, although we were there
  chiefly, I think, to improve the trenches, which were
  very shallow and dangerous when we arrived.

  "The men worked splendidly--all night and most of the
  day, and, when we left, the trenches were vastly improved
  and quite habitable. We also made some entirely new ones.
  We are now kept for this sort of job only, and we go out
  working at nights and sleep by day.

  "I must explain to you about 'standing to.' A proportion
  of the men are always awake in the trenches to guard
  against surprises, for as the most likely times for an
  attack are at dawn and at dusk, everybody has to be awake
  and ready then. Of course it does interfere with your
  sleep, and you do not get very much as a rule in the
  trenches, but that is why you are not there for more than
  about three days at a time. In the 'supports' you 'stand
  to' so as to be ready to reinforce the front line quickly
  in case of an attack. Out in 'Rest Billets,' I am glad to
  say, it is no longer necessary.

  "I am so sorry, my friend Fletcher has just gone off
  this morning for a rest cure. I shall miss him awfully.
  He is about five miles away and I am going to ride over
  to-morrow to see him. But later on he will probably go
  back to England. His nerves are all wrong and he needs a

  "Good-bye for now, and very best wishes to you
  both.--Your very loving brother,


  "I hope you get my _communiqués_ regularly from home
  (swank). Some one must have the time of their lives
  copying out all the stuff I write. I hope, however, there
  are a few grains in the bundle of chaff (I'm fishing

  "You say, Norah, that you don't think the château was
  as quiet as I described. Well, provided I mentioned our
  gun, that went off at occasional intervals close behind
  it with a terrific report, it was just as I described--a
  peaceful summer afternoon. I know that people think that
  everything in Belgium is chaos and slaughter, but it
  isn't so. For instance, where Fletcher is, is a charming
  country place with trees and fields and everything
  in full green. Simply ripping. If I had only had a
  motor-cycle to see it from instead of a trotting horse I
  should have enjoyed it even more!


  "_Wednesday, 19 May 1915, 12.50 p.m._

  "You must know that we have now only three officers in
  our Company. I am very sorry indeed to lose Fletcher. He
  went off for a rest cure yesterday morning to a place
  about five miles from here. He is my greatest friend
  in the Battalion, so I miss him very much and hope he
  won't be long away. He will probably go back to England,
  however, as his nerves are all wrong. He is going the
  same way as Laws did and needs a complete rest. I am
  going to ride over to see him this afternoon with the
  Captain. I am afraid it won't be 'good going' as the
  roads are thick with mud. The slightest rain, and they
  are as bad as ever.

  "I told you that I was Mess President (M.P.). I am
  sure you would smile to see me ordering the meals, and
  inspecting the joints. I don't know anything about them,
  and when the cook calls me up specially to view a joint I
  have hastily to decide whether he means me to disparage
  it--or the reverse. However, I am usually safe in running
  it down."

  "_Thursday, 20 May 1915, 9.10 a.m._

  "We rode over and saw Fletcher yesterday and had tea
  with him. He is with about twenty other similar cases
  in a splendid château (this one is not ruined and has
  magnificent grounds). Unfortunately this is probably
  the very worst possible treatment he could have. He has
  nothing to do, no interest in anything, and no society
  except people who, like himself, want cheering. He does
  not read, he does not even walk about the grounds. He
  cannot sleep much, and he said he did not know exactly
  _what_ he did. Under these conditions I know it will not
  be long before he is sent home. Brooding is just the very
  worst thing for him. He sees all the past horrors all
  over again; things which, at the time, he shut his mind
  to. The best treatment (even better than home, _I_ think)
  would be to send him back for a month or so to Crosby. He
  would then have plenty to occupy his mind and would have
  cheerful companions...."

  "_6.20 p.m._

  "I have attached a list of a few slang terms and curious
  expressions in use in this Regiment and I believe
  universal at the moment. Some of these are amazing, and
  it is difficult to trace the origin. 'Drumming up' is
  one, and 'wind up' another. I saw an old Belgian cart
  yesterday, a three-wheeled affair. It had been overturned
  on its side and the spokes of the lowest wheel had been
  broken. Well, some one had 'drummed up' on them--every
  one had disappeared. These men here will 'drum up' on
  anything. 'Drumming up' on a thing does not mean lighting
  a fire _on_ it but _with_ it.

  "When we were at that place where we were for a week,
  there was a most peculiar state of affairs. The Germans
  were holding a small piece of trench joining, and in line
  with, ours. They were only separated from us by double
  barricades--their and ours. They corresponded to the meat
  in a sandwich. [A sketch is omitted.] When I say 'ours'
  I mean the English. I was not actually in this trench,
  but in the one just behind. The trench on one side of the
  'meat' was held by one of our Companies, and the other by
  another Regiment...."

  "_Friday, 10.20 a.m._

  "My nickname in the Mess is 'Maurice' (with a French
  pronunciation); I am called after the small boy in the
  grocery shop here. The good dame always says 'Oui,
  monsieur le lieutenant!' 'Non, monsieur le lieutenant!'
  to everything one says; she gets in about six to the
  minute. Well, we used to imitate her after our visits
  to the shop, and one day she called out 'Maurice'; so
  Fletcher calls me 'Maurice,' and I reply, 'Oui, monsieur
  le lieutenant.'"


  WATER-PARTY A fatigue party carrying water.

  TO HAVE WIND UP (to rhyme with 'pinned up')--To be
  uneasy, 'on edge.'

  DRUMMING UP Making a fire for the purpose of warming food.

  BLIGHTY England.

  A BLIGHTY WOUND A wound that necessitates invaliding
  home. PUCCA Real, genuine.

  RALLY UP A short period of considerable firing in the

  DUG-OUT A cramped dwelling-place, usually above ground.

  STAND-TO An hour of preparedness at dawn and at dusk when
  every one is awake and wears his equipment (in trenches
  and supports only).

  STAND-DOWN The finish of 'stand-to.'

  KNIFE-RESTS Barbed wire in sections.

  CUSHY A 'soft' thing.

  TO GO SICK To report oneself ill to the doctor.

  TO GET DOWN TO IT To lie down, go to bed.


  R. L. 20.5.15

[_To a Brother_]

  "_26 May 1915_

  "I expect you have read it, but I want to recommend to
  you _Simon Dale_, by Anthony Hope.

  "We had the gas over here on Monday morning about 3 or 4
  a.m. Although it was coming from a point about four miles
  away, as we learnt afterwards, it was very strong and
  made our eyes smart very much.

  "We have got hold of some liqueurs from Railhead, a large
  bottle of Chartreuse and one of Curaçao.

  "Good-bye and good luck."

  "_Saturday, 29 May 1915, 8.30 p.m._

  "We have again done a little move, this time with bag and
  baggage. We are now on the outskirts of 'No. 1,' and due
  west of it. The men have built themselves dug-outs along
  a hedge and we (C Coy. officers) are installed in an
  untouched château. Quite comfortable. Fine lofty rooms.
  We only use part of the house. We have the kitchen, and a
  large dining-room on the ground floor. We sleep upstairs
  on the first floor (our valise on hay). At least, Thomas
  and I do, the Captain and Case have moved down and sleep
  on large fat palliasses in the dining-room! We have
  the rest of the house empty to ourselves to-night, but
  various headquarter staffs seem to come in turn and
  occupy two of the other ground floor rooms occasionally.

  "We have been out two nights digging on the opposite side
  of the town, but we have not been ordered out to-night,
  so far.

  "I notice I have now been gazetted back to 15 August, the
  same as most of my contemporaries.

  "There has been a suggestion made that I should take a
  course of machine-gun instruction in order that I might
  act as understudy to our present Machine-Gun Officer
  (M.G.O.) who is Roscoe, and is the successor to Wyatt.
  I agreed, but it may have 'fallen through' owing to the
  move. If it comes off I shall go for a fortnight's course
  to a place which I will call No. 3 [probably St. Omer.]

  "I got a letter from you to-day about 5 p.m. I was so

  "No, I am not making things out better than they really
  are. I like to write mostly about the pleasant parts, of
  course. We have our unpleasant moments, shelling and so
  on, but no very bad times as yet. Being on tenterhooks is
  quite the worst part.

  "As regards Fletcher being worse than us, of course he
  came out much earlier. He left Edinburgh for the Front
  on 4 January, and Laws left on 31 December. He has had
  some awful times and the winter campaign, and in any
  case the length of time one is exposed to the mental
  strain and worry makes a difference. I do my best to
  keep cheerful and happy all the time--I don't believe in
  meeting trouble half-way. If there was some indication
  of the termination of the war it would help matters--the
  unending vista is apt to be rather disheartening at
  times. I am very glad Italy is in--at last.

  "By the way, Fletcher has not been sent to England
  (Blighty) after all. He is at Versailles, in the No. 4
  General Hospital there, having a nice time if he can
  enjoy it. This hospital is the Trianon Palace. The
  Captain had a letter from him in which he sent his love
  to 'Maurice' and 'his lordship' (that's Thomas)."

  "_2 June 1915, 4.45 p.m._

  "Our interpreter is a Belgian, and is a very nice man. He
  does our shopping for us in the town, which is ten miles
  or so away, and (as now arranged) he makes the journey
  twice a week. It is very funny to hear him talk, he
  picks up the soldiers' idioms and uses them in the wrong
  places. One he is very fond of is the expression 'Every
  time'! He puts such a funny emphasis on it.

  "The last member of our Mess is a man who has just come
  out and has not long had his commission. He used to be
  Regimental Sergeant-Major to our 1st Battalion and has
  had about twenty-six years' service, so he knows his job.

  "Unfortunately, however, his arrival is not an unmixed
  blessing. The Captain is seized with enthusiasm and wants
  to make our Company the finest Company in the Battalion.
  The result is that we have now nothing but parades and
  much less rest than before. When we were turned into a
  pioneer battalion the Colonel told the men that they
  would go digging at night and would do nothing else
  except for rifle inspection. Now, however, we have in
  addition an hour's drill of various sorts in the morning
  and a lecture to N.C.O.s in the afternoon, at which all
  subalterns have to attend and take notes. On the day
  following a rest night we have to be up about seven
  o'clock, and be on parade while the men do half an hour's
  physical exercise before breakfast. Then we have an hour
  and a half's drill afterwards and the lecture. And these
  parades seem to be growing. I am afraid they will wear
  us all out and the men as well. Thomas feels it most
  and is very worried--although he is Senior Subaltern in
  the Company he is left right out of things. I am afraid
  of his going like Laws and Fletcher did. Some 'rankers'
  are very good fellows. They bring tremendous experience
  with them, but, on the other hand, we bring something
  too, and when they ride the high horse they can be very

  "I got a supply of paraffin to-day; D Company has bought
  a huge barrel of it, and I sent over a petrol tin for
  some. They gave me nearly two gallons and asked if I
  could let them have a window in exchange! I hunted round
  and found quite a good loose one and sent it across with
  my compliments. The reason they have bought up so much
  paraffin is because their Captain has presented pocket
  Primuses to his men. Each section of twelve men has
  one between them with one man in charge of it. It is a
  killing sight to see their Company sitting in a field and
  drumming up!

  "The Belgian cooking stove is rather a curious thing.
  It is of the same design in every house apparently. It
  consists of a metal urn to hold the fire; this has a
  removable lid for which you can substitute a kettle or
  pan which just fits the round opening. The urn stands
  about 3 feet from the wall and has a flat-shaped iron
  chimney leading into the main chimney. This iron chimney
  can be used for heating pots or for warming plates. The
  base of the urn is an ash collector. You will see that
  there is no oven; this is built separately and is a brick
  affair with a separate fire to it. [Sketch.]"

  "_Thursday, 3 June 1915, 1.30 p.m._

  "I am all right again to-day; you mustn't pay any
  attention to my grumbles, it just depends what I feel
  like; and I am going to stir things up about these
  parades. We had a fine time last night--very exciting.
  We went through the heart of the city and it is still
  very much on fire. The enemy keeps sending an occasional
  shell into it to keep it going. Just on the far side is a
  graveyard, and this has been 'crumped' out of existence
  nearly! It is an unpleasant place to pass now.

  "The town is almost unbelievable. I don't think anyone
  would credit that they could do so much damage and not
  leave a single house untouched, without entering the
  place at all. [Ypres again, probably.]

  "Our digging last night was near a small road much used
  by transport (which is very audible at night). As the
  enemy can hear the rumble of the horse-drawn carts quite
  plainly, they kept on sending shrapnel over, and we had
  quite a warm time of it. We were quite glad to get away
  again. (No one was hit while we were there.)

  "I was very interested in father's pamphlet on 'War and
  Christianity,' and I have passed it on to the others. I
  like the way he gets right outside and looks at things
  from above. It is a very soothing thing to read.[4]...

  "I had such an interesting talk with the interpreter
  yesterday (his rank is the equivalent of one of our
  Sergeant-Majors). He was a merchant in Morocco, and
  chucked up everything and came and joined the Belgian
  army as a private. He fought at Namur, Antwerp, and other
  places, and is most awfully keen. He was offered the
  job of Interpreter to the British Army, and, thinking
  he could help more by that means and also partly for
  monetary considerations, he took the job. He understood
  he would be fighting with us in the trenches, but they
  have put him on to shopping for us! He is awfully
  disappointed. He rides up when he can, and when we went
  up to Hill 60 he went up with our transports and showed
  them the way and helped them a lot, although shells were
  falling all round. He is a most gentlemanly man; his name
  is Polchet....

  "I had a letter from Violet and another from Margaret
  yesterday. I understand they have gone up to Edinburgh
  now; I shall like to go up there too 'after the war.'
  I believe Violet is getting _my_ room ready for me in
  their house. I like everything very plain, just a valise
  and a little hay, and then you see if I am hungry in the

  "P.S.--I had a most interesting letter from Oliver. His
  discussion of Italy's motives is fine. I like hearing
  what people think of events; we are apt to get very
  warped views out here unless we have the other point of
  view occasionally."

  "_Sunday, 6 June 1915, 12 p.m._

  "The Mess was thrown into the greatest state of
  excitement yesterday by the arrival of kippers! How

  We had a grand breakfast this morning, quite like the
  summer holidays again--breakfast after a bathe--with Alec
  of course!...

  "By the way, I did not present the last lot of asparagus
  to the Mess--this was not because we didn't appreciate
  it, but because I felt so sorry for M. Polchet (our
  interpreter), and I wondered if he had any green stuff or
  luxuries. So I sent it over to him. And do you know what
  he has done? He has just sent me a shallow wooden box
  with a thick cotton-wool pad in it. In the pad are six
  hollows, and in each hollow is a ripping nectarine. Isn't
  it fine of him?

  "We have roses picked every day for the Mess-room; it
  does improve it. The other evening we had a specially
  nice meal. We sat round the polished table with candles
  in the centre and bowls of roses round them (as a matter
  of fact the bowls were old tinned-fruit tins, but what of
  that). The food was very special, though I can't remember
  what it was, but to crown all there was in the room just
  across the passage ... a real fiddler with a real fiddle.
  I really don't know how he managed to bring a fiddle out
  here; he is a private in the Royal Garrison Artillery,
  and plays simply beautifully. He has long hair and just
  a suggestion of side whiskers, and large boots, and, but
  that he would not be complimented, looks like a Viennese.

  "He started off by playing Grand Opera--I believe--and he
  gave us the Intermezzo from 'Cavalleria Rusticana.' Then
  he gave us 'Gipsy Love' and the 'Merry Widow,' and so on.
  He finished up with American ragtime. We sent him in a
  bottle of whisky half-way through the performance, and
  the music got lighter thenceforward. It was most amusing
  to notice the effect. When we looked in later the whisky
  was standing on the table, and he was walking round it
  with his fiddle, playing hard and apparently serenading

  "I was inoculated again on Friday evening because it is
  only _really_ effective for about six months, and there
  is going to be a lot of enteric about, I expect. This
  apparently is just the very place for it--flat low-lying
  country, poor water supply, and the soil heavily manured.
  So I have been feeling rather weak and feverish after it,
  but I am better again now. I have to have it done again
  ten days later--but the second time is not so bad.

  "Talking about roses, Thomas picked a beauty this morning
  (before I got up) and brought it to me in bed. It is in
  front of me now, and is 5 inches across, and has a very
  fine smell."

  "_Wednesday, 16 June 1915, 1.30 p.m._

  "We made an attack early this morning, and our Company
  waited here to receive the prisoners. Poor devils, I do
  feel so sorry for them. One officer of sixteen with six
  weeks' service. Old men with grey beards too, and many
  of the student type with spectacles--not fit to have to

  "You remember 'Very Pressing are the Germans'; well,
  that's where I am, right inside the walls. Quite
  shell-proof, but very dank.

  "I have got the machine-gun job, and am going for a
  fortnight's course, starting on the 26th of June."

  "_Monday, 21 June 1915, 4.30 p.m._

  "We have had an extremely trying time lately, and I am
  very sorry to say we have lost Thomas.

  "He was hit on the head by shrapnel on the night
  after the attack--I expect you saw the account in the
  papers--and died about an hour later, having never
  recovered consciousness.

  "It was a most fatal night--the whole battalion was
  ordered out digging to consolidate the captured
  positions. We got half-way out, and then got stuck--the
  road being blocked by parties of wounded. We waited on a
  path alongside a hedge for over an hour, and though we
  could not be seen we had a good deal of shrapnel sent
  over us. To make matters worse, they put some gas shells
  near, and we had to wear our helmets though the gas was
  not very strong. It was exceedingly unpleasant, and we
  could hardly see at all. It was while we were waiting
  like this that Thomas got knocked out.

  "We are all sorry to lose him, and I miss him very much,
  but it is nothing to the trouble there will be at his
  home, for he is his mother's favourite son.

  "I have written to his mother, but I have not told her
  what makes us feel so mad about it--namely, that we did
  no digging that night at all. When we got to the position
  we were so late, and there was still such confusion there
  due to the attack, that we marched back again and just
  got in before daylight. We might just as well never have
  gone out. Isn't it fairly sickening?

  "The next night we went out again, and we had a very
  quiet night and no casualties. The scene of the battle
  was pretty bad, and I put all my spare men on to burying.

  "Altogether we are very thankful to have a change from
  'pioneering,' and get back to the trenches!

  "Our chief trouble here is snipers. We are in a wood, and
  parties going for water and so on to our headquarters
  _will_ walk outside the trench instead of in it, just
  because the trench goes like this. [A diagram is
  omitted.] They take the straight course along the side
  in spite of repeated warnings. There is one point that
  a sniper has got marked. He gets our men coming back as
  they get into the trench just too late. We had a man hit
  this morning, but not badly, and a few minutes ago I had
  to stop this letter and go to a man of B Company who had
  got hit, and rather more seriously, at the same spot. I
  have put up a large notice there now, and hope it will
  prevent any more.

  "I am sorry this is not a very cheerful letter, but we
  have all been rather sad lately. I am getting over it
  now. Luckily one absorbs these things very gradually;
  I could not realise it at first. It was an awful blow,
  because, especially since Fletcher went away (he is now
  at home), we had become very friendly, and one is apt
  to forget that there is always the chance of losing a
  friend suddenly. As a matter of fact, Thomas is the first
  officer of C Company that has been killed for seven

  "When we were up in this wood before, digging (about a
  fortnight ago) B Company lost Captain Salter. I dare say
  you saw his name in the Roll of Honour. We were just
  going to collect our spades and come in, when he was shot
  through the head by a stray bullet.

  "What a very melancholy strain I am writing in, I am
  so sorry. I am quite well and fit. We have mislaid our
  mess-box coming up here with all our specially selected
  foods. The result is we are on short commons--great fun.
  I am eating awful messes and enjoying them. Fried bacon
  and fried cheese together! Awful; but, by Jove, when
  you're hungry."


  "_2nd S. Lancashire Regt., B.E.F., Front, 17 June 1915_

  "DEAR MRS. THOMAS,--I am very sorry to say I have to tell
  you the very worst of bad news. I know what Humphrey's
  loss must be to you, and I want to tell you how much it
  is to all of us too. I know I have not realised it yet
  myself properly. I have been in a kind of trance since
  last night and I dread to wake up.

  "He was a very fine friend to me, especially since
  Fletcher went away, and I miss him frightfully. Last
  night (16th to 17th) the whole Battalion went out
  digging. There had been an attack by the English early
  the same morning, and the enemy's guns were still very
  busy even in the evening. Our road was blocked in front
  owing to the moving of a lot of wounded, and while we
  were held up on a little field path alongside a hedge
  we had several shrapnel shells over us. To add to the
  horrors of the situation they had put some gas shells
  over too, and we were obliged to put on our gas helmets.
  While Humphrey was standing with his helmet on in the
  rear of our Company talking to the Captain of the Company
  behind, a shell came over and a piece of it caught him
  on the head. He was rendered unconscious, and it was
  evident from the first he had no chance of recovery.
  He was immediately taken a little way back to a place
  where there was no gas, and here the doctor dressed his
  wound. He was then taken back on a stretcher to the
  dressing-station. He died there about an hour after he
  had been admitted, having never recovered consciousness.

  "If he had to die, I am thankful he was spared pain
  beforehand. It made my heart ache this afternoon packing
  his valise; I have given his chocolate, cigarettes, and
  tobacco to the Mess, and I have wrapped up his diary and
  a few loose letters and made them into a small parcel
  which is in the middle of his valise.

  "The papers and valuables which he had on him at the
  time will be sent back through our headquarters, the
  other things, such as letters, etc., in his other pockets
  I have left just as they were. I hope the valise will
  arrive safely.

  "He will be buried very simply, and probably due east
  of Ypres about three-quarters of a mile out--near the
  dressing-station. I will of course see he has a proper

  "Humphrey was splendid always when shells were bursting
  near. He hated them as much as any of us, but he just
  made himself appear unconcerned in order to put heart
  into the troops. Three nights ago we were digging a
  trench and the Germans thought our attack was coming off
  that night. For nearly three-quarters of an hour they put
  every kind of shell over us and some came very close. We
  all lay down in the trench and waited. On looking up once
  I was amazed to see a lone figure walking calmly about as
  if nothing was going on at all. It may have been foolish
  but it was grand."

  "_Tuesday, 22 June 1915, 4.45 p.m._

  "Well! What a long war, isn't it? Never mind, I believe
  it will finish up without much help from us, and our
  job is really killing time. And our time is so pleasant
  it doesn't need much killing out here. The days roll
  along--nice sunny days too--bringing us nearer I suppose
  to Peace. (One hardly dares even to write the word now,
  it has such a significance.) There have been cases where
  the war has driven people off their heads (this applies
  only, I think, to the winter campaign), but I often think
  if Peace comes suddenly that there will be many such

  "It really is rather amazing the unanimity of everybody
  on this subject, and it must be the same behind the
  German front-line trenches.

  "I should think that never in this world before have
  there been so many men so 'fed up' before. And then the
  women at home too--it is wonderful where the driving
  force comes from to keep things going on.

  "But still--I don't want to convey a false impression. If
  you took my last letter by itself you might think things
  were very terrible out here all the time. They are not.
  On the whole it is not a bad time at all. The life is
  full of interest, and the discomforts are few and far
  between. Bad times do come along occasionally, but they
  are by way of exceptions. It is most like a long picnic
  in all sorts of places with a sort of constraint and
  uneasiness in the air. This last is purely mental, and
  the less one worries about it the less it is, and so one
  can contrive to be light-hearted and happy through it
  all--unless one starts to get depressed and moody. And it
  is just that which has happened to Laws and Fletcher and
  one or two others. They had been out long and had seen
  unpleasant times and without an occasional rest; none but
  the very thick can stand it."

  "_Saturday, 26 June 1915, 6.40 p.m._

  "Here I am installed in the school [Machine Gun] which
  is, or was, a convent. Fine large place and grounds.
  Two officers per bedroom and a large Mess-room; about
  twenty officers up for the course (or more) which starts
  to-morrow (Sunday). Your solution of the Thompson
  acrostic [St. Omer] was perfectly right, we _are_ far
  back. This convent is about two miles from that town.

  "I am so pleased to be in the 'pleasant, sunny land of
  France,' amid absolute peacefulness. We had a curious
  journey. Last night I slept at our transport (and had
  a bath!). I got up soon after six, mounted a horse
  just before eight (after breakfast). My servant and my
  valise, also a groom to bring my horse back, came in a
  limber. And that excellent man Polchet rode all the way
  to _Divisional_ Headquarters with me, although it was
  about six miles out of his way. We got to Headquarters
  at a quarter to ten--a motor-bus was to start at ten
  for here. It started at 10.30 with me, my luggage, and
  my servant (I don't know why he comes last) in it. The
  Harborne motor-buses in the Harborne High Street weren't
  in it. We got shaken to a jelly--we were on top. We went
  back about two miles to pick up some of our Division,
  and having done so, we set off to pick up some of the
  14th Division, at a point carefully specified in our
  driver's instructions. This was about five miles away,
  in our proper direction. But when we got to the spot we
  discovered they (the Division) had left it a week ago
  and gone to a point quite close to where we had just
  picked up the 3rd Division men. I telephoned in vain;
  we had to go all the way back. We found the place with
  difficulty (we found all our places with difficulty as
  we had no maps), collected the men, and came all the way
  out _again_. Then we came straight here, which was about
  fifteen miles at least. We got here at 4.30 p.m.! Six
  hours' motorbussing! and the bus's maximum was 25 m.p.h.
  at least, I should judge. Luckily it was a glorious day,
  and I sat in front with the driver and enjoyed it all....

  "I told you leave was starting--well, it has now started.
  Three of our officers have gone--and all together! They
  are only getting three clear days in England--but still!

  "I am going to find out when this course finishes--I
  think it lasts for sixteen days--and then I am going
  to apply for my leave to follow on. I wish--oh, how
  I wish--I may get it; but of course many things may

  "If it does come off I hope there will be a
  representative gathering to meet me at dinner. That is,
  I hope Violet will be back from Edinburgh, Lorna and
  Norah from Coniston, and perhaps Oliver and his Winifred
  will pay a flying visit from Cardiff. Haven't I got an
  enlarged opinion of my own importance? I suppose it is
  too much to expect the offices to have a whole holiday!"

  "_Monday, 28 June 1915, 6.15 p.m._

  "The enemy's lines round here do not appear to be
  strongly held, in fact quite the reverse--that is,
  the front lines. But attacks on our part don't always
  pay--even so. Their method, as I understand it, is
  simply to lose less men than we do. Accordingly, they
  leave very few men in their front trench, but what there
  are have a good supply of machine guns and are well
  supported by artillery. We precede our attacks by heavy
  shelling, and the few men get into well-built dug-outs
  until it is over, then they come out and get to work
  with their machine guns on the attacking infantry. The
  trench ultimately falls after rather heavy loss on our
  side (especially if the wire isn't properly cut) and
  the few defenders hold up their hands. Some are made
  prisoners--some are not. If the enemy want the trench
  very badly they try and retake it by means of a strong
  counter-attack, trusting that our men and arrangements
  are in sufficient confusion to prevent adequate support.
  That is why our attacks are so expensive and why we
  aren't constantly attacking. The alternative plan is,
  I think, simply to shell them heavily--in all their
  lines--and leave out the actual attack in most cases....

  "I was so interested to hear that Alec had applied for
  me to come back. It is not at all impossible, because
  I have known two or three cases where officers have
  been recalled--one was chief chemist (or so he said)
  at Brunner Mond's. He was returning as I came out, and
  tried to make one's flesh creep by his tales of war. But
  I don't think it is likely to happen in my case. I only
  wish it would. I should love to come home again, although
  I don't feel as if I had done my bit yet--really. I
  haven't been in any big scrap, and I haven't killed my
  man even....

  "I had a ripping time at the transport; I hope they
  enjoyed the peas--they deserved to. They were hospitality
  itself. They welcomed me, gave me three meals, lent me
  anything I wanted, made room for me to sleep in their
  large room (this necessitated the Quartermaster-Sergeant
  moving his bed into another room), gave me a warm bath,
  and generally made me feel quite at home. They have a
  ripping dug-out. Rooms half underground, 7 feet high,
  plenty of ventilation, boarded floor and walls, and
  a wooden roof supported on square wooden pillars and
  covered in earth well sodded on top....

  "Talking about the Major (Major Cotton), he used to be
  our Adjutant at Crosby--he was Captain then. He came out
  as second in command and has now got the Battalion while
  our Colonel (Colonel Dudgeon) is away sick. The latter
  got his C.B. in the last honours list. He is an excellent
  man. Lieut. Burlton, too, got a Military Cross. He has
  now been wounded twice; he was the moving spirit of the
  hockey matches at Crosby in the old days, and, when he
  was recalled to the Front, his mantle fell upon me....

  "All the officers here are from different regiments with
  a very few exceptions. It is most interesting. At meals,
  Way and I sit among the Cavalry, Dragoons and Lancers,
  etc. They are fine chaps--the real Army officers of which
  there are now all too few."

  "_Machine-Gun School, G.H.Q., Wednesday, 7 July 1915, 5

  "Here I am getting towards the end of my little holiday,
  only five more days to go. No word has reached me from my
  Battalion on the subject of leave, or of anything else
  for that matter....

  "If this threatened push on Calais is real, or if the
  higher commands have got 'wind up' about it, they will
  very likely stop all leave, and then I shall just have to
  wait until it starts again....

  "I am sure that the fact of our nation being 'down' and
  preparing for a winter campaign will materially assist
  in shortening the war and rendering that preparation

  "We have an awfully amusing chap here who is in the
  Grenadier Guards. He is always imitating Harry Tate.
  A great big hefty chap, in great big sloppy clothes
  (including what are known as 'Prince of Wales' breeches).
  He gets his mouth right over to the side of his face and
  says 'You stupid boy!' in Harry Tate's voice. He does
  this in the middle of our instructional squads when some
  wretched person does something wrong with the gun, and
  sends every one into fits of laughter.... [A lot more
  about a motor that wouldn't go.]

  "My M.G. course is going on very nicely. I have learnt
  a very great deal, have been intensely interested, and
  am very keen on the work. My function as a reserve
  machine-gunner should really be to train the reserve
  team and such parts of the main team as are not actually
  required in the trenches, in a safe spot behind the
  lines! It sounds 'cushy,' but those in authority over
  us are not sufficiently enlightened, I am afraid, to
  adopt such a plan. The object of course is to prevent
  your reserve men from being 'used up' as riflemen, as
  otherwise when you want them to take the place of the
  others they are casualties and all their training goes
  for nothing.

  The Cavalry officers here are a great joke. They find
  this life very tiring. They are quite keen to get back
  again and have been from the beginning. We, on the other
  hand, fairly enjoy it and are not at all anxious to go
  back to our regiments. That shows the difference between
  the lives we lead. Of course they _have_ been in the
  trenches and have had some very bad times there, but they
  only go in in emergencies and at long intervals....

  "Another difference between us is that they keep their
  buttons as bright as possible and themselves as spick and
  span as can be. The infantry officer gets his buttons
  as dull as possible, and if they are green so much the
  better, as it shows he has been through gas. He likes his
  clothes and especially his puttees to be rather torn, and
  his hat to be any old sloppy shape. If he gets a new hat
  he is almost ashamed to wear it--he is terrified of being
  mistaken for 'Kitcheners'!

  "Lord Kitchener and Mr. Asquith came here last evening.
  Here, to this convent. I don't know what for; but there
  was of course a good deal of stir here.

  "Way and I went into the town last night. We hired a
  _fiacre_ for the return journey. It came on to rain, so
  it was just as well we had a hood. We both thoroughly
  enjoyed the journey. The _fiacre_ was what would be
  dignified by the name of 'Victoria' in England. But in
  France, where it seems to be etiquette not to take any
  trouble over carriagework, _fiacre_ is the only word
  you could apply, and it just fits it. It expresses not
  only its shabbiness but also hints at its broken-backed

  "We went into some stables and inquired about a _fiacre_,
  and a fat boy in a blue apron with a white handkerchief
  tied over one eye said we could have one. So I said, 'Où
  est le cocher?' and he pointed to his breast and said,
  'C'est moi!'

  "The fare, he said, would be six francs and the
  _pourboire_. Thoughtful of him not to forget that. We
  agreed, and he eventually produced the usual French horse.

  "The _fiacre_ was very comfortable and we were awfully
  tickled with the idea of us two in that absurd
  conveyance, especially when we passed staff officers,
  which was frequently. Altogether we were quite sorry when
  our drive was over."


On 16 July 1915, Raymond came home on leave, and he had a great
reception. On 20 July he went back.

  "_Sunday, 25 July 1915, 7.30 p.m._

  "I have got quite a nice dug-out, with a chair and table
  in it. The table was away from the door and got no light,
  so I have spent about two hours to-day turning things
  round. I went to bed about three this morning (just after
  'stand-to') and slept till nearly twelve. Then I had
  breakfast (bacon and eggs). As my former platoon Sergeant
  remarked: 'It is a great thing to have a few comforts, it
  makes you forget there is a war,'

  "So it does until a whizz-bang comes over.

  "I have just seen an aeroplane brought down (German
  luckily). I missed the first part, where one of ours went
  up to it and a flame shot across between them (machine
  gun, I expect). I ran out just in time to see the machine
  descending on fire. It came down quite steadily inside
  our lines (about a mile or more away), but the flames
  were quite clearly visible,"

  "_Thursday, 29 July 1915, 7.35 p.m._

  "Here I am in the trenches again, quite like old times,
  and quite in the swing again after the unsettling effect
  of coming home! You know I can't help laughing at things
  out here. The curious aspect of things sometimes comes
  and hits me, and I sit down and laugh (not insanely or
  hysterically, _bien entendu_; but I just can't help
  chuckling). It is so absurd, the reasons and causes that
  have drawn me to this particular and unlikely field in
  Belgium, and, having arrived here, that make me set about
  at once house-hunting--for all the world as if it was the
  most natural thing in life. And having selected my little
  house and arranged all my belongings in it, I regard it
  as home and spend a few days there. And then one morning
  my servant and I, we pack up everything once more and
  hoist them on to our backs and set off, staff in hand,
  like a pair of gipsies to another field a mile or so
  distant, and there make a new home....

  "I was very loth to leave my front line dug-out, because
  I had arranged things to my liking--had moved the table
  so that it caught the light, and so on. It had a built-in
  table (which took a lot of moving), a chair and a sandbag
  bed. Quite small and snug.

  "But still--this new dug-out back here is quite nice.
  Large and roomy, with windows with bars in them (but no
  glass)--a proper square table on four legs--three chairs
  and a sandbag bed. So I am quite happy. The sandbag
  bed is apparently made as follows: Cover a portion of
  the floor, 6 feet 6 inches by 3 feet 6 inches, with a
  single layer of sandbags filled with earth. Over these
  place several layers of empty sandbags, and the bed is
  finished. If the hollows and lumps are carefully placed,
  the former in the middle and the latter at the head, the
  result is quite a success. Of course one sleeps in one's
  clothes covered by a coat and with an air pillow under
  one's head.

  "We have had a very gay time in the trenches. I think I
  told you how I saw a hostile aeroplane brought down on
  fire in our lines. That was on Sunday, and the official
  report says both pilots killed. On Monday I went down to
  a support trench to have meat tea and a chat with Holden
  and Ventris (two of C Company officers). At a quarter to
  ten there was a loud rumbling explosion and the dug-out
  we were in rocked for several seconds. The Germans had
  fired a mine about 60 feet in front of our trench to try
  to blow in some of our workings.

  "I rushed to my guns--both were quite safe. You should
  have heard the noise. Every man in the place got up to
  the parapet and blazed away for all he was worth. It was
  exciting! One machine gun fired two belts (500 rounds),
  and the other fifty rounds. I heard afterwards that
  several of the enemy were seen to leap their parapets,
  but turned back when they heard the machine guns open
  fire. It took a good while for things to quieten down.
  Some of our miners were at work when it went off, but
  their gallery was some way off and they were quite all

  "Last night they actually exploded another one! Aren't
  they keen? This was a much smaller affair, but closer to
  our trench. It shook down a portion of our parapet, which
  was easily rebuilt and entombed temporarily two of our
  miners. In neither case were there any casualties....

  "I am so sorry the date of the wedding had to be
  altered, but I agree it was for the best. I only hope
  you remembered to inform the bridegroom--he is often
  forgotten on these occasions, and I have known a lot of
  trouble caused by just this omission."


  "_1 August 1915, Sunday, 11.20 p.m._

  "I am not actually in the trenches at the moment,
  though most of the Battalion is. I was in for five
  days, and then I was relieved about four days ago by
  another officer (Roscoe), who shares with me the duties
  of machine-gun officer. So I am in a dug-out about
  three-quarters of a mile behind the firing line while he
  is taking his turn in that line. (A mine has just gone
  off and shaken the ground, followed by a burst of heavy
  rifle firing. This makes the fourth mine this week! Two
  went off while I was up there, and the whole earth rocked
  for several seconds. The first three mines were theirs,
  this last may be ours, I don't know; we had one ready!)

  "We have been at Hill 60 and also up at Ypres. At present
  we are south of that appalling place, but I learn with
  regret that to-morrow we are moving again and are going
  up north of Ypres. We are all depressed in consequence.

  "What an awfully good letter you have written me; but, do
  you know, it makes me ache all over when you write like
  that about the car. You have only to mention you have got
  a Rover, and I am as keen as mustard to come and tinker
  with it! Aren't I young?

  "But you must know I want to come to New Park in any
  case. I am awfully keen to stay there and see it from
  inside, and see its inmates again after many years (it
  feels like). So after the war (may it be soon!) I am just
  going to arrive. I may let you know!

  "Your remarks on weddings in general depress me very
  much! I hope the bridegroom's lot is better than the poor
  bride's. Because my turn is bound to come!

  "I am so glad Hester gave a good account of my
  appearance. I _am_ very fit, it is the only way to exist
  here. Once you begin to get 'down' and to worry, it
  is all up with you. You go into a rapid decline, and
  eventually arrive home a wreck! But as long as you smile
  and don't care a hang about anything, well the war seems
  to go on quite all right!

  "I enjoyed my few days' leave very much indeed. I had
  five days in England and three full days and four nights
  at home. I dropped into my old life just as if no change
  had occurred. And the time was not long enough to make
  the getting back difficult.

  "This life is a change for me, as you say. I haven't done
  laughing at its humorous side yet. In some ways we get
  treated like schoolboys. More so at Crosby than here,

  "_Saturday, 7 August 1915, 7.30 p.m._

  "I have been having rather a bad time lately,--one of
  those times that reminds one that it is war and not a
  picnic,--but, thank goodness, it is all over now.

  "I think I told you that we were about to move up north
  of Ypres, to St. Julien or thereabouts. Well, just before
  we handed over these trenches to one of Kitchener's
  Battalions, the Germans went and knocked down a lot of
  our parapet, and also sent over some appalling things
  that we call 'sausages,' or 'aerial torpedoes,' though
  they are not the latter. They are great shell-shaped
  affairs, about 3 feet along and 9 inches in diameter, I
  should think. They are visible during the whole of their
  flight. They are thrown up about 100 yards into the air
  and fall down as they go up, broadside on--not point
  first. A few seconds after they fall there is the most
  appalling explosion I have ever heard. From a distance of
  100 yards the rush of air is so strong that it feels as
  if the thing had gone off close at hand. Luckily there
  is a slight explosion when they are sent up, and, as
  I said, they are visible all the time in the air. The
  result is our men have time to dodge them, provided they
  are not mesmerised as one man was. He got stuck with his
  mouth open, pointing at one! A Corporal gave him a push
  which sent him 10 yards, and the 'sausage' landed not
  far from where he had been. Although they have sent more
  than twenty of these things over altogether, we have only
  had one casualty, and that a scratch. Their effect is to
  terrify every one and keep them on tenterhooks watching
  for them. Their purpose is to destroy mine galleries, I

  "Monday, August the 2nd, was the day we should have been
  relieved, and that night I went up from headquarters
  and relieved Roscoe, who had had a bad time in the fire

  "They were firing armour-piercing shells that go right in
  and blow the parapet to blazes; dug-outs too, of course,
  if they happen to be near. After punishing the right end
  of the left-hand bit of trench, they traversed along,
  laying waste the whole of our bit.

  "I was in my dug-out with Hogg, another officer. I was
  trying to make tea, but every shell blew out the Primus,
  and covered us in dust. I made it, however, eventually,
  and we had just drunk it when a shell blew the parados
  of the trench down, not far from our door, and the next
  wrecked the dug-out next door to mine (a man who happened
  to be inside having a miraculous escape). We judged it
  was time to clear (the machine guns had already been
  withdrawn to safety), and got away as best we could
  through and over the debris that had been a trench.

  "Later in the day I made my way back, and recovered my
  pack and most of my belongings. It was exciting work
  getting back, because they were sending whizz-bangs
  through the gaps in the parapet, and the communication
  trenches in the rear were blocked in places, so that you
  had to get up on top and 'scoot' across and drop in the
  trench again.

  "That evening they gave us a second shelling, and one hit
  my dug-out fair and square (I had quarters in a support
  trench). When I returned next day for the rest of my
  things--my equipment and some provisions--I had to put
  two men on to dig them out. It took three-quarters of
  an hour to get at them, through the wreckage of timber,
  corrugated iron, and earth....

  "On Tuesday afternoon they sent off another mine,--about
  the seventh since we have been in,--but they are all well
  in front of our parapet. And on Wednesday they gave us
  twelve sausages--the first I had seen.

  "The trouble is, we have a number of mine shafts under
  the ground between our trenches and theirs, and they are
  fearfully 'windy' about them. They keep trying to stop
  us mining them, and their shelling is with the object
  of blowing down our sap-heads. Their mines, too, go up
  short, because they are trying to blow in our galleries;
  or else they are so scared they send them off before they
  are ready. I think the last explanation is probably more
  near the truth, because when one of their mines went up
  recently a lot of Germans went up with it!...

  "We have been in here a fortnight to-night. You can
  imagine how we long for clean clothes. Most of the
  officers have not been out of their clothes all that
  time, but I have been very lucky. I had two good cold
  baths when I was down here before, and to-day I had a
  lovely hot one in a full-length wooden bath. A tremendous
  luxury! Also I had some clean socks to put on....

  "On the day I was shelled out of my dug-out my servant,
  Bailey, was hit on the leg by a piece of shell and has
  gone down the line wounded, not very seriously, I think.
  He is a great loss to me, but I have got another one now,
  Gray, who shapes very well. He is young and willing, and
  quite intelligent.

  "You ask whether that time when the mine went off was the
  first time I had used these guns. Yes, absolutely. The
  plan adopted in trench warfare is to place your guns in
  position with a good wide loophole in front of them, then
  block this up and keep a sharp look-out. When the enemy
  attacks, you blaze away at them, and then shift hurriedly
  to another gun-position and watch the old one being
  shelled to blazes.

  "If you fire on other occasions you are rather apt to
  have your guns knocked out, and we can't afford to lose
  _any_. That is why I was rather horrified to find one gun
  had fired 500 rounds the other night. However, it was
  not discovered. I think the long grass in front hid the

  "Yes, the sandbags might be damp when used for a bed, and
  I always lay my waterproof ground-sheet on top of them. I
  either sleep on that or on some new clean bags laid above
  that again. It is not only dampness, though, that one

  "As a matter of fact, one is not very sensitive to
  damp when living so much out of doors. It is common to
  get one's feet slightly wet and go for about four days
  without removing one's boots--most unpleasant, but not in
  the least damaging to health."

  "_Monday, 16 August 1915, Noon_

  "We are now out and resting after doing a long spell.
  I did nineteen days, and some did a few more days than
  that. Three weeks is a long time to live continuously in
  clothes, boots, and puttees....

  "I came out of the trenches on Thursday night, and was
  really a day too soon, because on Friday we were having
  Orderly-Room right in the country, in front of the C.O.'s
  tent; the Colonel was there surrounded by most of the
  officers, when we heard a shell. Well, that's nothing
  unusual, but this one got crescendo, and we all looked
  up in alarm. Then it got very crescendo, and finally
  cleared us and landed with a loud explosion about 50
  yards beyond us, and not far from several groups of men.
  It was an 8-inch 'crump.' One man only was killed, but
  we knew that more were likely to come over, and so we
  gradually spread out to the sides. Four came altogether
  at two-minute intervals, but we only had two casualties.
  Rather upsetting when we were supposed to be resting. I
  don't know whether they could see our (officers') white
  tents, or whether they saw the cricket match that took
  place on the day before.

  "Anyway we moved our tents slightly--every one put their
  tents where they pleased, and then the Pioneer Sergeant
  came and amused himself daubing green paint on them
  in patches. Ours (three of C Coy.) was the best; the
  splodges looked just like hazel nuts (?) when there are
  three together in their little green cases, and they
  were interspersed with a kind of pansy-shaped flower.
  Altogether a very tasteful and pleasing effect....

  "A couple of gun stocks have come. They arrived from
  Walker's, the makers, and I should very much like to know
  who had them sent. They are ripping, sniping attachments
  with periscopes for use with the ordinary rifle. I shall
  stick to one, and unless I hear otherwise I shall present
  the other one to our sniping officer (honorary rank)."[5]

  "_Wednesday, 25 August 1915, 3 p.m._

  "I am in the trenches once more. We marched in (about
  10 miles) last night. We had a meal at 3 p.m., and
  marched off soon after six. Our rations (officers')
  went astray, because they were on a hand-cart in charge
  of our servants, who missed their way, so we have had
  practically nothing to eat since late lunch yesterday,
  and are pretty hungry. I have had a piece of chocolate,
  and my water-bottle was nearly full of lemon squash....

  "We are in support trenches at Hooge, just on the left
  of our former position up here. Except for some shelling
  (chiefly ours), things are fairly quiet.

  "Since we were here last the position is greatly
  improved; the Germans have been driven over the ridge in
  front (during the recapture of trenches here), and the
  whole place is much 'healthier' in consequence....

  "I have been out here five calendar months to-day, and in
  the Army just over eleven months. They will be pensioning
  me off soon as an old soldier."

  "_29 August 1915, 11.30 a.m._

  "I am having a very quiet and lazy time at the moment,
  and feel I deserve it. We went into support trenches for
  three days, and worked two nights from 7.30 p.m. till 3
  a.m. building and improving the fire trench. Then on the
  third night we had a most exciting time. One company,
  under Captain Taylor, was sent up right in front to dig a
  new fire trench to connect with another on our left. We
  had to go up a trench which ran right out into space, and
  which had only just been built itself, and when there we
  had to get over the parapet and creep forward to the new
  line we were to dig. Of course we had to be dead quiet,
  but there was a big moon, and of course they saw us. Most
  of the way we were not more than 30 yards away from their
  front position (and they had bombing parties out in front
  of that). While we were digging we had one platoon with
  bombs to cover us, and some of this party were as close
  as 25 yards to their front position. It was awful work,
  because they kept throwing bombs at us, and what was
  almost worse was the close-range sniping.

  "'Very' lights were going up from the German lines all
  the time, and you could see the bullets kicking up the
  dust all around. When we first got out there I picked out
  my ground pretty carefully before lying down (because the
  recent scrap there was much in evidence), but when the
  snipers got busy I didn't worry about what I was on, I
  just hugged the ground as close as I could. They would
  put the 'Very' lights right into us, and one just missed
  me by a yard. If they are not spent when they come down,
  they blaze fiercely on the ground, and when they finish,
  they look like a little coke fire. They would burn you
  badly if they fell on you. I have seen a dead man that
  one had fallen on afterwards. His clothes were fearfully

  "The Germans were on the edge of a wood and our ground
  was tipped towards them, so it was extremely difficult to
  get cover. Shell holes were the best. Soon the men got
  their trenches down, and things were a little better. The
  men worked extremely well, and the Wilts were working on
  our left, and we eventually joined up with them. After
  about five hours' work, the trenches were fit to hold,
  and we filed out and the new garrison filed in. Our
  casualties were much lighter than I should have thought
  possible. The Colonel came along the new trenches just
  before we left, and he was most awfully pleased with C
  Company, and so is the General. Captain Taylor is very
  bucked about it.

  "The scene of this affair was right against the Château
  of Hooge, and close to the mine crater. We found a German
  machine gun half buried, but in good condition, and any
  number of souvenirs. The Captain has got a helmet--a
  dirty thing; he had to have it cleaned out, because part
  of the owner was still inside it! It is a rummy shape,
  so flat-topped and square, with a brass spike and a gold
  band down the back. I expect it was an officer's.

  "Oh! I have seen my first German (not counting
  prisoners). I was standing up and a 'Very' light went up,
  so I kept perfectly still. I was looking towards the wood
  where the Germans were (I was 40 or 50 yards away), and I
  saw one quite distinctly walking into the wood.

  "Our men that were killed (sniped) were buried just
  behind, within a quarter of an hour of being hit. Rather

  "The actual digging was rather trying in places, and in
  one case they actually came on a horse!--which dates
  it back to November, when we were pushed back to these
  positions in the first battle of Ypres.

  "The men in such places work with their respirators on
  and are often actually sick. I have had whiffs of the
  smell since in my food. Once smelt never forgotten. I
  can tell the difference between a man and a horse, but I
  don't know which I like least.

  "Rather a morbid topic, I am afraid. Well, after leaving
  the scene of our labours (and glad to get out), we called
  for our packs and had to march about two and a half
  miles. We were dead beat when we arrived here (nice safe
  dug-outs--roomy and comfortable--with our valises ready
  to sleep in when we arrived), but we found a good meal
  awaiting us, and about half-past four we 'got down to
  it' and slept till noon. Holden and I share a palatial
  dug-out, and we had breakfast in bed, and I did not get
  up till just before our evening meal at 7. I washed and
  dressed in slacks--had a meal, and later on went to bed
  again. This morning we had breakfast in bed again about
  9.30, and then I got up, washed and shaved, dressed,
  and am now sitting on my bed, leaning against the wall
  writing my letters.

  "The General let us off 'stand-to' because he knew we
  were fagged out; and it is a great mercy. Turning out
  fully dressed at about 2.30 a.m. and remaining up for
  an hour does not improve one's night's rest. I suppose,
  though, that we shall have to start it soon--perhaps

  "We are here till to-morrow night, I believe, and then
  we go to some fairly nice trenches near the ones we were
  in last. We are short of subalterns--rather--and they
  have taken me off machine guns for the time being. I _am_
  sick, but I get a bit in when I can. In the last trench
  we built (I and my platoon), not the exposed one, there
  was a machine-gun position, and I took great pleasure in
  building it a really good emplacement....

  "Are you doing anything about getting me back for
  Munitions? I don't know what you think about it, and
  whether you think I ought to carry on out here. I am sure
  that after six months I shall be just about fed-up with
  this business, but am not sure that after a couple of
  months at home I shan't be wanting to come out again."

  "_Wednesday, 1 September 1915, 4.45 p.m._

  "I will just write you a short letter to let you know I
  am still well and happy, and still leading the strange
  life of the picnic-hermit.

  "When I last wrote to you I believe I was in the very
  same spot as now, namely, support trenches in the
  neighbourhood of a now famous château. Last time we were
  in for three days, and on the night we left we had a very
  blood-curdling experience digging a trench which was to
  bring us closer to our friends the enemy. But they were
  inclined to resent our advances, and they welcomed us,
  not with open arms, but with lighted bombs. However,
  having completed our work to the great satisfaction of
  those in authority over us (namely, the Colonel and the
  General [Brigadier]), we made good our escape.

  "Then for three blissful days we lived (with our valises)
  in some magnificent dug-outs in one of the safest spots
  in this accursed though much improved neighbourhood.
  These days we spent competing who could sleep furthest
  round the clock (if that is a permissible expression). I
  think I won, and on my record day I got up and dressed
  for dinner at about 7.30 p.m., made my bed afterwards,
  and got back into it again. This halcyon period was only
  interrupted once, when we all had to go out and dig a
  trench one night long. However, the worst feature of
  this expedition was the rain, which made 'going' very
  difficult, and things in general rather uncomfortable
  (especially for the men), so we hadn't much to grumble

  "Then we came back here and the first night we slept in
  peace, getting up at about 3 a.m. ostensibly for the
  purpose of 'stand-to,' but really to brew ourselves some
  cocoa. Then sleep till 9, 10, or 11, I forget which.
  I crawl to the door of my dug-out and shout for Gray,
  who lives just opposite. 'Breakfast!' I say, and he
  invariably asks, 'What will you have, sir?' just as if he
  could command the larders of the Carlton or the Linga.

  "Knowing my rations, and that an attempt at humour would
  only put me off my _plat du jour_ or daily round, I
  usually think for a few moments and then order eggs and
  bacon, and face the common task. The only variation I
  permit myself is that on one or two days in the week I
  funk the bacon and have boiled eggs. Where do the eggs
  come from? They are purchased out of the Mess fund by our
  Mess cook who lives with the Transport when we are in the
  trenches, and brings them up personally when the rations
  arrive at night. Yes, he has a 'cushy' time of it, does
  our Mess cook; and how can he avoid being happy, living
  as he does in a perpetual transport?

  "What of the days when no eggs are available? Why, then,
  _horrible dictu_, I have fried cheese and bacon!

  "It occurs to me here, although all this was not written
  with intention, that this could be a good place to ask
  whether sausages are yet in season. If they are, a few
  cooked ones (or half cooked) sent out now and again would
  make a splendid variant for our menu.

  "The meat season is hard to follow out here. Bully beef
  is such a hardy perennial. (This does not mean that we
  live on it--I never eat it, there is always a good supply
  of fresh beef.)

  "Blackberries are coming on, I notice with pleasure,
  and I can usually tell what shells are in season (the
  season for sausages in this department is, let us hope,
  mercifully short. I believe we are now in the middle of
  the close-time for this sturdy little fellow, I trust he
  is not utilising it to increase and multiply).

  "I am sorry I have had rather a sharp attack of
  parentheses lately, the touch of winter in the air cramps
  my style. And I really did think this was going to be
  quite a short letter. I cannot divine my moods, I find, I
  did not feel like writing until I got going.

  "Please thank father very much indeed for the
  sniperscopes. I have given one to the Captain of D
  Company, who is keen on everything. He is an engineer
  (civil), and is a most useful man out here. I have not
  tried mine yet, as I haven't been in a fire trench, and
  it would hardly be fair to use it in a support trench,
  the backs of our infantry in the trench in front being
  too easy a target to give the thing a fair trial.

  "Oh! I was telling you about my work in this trench but
  got switched off on to food. Last time I was here I
  (and my platoon) worked for two nights from 7.30 till
  3 improving the parapets. Well, the second night of
  _this_ period (last night) I had got all sorts of plans
  ready and was going to have a thoroughly good night
  building dug-outs, draining the trench, and building a
  second machine-gun emplacement (not my job really at
  the moment). However, word came along that the platoon
  was wanted to dig another trench right in front again
  and near the other one. They said, 'A covering party
  with bombs will be provided, and send in your casualty
  report in the morning!' So I asked if they were supplying
  stretchers and all complete! But they were not. It is
  a most cheering way of sending you off, is it not? It
  is a wonder they did not make us take up our own grave
  crosses, just in case.

  "(By the way, it is most impressive to meet two men
  walking along at night and one carrying a large white
  cross. The burying and decking of the graves is done
  very well here, and conscientiously. There is a special
  organisation for making the crosses, lettering them and
  putting them up. The position of the grave is reported to
  them, with the particulars, and they do the rest.)

  "The great difference in last night's job was that I only
  had a platoon to deal with, while before the Captain had
  a whole company. Also I was not quite so close to the
  enemy (we were 30 yards off, and less, before), and the
  moon was mostly obscured. I determined not to let them
  know we were working, so I crept out and explored the
  ground with the Corporal of the covering party (this was
  the worst part of the job, because you did not know when
  you might not come across a party of the enemy in the
  many shell holes and old trenches with which the ground
  was covered). I had my large revolver in my pocket, but I
  did not want to use it, as it would have given our game

  "All went well, and I got the men placed out in absolute
  silence, with the covering party pushed out in front to
  listen and watch. The men worked very quietly, and when a
  light went up they got down and kept still. Lights were
  very few, because the enemy had got a working party out
  too--at one side, and we could occasionally hear them
  driving in stakes for wire.

  "We had to use picks in some places where the ground
  was stony, and these are the hardest to keep quiet. We
  got through it all right, and only one shot, I think,
  was fired all the time. It came fairly close, too. I am
  sure they guessed we were out, because when one light
  went up I hadn't time to get down, so I kept still and I
  plainly saw a Hun standing upright on his own parapet.
  He straightened up as the light grew bright, and I just
  caught sight of the movement and saw him then distinctly.

  "The ground out there has been fought over a good deal,
  and there are plenty of souvenirs about. I have got one
  myself--a Hun rifle. The original owner, who was buried
  with it--probably by a shell--happened to lie exactly
  where we dug our trench, and we were obliged to move him
  elsewhere. I brought his rifle home and put it over the
  door of my dug-out. That was early this morning. But the
  enemy have been putting shrapnel over us (in reply to
  a good 'strafing' by our guns), and one piece has gone
  clean through the stock.

  "Our artillery are going great guns nowadays. It
  certainly feels as if the shell supply was all right--or
  nearly so.

  "I don't know whether we shall be wanted for any job
  to-night, or whether we shall rest, or whether I can get
  on with my projects. I must go round and see Captain T.
  in the other trench. By the way, he came to see how I
  was getting on last night about midnight, and was very
  pleased with the work and with the fact that we were
  having no casualties.

  "That cake was fine, and much appreciated in the Mess.
  The little knife you gave me when home on leave is
  proving most useful.

  "Please thank Lionel for chocolate received and Alec for

  "I have sent another box of Surplus Kit home addressed
  to Noël. Rather late to do it, I know, and I shall want
  one or two of the things sent back later, but not for
  a long time, and it is a relief to get rid of some of
  my impedimenta. The socks returned want mending. That
  reminds me, thank you and please thank Miss Leith very
  much for the socks. They are quite all right for size.
  Perhaps not so long and narrow in the foot might be
  better, but it doesn't seem to affect the wear; they are
  most comfortable.

  "I am still attached to the Company and not to the
  machine guns--much to my annoyance."

  "_Monday, 6 September 1915, 9.30 p.m._

  "Thank you so much for your inspiring and encouraging
  letter. I hope I am being useful out here. I sometimes
  doubt if I am very much use--not as much as I should like
  to be. Possibly I help to keep C Company officers more
  cheerful! I am very sorry they have taken me off machine
  guns for the present, I hope it may not be long.

  "Great happenings are expected here shortly and we are
  going to have a share. We are resting at present and have
  been out a few days now. We had only two periods of three
  days each in the trenches last time in....

  "Our last two days in the trenches were appallingly wet.
  My conduct would have given me double pneumonia at home.
  My rain-coat was soaked, so I had to sleep in shirt
  sleeves under my tunic, and the knees of my breeches were

  "The next day the rain was incessant, and presently I
  found the floor of my dug-out was swimming--the water
  having welled up through the ground below and the

  "I didn't have to sleep on it luckily, because we were
  relieved that night. But before we went I had to turn
  out with fifty men and work till midnight in water up to
  one foot deep. So at 8.30 p.m. I got my boots full of
  cold water and sat out in them till 12, then marched some
  eight miles. After nine hours' rest and some breakfast we
  came here, another three or four. It was nice to get a
  dry pair of boots and our valises and a tent.

  "That night I rode into Poperinghe with Captain Taylor,
  and we had a really good dinner there--great fun.

  "We have a full set of parades here unfortunately,
  otherwise things are all right....

  "Alec has very kindly had a 'Molesworth' sent me. Most

  "I would like a motor paper now and then, I think! _The
  Motor_ for preference--or _The Autocar_. Aren't I young?

  "Captain Taylor has sprained his ankle by falling from
  his horse one night, and has gone to a rest home near.
  So I am commanding C Company at the moment. Hope not for
  long. Too responsible at the present time of crisis.

  "_9 September, 3.30 p.m._

  "Must just finish this off for post.

  "We have just had an inspection by the Army Corps
  Commander, Lieut.-General Plumer [Sir Herbert].

  "I am still in command of C Company, and had to call them
  to attention and go round with the General, followed by a
  whole string of minor generals, colonels, etc. He asked
  me a good many questions:--

  "First.--How long had I had the Company? Then, how long
  had I been out? I said since March. He then asked if I
  had been sick or wounded even, and I said no!

  "Then he said, 'Good lad for sticking it!' at least I
  thought he was going to.

  "We are kept very busy nowadays. I must try and write a
  proper letter soon. I do apologise.

  "A box of cigarettes has arrived from, I suppose, Alec.
  Virginias, I mean, and heaps of them.

  "We have just got another tent--we have been so short and
  have been sleeping five in. Now we shall be two in each.
  The new one is a lovely dove-grey--like a thundercloud.
  After the war I shall buy one.

  "I shall be quite insufferable, I know; I shall want
  everything done for me on the word of command. Never
  mind--roll on the end of the war!

  "Cheer-ho, lovely weather, great spirits! Aeroplane
  [English] came down in our field yesterday slightly on
  fire. All right though.--Good-bye, much love,


  "_Sunday, 12 September 1915, 2 p.m._

  "You will understand that I still have the Company to
  look after, and we are going into the front-line trenches
  this evening at 5 p.m. for an ordinary tour of duty. We
  are going up in motor buses!...

  "Capt. T. thinks he will be away a month!"


  "_17 September 1915_

  "Deeply regret to inform you that Second Lieut. R. Lodge,
  Second South Lancs, was wounded 14 Sept. and has since
  died. Lord Kitchener expresses his sympathy."


  _21 September 1915_

  "The King and Queen deeply regret the loss you and the
  army have sustained by the death of your son in the
  service of his country. Their Majesties truly sympathise
  with you in your sorrow."

    [Footnote 3: See Note by O. J. L. at the end of this

    [Footnote 4: This must have been part of my book "The War
    and After."--O. J. L.]

    [Footnote 5: Thos. Walker & Son, of Oxford Street,
    Birmingham, had kindly given me two periscope rifle-stock
    attachments with excellent mirrors, so as to allow
    accurate sighting.--O. J. L.]

    [Footnote 6: Lieutenant Case himself, alas! was killed
    on the 25th of September 1915. It was a fatal time.
    Lieutenant Fletcher also has been killed now, on 3rd July



Some letters from other officers gradually arrived, giving a few
particulars. But it was an exceptionally strenuous period at the Ypres
salient, and there was little time for writing. Moreover, some of his
friends were killed either at the same time or soon afterwards.

The fullest account that has reached us is in the following letter,
which arrived eight months later:--


  "_7th Brigade Machine-Gun Company, B.E.F., 16 May 1916_

  "DEAR SIR OLIVER LODGE,--When I was lately on leave,
  a brother of mine, who had met one of your relatives,
  encouraged me to write and tell you what I knew of your
  son Raymond. I was in the South Lancashire Regiment when
  he joined the Battalion out here last spring, and I think
  spent the first spell he had in the trenches in his

  "Afterwards I became Machine Gunner, and in the summer
  he became my assistant, and working in shifts we tided
  over some very trying times indeed. In particular
  during August at St. Eloi. To me at any rate it was
  most pleasant being associated together, and I think he
  very much preferred work with the gunners to Company
  work. Being of a mechanical turn of mind, he was always
  devising some new 'gadget' for use with the gun--for
  instance, a mounting for firing at aeroplanes, and a
  device for automatic traversing; and those of my men who
  knew him still quote him as their authority when laying
  down the law and arguing about machine gunning.

  "I wish we had more like him, and the endless
  possibilities of the Maxim would be more quickly brought
  to light.

  "I am always glad to think that it was not in any way
  under my responsibility that he was killed.

  "During September times grew worse and worse up in the
  Ypres salient, culminating in the attack we made on the
  25th, auxiliary to the Loos battle. The trenches were
  ruins, there was endless work building them up at night,
  generally to be wrecked again the next day. The place was
  the target for every gun for miles on either side of the

  "Every day our guns gave the enemy a severe bombardment,
  in preparation for the attack, and every third or fourth
  day we took it back from them with interest: the place
  was at all times a shell trap.

  "It was during this time that your son was killed.
  He was doing duty again with the Company, which was
  short-handed, and I remember one night in particular
  being struck with his cheerfulness on turning out to a
  particularly unpleasant bit of trench digging in front
  of our lines near the Stables at Hooge, a mass of ruins
  and broken trenches where no one could tell you where you
  might run across the enemy; but the men had to dig for
  hours on end, with only a small covering party looking
  out a few yards in front of them.

  "The morning your son was killed they were bombarding
  our trenches on the top of the hill, and some of the men
  were being withdrawn from a bad piece. He and Ventris
  were moving down the trench in rear of the party--which I
  think must have been seen--for a shell came and hit them
  both, but I think none of the men in front.

  "Some time later, I don't know how long, I was going
  up to the line to visit the guns, when I saw Ventris,
  who was killed, laid out ready to be carried down,
  and presently I saw your son in a dug-out, with a man
  watching him. He was then quite unconscious though still
  breathing with difficulty. I could see it was all over
  with him. He was still just alive when I went away.

  "Our regiment was to lose many more on that same hill
  before the month was over, and those of us that remain
  are glad to be far away from it now; but I always feel
  that anyone who has died on Hooge Hill has at all events
  died in very fine company.--Yours sincerely,

  "(Signed) WILLIAM ROSCOE, _Lieut. 2nd S. Lancs. Regt.,
  attached 7th Brigade, M.G. Company_"


 "_21 September 1915_

 "Raymond was the best pal I've ever had, and we've always
 been together; in the old days at Brook Road, then in
 Edinburgh, and lastly in France, and nobody could ever
 have a better friend than he was to me.

 "I'll never forget the first day he came to us at
 Dickebusch, and how pleased we all were to see him again;
 and through it all he was always the same, ever ready
 to help anyone in any way he could, whilst his men were
 awfully fond of him and would have done anything for him."

 "_24 September 1915_

 "I hear that we were digging trenches in advance of our
 present ones at St. Eloi last week, so it must have been
 then that he was hit, as he was awfully keen on digging
 new trenches, and heaps of times I've had to tell him to
 keep down when he was watching the men working....

 "I always thought he would come through all right, and I
 know he thought so himself, as, the last time I saw him,
 we made great plans for spending some time together when
 we got back, and it seems so difficult to realise that he
 has gone.

 (Signed) ERIC S. FLETCHER."


 "_Thursday, 23 September 1915_

 "Yes, I knew Raymond Lodge very well, and he was indeed
 a friend of mine, being one of the nicest fellows it
 has ever been my privilege to meet. I was with him when
 he died. This was how it happened to the best of my

 "'A' Company (the one I am in) and 'C' Company were in
 the trenches at the time. The gunners had sent up word
 that there was going to be a bombardment, and so they
 recommended us to evacuate the front-line trenches, in
 case the Hun retaliated, and it was whilst C Company
 were proceeding down the communication trench, till the
 bombardment was over, that the shell came which killed
 your brother. He was in command of C Company at the time,
 and was going down at the rear of his men, having seen
 them all safely out of the trenches. His servant, Gray,
 was hit first, in the head (from which he afterwards
 died). Then Lodge went along to tell the Sergeant-Major,
 and to see about assistance, farther down the trench.
 Whilst talking to the Company Sergeant-Major he was hit in
 the left side of the back, by a piece of shell, I think.
 Lower down the trench poor Ventris was hit and killed. As
 soon as I heard about it I went along to see if I could be
 of any use. I saw Lodge lying in a dug-out, with a servant
 looking after him. I saw he was badly hit, and tried to
 cheer him up. He recognised me and was just able to ask a
 few questions. That must have been about twenty minutes or
 so after he was hit. I think he lived about half an hour,
 and I don't think he suffered much pain, thank God.

 "I was very, very grieved at his death, for he was one
 of the very nicest fellows I have met. That he was
 universally liked, both by officers and men, it is
 needless to say....

 "I was for nearly three months in C Company with your
 brother, and was thus able to see his extreme coolness and
 ability in military matters.

 (Signed) G. R. A. CASE"


  "_Friday, 24 September 1915_

  "Need I say how grieved we all were at his loss? He was
  hit about midday, and died about half an hour or so
  afterwards. I forget the date, but I have written more
  fully to his brother. I don't think he suffered much
  pain. He was conscious when I arrived, and recognised me,
  I think, and I remained with him for some time. I then
  went off to see if there was any possibility of finding
  the doctor, but all the telephone wires were cut, and
  even if we had been able to get the doctor up, it would
  have been of no avail. The stretcher-bearers did all that
  was possible.... Another subaltern, Mr. Ventris, was
  killed at the same time, as was his servant Gray as well.

  "(Signed) G. R. A. CASE"[6]


  "_27 September 1915_ "First of all I beg to offer you and
  your family my sincere sympathies in the loss of your
  son, 2nd Lieut. Lodge. His loss to us is very great: he
  was a charming young fellow--always so very cheerful
  and willing, hard working, and a bright example of what
  a good soldier ought to be. He was a most efficient
  officer, and only recently qualified in the handling and
  command of Maxim guns--a most useful accomplishment in
  the present war. Briefly, the circumstances which led to
  his death were as follows:--

  "On 14 September, C Company to which 2nd Lieut. Lodge
  belonged, was in position in a forward fire trench.
  During the morning the commander of the artillery
  covering the position informed 2nd Lieut. Lodge, who
  at the time was in command of C Company, that it was
  intended to shell the enemy's positions, and as his
  trenches were only a short distance from ours, it was
  considered advisable to withdraw from our trench during
  the shelling. 2nd Lieut. Lodge gave orders for his
  Company to withdraw into a communication trench in the
  rear. He and 2nd Lieut. Ventris were the last to leave
  the forward trench, and in entering the communication
  trench both these officers were caught by enemy's
  shrapnel. Ventris was killed--Lodge mortally wounded and
  died of his wounds shortly afterwards. These are the
  circumstances of his death."


  "_22 September 1915_

  "The Colonel has asked me to write you, giving some idea
  of the burial-ground in which your son's grave is. I
  understand that he was leading his Company back from one
  of the communication trenches when the Germans shelled
  the front and rear of the column, killing your son and
  the officer who was at the rear. At the same time one man
  was killed and two wounded. I knew nothing about this
  until later in the day, as communication with my aid post
  was very difficult, and he was reported to me as having
  been killed. I understand that he lived for about three
  hours after being wounded, and all the officers and men
  who were present speak very highly of his conduct during
  this time. His wound was unfortunately in such a position
  that there was no chance of saving his life, and this was
  recognised by all, including your son himself. When his
  body was brought down in the evening the expression on
  his face was absolutely peaceful, and I should think that
  he probably did not suffer a great deal of pain. He was
  buried on the same evening in our cemetery just outside
  the aid post, side by side with Lieut. Ventris, who was
  unfortunately killed on the same day. The cemetery is
  in the garden adjoining a ruined farm-house. It is well
  enclosed by hedges, and your son's grave is under some
  tall trees that stand in the garden. There are graves
  there of men of many regiments who have fallen, and our
  graves are enclosed by a wire fence, so keeping them
  quite distinct from the others. There is a wooden cross
  marking the head of the grave, and a small one at the
  foot. I am afraid that our condolences will be small
  consolation to you, but I can assure you that he was one
  of the most popular officers with the Battalion, both
  amongst the officers and men, and all feel his loss very

       *       *       *       *       *

  Information sent by Captain Cheves to Mrs. Ventris,
  mother of the Second Lieutenant who was killed at the
  same time as Raymond and buried with him:--

  "He was buried on the right of the Ypres-Menin Road, just
  past where the Zonebeke Rail cuts. If you can get hold of
  Sheet 28, Belgium 1/40,000, the reference is I. 16. b 2.
  Any soldier will show you how to read the map."

[Illustration: RAYMOND, 1915]


[I also append a letter received from a workman who used to be at the
same bench with Raymond when he was going through his workshop course
at the Wolseley Motor Works. Stallard is a man he thought highly of,
and befriended. He is now foreman in the Lodge Fume Deposit Company,
after making an effort to get a berth in Lodge Brothers for Raymond's
sake. He is now, and has been since the war began, the owner of
Raymond's dog Larry, about whom some local people remember that there
was an amusing County Court case.]

  "_98 Mansel Road, Small Heath, Birmingham, 17 September

  "DEAR MR. LIONEL,--The shock was too great for me to
  speak to you this afternoon. I should like to express to
  you, and all the family, my deepest and most heartfelt
  sympathy in your terrible loss. Mr. Raymond was the best
  friend I ever had.

  "Truly, I thought more of him than any other man living,
  not only for his kind thoughts towards me, but for his
  most admirable qualities, which I knew he possessed.

  "The memory of him will remain with me as long as I
  live.--Believe me to be, yours faithfully,


    [Footnote 6: Lieutenant Case himself, alas! was killed
    on the 25th of September 1915. It was a fatal time.
    Lieutenant Fletcher also has been killed now, on 3rd July


  "Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep--
  He hath awakened from the dream of life."

  SHELLEY, _Adonais_.


I have made no secret of my conviction, not merely that personality
persists, but that its continued existence is more entwined with the
life of every day than has been generally imagined; that there is no
real breach of continuity between the dead and the living; and that
methods of intercommunion across what has seemed to be a gulf can
be set going in response to the urgent demand of affection,--that
in fact, as Diotima told Socrates (_Symposium_, 202 and 203), LOVE

Nor is it affection only that controls and empowers supernormal
intercourse: scientific interest and missionary zeal constitute
supplementary motives which are found efficacious; and it has been
mainly through efforts so actuated that I and some others have been
gradually convinced, by direct experience, of a fact which before
long must become patent to mankind.

Hitherto I have testified to occurrences and messages of which the
motive is intellectual rather than emotional: and though much, very
much, even of this evidence remains inaccessible to the public,
yet a good deal has appeared from time to time by many writers in
the _Proceedings_ of the Society for Psychical Research, and in my
personal collection called _The Survival of Man_. No one therefore
will be surprised if I now further testify concerning communications
which come home to me in a peculiar sense; communications from which
sentiment is not excluded, though still they appear to be guided
and managed with intelligent and on the whole evidential purpose.
These are what I now decide to publish; and I shall cite them as
among those evidences for survival for the publication of which some
legitimate demand has of late been made, owing to my having declared
my belief in continued existence without being able to give the full
grounds of that belief, because much of it concerned other people.
The portion of evidence I shall now cite concerns only myself and

I must make selection, it is true, for the bulk has become great;
but I shall try to select fairly, and especially shall give in fair
fulness those early communications which, though not so free and easy
as they became with more experience, have yet an interest of their
own, since they represent nascent powers and were being received
through members of the family to whom the medium was a complete
stranger and who gave no clue to identity.

Messages of an intelligible though rather recondite character from
"Myers" began to reach me indeed a week or two before the death of
my son; and nearly all the messages received since his death differ
greatly in character from those which in the old days were received
through any medium with whom I sat. No youth was then represented as
eager to communicate; and though friends were described as sending
messages, the messages were represented as coming from appropriate
people--members of an elder generation, leaders of the Society for
Psychical Research, and personal acquaintances. Whereas now, whenever
any member of the family visits anonymously a competent medium, the
same youth soon comes to the fore and is represented as eager to prove
his personal survival and identity.

I consider that he has done so. And the family scepticism, which up
to this time has been sufficiently strong, is now, I may fairly say,
overborne by the facts. How far these facts can be conveyed to the
sympathetic understanding of strangers, I am doubtful. But I must
plead for a patient hearing; and if I make mistakes, either in what I
include, or in what for brevity I omit, or if my notes and comments
fail in clearness, I bespeak a friendly interpretation: for it is
truly from a sense of duty that in so personal a matter I lay myself
open to harsh and perhaps cynical criticism.

It may be said--Why attach so much importance to one individual case?
I do not attach especial importance to it, but every individual case
is of moment, because in such a matter the aphorism _Ex uno disce
omnes_ is strictly applicable. If we can establish the survival of
any single ordinary individual we have established it for all.

Christians may say that the case for one Individual was established
nearly 1900 years ago; but they have most of them confused the issue
by excessive though perhaps legitimate and necessary emphasis on the
exceptional and unique character of that Personality. And a school of
thought has arisen which teaches that ordinary men can only attain
immortality vicariously--that is, conditionally on acceptance of a
certain view concerning the benefits of that Sacrificial Act, and
active assimilation of them.

So without arguing on any such subject, and without entering in the
slightest degree on any theological question, I have endeavoured to
state the evidence fully and frankly for the persistent existence of
one of the multitude of youths who have sacrificed their lives at the
call of their Country when endangered by an aggressor of calculated

Some critics may claim that there are many stronger cases of
established survival. That may be, but this is a case which touches
me closely and has necessarily received my careful attention. In so
far as there are other strong cases--and I know of several--so much
the better. I myself considered the case of survival practically
proven before, and clinched by the efforts of Myers and others of
the S.P.R. group on the other side; but evidence is cumulative, and
the discussion of a fresh case in no way weakens those that have
gone before. Each stick of the faggot must be tested, and, unless
absolutely broken, it adds to the strength of the bundle.

To base so momentous a conclusion as a scientific demonstration of
human survival on any single instance, if it were not sustained on
all sides by a great consensus of similar evidence, would doubtless
be unwise; for some other explanation of a merely isolated case would
have to be sought. But we are justified in examining the evidence for
any case of which all the details are known, and in trying to set
forth the truth of it as completely and fairly as we may.



For people who have studied psychical matters, or who have read any
books on the subject, it is unnecessary to explain what a 'sitting'
is. Novices must be asked to refer to other writings--to small books,
for instance, by Sir W. F. Barrett or Mr. J. Arthur Hill or Miss H.
A. Dallas, which are easily accessible, or to my own previous book on
this subject called _The Survival of Man_, which begins more at the
beginning so far as my own experience is concerned.

Of mediumship there are many grades, one of the simplest forms being
the capacity to receive an impression or automatic writing, under
peaceful conditions, in an ordinary state; but the whole subject
is too large to be treated here. Suffice it to say that the kind
of medium chiefly dealt with in this book is one who, by waiting
quietly, goes more or less into a trance, and is then subject to
what is called 'control'--speaking or writing in a manner quite
different from the medium's own normal or customary manner, under
the guidance of a separate intelligence technically known as 'a
control,' which some think must be a secondary personality--which
indeed certainly is a secondary personality of the medium, whatever
that phrase may really signify--the transition being effected in most
cases quite easily and naturally. In this secondary state, a degree
of clairvoyance or lucidity is attained quite beyond the medium's
normal consciousness, and facts are referred to which must be outside
his or her normal knowledge. The control, or second personality which
speaks during the trance, appears to be more closely in touch with
what is popularly spoken of as 'the next world' than with customary
human existence, and accordingly is able to get messages through
from people deceased; transmitting them through the speech or writing
of the medium, usually with some obscurity and misunderstanding, and
with mannerisms belonging either to the medium or to the control.
The amount of sophistication varies according to the quality of the
medium, and to the state of the same medium at different times;
it must be attributed in the best cases physiologically to the
medium, intellectually to the control. The confusion is no greater
than might be expected from a pair of operators, connected by a
telephone of rather delicate and uncertain quality, who were engaged
in transmitting messages between two stranger communicators, one of
whom was anxious to get messages transmitted, though perhaps not
very skilled in wording them, while the other was nearly silent and
anxious not to give any information or assistance at all; being,
indeed, more or less suspicious that the whole appearance of things
was deceptive, and that his friend, the ostensible communicator, was
not really there. Under such circumstances the effort of the distant
communicator would be chiefly directed to sending such natural and
appropriate messages as should gradually break down the inevitable
scepticism of his friend.


I must assume it known that messages purporting to come from various
deceased people have been received through various mediums, and
that the Society for Psychical Research has especially studied
those coming through Mrs. Piper--a resident in the neighbourhood of
Boston, U.S.A.--during the past thirty years. We were introduced to
her by Professor William James. My own experience with this lady
began during her visit to this country in 1889, and was renewed in
1906. The account has been fully published in the _Proceedings_ of
the Society for Psychical Research, vols. vi. and xxiii., and an
abbreviated version of some of the incidents there recorded can be
referred to in my book _The Survival of Man_.

It will be convenient, however, to explain here that some of the
communicators on the other side, like Mr. Myers and Dr. Richard
Hodgson, both now deceased, have appeared to utilise many mediums;
and that to allow for possible sophistication by normal mental
idiosyncrasies, and for any natural warping due to the physiological
mechanism employed, or to the brain-deposit from which selection
has to be made, we write the name of the ostensible communicator in
each case with a suffix--like Myers_{P}, Myers_{V}, etc.; meaning
by this kind of designation to signify that part of the Myers-like
intelligence which operates through Mrs. Piper or through Mrs.
Verrall, etc., respectively.

We know that communication must be hampered, and its form largely
determined, by the unconscious but inevitable influence of a
transmitting mechanism, whether that be of a merely mechanical or of
a physiological character. Every artist knows that he must adapt the
expression of his thought to his material, and that what is possible
with one 'medium,' even in the artist's sense of the word, is not
possible with another.

And when the method of communication is purely mental or telepathic,
we are assured that the communicator 'on the other side' has to
select from and utilise those ideas and channels which represent the
customary mental scope of the medium; though by practised skill and
ingenuity they can be woven into fresh patterns and be made to convey
to a patient and discriminating interpreter the real intention of the
communicator's thought. In many such telepathic communications the
physical form which the emergent message takes is that of automatic
or semiconscious writing or speech; the manner of the utterance being
fairly normal, but the substance of it appearing not to emanate
from the writer's or speaker's own mind: though but very seldom is
either the subject-matter or the language of a kind quite beyond the
writer's or speaker's normal capabilities.

In other cases, when the medium becomes entranced, the demonstration
of a communicator's separate intelligence may become stronger and
the sophistication less. A still further stage is reached when by
special effort what is called _telergy_ is employed, _i.e._ when
physiological mechanism is more directly utilised without telepathic
operation on the mind. And a still further step away from personal
sophistication, though under extra mechanical difficulties, is
attainable in _telekinesis_ or what appears to be the direct movement
of inorganic matter. To this last category--though in its very
simplest form--must belong, I suppose, the percussive sounds known as

To understand the intelligent tiltings of a table in contact with
human muscles is a much simpler matter. It is crude and elementary,
but in principle it does not appear to differ from automatic writing;
though inasmuch as the code and the movements are so simple, it
appears to be the easiest of all to beginners. It is so simple that
it has been often employed as a sort of game, and so has fallen into
disrepute. But its possibilities are not to be ignored for all that;
and in so far as it enables a feeling of more direct influence--in
so far as the communicator feels able himself to control the energy
necessary, instead of having to entrust his message to a third
person--it is by many communicators preferred. More on this subject
will be found in Chapters VIII of Part II and XIV of Part III.

Before beginning an historical record of the communications and
messages received from or about my son since his death, I think it
will be well to prelude it by--

(i) A message which arrived before the event;

(ii) A selection of subsequent communications bearing on and
supplementing this message;

(iii) One of the evidential episodes, selected from subsequent
communications, which turned out to be exactly verifiable.

A few further details about these things, and another series of
messages of evidential importance, will be found in that Part of the
_Proceedings_ of the S.P.R. which is to be published about October

If the full discussion allowed to these selected portions appears
rather complicated, an unstudious reader may skip the next three
chapters, on a first reading, and may learn about the simpler facts
in their evolutionary or historical order.



_Preliminary Facts_

Raymond joined the Army in September 1914; trained near Liverpool
and Edinburgh with the South Lancashires, and in March 1915 was sent
to the trenches in Flanders. In the middle of July 1915 he had a few
days' leave at home, and on the 20th returned to the Front.


The first intimation that I had that anything might be going wrong,
was a message from Myers through Mrs. Piper in America; communicated
apparently by "Richard Hodgson" at a time when a Miss Robbins was
having a sitting at Mrs. Piper's house, Greenfield, New Hampshire,
on 8 August 1915, and sent me by Miss Alta Piper (A. L. P.) together
with the original script. Here follows the extract, which at a
certain stage in Miss Robbins's sitting, after having dealt with
matters of personal significance to her, none of which had anything
whatever to do with me, began abruptly thus:--

R. H.--Now Lodge, while we are not here as of old, _i.e._
 not quite, we are here enough to take and give messages.

 Myers says you take the part of the poet, and he will act
 as Faunus. FAUNUS.

MISS R.--Faunus?

R. H.--Yes. Myers. _Protect._ He will understand.

 (Evidently referring to Lodge.--A. L. P.)

 What have you to say, Lodge? Good work. Ask Verrall, she
 will also understand. Arthur says so. [This means Dr.

 Arthur W. Verrall (deceased).--O. J. L.]

MISS R.--Do you mean Arthur Tennyson?

 [This absurd confusion, stimulated by the word 'poet,' was evidently
 the result of a long strain at reading barely legible trance-writing
 for more than an hour, and was recognised immediately afterwards
 with dismayed amusement by the sitter. It is only of interest as
 showing how completely unknown to anyone present was the reference
 intended by the communicator.--O. J. L.]

R. H.--_No. Myers_ knows. So does ----. You got mixed (to
 Miss R.), but Myers is straight about Poet and Faunus.

       *       *       *       *       *

I venture to say that to non-classical people the above message
conveys nothing. It did not convey anything to me, beyond the
assurance, based on past experience, that it certainly meant
something definite, that its meaning was probably embedded in a
classical quotation, and that a scholar like Mrs. Verrall would be
able to interpret it, even if only the bare skeleton of the message
were given without any details as to source.


In order to interpret this message, therefore, I wrote to Mrs.
Verrall as instructed, asking her: "Does _The Poet and Faunus_ mean
anything to you? Did one 'protect' the other?" She replied at once (8
September 1915) referring me to Horace, _Carm_. II. xvii. 27-30, and

  "The reference is to Horace's account of his narrow
  escape from death, from a falling tree, which he ascribes
  to the intervention of Faunus. Cf. Hor. _Odes_, II.
  xiii.; II. xvii. 27; III. iv. 27; III. viii. 8, for
  references to the subject. The allusion to Faunus is in
  Ode II. xvii. 27-30:--

  'Me truncus illapsus cerebro Sustulerat, nisi _Faunus_
  ictum Dextra levasset, Mercurialium _Custos_ virorum.'

  "'Faunus, the guardian of poets' ('poets' being the usual
  interpretation of 'Mercury's men').

  "The passage is a very well-known one to all readers
  of Horace, and is perhaps specially familiar from
  its containing, in the sentence quoted, an unusual
  grammatical construction. It is likely to occur in a
  detailed work on Latin Grammar.

  "The passage has no special associations for me other
  than as I have described, though it has some interest
  as forming part of a chronological sequence among the
  _Odes_, not generally admitted by commentators, but
  accepted by me.

  "The words quoted are, of course, strictly applicable to
  the Horatian passage, which they instantly recalled to me.

  (Signed) M. DE G. VERRALL"

       *       *       *       *       *

I perceived therefore, from this manifestly correct interpretation
of the 'Myers' message to me, that the meaning was that some blow
was going to fall, or was likely to fall, though I didn't know of
what kind, and that Myers would intervene, apparently to protect
me from it. So far as I can recollect my comparatively trivial
thoughts on the subject, I believe that I had some vague idea that
the catastrophe intended was perhaps of a financial rather than of a
personal kind.

The above message reached me near the beginning of September in
Scotland. Raymond was killed near Ypres on 14 September 1915, and
we got the news by telegram from the War Office on 17 September.
A fallen or falling tree is a frequently used symbol for death;
perhaps through misinterpretation of _Eccl._ xi, 3. To several other
classical scholars I have since put the question I addressed to Mrs.
Verrall, and they all referred me to Horace, _Carm._ II. xvii. as the
unmistakable reference.

_Mr. Bayfield's Criticism_

Soon after the event, I informed the Rev. M. A. Bayfield,
ex-headmaster of Eastbourne College, fully of the facts, as an
interesting S.P.R. incident (saying at the same time that Myers had
not been able to 'ward off' the blow); and he was good enough to send
me a careful note in reply:--

  "Horace does not, in any reference to his escape, say
  clearly whether the tree struck him, but I have always
  thought it did. He says Faunus lightened the blow; he
  does not say 'turned it aside.' As bearing on your
  terrible loss, the meaning seems to be that the blow
  would fall but would not crush; it would be 'lightened'
  by the assurance, conveyed afresh to you by a special
  message from the still living Myers, that your boy still

  "I shall be interested to know what you think of this
  interpretation. The 'protect' I take to mean protect
  from being overwhelmed by the blow, from losing faith
  and hope, as we are all in danger of doing when smitten
  by some crushing personal calamity. Many a man when so
  smitten has, like Merlin, lain

  'as dead, And lost to life and use and name and fame.'

That seems to me to give a sufficiently precise application to the
word (on which Myers apparently insists) and to the whole reference
to Horace."

       *       *       *       *       *

In a postscript he adds the following:--

  "In _Carm._ iii. 8, Horace describes himself as _prope
  funeratus arboris ictu_, 'wellnigh killed by a blow from
  a tree.' An artist in expression, such as he was, would
  not have mentioned any 'blow' if there had been none; he
  would have said 'well nigh killed by a falling tree'--or
  the like. It is to be noted that in both passages he uses
  the word _ictus_. And in ii. 13. 11 (the whole ode is
  addressed to the tree) he says the man must have been a
  fellow steeped in every wickedness 'who planted thee an
  accursed lump of wood, a thing meant to fall (this is the
  delicate meaning of _caducum_--not merely "falling") on
  thine undeserving master's head.' Here again the language
  implies that he was struck, and struck on the head.

  "Indeed, the escape must have been a narrow one, and it
  is to me impossible to believe that Horace would have
  been so deeply impressed by the accident if he had not
  actually been struck. He refers to it four times:--

  _Carm._ ii. 13.--(Ode addressed to the tree--forty lines

  ii. 17. 27.

  iii. 4. 27.--(Here he puts the risk he ran on a parallel
  with that of the rout at Philippi, from which he escaped.)

  iii. 8. 8.

  "I insist on all this as strengthening my interpretation,
  and also as strengthening the assignment of the script
  to Myers, who would of course be fully alive to all
  the points to be found in his reference to Faunus and
  Horace--and, as I have no doubt, believed that Horace did
  not escape the actual blow, and that it was a severe one."


Since some of the translators, especially verse translators, of
Horace convey the idea of turning aside or warding off the blow, it
may be well to emphasise the fact that most of the scholars consulted
gave "lightened" or "weakened" as the translation. And Professor
Strong says--"no doubt at all that 'levasset' means 'weakened' the
blow; the bough fell and struck the Poet, but lightly, through the
action of Faunus. 'Levo' in this sense is quite common and classical."

Bryce's prose translation (Bohn) is quite clear--"a tree-stem falling
on my head had surely been my death, had not good Faunus eased the
blow...." And although Conington's translation has "check'd the blow
in mid descent," he really means the same thing, because it is the
slaying, not the wounding or striking of the Poet that is prevented:--

    "Me the curst trunk, that smote my skull,
    Had slain; but Faunus, strong to shield
    The friends of Mercury, check'd the blow
    In mid descent."


Mr. Bayfield also calls my attention to another portion of Piper
Script--in this case not a trance or semi-trance sitting, but
ordinary automatic writing--dated 5 August, which reached me
simultaneously with the one already quoted from, at the beginning of
September, and which he says seems intended to prepare me for some
personal trouble:--

  "Yes. For the moment, Lodge, have faith and wisdom [?
  confidence] in all that is highest and best. Have you all
  not been profoundly guided and cared for? Can you answer,
  'No'? It is by your faith that all is well and has been."

I remember being a little struck by the wording in the above script,
urging me to admit that we--presumably the family--had "been
profoundly guided and cared for," and "that all is well and has
been"; because it seemed to indicate that something was not going to
be quite so well. But it was too indefinite to lead me to make any
careful record of it, or to send it as a prediction to anybody for
filing; and it would no doubt have evaporated from my mind except
for the 'Faunus' warning, given three days later, though received at
the same time, which seemed to me clearly intended as a prediction,
whether it happened to come off or not.

       *       *       *       *       *

The two Piper communications, of which parts have now been quoted,
reached me at Gullane, East Lothian, where my wife (M. F. A. L.) and
I were staying for a few weeks. They arrived early in September 1915,
and as soon as I had heard from Mrs. Verrall I wrote to Miss Piper to
acknowledge them, as follows:--

  "_The Linga Private Hotel, Gullane, East Lothian, 12
  September 1915_

  "MY DEAR ALTA,--The reference to the Poet and Faunus
  in your mother's last script is quite intelligible,
  and a good classical allusion. You might tell the
  'communicator' some time if there is opportunity.

  "I feel sure that it must convey nothing to you and
  yours. That is quite as it should be, as you know, for
  evidential reasons."

This was written two days before Raymond's death, and five days
before we heard of it. The Pipers' ignorance of any meaning in the
Poet and Faunus allusion was subsequently confirmed.

It so happens that this letter was returned to me, for some unknown
reason, through the Dead Letter Office, reaching me on 14 November
1915, and being then sent forward by me again.[7]

    [Footnote 7: Further Piper and other communications,
    obscurely relevant to this subject, will be found in a
    Paper which will appear in the S.P.R. _Proceedings_ for
    the autumn of 1916.]



It now remains to indicate how far Myers carried out his implied
promise, and what steps he took, or has been represented as having
taken, to lighten the blow--which it is permissible to say was a
terribly severe one.

For such evidence I must quote from the record of sittings held here
in England with mediums previously unknown, and by sitters who gave
no sort of clue as to identity. (See the historical record, beginning
at Chapter V.)

It may be objected that my own general appearance is known or might
be guessed. But that does not apply to members of my family, who
went quite anonymously to private sittings kindly arranged for by
a friend in London (Mrs. Kennedy, wife of Dr. Kennedy), who was no
relation whatever, but whose own personal experience caused her to
be sympathetic and helpful, and who is both keen and critical about
evidential considerations.

I may state, for what it is worth, that as a matter of fact
normal clues to identity are disliked, and, in so far as they are
gratuitous, are even resented, by a good medium; for they are no
manner of use, and yet subsequently they appear to spoil evidence. It
is practically impossible for mediums to hunt up and become normally
acquainted with the family history of their numerous sitters, and
those who know them are well aware that they do nothing of the sort,
but in making arrangements for a sitting it is not easy, unless
special precautions are taken, to avoid giving a name and an address,
and thereby appearing to give facilities for fraud.

In our case, and in that of our immediate friends, these precautions
have been taken--sometimes in a rather elaborate manner.

The first sitting that was held after Raymond's death by any member
of the family was held not explicitly for the purpose of getting
into communication with him--still less with any remotest notion of
entering into communication with Mr. Myers--but mainly because a
French widow lady, who had been kind to our daughters during winters
in Paris, was staying with my wife at Edgbaston--her first real
visit to England--and was in great distress at the loss of both her
beloved sons in the war, within a week of each other, so that she
was left desolate. To comfort her my wife took her up to London to
call on Mrs. Kennedy, and to get a sitting arranged for with a medium
whom that lady knew and recommended. Two anonymous interviews were
duly held, and incidentally I may say that the two sons of Madame
communicated, on both occasions, though with difficulty; that one of
them gave his name completely, the other approximately; and that the
mother, who was new to the whole subject, was partially consoled.[8]
Raymond, however, was represented as coming with them and helping
them, and as sending some messages on his own account. I shall here
only quote those messages which bear upon the subject of _Myers_ and
have any possible connexion with the 'Faunus' message.

(For an elementary explanation about 'sittings' in general, see
Chapter I.)


We heard first of Raymond's death on 17 September 1915, and on 25
September his mother (M. F. A. L.), who was having an anonymous
sitting for a friend with Mrs. Leonard, then a complete stranger, had
the following spelt out by tilts of a table, as purporting to come
from Raymond:--


M. F. A. L.--Can you give any name?


(That was all on that subject on that occasion.)

       *       *       *       *       *

On the 27th of September 1915, I myself went to London and had my
first sitting, between noon and one o'clock, with Mrs. Leonard. I
went to her house or flat alone, as a complete stranger, for whom an
appointment had been made through Mrs. Kennedy. Before we began, Mrs.
Leonard informed me that her 'guide' or 'control' was a young girl
named "Feda."

In a short time after the medium had gone into trance, a youth was
described in terms which distinctly suggested Raymond, and "Feda"
brought messages. I extract the following:--

_From First Anonymous Sitting of O. J. L. with Mrs. Leonard, 27
September 1915_

 (Mrs. Leonard's control, Feda, supposed to be speaking

 He finds it difficult, he says, but he has got so many
 kind friends helping him. He didn't think when he waked up
 first that he was going to be happy, but now he is, and he
 says he is going to be happier. He knows that as soon as
 he is a little more ready he has got a great deal of work
 to do. "I almost wonder," he says, "shall I be fit and
 able to do it. They tell me I shall."

 "I have instructors and teachers with me." Now he is
 trying to build up a letter of some one; M. he shows me.

(A short time later, he said:--)

  "People think I say I am happy in order to make them
  happier, but I don't.[9] I have met hundreds of friends.
  I don't know them all. I have met many who tell me that,
  a little later, they will explain why they are helping
  me. I feel I have got two fathers now. I don't feel I
  have lost one and got another; I have got both.

  I have got my old one, and another too--a _pro tem_.

(Here Feda ejaculated "What's that? Is that right?" O. J.
L. replied 'Yes.')

  There is a weight gone off his mind the last day or two;
  he feels brighter and lighter and happier altogether, the
  last few days. There was confusion at first. He could not
  get his bearings, didn't seem to know where he was. "But
  I was not very long," he says, "and I think I was very
  fortunate; it was not very long before it was explained
  to me where I was."

       *       *       *       *       *

But the most remarkable indirect allusion, or apparent
allusion, to something like the 'Faunus' message, came at
the end of the sitting, after "Raymond" had gone, and just
before Mrs. Leonard came out of trance:--

  "He is gone, but Feda sees something which is only
  symbolic; she sees a cross falling back on to you; very
  dark, falling on to you; dark and heavy looking; and as
  it falls it gets twisted round and the other side seems
  all light, and the light is shining all over you. It is
  a sort of pale blue, but it is white and quite light
  when it touches you. Yes, that is what Feda sees. The
  cross looked dark, and then it suddenly twisted round
  and became a beautiful light. The cross is a means of
  shedding real light. It is going to help a great deal.

  "Did you know you had a coloured Guide?... He says your
  son is the cross of light; he is the cross of light, and
  he is going to be a light that will help you; he is going
  to help too to prove to the world the Truth. That is
  why they built up the dark cross that turned to bright.
  You know; but others, they do so want to know. Feda is
  loosing hold; good-bye."

[_This ends the O. J. L. first Leonard sitting of 27 September 1915._]

On the afternoon of the same day, 27 September 1915, that I had this
first sitting with Mrs. Leonard, Lady Lodge had her first sitting, as
a complete stranger, with Mr. A. Vout Peters, who had been invited
for the purpose--without any name being given--to Mrs. Kennedy's
house at 3.30 p.m.

Here again, Raymond was described well enough, fairly early in the
sitting, and several identifying messages were given. Presently
'Moonstone' (Peters's chief control) asked, "Was he not associated
with Chemistry?" As a matter of fact, my laboratory has been rather
specially chemical of late; and the record continues, copied with
subsequent annotations in square brackets as it stands:--

_From First Anonymous Sitting of M. F. A. L. with Peters, 27 September

 Was he not associated with chemistry? If not, some one
 associated with him was, because I see all the things in a
 chemical laboratory.

 That chemistry thing takes me away from him to a man in
 the flesh [O. J. L. presumably]; and, connected with him,
 a man, a writer of poetry, on our side, closely connected
 with spiritualism. He was very clever--he too passed away
 out of England.

[This is clearly meant for Myers, who died in Rome.]

 He has communicated several times. This gentleman who
 wrote poetry--I see the letter M--he is helping your son
 to communicate.

[His presence and help were also independently mentioned
by Mrs. Leonard.]

 He is built up in the chemical conditions.

 If your son didn't know this man, he knew of him.

[Yes, he could hardly have known him, as he was only about twelve at
the time of Myers's death.]

 At the back of the gentleman beginning with M, and who
 wrote poetry, is a whole group of people. [The S.P.R.
 group, doubtless.] They are very interested. And don't be
 surprised if you get messages from them, even if you don't
 know them.

(Then 'Moonstone' stopped, and said:--)

 This is so important that is going to be said now, that
 I want to go slowly, for you to write clearly every word
 (dictating carefully):--


 This message is for the gentleman associated with the
 chemical laboratory.

[Considering that my wife was quite unknown to the medium,
this is a remarkably evidential and identifying message.
Cf. passage in my book, _Survival of Man_, containing this
tunnel-boring simile; page 341 of American edition (Moffat
Yard & Co.).--O. J. L.]

'Moonstone' continued:--

 The boy--I call them all boys because I was over a hundred
 when I lived here and they are all boys to me--he says, he
 is here, but he says:--

 "Hitherto it has been a thing of the head, now I am come
 over it is a thing of the heart."

 What is more (here Peters jumped up in his chair,
 vigorously, snapped his fingers excitedly, and spoke

  "Good God! how father will be able to speak out! much
  firmer than he has ever done, because it will touch our

(_Here ends extract from Peters sitting of 27 September 1915. A
  completer record will be found in Chapter VII._)

At a Leonard Table Sitting on 12 October 1915--by which time our
identity was known to Mrs. Leonard--I told 'Myers' that I understood
his Piper message about Faunus and the Poet; and the only point
of interest about the reply or comment is that the two following
sentences were spelt out, purporting to come either indirectly or
directly from 'Myers':--

 1. He says it meant your son's tr[ansition].

 2. Your son shall be mine.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next 'Myers' reference came on 29 October, when I had a sitting
with Peters, unexpectedly and unknown to my family, at his London
room (15 Devereux Court, Fleet Street)--a sitting arranged for by Mr.
J. A. Hill for an anonymous friend:--

Peters went into trance, and after some other communications,
gave messages from a youth who was recognised by the control and
identified as my son; and later on Peters's 'control,' whom it is
customary to call 'Moonstone,' spoke thus:--

_From Sitting of O. J. L. with Peters on 29 October 1915_

 Your common-sense method of approaching the subject in the
 family has been the means of helping him to come back as
 he has been able to do; and had he not known what you had
 told him, then it would have been far more difficult for
 him to come back. He is very deliberate in what he says.
 He is a young man that knows what he is saying. Do you
 know F W M?

O. J. L.--Yes, I do.

 Because I see those three letters. Now, after them, do you
 know S T; yes, I get S T, then a dot, and then P? These
 are shown me; I see them in light; your boy shows these
 things to me.

O. J. L.--Yes, I understand. [Meaning that I recognised
 the allusion to F. W. H. Myers's poem _St. Paul_.]

 Well, he says to me: "He has helped me so much, more than
 you think. That is F W M."

O. J. L.--Bless him!

 No, your boy laughs, he has got an ulterior motive for it;
 don't think it was only for charity's sake, he has got an
 ulterior motive, and thinks that you will be able by the
 strength of your personality to do what you want to do
 now, to ride over the quibbles of the fools, and to make
 the Society, _the_ Society, he says, of some use to the
 world.... Can you understand?

O. J. L.--Yes.

 Now he says, "He helped me because, with me through you,
 he can break away the dam that people have set up. Later
 on, you are going to speak to them. It is already on the
 programme, and you will break down the opposition because
 of me." Then he says, "For God's sake, father, do it.
 Because if you only knew, and could only see what I see:
 hundreds of men and women heart-broken. And if you could
 only see the boys on our side shut out, you would throw
 the whole strength of yourself

 into this work. But you can do it." He is very earnest.
 Oh, and he wants--No, I must stop him, I must prevent him,
 I don't want him to control the medium.--Don't think me
 unkind, but I must protect my medium; he would not be able
 to do the work he has to do; the medium would be ill from
 it, I must protect him, the emotion would be too great,
 too great for both of you, so I must prevent him from

 He understands, but he wants me to tell you this:--

 The feeling on going over was one of intense
 disappointment, he had no idea of death. The second too
 was grief. (Pause.)

       *       *       *       *       *

 This is a time when men and women have had the crust
 broken off them--a crust of convention, of ... of
 indifference, has been smashed, and everybody thinks,
 though some selfishly.

 Now, returning to him, how patient he is! He was not
 always so patient. After the grief there was a glimmering
 of hope, because he realised that he could get back to
 you; and because his grandmother came to him. Then his
 brother was introduced to him. Then, he says, other
 people. Myerse--"Myerse," it sounds like--do you know what
 he means?--came to him, and then he knew he could get
 back. He knew.

 Now he wants me to tell you this: That from his death,
 which is only one of thousands, that the work which he (I
 have to translate his ideas into words, I don't get them
 verbatum [_sic_])--the work which he volunteered to be
 able to succeed in,--no, that's not it. The work which he
 enlisted for, that is what he says, only he was only a
 unit and seemingly lost--yet the very fact of his death
 will be the means of pushing it on. Now I have got it. By
 his passing away, many hundreds will be benefited.

(_End of extract from Peters sitting of 29 October 1915._)

 (A still fuller account of the whole 'Faunus' episode, and a further
 sequel to it of a classical kind, called the "Horace O. L." message,
 will be found in the S.P.R. _Proceedings_ for the autumn of 1916.)

       *       *       *       *       *

It will be understood, I hope, that the above extracts from sittings
have been reproduced here in order to show that, if we take the
incidents on their face value, Myers had redeemed his 'Faunus'
promise, and had lightened the blow by looking after and helping
my son 'on the other side.' I now propose to make some further
extracts--of a more evidential character--tending to establish
the survival of my son's own personality and memory. There have
been several of these evidential episodes, making strongly in this
direction; but I select, for description here, one relating to a
certain group photograph, of which we were told through two mediums,
but of which we normally knew nothing till afterwards.

    [Footnote 8: I realise now, though the relevance has
    only just struck me, that from the point of view of an
    outside critic, pardonably suspicious of bad faith, this
    episode of the bereaved French lady--an obviously complete
    stranger to Mrs. Kennedy as well as to the medium--has an
    evidential and therefore helpful side.]

    [Footnote 9: This is reminiscent of a sentence in one of
    his letters from the Front: "As cheerful and well and
    happy as ever. Don't think I am having a rotten time--I am
    not." Dated 11 May 1915 (really 12).]



I now come to a peculiarly good piece of evidence arising out of
the sittings which from time to time we held in the autumn of 1915,
namely, the mention and description of a group photograph taken near
the Front, of the existence of which we were in complete ignorance,
but which was afterwards verified in a satisfactory and complete
manner. It is necessary to report the circumstances rather fully:--

Raymond was killed on 14 September 1915.

The first reference to a photograph taken of him with other men was
made by Peters at M. F. A. L.'s first sitting with Peters, in Mrs.
Kennedy's house, on 27 September 1915, thus:--

_Extract from M. F. A. L.'s anonymous Sitting with Peters on 27
September 1915_

 "You have several portraits of this boy. Before he went
 away you had got a good portrait of him--two--no, three.
 Two where he is alone and one where he is in a group of
 other men. He is particular that I should tell you of
 this. In one you see his walking-stick"--('Moonstone' here
 put an imaginary stick under his arm).

We had single photographs of him of course, and in uniform, but we
did not know of the existence of a photograph in which he was one of
a group; and M. F. A. L. was sceptical about it, thinking that it
might well be only a shot or guess on the part of Peters at something
probable. But Mrs. Kennedy (as Note-taker) had written down most of
what was said, and this record was kept, copied, and sent to Mr.
Hill in the ordinary course at the time.

I was myself, moreover, rather impressed with the emphasis laid
on it--"he is particular that I should tell you of this"--and
accordingly made a half-hearted inquiry or two; but nothing more was
heard on the subject for two months. On Monday, 29 November, however,
a letter came from Mrs. Cheves, a stranger to us, mother of Captain
Cheves of the R.A.M.C., who had known Raymond and had reported to us
concerning the nature of his wound, and who is still doing good work
at the Front.

Mrs. Cheves' welcome letter ran as follows:--

 "_28 November 1915_

 "DEAR LADY LODGE,--My son, who is M.O. to the 2nd South
 Lancs, has sent us a group of officers taken in August,
 and I wondered whether you knew of this photo and had had
 a copy. If not may I send you one, as we have half a dozen
 and also a key? I hope you will forgive my writing to ask
 this, but I have often thought of you and felt so much for
 you in yr. great sorrow.

 --Sincerely yours, B. P. CHEVES"

M. F. A. L. promptly wrote, thanking her, and asking for it; but
fortunately it did not come at once.

Before it came, I (O. J. L.) was having a sitting with Mrs. Leonard
alone at her house on 3 December; and on this occasion, among other
questions, I asked carefully concerning the photograph, wishing to
get more detailed information about it, before it was seen. It should
be understood that the subject was not introduced by Mrs. Leonard or
her control. The previous mention of a photograph had been through
Peters. It was I that introduced the subject through Mrs. Leonard,
and asked a question; and the answers were thus reported and recorded
at the time--the typing out of the sitting being all done before the
photograph arrived:--

_Extract from the Record of O. J. L.'s Sitting with Mrs. Leonard, 3
December 1915_

 (Mrs. Leonard's child-control, Feda, supposed to be
 speaking, and often speaking of herself in the third

FEDA.--Now ask him some more.

O. J. L.--Well, he said something about having a photograph taken
with some other men. We haven't seen that photograph yet. Does he
want to say anything more about it? He spoke about a photograph.

 Yes, but he thinks it wasn't here. He looks at Feda, and
 he says, it wasn't to you, Feda.

O. J. L.--No, he's quite right. It wasn't. Can he say where he spoke
of it?

 He says it wasn't through the table.

O. J. L.--No, it wasn't.

 It wasn't here at all. He didn't know the person that he
 said it through. The conditions were strange there--a
 strange house. [Quite true, it was said through Peters in
 Mrs. Kennedy's house during an anonymous sitting on 27

O. J. L.--Do you recollect the photograph at all?

 He thinks there were several others taken with him, not
 one or two, but several.

O. J. L.--Were they friends of yours?

 Some of them, he says. He didn't know them all, not very
 well. But he knew some; he heard of some; they were not
 all friends.

O. J. L.--Does he remember how he looked in the photograph?

 No, he doesn't remember how he looked.

O. J. L.--No, no, I mean was he standing up?

 No, he doesn't seem to think so. Some were raised up
 round; he was sitting down, and some were raised up at the
 back of him. Some were standing, and some were sitting, he

O. J. L.--Were they soldiers?

 He says yes--a mixed lot. Somebody called C was on it with
 him; and somebody called R--not his own name, but another
 R. K, K, K--he says something about K.

 He also mentions a man beginning with B--(indistinct
 muttering something like Berry, Burney--then clearly) but
 put down B.

O. J. L.--I am asking about the photograph because we haven't seen
it yet. Somebody is going to send it to us. We have heard that it
exists, and that's all.

 [While this is being written out, the above remains true.
 The photograph has not yet come.]

 He has the impression of about a dozen on it. A dozen, he
 says, if not more. Feda thinks it must be a big photograph.

 No, he doesn't think so, he says they were grouped close

O. J. L.--Did he have a stick?

 He doesn't remember that. He remembers that somebody
 wanted to lean on him, but he is not sure if he was taken
 with some one leaning on him. But somebody wanted to lean
 on him he remembers. The last what he gave you, what were
 a B, will be rather prominent in that photograph. It
 wasn't taken in a photographer's place.

O. J. L.--Was it out of doors?

 Yes, practically.

 FEDA (_sotto voce_).--What you mean, 'yes practically';
 must have been out of doors or not out of doors. You mean
 'yes,' don't you?

 Feda thinks he means 'yes,' because he says 'practically.'

O. J. L.--It may have been a shelter.

 It might have been. Try to show Feda.

 At the back he shows me lines going down. It looks like a
 black background, with lines at the back of them. (Feda
 here kept drawing vertical lines in the air.)

       *       *       *       *       *

There was, for some reason, considerable delay in the arrival of
the photograph; it did not arrive till the afternoon of December 7.
Meanwhile, on December 6, Lady Lodge had been looking up Raymond's
Diary, which had been returned from the Front with his kit, and found
an entry:--

 "_24 August._--Photo taken."

(A statement will follow to this effect.)

Now Raymond had only had one "leave" home since going to the Front,
and this leave was from 16 July to 20 July. The photograph had not
been taken then, and so he could not have told us anything about it.
The exposure was only made twenty-one days before his death, and some
days may have elapsed before he saw a print, if he ever saw one. He
certainly never mentioned it in his letters. We were therefore in
complete ignorance concerning it; and only recently had we normally
become aware of its existence.

On the morning of 7 December another note came from Mrs. Cheves, in
answer to a question about the delay; and this letter said that the
photograph was being sent off. Accordingly I (O. J. L.), thinking
that the photograph might be coming at once, dictated a letter to go
to Mr. Hill, recording roughly my impression of what the photograph
would be like, on the strength of the communication received by me
from 'Raymond' through Mrs. Leonard; and this was posted by A. E.
Briscoe about lunch-time on the same day. (See statement by Mr.
Briscoe at the end.) My statement to Mr. Hill ran thus:--

_Copy of what was written by O. J. L. to Mr. Hill about the
Photograph on the morning of Tuesday, 7 December 1915_

  "Concerning that photograph which Raymond mentioned
  through Peters [saying this: 'One where he is in a group
  of other men. He is particular that I should tell you
  of this. In one you see his walking-stick,'],[10] he
  has said some more about it through Mrs. Leonard. But
  he is doubtful about the stick. What he says is that
  there is a considerable number of men in the photograph;
  that the front row is sitting, and that there is a back
  row, or some of the people grouped and set up at the
  back; also that there are a dozen or more people in the
  photograph, and that some of them he hardly knew; that
  a B is prominent in the photograph, and that there is
  also a C; that he himself is sitting down, and that there
  are people behind him, one of whom either leant on his
  shoulder, or tried to.

  "The photograph has not come yet, but it may come any day
  now; so I send this off before I get it.

  "The actual record of what was said in the sitting is
  being typed, but the above represents my impression of

       *       *       *       *       *

The photograph was delivered at Mariemont between 3 and 4 p.m. on the
afternoon of 7 December. It was a wet afternoon, and the package was
received by Rosalynde, who took the wet wrapper off it. Its size was
12 by 9 inches, and was an enlargement from a 5 by 7 inch original.
The number of people in the photograph is twenty-one, made up as

 Five in the front row squatting on the grass, Raymond
 being one of these; the second from the right.

 Seven in the second row seated upon chairs.

 Nine in the back row standing up against the outside of
 a temporary wooden structure such as might be a hospital
 shed or something of that kind.

On examining the photograph, we found that every peculiarity
mentioned by Raymond, unaided by the medium, was strikingly correct.
The walking-stick is there (but Peters had put a stick under his arm,
which is not correct), and in connexion with the background Feda had
indicated vertical lines, not only by gesture but by saying "lines
going down," as well as "a black background with lines at the back of
them." There are six conspicuous nearly vertical lines on the roof of
the shed, but the horizontal lines in the background generally are
equally conspicuous.

By "a mixed lot," we understood members of different Companies--not
all belonging to Raymond's Company, but a collection from several.
This must be correct, as they are too numerous for one Company. It
is probable that they all belong to one Regiment, except perhaps one
whose cap seems to have a thistle badge instead of three feathers.

As to "prominence," I have asked several people which member of
the group seemed to them the most prominent; and except as regards
central position, a well-lighted standing figure on the right has
usually been pointed to as most prominent. This one is "B," as
stated, namely, Captain S. T. Boast.

Some of the officers must have been barely known to Raymond, while
some were his friends. Officers whose names begin with B, with C, and
with R were among them; though not any name beginning with K. The
nearest approach to a K-sound in the group is one beginning with a
hard C.

Some of the group are sitting, while others are standing behind.
Raymond is one of those sitting on the ground in front, and his
walking-stick or regulation cane is lying across his feet.


The background is dark, and is conspicuously lined.

It is out of doors, close in front of a shed or military hut, pretty
much as suggested to me by the statements made in the 'Leonard'
sitting--what I called a "shelter."

But by far the most striking piece of evidence is the fact that
some one sitting behind Raymond is leaning or resting a hand on his
shoulder. The photograph fortunately shows the actual occurrence,
and almost indicates that Raymond was rather annoyed with it; for
his face is a little screwed up, and his head has been slightly bent
to one side out of the way of the man's arm. It is the only case in
the photograph where one man is leaning or resting his hand on the
shoulder of another, and I judge that it is a thing not unlikely to
be remembered by the one to whom it occurred.



  Four days ago (6 December), I was looking through my son
  Raymond's Diary which had been returned with his kit from
  the Front. (The edges are soaked, and some of the leaves
  stuck together, with his blood.) I was struck by finding
  an entry "Photo taken" under the date 24 August, and I
  entered the fact in my own Diary at once, thus:--

  "_6 December._--Read Raymond's Diary for first time, saw
  record of 'photo taken' 24 August."

  (Signed) MARY F. A. LODGE

  _10 December 1915_


  The dictated letter to Mr. Hill, recording roughly Sir
  Oliver's impression of what the photograph would be
  like, was written out by me on the morning of Tuesday,
  7 December, at Mariemont; it was signed by Sir Oliver
  at about noon, and shortly afterwards I started for the
  University, taking that and other letters with me for
  posting in town. I went straight to the University, and
  at lunch-time (about 1.30) posted the packet to Mr. Hill
  at the General Post Office.

  (In the packet, I remember, there was also a letter on
  another subject, and a printed document from Mr. Gow, the
  Editor of _Light_.)

  (Signed) A. E. BRISCOE,

  _Secretary to Sir Oliver Lodge_

  _8 December 1915_


  I was sitting in the library at Mariemont about 3.45 on
  Tuesday afternoon, 7 December 1915, when Harrison came in
  with a flat cardboard parcel addressed to Mother. Mother
  was resting; and as the paper, wrapping up what I took to
  be the photograph, was wet with the rain, I undid it and
  left the photograph in tissue paper on a table, having
  just glanced at it to see if it was the one we'd been
  waiting for.

  No one saw it or was shown it till after tea, when
  I showed it to Mother. That would be about 6. Mrs.
  Thompson, Lorna, and Barbara now also saw it. Honor was
  not at home and did not see it till later.

  (Signed) R. V. LODGE

  _8 December 1915_


In answer to an inquiry, Messrs. Gale & Polden, of Aldershot
and London, the firm whose name was printed at the foot of the
photograph, informed me that it was "from a negative of a group of
Officers sent to us by Captain Boast of the 2nd South Lancashire
Regiment"; and having kindly looked up the date, they further tell me
that they received the negative from Captain Boast on 15 October 1915.

It will be remembered that information about the existence of
the photograph came through Peters on 27 September--more than a
fortnight, therefore, before the negative reached England.

The photograph is only shown here because of its evidential interest.
Considered as a likeness of Raymond, it is an exceptionally bad one;
he appears shrunk into an uncomfortable position.


_Extract from a letter by Captain Boast from the Trenches, dated 7
May 1916, to Mrs. Case, and lent me to see_

  "Some months ago (last summer) the Officers of our
  Battalion had their photo taken.... You see, the
  photographer who took us was a man who had been shelled
  out of house and home, and as he had no means of doing
  the photos for us, we bought the negatives, and sent them
  along to be finished in England."


_A later Letter from Captain Boast_

In answer to a special inquiry addressed to Captain Boast at the
Front, he has been good enough to favour me with the following

  "_10 July 1916_

  "DEAR SIR,--Your letter of 4 July has just reached me.
  The proofs of the photographs referred to were received
  by me from the photographer at Reninghelst two or three
  days after being taken. To the best of my belief, your
  son saw the proofs, but I cannot now say positively. I
  obtained particulars of requirements from the officers
  forming the group, but the photographer then found he was
  unable to obtain paper for printing. I therefore bought
  the negatives and sent them home to Gale & Polden. In
  view of the fact that your son did not go back to the
  trenches till 12 September 1915, it is highly probable
  that he saw the proofs, but he certainly did not see the
  negatives.--Yours faithfully,

  "(Signed) SYDNEY T. BOAST"

It thus appears that Raymond had probably seen a proof of the
photograph, but that there were no copies or prints available.
Consequently neither we, nor any other people at home, could have
received them; and the negatives were only received in England by
Gale & Polden on 15 October 1915, after Peters had mentioned the
existence of the photograph, which he did on 27 September 1915.

I obtained from Messrs. Gale & Polden prints of all the accessible
photographs which had been taken at the same time. The size of these
prints was 5 by 7 inches.

I found that the group had been repeated, with slight variations,
three times--the Officers all in the same relative positions, but
not in identically the same attitudes. One of the three prints is
the same as the one we had seen, with some one's hand resting on
Raymond's shoulder, and Raymond's head leaning a little on one side,
as if rather annoyed. In another the hand had been removed, being
supported by the owner's stick; and in that one Raymond's head is
upright. This corresponds to his uncertainty as to whether he was
actually taken with the man leaning on him or not. In the third,
however, the sitting officer's leg rests against Raymond's shoulder
as he squats in front, and the slant of the head and slight look of
annoyance have returned.

These two additional photographs are here reproduced. Their merit is
in showing that the leaning on him, mentioned by 'Raymond' through
Feda, was well marked, and yet that he was quite right in being
uncertain whether he was actually being leant on while the photograph
was being taken. The fact turns out to be that during two exposures
he was being leaned on, and during one exposure he was not. It was,
so to speak, lucky that the edition sent us happened to show in one
form the actual leaning.

I have since discovered what is apparently the only other photograph
of Officers in which Raymond occurs, but it is quite a different one,
and none of the description applies to it. For it is completely in
the open air, and Raymond is standing up in the hinder of two rows.
He is second from the left, the tall one in the middle is his friend
Lieutenant Case, and standing next him is Mr. Ventris (see p. 279).
It is fortunate again that this photograph did not happen to be the
one sent us; for we should have considered the description hopelessly



As to the evidential value of the whole communication, it
will be observed that there is something of the nature of
cross-correspondence, of a simple kind, in the fact that a reference
to the photograph was made through one medium, and a description
given, in answer to a question, through another independent one.

The episode is to be published in the _Proceedings_ of the S.P.R. for
1916, and a few further facts or comments are there added.

The elimination of ordinary telepathy from the living, except under
the far-fetched hypothesis of the unconscious influence of complete
strangers, was exceptionally complete; inasmuch as the whole of
the information was recorded before any of us had seen the photograph.


Even the establishment of a date in August for the taking of the
photograph, as mentioned first in Mrs. Cheves' letter and confirmed
by finding an entry in Raymond's Diary, is important, because the
last time we ever saw Raymond was in July.

To my mind the whole incident is rather exceptionally good as a piece
of evidence; and that 'Raymond' expected it to be good evidence
is plain from Peters's ('Moonstone's') statement, at that first
reference to a photograph on 27 September, namely, "He is particular
that I should tell you of this." (This sentence it probably was
which made me look out for such a photograph, and take pains to get
records soundly made beforehand.) Our complete ignorance, even of
the existence of the photograph, in the first place, and secondly
the delayed manner in which knowledge of it normally came to us, so
that we were able to make provision for getting the supernormally
acquired details definitely noted beforehand, seem to me to make it
a first-class case. While, as to the amount of coincidence between
the description and the actual photograph, that surely is quite
beyond chance or guesswork. For not only are many things right, but
practically nothing is wrong.


  _20 July 1915_              Raymond's last visit home.

  _24 August 1915_            Photograph taken at the Front, as
                                shown by entry in Raymond's
                                private Diary, but not mentioned
                                by him.

  _14 September 1915_         Raymond's death.

  _27 September 1915_         Peters' ('Moonstone's') mention of
                                the photograph as a message from

  _15 October 1915_           Negative sent with other negatives
                                by Capt. Sydney T. Boast, from
                                the Front in Flanders, to Messrs.
                                Gale & Polden, Aldershot, for

  _29 November 1915_          Mrs. Cheves wrote spontaneously,
                                saying that she had a group-photograph
                                of some 2nd South
                                Lancashire Officers, which she
                                could send if desired.

  _3 December 1915_           Feda's (Mrs. Leonard's) further description
                                of a photograph which
                                had been mentioned through another
                                medium, in answer to a
                                direct question addressed to 'Raymond.'

  _6 December 1915_           M. F. A. L. found an entry in Raymond's
                                Diary showing that a
                                photograph had been taken on
                                24 August.

  _Morning of 7 Dec. 1915_    To make sure, O. J. L. wrote to
                                J. A. H. his impression of the
                                photograph before it came.

  _Afternoon of 7 Dec 1915_   Arrival of the photograph.

  _Evening of 7 Dec 1915_     The photograph was shown to the
                                home members of the family, and
                                examined by O. J. L.

    [Footnote 10: This bit not written to J. A. H., but is
    copied from Peters's sitting, of which Mr. Hill had seen
    the record.]



Although this episode of the photograph is a good and evidential
one, I should be sorry to base an important conclusion on any one
piece of evidence, however cogent. All proofs are really cumulative;
and though it is legitimate to emphasise anything like a crucial
instance, it always needs supplementing by many others, lest
there may have been some oversight. Accordingly, I now proceed to
quote from sittings held by members of the family after Raymond's
death--laying stress upon those which were arranged for, and held
throughout, in an anonymous manner, so that there was not the
slightest normal clue to identity.

The first message came to us through a recent friend of ours in
London, Mrs. Kennedy, who herself has the power of automatic writing,
and who, having lost her specially beloved son Paul, has had her hand
frequently controlled by him--usually only so as to give affectionate
messages, but sometimes in a moderately evidential way. She had been
sceptical about the genuineness of this power apparently possessed
by herself; and it was her painful uncertainty on this point that
had brought her into correspondence with me, for she was trying to
test her own writing in various ways, as she was so anxious not to
be deceived. The first I ever heard of her was the following letter
which came while I was in Australia, and was dealt with by Mr. Hill:--


  "_16 August 1914_


  "DEAR SIR,--Because of your investigations into spirit
  life, I venture to ask your help.

  "My only son died 23 June, eight weeks after a terrible
  accident. On 25 June (without my asking for it or having
  thought of it) I felt obliged to hold a pencil, and I
  received in automatic writing his name and 'yes' and 'no'
  in answer to questions.

  "Since then I have had several pages of writing from him
  every day and sometimes twice daily. I say 'from him';
  the whole torturing question is--is it from him or am I

  "My knowledge is infinitesimal. Nineteen years ago a
  sister who had died the year before suddenly used my
  hand, and after that wrote short messages at intervals;
  another sister a year later, and my father one message
  sixteen years ago; but I felt so self-deceived that
  I always pushed it aside, until it came back to me,
  unasked, after my son's passing over.

  "Your knowledge is what I appeal to, and the deep,
  personal respect one has for you and your investigations.
  It is for my son's sake--he is only seventeen--and he
  writes with such intense sadness of my lack of decided
  belief that I venture to beg help of a stranger in a
  matter so sacred to me.

  "Do you ever come to London, and, if so, could you
  possibly allow me to see you for even half an hour? and
  you might judge from the strange and holy revelations
  (I know no other way to express many of the messages
  that are sent) whether they can possibly be only from
  my own subconscious mind.... Pardon this length of
  letter.--Yours faithfully,



Ultimately I was able to take her anonymously and unexpectedly to
an American medium, Mrs. Wriedt, and there she received strong and
unmistakable proofs.[11] She also received excellent confirmation
through several other mediums whom she had discovered for
herself--notably Mr. Vout Peters and Mrs. Osborne Leonard. Of Mrs.
Leonard I had not previously heard; I had heard of a Madame St.
Leonard, or some name like that, but this is somebody else. Mrs.
Kennedy tells me that she herself had not known Mrs. Leonard long,
her own first sitting with that lady having been on 14 September
1915. I must emphasise the fact that Mrs. Kennedy is keen and careful
about evidential considerations.

As Mrs. Kennedy's son Paul plays a part in what follows, perhaps
it is permissible to quote here a description of him which she
gave to Mr. Hill in October 1914, accompanying an expression of
surprise at the serious messages which she sometimes received from
him--interspersed with his fun and his affection:--


  "Picture to yourself this boy: not quite eighteen but
  always taken for twenty or twenty-two; an almost divine
  character underneath, but exteriorly a typical 'motor
  knut,' driving racing-cars at Brooklands, riding for
  the Jarrott Cup on a motor cycle, and flying at Hendon
  as an Air Mechanic; dining out perpetually, because of
  his charm which made him almost besieged by friends; and
  apparently without any creed except honour, generosity,
  love of children, the bringing home of every stray cat to
  be fed here and comforted, a total disregard of social
  distinctions when choosing his friends, and a hatred of
  hurting anyone's feelings."

On seeing the announcement of Mr. R. Lodge's death in a newspaper,
Mrs. Kennedy 'spoke' to Paul about it, and asked him to help;
she also asked for a special sitting with Mrs. Leonard for the
same purpose, though without saying why. The name Raymond was on
that occasion spelt out through the medium, and he was said to be
sleeping. This was on 18 September. On the 21st, while Mrs. Kennedy
was writing in her garden on ordinary affairs, her own hand suddenly
wrote, as from her son Paul:--

 "I am here.... I have seen that boy Sir Oliver's son; he's
 better, and has had a splendid rest, tell his people."

Lady Lodge having been told about Mrs. Leonard, and wanting to help
a widowed French lady, Madame Le Breton, who had lost both her sons,
and was on a visit to England, asked Mrs. Kennedy to arrange a
sitting, so as to avoid giving any name. A sitting was accordingly
arranged with Mrs. Leonard for 24 September 1915.

On 22 September, Mrs. Kennedy, while having what she called a 'talk'
with Paul, suddenly wrote automatically:--

  "I shall bring Raymond to his father when he comes to see
  you.... He is so jolly, every one loves him; he has found
  heaps of his own folks here, and he is settling down
  wonderfully. DO TELL HIS FATHER AND MOTHER.... He spoke
  clearly to-day.... He doesn't fight like the others, he
  seems so settled already. It is a ripping thing to see
  one boy like this. He has been sleeping a long time, but
  he has spoken to-day....

  "If you people only knew how we long to come, they would
  all call us."

[Capitals indicate large and emphatic writing.]

On the 23rd, during Lady Lodge's call, Mrs. Kennedy's hand wrote what
purported to be a brief message from Raymond, thus:--

  "I am here, mother.... I have been to Alec already, but
  he can't hear me. I do wish he would believe that we are
  here safe; it isn't a dismal hole like people think, it
  is a place where there is life."

And again:

  "Wait till I have learned better how to speak like
  this.... We can express all we want later; give me time."

I need hardly say that there is nothing in the least evidential in
all this. I quote it only for the sake of reasonable completeness, so
as to give the history from the beginning. Evidence comes later.

Next day, 24 September 1915, the ladies went for an interview with
Mrs. Leonard, who knew no more than that friends of Mrs. Kennedy
would accompany her. The following is Lady Lodge's account of the

_First Sitting of any Member of the Family (Anonymous) with Mrs.



 Mrs. Leonard went into a sort of trance, I suppose, and
 came back as a little Indian girl called 'Freda,' or
 'Feda,' rubbing her hands, and talking in the silly way
 they do.

 However, she soon said there was an old gentleman and a
 young one present, whom she described; and Mrs. Kennedy
 told me afterwards that they were her father and her son
 Paul. There seemed to be many others standing beside us,
 so 'Feda' said.

 Then Feda described some one brought in lying down--about
 twenty-four or twenty-five, not yet able to sit up; the
 features she described might quite well have belonged to
 Raymond. (I forgot to say Mrs. Leonard did not know me
 or my name, or Madame le Breton's.) Feda soon said she
 saw a large R beside this young man, then an A, then she
 got a long letter with a tail, which she could not make
 out, then she drew an M in the air, but forgot to mention
 it, and she said an O came next, and she said there was
 another O with a long stroke to it, and finally, she said
 she heard 'Yaymond' (which is only her way of pronouncing
 it). [The name was presumably got from 'Paul.'--O. J. L.]
 Then she said that he just seemed to open his eyes and
 smile; and then he had a choking feeling, which distressed
 me very much; but he said he hadn't suffered much--not
 nearly as much as I should think; whether he said this,
 or Paul, I forget; but Paul asked me not to tell him
 to-morrow night that I was not with him, as he had so much
 the feeling that I was with him when he died, that he
 (Paul) wouldn't like to undeceive him.

 I then asked that some one in that other world might
 kiss him for me, and a lady, whom they described in a
 way which was just like my mother, came and kissed him,
 and said she was taking care of him. And there was also
 an old gentleman, full white beard, etc. (evidently my
 stepfather, but Feda said with a moustache, which was a
 mistake), with W. up beside him, also taking care; said he
 had met Raymond, and he was looking after him, and lots of
 others too; but said he [W.] belonged to me and to 'O.'
 [Correct.] I asked how and what it was he had done for
 me, and Feda made a movement with her fingers, as though
 disentangling something, and then putting it into straight
 lines. He then said he had made things easier for me. So
 I said that was right, and thanked him gratefully. I said
 also that if Raymond was in his and Mamma's hands, I was

[I do not append the notes of this sitting, since it was held mainly
for Madame and her two sons, both of whom were described, and from
whom some messages appeared to come.]

_Table Sitting at Mrs. Leonard's_

Next day (Saturday, 25 September 1915), as arranged partly by Paul,
the three ladies went to Mrs. Leonard's house again for a sitting
with a table, and Dr. Kennedy kindly accompanied them to take notes.

The three ladies and the medium sat round a small table, with their
hands lightly on it, and it tilted in the usual way. The plan adopted
here is for the table to tilt as each letter of the alphabet is
spoken by the medium, and to stop, or 'hold,' when a right letter is
reached. For general remarks on the rationale, or what most people
will naturally consider the absurdity, of intelligent movements of
this kind, see Chapter XIV, Part III.

It was a rather complicated sitting, as it was mainly for Madame
who was a novice in the subject. Towards the end unfortunately,
though momentarily and not at all pronouncedly, she spoke to Lady
Lodge by name. At these table sittings the medium, Mrs. Leonard,
is not unconscious; accordingly she heard it in her normal self,
and afterwards said that she had heard it. The following extracts
from the early part of the sitting may be quoted here, as answers
purporting to be spelt out by Raymond:--

            QUESTIONS                            ANSWERS

  Are you lonely?                      No.

  Who is with you?                     Grandfather W.

  Have you anything to say to          You know I can't help missing
    me?                                  you, but I am learning to be

  Have you any message for any         Tell them I have many good
    of them?                             friends.

  Can you tell me the name of anyone   Honor. [One of his sisters.]
    at home?

(Other messages of affection and naturalness.)

  Have I enough to satisfy them        No.
    at home?

  Is there anything you want to        Tell father I have met some
    send?                                friends of his.

  Any name?                            Yes; Myers.

  Have you anything else to say?       (No answer.)

  Is some one else there?              Yes; Guy. (This was a son of
                                         Madame, and the sitting became

Reasonable and natural messages were spelt out in French. The other
son of Madame was named Didier, and an unsuccessful attempt to spell
this name was made, but the only result was DODI.

_Automatic Writing by Mrs. Kennedy, 26 September_

On 26 September Mrs. Kennedy (alone) had a lot of automatic writing,
with her own hand, mainly from Paul, who presently wrote, "Mother, I
have been let to bring Raymond."

(After a welcome, Raymond was represented as sending this message:--)

 "I can speak easier than I could at the table, because you
 are helping all the time. It is easy when we are alone
 with you, but if I go there it confuses me a little....
 I long to comfort them. Will you tell them that Raymond
 had been to you, and that Paul tells me I can come to you
 whenever I like? It is so good of you to let the boys all

 "Paul tells me he has been here since he was seventeen;
 he is a jolly chap; every one seems fond of him. I don't
 wonder, for he helps every one. It seems a rule to call
 Paul if you get in a fix."

(Then Paul said he was back, and wrote:--)

 "He is quite happy really since he finds he can get to his
 people. He has slept ever since last night, till I was
 told to fetch him to-night."

(Asked about the French boys, Paul said:--)

 "I saw them when I brought them, but I don't see them
 otherwise; they are older than I am ... they hardly
 believe it yet that they have spoken. All the time they
 felt it was impossible, and they nearly gave it up, but I
 kept on begging them to tell their mother they lived."

 "I do hope she felt it true, mother...."

 "It is hard to think your sons are dead; but such a lot of
 people do think it. It is revolting to hear the boys tell
 you how no one speaks to them ever; it hurts me through
 and through."

(Interval. Paul fetched Guy [one of Madame Le Breton's
sons], saying:--)

 "I can't stand it when they call out for help. Speak to
 him please, mother."

(Mrs. Kennedy spoke to Guy, saying that she felt he
could not believe any of it, but would he give time and
trouble to studying the subject as she was doing? The
following writing came:--)

 GUY.--I think you hear me because it is just as I am
 feeling; how CAN I believe we can speak to you who live
 where we once lived? It was not possible then for us to
 speak to dead people; and why should it be possible for us
 to speak. Will you keep on helping me, please, for I can't
 follow it, and I long to?

(Mrs. Kennedy asked him to ask Paul, that being an easier method,
probably, than getting information through her. She asked him to
'excuse' Paul's youth.)

 GUY.--I like Paul; he is good to us. I shall be glad to
 talk to him constantly if he has time for all of us; he
 seems a sort of messenger between us and you, isn't he?

[Guy had been to school in England, his brother had not.]

    [Footnote 11: I think it only fair to mention the names
    of professional mediums, if I find them at all genuine. I
    do not guarantee their efficiency, for mediumship is not
    a power that can always be depended on,--it is liable to
    vary; sitters also may be incompetent, and conditions may
    be bad. The circumstances under which sensitives work are
    difficult at the present time and ought to be improved.]



On 27 September, as already stated in Chapter III, I myself visited
Mrs. Leonard, going anonymously and alone, and giving no information
beyond the fact that I was a friend of Mrs. Kennedy. I lay no stress,
on my anonymity, however.

In a short time Feda controlled, and at first described an elderly
gentleman as present. Then she said he brought some one with the
letter R; and as I took verbatim notes I propose to reproduce this
portion in full, so as to give the general flavour of a 'Feda'
sitting; only omitting what has already been extracted and quoted in
Chapter III.

_O. J. L. at Mrs. Leonard's, Monday, 27 September 1915, 12 noon to 1

(Mrs. Leonard's control 'Feda' speaking all the time.)

 There is some one here with a little difficulty; not fully
 built up; youngish looking; form more like an outline;
 he has not completely learnt how to build up as yet.
 Is a young man, rather above the medium height; rather
 well-built, not thick-set or heavy, but well-built. He
 holds himself up well. He has not been over long. His
 hair is between colours. He is not easy to describe,
 because he is not building himself up so solid as some
 do. He has greyish eyes; hair brown, short at the sides;
 a fine-shaped head; eyebrows also brown, not much arched;
 nice-shaped nose, fairly straight, broader at the nostrils
 a little; a nice-shaped mouth, a good-sized mouth it is,
 but it does not look large because he holds the lips
 nicely together; chin not heavy; face oval. He is not
 built up quite clearly, but it feels as if Feda knew him.
 He must have been here waiting for you. Now he looks at
 Feda and smiles; now he laughs, he is having a joke with
 Feda, and Paulie laughs too. Paul says he has been here
 before, and that Paul brought him. But Feda sees many
 hundreds of people, but they tell me this one has been
 brought quite lately. Yes, I have seen him before. Feda
 remembers a letter with him too. R, that is to do with him.

 (Then Feda murmured, as if to herself, "Try and give me
 another letter.") (Pause.)

 It is a funny name, not Robert or Richard. He is not
 giving the rest of it, but says R again; it is from him.
 He wants to know where his mother is; he is looking for
 her; he does not understand why she is not here.

O. J. L.--Tell him he will see her this afternoon, and that she is
not here this morning, because she wants to meet him this afternoon
at three o'clock.

 [Meaning through another medium, namely Peters. But that,
 of course, was not said.]

 He has been to see you before, and he says that once he
 thought you knew he was there, and that two or three times
 he was not quite sure. Feda gets it mostly by impression;
 it is not always what he says, but what she gets; but Feda
 says "he says," because she gets it from him somehow.[12]
 He finds it difficult, he says, but he has got so many
 kind friends helping him. He didn't think when he waked up
 first that he was going to be happy, but now he is, and he
 says he is going to be happier. He knows that as soon as
 he is a little more ready, he has got a great deal of work
 to do. "I almost wonder," he says, "shall I be fit and
 able to do it. They tell me I shall."

 [_And so on as reported in Chapter III._]

 He seems to know what the work is. The first work he will
 have to do, will be helping at the Front; not the wounded
 so much, but helping those who are passing over in the
 war. He knows that when they pass on and wake up, they
 still feel a certain fear--and some other word which Feda
 missed. Feda hears a something and 'fear.' Some even go
 on fighting; at least they want to; they don't believe
 they have passed on. So that many are wanted where he is
 now, to explain to them and help them, and soothe them.
 They do not know where they are, nor why they are there.

 [I considered that this was ordinary 'Feda talk,' such as
 it is probably customary to get through mediums at this
 time; therefore, though the statements are likely enough,
 there is nothing new in them, and I thought it better to
 interrupt by asking a question. So I said:--]

O. J. L.--Does he want to send a message to anyone at home? Or will
he give the name of one of his instructors?

 [I admit that it is stupid thus to ask two questions at once.]

 He shows me a capital H, and says that is not an
 instructor, it is some one he knows on the earth side. He
 wants them to be sure that he is all right and happy. He
 says, "People think I say I am happy in order to make them
 happier, but I don't".

 [_And so on as already reported in Chapter III._]

 Now the first gentleman with the letter W is going over
 to him and putting his arm round his shoulder, and he is
 putting his arm round the gentleman's back. Feda feels
 like a string round her head; a tight feeling in the head,
 and also an empty sort of feeling in the chest, empty, as
 if sort of something gone. A feeling like a sort of vacant
 feeling there; also a bursting sensation in the head. But
 he does not know he is giving this. He has not done it on
 purpose, they have tried to make him forget all that, but
 Feda gets it from him. There is a noise with it too, an
 awful noise and a rushing noise.

 He has lost all that now, but he does not seem to know why
 Feda feels it now. "I feel splendid," he says, "I feel
 splendid! But I was worried at first. I was worried, for I
 was wanting to make it clear to those left behind that I
 was all right, and that they were not to worry about me."

 You may think it strange, but he felt that you would not
 worry so much as some one else; two others, two ladies,
 Feda thinks. You would know, he says, but two ladies would
 worry and be uncertain; but now he believes they know more.

Then, before Mrs. Leonard came out of trance, came the description
of a falling dark cross which twisted round and became bright, as
reported in Chapter III.

After the sitting, and before I went away, I asked Mrs. Leonard if
she knew who I was. She replied, "Are you by chance connected with
those two ladies who came on Saturday night?" On my assenting, Mrs.
Leonard added, "Oh! then I know, because the French lady gave the
name away; she said 'Lady Lodge' in the middle of a French sentence."

I also spoke to her about not having too many sittings and straining
her power. She said she "preferred not to have more than two or three
a day, though sometimes she could not avoid it; and some days she had
to take a complete rest." But she admitted that she was going to have
another one that day at two o'clock. I told her that three per day
was rather much. She pleaded that there are so many people who want
help now, that she declined all those who came for only commercial or
fortune-telling motives, but that she felt bound to help those who
are distressed by the war. I report this to show that she saw many
people totally disconnected with Raymond or his family: so that what
she might say to a new unknown member of the family could be quite

    [Footnote 12: Note this, as an elucidatory statement.]



Mrs. Kennedy desired Lady Lodge to try with a different and
independent medium, and therefore kindly arranged with Mr. A. Vout
Peters to come to her house on Monday afternoon and give a trance
sitting to 'a friend of hers' not specified. Accordingly, at or about
3 p.m. on Monday, 27 September 1915, Lady Lodge went by herself to
Mrs. Kennedy's house, so as not to have to give any name, and awaited
the arrival of Peters, who, when he came, said he would prefer to sit
in Mrs. Kennedy's own room in which he had sat before, and which he
associated with her son Paul. No kind of introduction was made, and
Peters was a total stranger to Lady Lodge; though to Mrs. Kennedy
he was fairly well known, having several times given her first-rate
evidence about her son, who had proved his identity in several
striking ways.

When Peters goes into a trance his personality is supposed to change
to that of another man, who, we understand, is called 'Moonstone';
much as Mrs. Piper was controlled by apparent personalities calling
themselves 'Phinuit' or 'Rector.' When Peters does not go into a
trance he has some clairvoyant faculty of his own.

The only other person present on this occasion was Mrs. Kennedy, who
kindly took notes.

This is an important sitting, as it was held for a complete stranger,
so I propose to report it practically in full.

_M. F. A. L. Sitting with A. Vout Peters, in Mrs. Kennedy's House, on
27 September 1915, at 3.30 p.m._

  SITTER          LADY LODGE (M. F. A. L.).

_The record consists of Mrs. Kennedy's notes. Annotations in square
brackets have been added subsequently by O. J. L._

While only partially under control, Peters said: "I feel a lot of
force here, Mrs. Kennedy."

Peters was controlled quickly by 'Moonstone,' who greeted K. K. and
reminded her of a prophecy of his. (This prophecy related to the
Russian place Dvinsk, and to the important actions likely to be going
on there--as if the decisive battle of the war was to be fought
there.) Then he turned to L. L. and said:--

 What a useful life you have led, and will lead.

 You have always been the prop of things.

 You have always been associated with men a lot.

 You are the mother and house prop.

 You are not unacquainted with spiritualism.

 You have been associated with it more or less for some

 I sense you as living away from London--in the North or

 You are much associated with men, and you are the house
 prop--the mother. You have no word in the language that
 quite gives it--there are always four walls, but something
 more is needed--you are the house prop.

 You have had a tremendous lot of sadness recently, from a
 death that has come suddenly.

 You never thought it was to be like this. (Peters went on
 talking glibly, and there was no need for the sitter to
 say anything.)

 There is a gentleman here who is on the other side--he
 went very suddenly. Fairly tall, rather broad, upright
 (here the medium sat up very straight and squared his
 shoulders)--rather long face, fairly long nose, lips full,
 moustache, nice teeth, quick and active, strong sense of
 humour--he could always laugh, keen sense of affection.

 He went over into the spirit world very quickly. There is
 no idea of death because it was so sudden, with no illness.

 Do you know anything connected with the letter L? (No
 answer was given to this.)

 What I am going to say now is from Paul--he says: "Tell
 mother it is not one L, it is double L." He says: "Tell
 mother she always loved a riddle"--he laughs. (L. L. and
 K. K. both said they could not understand.[13] 'Moonstone'

 They don't want to make it too easy for you, and funnily
 enough, the easier it seems to you sometimes the more
 difficult it seems to them.

 This man is a soldier--an officer. He went over where it
 is warm.

 You are his mother, aren't you--and he does not call you
 ma, or mamma, or mater--just mother, mother. [True.]

 He is reticent and yet he told you a tremendous lot.

 You were not only his mother but his friend.

 Wasn't he clever with books? He laughs and says: "Anyhow
 I ought to be, I was brought up with them." He was not
 altogether a booky person.

 He knew of spiritualism before he passed over, but he was
 a little bit sceptical--he had an attitude of carefulness
 about it. He tells me to tell you this:

 The attitude of Mr. Stead and some of those people turned
 him aside; on one side there was too much credulity--on
 the other side too much piffling at trifles.

 [See also Appendix to this sitting.]

 He holds up in his hand a little heap of olives, as
 a symbol for you--then he laughs. Now he says--for a
 test--Associated with the olives is the word Roland.[14]
 All of this is to give you proof that he is here.

 Before you came you were very down in the dumps.

 Was he ill three weeks after he was hurt? [More like three
 hours, probably less.]

 (Various other guesses were made for the meaning of 3.)

 I see the figure 3 so plainly--can't you find a meaning
 for it?

(L. L. suggested 3rd Battalion, and 'Moonstone'

 He says "Yes"--and wasn't he officially put down on
 another one? [Perfectly true, he was attached to the 2nd
 Battalion at the Front, to the 3rd or reserve Battalion
 while training.][15]

 He says: "Don't forget to tell father all this."

 His home is associated with books--both reading and
 writing books. Wait a minute, he wants to give me a word,
 he is a little impatient with me. Manuscripts, he says,
 manuscripts--that's the word.

 He sends a message, and he says--this is more for
 father--"It is no good his attempting to come to the
 medium here, he will simply frighten the medium for all
 he is worth, and he will not get anything. But he is not
 afraid of you, and if there is communication wanted with
 this man again, _you_ must come."

 You have several portraits of this boy. Before he went
 away you had got a good portrait of him--2--no, 3. [Fully
 as many as that.]

 Two where he is alone and one where he is in a group of
 other men. [This last is not yet verified.][16]

 He is particular that I should tell you of this. In
 one you see his walking-stick ('Moonstone' here put an
 imaginary stick under his arm). [Not known yet]

 He had particularly strong hands.

 When he was younger, he was very strongly associated with
 football and outdoor sports. You have in your house prizes
 that he won, I can't tell you what. [Incorrect; possibly
 some confusion in record here; or else wrong.]

 Why should I get two words--'Small' and 'Heath,'

 [Small Heath is a place near Birmingham with which he had
 some but not close associations.]

 Also I see, but very dimly as in a mist, the letters B I
 R. [Probably Birmingham.]

 You heard of either his death or of his being hurt by

 He didn't die at once. He had three wounds.

 I don't think you have got details yet. [No, not fully.]

 If he had lived he would have made a name for himself in
 his own particular line.

 Was he not associated with chemistry? If not, some one
 associated with him was, because I see all the things in a
 chemical laboratory.

 [The next portion has already been reported in Chapter III, but I do
 not omit it from its context here.]

 That chemistry thing takes me away from him to a man in
 the flesh.

 And connected with him a man, a writer of poetry, on our
 side, closely connected with spiritualism.

 He was very clever--he too passed away out of England.

 He has communicated several times.

 This gentleman who wrote poetry--I see the letter M--he is
 helping your son to communicate.

 He is built up in the chemical conditions.

 If your son didn't know this man, he knew of him.

 At the back of the gentleman beginning with M and who
 wrote poetry is a whole group of people.

 They are very interested. And don't be surprised if you
 get messages from them, even if you don't know them.

 This is so important that is going to be said now, that
 I want to go slowly, for you to write clearly every word
 (dictates carefully).

 "Not only is the partition so thin that you can hear the
 operators on the other side, but a big hole has been made."

 This message is for the gentleman associated with the
 chemical laboratory.

 The boy--I call them all boys, because I was over a
 hundred when I lived here and they are all boys to me--he
 says, he is here, but he says: "Hitherto it has been a
 thing of the head, now I am come over it is a thing of
 the heart. What is more (here Peters jumped up in his
 chair vigorously, snapped his fingers excitedly, and spoke

 "Good God! how father will be able to speak out! much
 firmer than he has ever done, because it will touch our

M. F. A. L.--Does he want his father to speak out?

 Yes, but not yet--wait, the evidence will be given in such
 a way that it cannot be contradicted, and his name is big
 enough to sweep all stupid opposition on one side.

 I was not conscious of much suffering, and I am glad that
 I settled my affairs before I went.

 [He did; he made a will just before leaving England, and
 left things in good order. He also cleared up things when
 he joined the Army.]

 Have you a sister of his with you, and one on our side? A
 little child almost, so little that you never associated
 her with him.

 There are two sisters, one on each side of him, one in the
 dark and one in the light.

 [Raymond was the only boy sandwiched in between two
 sisters; Violet older than he, and still living
 (presumably in the dark), and Laura[17] younger than he,
 died a few minutes after birth (in the light). Raymond was
 the youngest boy, and had thus a sister on either side of

 Your girl is standing on one side, Paul on the other, and
 your boy in the centre. (Here 'Moonstone' put his arm
 round K. K.'s shoulder to show how the boy was standing.)
 Now he stoops over you and kisses you there (indicating
 the brow).

 Before he went away he came home for a little while.
 Didn't he come for three days?

 (There is a little unimportant confusion in the record
 about 'days.')

Then, with evident intention of trying to give a 'test,' some
trivial but characteristic features were mentioned about the interior
of three houses--the one we are in now, the one we had last occupied
at Liverpool, and the one he called 'Mother's home.' But there is
again some confusion in the record, partly because M. F. A. L. didn't
understand what he was driving at, partly because the recorder found
it difficult to follow; and though the confusion was subsequently
disentangled through another medium next day, 28 September, it is
hardly worth while to give as much explanation as would be needed to
make the points clear. So this part is omitted. (See p. 145).

 And he wanted me to tell you of a kiss on the forehead.

M. F. A. L.--He did not kiss me on the forehead when he said good-bye.

 Well he is taller than you, isn't he?


 Not very demonstrative before strangers. But when alone
 with you, like a little boy again.

M. F. A. L.--I don't think he was undemonstrative before strangers.

 Oh yes, all you English are like that. You lock up your
 affection, and you sometimes lose the key.

 He laughs. He says you didn't understand about Rowland. He
 can get it through now, it's a Roland for your Oliver [p.

 [Excellent. By recent marriages the family has gained a
 Rowland (son-in-law) and lost (so to speak) an Oliver

 He is going. He gives his love to all.

 It has been easy for him to come for two reasons: First,
 because you came to get help for Madame.[18] Secondly,
 because he had the knowledge in this life.

M. F. A. L.--I hope it has been a pleasure to him to come?

 Not a pleasure, a joy.

M. F. A. L.--I hope he will come to me again.

 As much as he can.

 Paul now wants to speak to his mother.

_Appendix to First Peters Sitting_


Mrs. Rowland Waterhouse has recently found among her papers an old
letter from Bedales School which she received from her brother
Raymond when she was in Paris during the winter 1905-1906. The
concluding part of it is of some small interest in the light of later

  "I should like to hear more about table turning. I
  don't believe in it. The girls here say they have done
  it at Steephurst, and they attribute it to some sense
  of which we know nothing, and which I want to turn to
  some account, driving a dynamo or something, if it is
  possible, as they make out, to cause a table to revolve
  without any exertion.--I am your affectionate brother,


    [Footnote 13: Though K. K.'s record, being made at the
    time, reads L. L. (meaning Lady Lodge) throughout. When
    she speaks, later on, I change the L. L. of the record to
    her proper initials to avoid confusion.--O. J. L.]

    [Footnote 14: This is clear, though apparently it was not
    so recognised at the time. See later, pp. 135 and 144.]

    [Footnote 15: Let it be understood, once for all, that
    remarks in square brackets represent nothing said at the
    time, but are comments afterwards by me when I read the
    record.--O. J. L.]

    [Footnote 16: The photograph episode is described above,
    in Chapter IV, in the light of later information.]

    [Footnote 17: Now apparently called Lily: see later.]

    [Footnote 18: This is curious, because it was with Mrs.
    Leonard that Madame had sat, not with Peters at all. It is
    a simple cross-correspondence.]



On 28 September my wife and I together had a table sitting with
Mrs. Leonard, which may be reported nearly in full together with my
preliminary note written immediately afterwards. This is done not
because it is a particularly good specimen, but because these early
sittings have an importance of their own, and because it may be
instructive to others to see the general manner of a table sitting.
It was, I think, the first joint-sitting of any kind which we had had
since the old Piper days.


A table sitting is not good for conversation, but it is useful
for getting definite brief answers--such as names and incidents,
since it seems to be less interfered with by the mental activity
of an intervening medium, and to be rather more direct. But it
has difficulties of its own. The tilting of the table need not be
regarded as a 'physical phenomenon' in the technical or supernormal
sense, yet it does not _appear_ to be done by the muscles of those
present. The effort required to tilt the table is slight, and
evidentially it must, no doubt, be assumed that so far as mechanical
force is concerned, it is exerted by muscular action. But my
impression is that the tilting is an incipient physical phenomenon,
and that though the energy, of course, comes from the people present,
it does not appear to be applied in quite a normal way (XIV, Pt. III).

As regards evidence, however, the issue must be limited to
intelligent direction of the energy. All that can safely be claimed
is that the energy is intelligently directed, and the self-stoppage
of the table at the right letter conveys by touch a sort of
withholding feeling--a kind of sensation as of inhibition--to those
whose hands lie flat on the top of the table. The light was always
quite sufficient to see all the hands, and it works quite well in
full daylight. The usual method is for the alphabet to be called
over, and for the table to tilt or thump at each letter, till it
stops at the right one. The table tilts three times to indicate
"yes," and once to indicate "no"; but as one tilt also represents the
letter A of the alphabet, an error of interpretation is occasionally
made by the sitters. So also C might perhaps be mistaken for "yes,"
or _vice versa_; but that mistake is not so likely.

Unconscious guidance can hardly be excluded, _i.e._ cannot be
excluded with any certainty when the answer is of a kind expected.
But first, our desire was rather in the direction of avoiding such
control; and second, the stoppages were sometimes at unexpected
places; and third, a long succession of letters soon becomes
meaningless, except to the recorder who is writing them down
silently, as they are called out to him _seriatim_, in another part
of the room.

It will also be observed that at a table sitting it is natural for
the sitters to do most of the talking, and that their object is to
get definite and not verbose replies.

On this occasion the control of the table seemed to improve as the
sitting went on, owing presumably to increased practice on the part
of the communicator, until towards the end, when there seemed to
be some signs of weariness or incipient exhaustion; and, since the
sitting lasted an hour and a half, tiredness is in no way surprising.

No further attempt was made to keep our identity from Mrs. Leonard:
our name had been given away, as reported near the end of Chapter VI.

_Table Sitting with Mrs. Leonard, Tuesday, 28 September 1915, at 5.30

_Present_--O. J. L., M. F. A. L., K. K., with DR. KENNEDY AT ANOTHER

A small partly wicker table with a square top was used, about 18
inches square. O. J. L. and M. F. A. L. sat opposite to each other;
K. K. and Mrs. Leonard occupied the other positions, Mrs. Leonard to
the right of O. J. L. After four minutes' interval, the table began
to tilt.

_Medium._--Will you tilt three times to show you understand?

 (It did.)

_Medium._--Will you like to give your name?

 (It gave three tilts indicating Yes.)

_Medium._--Very well, then, the alphabet. Spell it, please.

 (Mrs. Leonard here repeated the alphabet fairly quickly, while the
 table tilted slightly at each letter as it was said,

 stopping first at the letter P
           then at the letter A
                         then U
                         then L.

O. J. L.--Yes, very well, Paul; we know who you are, and you know who
we are, and we know that you have brought Raymond, and have come to


O. J. L.--We that are here know about this, and you have given us
evidence already, but I am here to get evidence for the family.


O. J. L.--Would you like to say something first, before I ask a


 Then the table moved and shook a little, indicating that it wanted
 the alphabet; and when the medium recited the letters, it spelt out
 in the same manner as before, _i.e._ by stopping at the one desired
 by whatever intelligence was controlling the table:--


 Here M. L. ejaculated: "Dear Raymond," and sighed unconsciously.

 The table spelt--it being understood that Raymond had now taken


M. F. A. L.--Was I sighing?

O. J. L.--Yes, but you must not be so distressed; he doesn't like it.
He is there all right, and I am glad to have some one on the other


O. J. L.--Raymond, your mother is much happier now.


O. J. L.--Now then, shall I ask you questions?


O. J. L.--Well now, wait a minute and take your time, and I will ask
the first question:--

 "What did the boys call you?"

 The medium now again repeated the alphabet, the table tilting to each
 letter as before,

 first stopping at P
           then at A
           then at P again;
 it then shook as if something was wrong.

O. J. L.--Very well, try again, begin once more.

 Again it spelt Pap, but again indicated dissent, and tried again: at
 the third trial it appeared to spell


M. F. A. L.--Raymond dear, you have given two letters right, try and
give the third.

 It now stopped at T; making PAT.

M. F. A. L.--Yes, that is right.

 [This was, of course, well in our knowledge and therefore not
 strictly evidential, but it would not be in the knowledge of the
 medium.] (Cf. p. 148.)


O. J. L.--Well, now, you have done that, shall I ask another?


O. J. L.--Will you give the name of a brother?

 The alphabet was repeated as usual by the medium, in a monotonous
 manner, the table tilting as before

                 and stopping first at N
                               then at O
      then going past E, it stopped at R
                  and the next time at M
  then, by a single tilt, it indicated A or else "No."

O. J. L., thinking that the letters R and M were wrong, because the
(to him) meaningless name NORMAN was evidently being given, took it
as "No," and said:--

O. J. L.--You are confused now, better begin again.

 The name accordingly was begun again, and this time it spelt


O. J. L.--That is right. [But see appended Note, p. 147.]

 A slight pause took place here; the table then indicated that it
 wanted the alphabet again, and spelt out an apparently single
 meaningless word which Dr. Kennedy, as he wrote the letters down,
 perceived to be


O. J. L.--Oh! You want another question! Would you like to say the
name of an officer?


O. J. L.--Very well then, spell it.

 Table spelt:--


 then indicated error.

O. J. L.--Not P?


O. J. L.--Well, begin again.


O. J. L.--Then the officer's name is Mitchell?


O. J. L.--Was he a captain?


O. J. L.--Was he a lieutenant?


O. J. L.--Was he a second lieutenant perhaps?

  (Apparent assent, but nothing forcible.)

O. J. L.--I am now going to give a name away on purpose; I am going
to ask--Do you remember Case?


O. J. L.--Would you like to say anything about him?


O. J. L.--Very well then, let us have the alphabet.

 Table spelt:--


[Erasures signify errors which were made either by the communicator
or the interpreter, and are in accordance with the record. The method
was that each letter, as understood, was called out, usually by me,
to the recorder. When a wrong letter was indicated, or when there was
obviously a duplication, it was scratched out as above.]

 (After a short silence the spelling began again, it being easy for
 the table to indicate to the medium, by shaking or fidgeting, that
 she is wanted to repeat the alphabet.)


O. J. L.--What, on your side?

 [Thinking it referred to Lieutenant Case.]

  A loud "NO."


K. K. (interpreting for us).--It only means Raymond is here and

O. J. L.--Under what circumstances did you see him last?

 (The answer was apparently a faint "YES.")

O. J. L.--Have you any special message, or did you give Case a
special message?


O. J. L.--What was it?


 (Here some confusion was indicated; and M. F. A. L. said,
 "Try and spell the name"--meaning for whom the message
 was, if it was a message that was intended, which was very

 It seemed to me that he was trying to say, or remember,
 what he had said to Lieutenant Case, who saw him after
 he had been struck; and that what he thought he had said
 was "So I'm wounded"; but I thought it unadvisable to
 continue on this tack, and rather regretted that I had
 begun it, since it was liable to put him back into a
 period of reminiscence which his friends would prefer that
 he did not dwell upon. Moreover, these last few questions
 did not seem particularly to interest him, and the
 responses were comparatively weak. Accordingly, I decided
 to switch him on to a topic that would be more likely to
 interest him.)

O. J. L.--Would you like your mother to go and see a friend of yours?

 (Some names of friends of his were now correctly given,
 but as we knew them I need not reproduce this part.)

O. J. L.--I say, Raymond, would you like a Ford? [motor].

 (After a moment's apparent surprise:--)


O. J. L.--Aren't you tired now?

  Loud "NO."

M. F. A. L.--Raymond, I don't know Mitchell.


O. J. L.--Well, that will be better evidence.


O. J. L.--Is that why you chose it?



MEDIUM (_sotto voce_).--No, that can't be right.

O. J. L. (_ditto_).--I don't know; it may be. Go on.


O. J. L.--You mean that Mitchell is an aeroplane officer?

  "YES" (very loud).

M. F. A. L. (misunderstanding, and thinking that he had said that he
would like an aeroplane in preference to a Ford).--Still at your jokes,


 (Then again the table indicated, by slight rocking, that
 the alphabet was wanted; and it spelt:--)


 (The sitters here made a little explanatory comment to
 each other on what they understood this unimportant
 sentence to mean; after which O. J. L. appears to have

O. J. L.--I don't like bothering you.

 Table moved, indicating that it was no trouble.

M. F. A. L.--Raymond, can you see us?


M. F. A. L.--Can you see that I have been writing to you? [See Part I,
p. 10.]


M. F. A. L.--Can you read what I am writing?


M. F. A. L.--How do you read it? By looking over my shoulder?

 Table again called for alphabet and spelt:--


M. F. A. L.--Shall you ever be able to write through my hand do you


M. F. A. L.--Well, anyhow, you would like me to try?


O. J. L.--Raymond, have you plenty to do over there?

 Loud "YES."

O. J. L.--Well, look here, I am going to give another name away.


O. J. L.--Oh! You prefer not! Very well, I will ask you in this way:
Have you met any particular friend of mine?


O. J. L.--Very well then, spell his name.

 The table spelt:--


 Here O. J. L. thought that he had got wrong--rather
 suspected that the A meant "No," and stupidly said:--

O. J. L.--Well, it doesn't matter, it won't be evidential, so I may
as well guess what you mean: Is it Gurney?

 The table assented. But it still went on spelling. It
 again spelt:--


 and then


 at which O. J. L. queried: Grand men?

 The table dissented, and went on and spelt:--


O. J. L.--Oh! You mean Grandfather!


M. F. A. L.--Is he with Myers and Gurney?

 Emphatic "NO."

M. F. A. L.--Which grandfather is it that you mean? Give the first
letter of his Christian name.


M. F. A. L.--Dear Grandpapa! He would be sure to come and help you!

O. J. L.--I say, do you like this table method better than the 'Feda'


O. J. L.--But you remember that you can send anything you want
specially through Paul always?


O. J. L.--That was a grand sitting yesterday that your mother had!
[_i.e._ the one with Peters.]


M. F. A. L.--Do you remember showing olives?


M. F. A. L.--What did you mean by them?


M. F. A. L.--Then we now understand--A Roland for an Oliver.


O. J. L.--You intended no reference to Italy? [We had been doubtful
at first of the significance of the olives; see p. 131.]


O. J. L.--But you were interested in Italy?


O. J. L.--Do you remember anyone special in Italy?


O. J. L.--Well, spell the name.

 (A name was spelt correctly.)

O. J. L.--You _are_ clever at this!

 Loud "YES."

O. J. L.--You always did like mechanical things.


O. J. L.--Can you explain how you do this? I mean how you work the

 The table then spelt with the alphabet for a long time,
 and as the words were not divided up, the sitters lost
 touch, one after the other, with what was being said. I,
 for instance, lost touch after the word "magnetism," and,
 for all I know, it was nonsense that was being said; but
 the recorder put all the letters down as they came, each
 letter being called out by me according to the stoppages
 of the table, and the record reads thus:--


 [The interest of this is due to the fact that the table
 was spelling our coherent words, although the sitters
 could hardly, under the circumstances, be exercising any
 control. Naturally, this does not prevent the medium
 from being supposed to be tilting out a message herself,
 and hence it is quite unevidential of course; but, in
 innumerable other cases, the things said were quite
 outside the knowledge of the medium.]

O. J. L.--It is not what _I_ should call "magnetism," is it?


O. J. L.--But you do not object to the term?


O. J. L--Paul's mother offers to take messages from you, and if she
gets them, she will transmit them to us.


O. J. L--So when you want to get anything special through, just speak
to Paul.


O. J. L.--And sometimes I shall be able to get a message back to you.

 Loud "YES."

 (In answer to a question about which of his sisters were
 at school with a specified person, the names of the right
 two sisters were now spelt out:--)


 [We generally spell the name Rosalynde, but it was spelt
 here Rosalind as shown.]


M. F. A. L.--Isn't it clever of him?

 Loud and amusing "Yes."

O. J. L.--I never thought you would do it so quickly.


O. J. L.--Can you still make acrostics? [O. J. L. immediately
regretted having asked this leading sort of question, but it was


K. K.--You are not going to make one now?


M. F. A. L.--Can you see me, Raymond, at other times when I am not
with a medium?

 Alphabet called for, and spelt:--


M. F. A. L.--You mean when I think of you?


O. J. L.--That must be very often.

 Loud "YES."

 [When a 'loud' YES or NO is stated, it means that the
 table tilted violently, bumping on the floor and making
 a noise which impressed the recorder, so that the words
 "loud bumps" were added in the record.]

 [I then asked him about the houses (of which he had
 specified some identifying features at a previous sitting
 through Peters on 27 September). He seemed to regret that
 there had been some confusion, and now correctly spelt out
 GROVEPARK as the name of one house, and NEWCASTLE as the
 place where 'Mother's home' was. But I omit details, as
 before.] (See p. 135.)

O. J. L.---Tell Mr. Myers and Mr. Gurney that I am glad to hear from
them and that they are helping you.


M. F. A. L.--Give my affectionate regards to Mr. Gurney for a message
which he got through for me some time ago.


O. J. L.--Now you must rest.


M. F. A. L.--One of your record sleeps.

 Loud "YES."

O. J. L.--Good-bye, I will tell the family to-morrow.


O. J. L.--Alec especially.


M. F. A. L.--Noël will love to have his name spelt out.


O. J. L.--Well, good-bye, old man, we shall hear from you again.

M. F. A. L.--Good-bye, Raymond darling.

O. J. L.--Before we stop, does Paul want to say a word?

 (Paul was then understood to take control, and spelt out:--)


 (We then thanked Paul for helping, and said good-bye.)

(_End of sitting._)

       *       *       *       *       *

To complete the record I shall append the few annotations which I
made a couple of days afterwards, before I supplement them with later

_Contemporary Annotations for Table Sitting on 28 September_

Very many things were given right at the sitting above recorded,
and in most cases the rightness will be clear from the comments of
the sitters as recorded. But two names are given on which further
annotation is necessary, because the sitters did not understand
them; in other words, they were such as, if confirmed, would furnish
excellent and indeed exceptional evidence.

The first is 'Norman,' about which a very important report could be
made at once; but I think it better not to put anything in writing
on that subject even now, at the present stage, since it is quite
distinct, unforgettable, and of the first importance.

The other is the name 'Mitchell,' which at present we have had
no opportunity for verifying; hence annotation on that must be
postponed. Suffice it to say that to-day (6 October 1915) it remains
unknown. Whether an Army List has been published this year seems
doubtful, and on the whole unlikely; and no Army List later than 1909
has been so far accessible. Such few inquiries as have up to now been
made have drawn blank. [See, however, three pages further on.]

_Later Information_

On 10 October Mrs. Kennedy, alone, had some automatic writing as

 Mother, Paul is bringing Raymond. I have him here; he will speak to

 "Please listen carefully now I want to speak to you about NORMAN.
 There is a special meaning to that because we always called my brother
 Alec Norman, the (muddle ...)."

(K. K. said that she couldn't get the rest clearly.)

On 12 October we had a sitting with Mrs. Leonard, K. K. also present,
and I said to 'Raymond':--

Do you want to say anything more about that name 'Norman'? You gave a
message about it to Mrs. Kennedy, but I don't know whether she got it
clearly. Perhaps you want to amplify it? If so, now is your chance.
(The reply spelt out was:--)


 On which K. K. said: "I am afraid I often get names wrong. I suppose I
 got the name of the wrong brother."


It appears that 'Norman' was a kind of general nickname; and
especially that when the boys played hockey together, which they
often did in the field here, by way of getting concentrated exercise,
Raymond, who was specially active at this game, had a habit of
shouting out, "Now then, Norman," or other words of encouragement,
to any of his other brothers whom he wished to stimulate, especially
apparently Lionel, though sometimes Alec and the others. That is what
I am now told, and I can easily realise the manner of it. But I can
testify that I was not aware that a name like this was used, nor was
Lady Lodge, we two being the only members of the family present at
the Leonard table sitting where the name 'Norman' was given. (See p.

It will be remembered that at that sitting I first asked him what
name the boys had called him, and, after a few partial failures,
obviously only due to mismanagement of the table, he replied, 'Pat,'
which was quite right. I then asked if he would like to give the name
of a brother, and he replied 'Norman,' which I thought was quite
wrong. I did not even allow him to finish the last letter. I said he
was confused, and had better begin again; after which he amended it
to '*Noël,' which I accepted as correct. But it will now be observed
that the name 'Norman' was the best he could possibly give, as a
kind of comprehensive nickname applicable to almost any brother.
And a nickname was an appropriate kind of response, because we had
already had the nickname 'Pat,' Furthermore, on subsequent occasions
he explained that it was the name by which he had called Lionel; and,
through Mrs. Kennedy--if she did not make a mistake--that it was a
name he had called Alec by. It is quite possible, however, that he
had intended to say 'Lionel' on that occasion, and that she got it
wrong. I am not sure how that may be. Again, at a later stage, in a
family sitting--no medium present--one of the boys said, "Pat, do you
remember 'Norman'?" at which with some excitement, the girls only
touching the table, he spelt out 'HOCKEY'; thus completing the whole

The most evidential portions, however, are those obtained when nobody
present understood what was being said--namely, first, the spelling
of the name 'Norman' when those present thought that it was all a
mistake after the first two letters; and secondly, the explanation
to Mrs. Kennedy that it was a name by which he had called one of his
brothers, showing that it was originally given by no accident, but
with intention.

As to the name 'Pat' (p. 140), I extract the following from a diary
of Noël, as evidence that it was very much Raymond's nickname; but of
course we knew it:--

  "Sept. 9. Pat goes to L'pool _re_ Commission.
     "  10. Pat gets commission in 3rd South Lanc's.
     "  14. Pat collecting kit. We inspect revolvers.
     "  18. Pat comes up to Harborne for some rifle practice.
                Does not find it too easy.
     "  19. I become member of Harborne Rifle Club.
     "  20. Pat shoots again.

  Sept. 23. Pat leaves for L'pool to start his training at Great
            I give up commission-idea for the present.
  Oct.  17. Pat comes home to welcome Parents back from Australia.
    "   20. Pat returns to L'pool."

_Note on the name 'Mitchell' (added later)_

It can be remembered that, when asked on 28 September for the name
of an officer, Raymond spelt out MITCHELL, and indicated decisively
that the word AEROPLANE was connected with him; he also assented to
the idea that he was one whom the family didn't know, and that so it
would be better as evidence (pp. 141, 142).

After several failures at identification I learnt, on 10 October,
through the kind offices of the Librarian of the London Library, that
he had ascertained from the War Office that there was a 2nd Lieut.
E. H. Mitchell now attached to the Royal Flying Corps. Accordingly,
I wrote to the Record Office, Farnborough; and ultimately, on 6
November, received a post card from Captain Mitchell, to whom I must
apologise for the, I hope, quite harmless use of his name:--

 "Many thanks for your kind letter. I believe I have met
 your son, though where I forget. My wounds are quite
 healed, and I am posted to Home Establishment for a bit,
 with rank of Captain. Your letter only got here (Dover)
 from France this morning, so please excuse delay in


       *       *       *       *       *

In concluding this chapter, I may quote a little bit of
non-evidential but characteristic writing from 'Paul.' It was
received on 30 September 1915 by Mrs. Kennedy, when alone, and her
record runs thus:--

 (After writing of other things, I _not_ having asked
 anything about Raymond.)

 "I think it hardly possible for you to believe how quickly
 Raymond learns; he seems to believe all that we have to
 fight to teach the others.

 "Poor chaps, you see no one has told them before they come
 over, and it is so hard for them when they see us and they
 feel alive, and their people keep on sobbing.

 "The business for you and me gets harder and harder as the
 days go on, mother; it needs thousand at this work, and
 you are so small.

 "I feel that God helps us, but I want Him to find others,
 darling; there is no time to waste either in your place or
 mine, but I know you are trying ever so hard."



In a Table Sitting it is manifest that the hypothesis of unconscious
muscular guidance must be pressed to extremes, as a normal
explanation, when the communications are within the knowledge of any
of the people sitting at the table.

Many of the answers obtained were quite outside the knowledge of the
medium or of Mrs. Kennedy, but many were inevitably known to us; and
in so far as they were within our knowledge it might be supposed,
even by ourselves, that we partially controlled the tilting, though
of course we were careful to try not to do so. And besides, the
things that came, or the form in which they came, were often quite
unexpected, and could not consciously have been controlled by us.
Moreover, when the sentence spelt out was a long one, we lost our
way in it and could not tell whether it was sense or nonsense; for
the words ran into each other. The note-taker, who puts each letter
down as it is called out to him by the sitters at the table, has no
difficulty in reading a message, although, with the words all run
together, it hardly looks intelligible at first sight, even when
written. For instance:--


which was one message, or:--


which was part of another. Neither could be readily followed if
called out slowly letter by letter.

Still, the family were naturally and properly sceptical about it all.

Accordingly, my sons devised certain questions in the nature of
tests, referring to trivial matters which they thought would be
within Raymond's recollection, but which had happened to them alone
during summer excursions or the like, and so were quite outside my
knowledge. They gave me a few written questions, devised in conclave
in their own room; and on 12 October I took them to London with me in
a sealed envelope, which I opened in the train when going up for a
sitting; and after the sitting had begun I took an early opportunity
of putting the questions it contained. We had already had (on 28
September, reported in last chapter) one incident of a kind unknown
to us, in the name 'Norman,' but they wanted more of the same or of
a still more marked kind. I think it will be well to copy the actual
contemporary record of this part of the sitting in full:--

_Second Table Sitting of O. J. L. and M. F. A. L. with
Mrs. Leonard, 12 October 1915, 5.30 p. m._

_Present._--O. J. L., M. F. A. L., K. K., WITH DR. KENNEDY

At the beginning of the sitting O. J. L. explained that they were
now engaged in trying to get distinct and crucial evidence; that
preparations had been made accordingly; and that no doubt those on
the other side approved, and would co-operate.

A pause of three and a half minutes then ensued, and the table gave a
slow tilt.

 O. J. L.--Is Paul there?


O. J. L.--Have you brought Raymond?


O. J. L.--Are you there, Raymond?


O. J. L. (after M. F. A. L. had greeted him).--Well now, look here,
my boy, I have got a few questions which your brothers think you
will know something about, whereas to me they are quite meaningless.
Their object is to make quite sure that we don't unconsciously help
in getting the answers because we know them. In this case that is
impossible, because nobody here knows the answers at all. Do you
understand the object?


O. J. L.--Very well then, shall I begin?


O. J. L.--Oh! You want to say something yourself first?


O. J. L.--Very well then, the alphabet.


 [Taking these long messages down is rather tedious, and
 it is noteworthy that the sitters lose their way sooner
 or later--I had no idea what was coming or whether it was
 sense--but of course when it is complete the recorder can
 easily interpret, and does so.]

O. J. L.--Is that the end of what you want to say yourself?


O. J. L.--Well then, now I will give you one of the boys' questions,
but I had better explain that you may not in every case understand
the reference yourself. We can hardly expect you to answer all of
them, and if you don't do one, I will pass on to another. But don't
hurry, and we will take down whatever you choose to say on each of
them. The first question is:--

O. J. L.--"Do you remember anything about the Argonauts?"

  (Silence for a short time.)

O. J. L.--'Argonauts' is the word. Does it mean anything to you? Take
your time.


O. J. L.--Well, would you like to say what you remember?


 Then, by repeating the alphabet, was spelt:--


O. J. L.--Is that the end of that answer?


O. J. L.--Well, now I will go on to the second question then. "What
do you recollect about Dartmoor?"

 The time for thought was now much briefer, and the table
 began to spell pretty soon:--


O. J. L.--Is that all?


O. J. L.--Very well then, continue.


O. J. L.--Is that the end of the answer?


O. J. L.--Very well then, now I will go on to the third question,
which appears to be a bit complicated. "What do the following suggest
to you:--

  O. B. P.
  Kaiser's sister."

 (No good answers were obtained to these questions: they
 seemed to awaken no reminiscence.

 Asked the name of the man to whom Raymond had given his
 dog, the table spelt out STALLARD quite correctly. But
 this was within our knowledge.)

 (_End of extract from record_.)


On reporting to my sons the answers given about 'Argonauts' and
'Dartmoor' they were not at all satisfied.

I found, however, from the rest of the family that the word TELEGRAM
had a meaning in connexion with 'Argonauts'--a meaning quite unknown
to me or to my wife--but it was not the meaning that his brothers
had expected. It seems that in a previous year, while his mother and
I were away from home, the boys travelled by motor to somewhere in
Devonshire, and (as they think) at Taunton Raymond had gone into a
post office, sent a telegram home to say that they were all right,
and had signed it 'Argonauts.' The girls at home remembered the
telegram quite well; the other boys did not specially remember it.

The kind of reference they had wanted, Raymond gave ultimately though
meagrely, but only after so much time had elapsed that the test had
lost its value, and only after I had been told to switch him on to
"Tent Lodge, Coniston," as a clue.

Now that I know the answer I do not think the question was a
particularly good one; and the word 'telegram,' which they had not
expected and did not want, seems to me quite as good an incident as
the one which, without a clue, they had expected him to recall in
connexion with 'Argonauts.' Besides, I happened myself to know about
an Iceland trip in Mr. Alfred Holt's yacht 'Argo' and its poetic
description by Mr. Mitchell Banks and Dr. Caton in a book in the
drawing-room at Tent Lodge, Coniston (though the boys were not aware
of my knowledge), but it never struck me that this was the thing
wanted; and if it had come, the test would have been of inferior

Concerning the answer to 'Dartmoor,' his brothers said that COMING
DOWN HILL was correct but incomplete; and that they didn't remember
any FERRY. I therefore on another occasion, namely, on 22 October,
during a sitting with Feda (that is to say, not a table sitting, but
one in which Mrs. Leonard's control Feda was speaking and reporting
messages), said--still knowing nothing about the matter beyond what
I had obtained in the table sitting--"Raymond, do you remember about
'Dartmoor' and the hill?"

The answer is recorded as follows, together with the explanatory
note added soon afterwards--though the record is no doubt a little
abbreviated, as there was some dramatic representation by Feda of
sudden swerves and holding on:--

_From Sitting of O. J. L. and M. F. A. L. on_ 22 _October_ 1915.
_'Feda' speaking_

O. J. L.--Raymond, do you remember about Dartmoor and the hill?

 Yes, he said something about that. He says it was
 exciting. What is that he says? Brake--something about a
 brake--putting the brake on. Then he says, sudden curve--a
 curve--he gives Feda a jerk like going round a quick curve.

 [I thought at the time that this was only padding, but
 subsequently learnt from Alec that it was right. It was
 on a very long night-journey on their motor, when the
 silencer had broken down by bursting, at the bottom of
 an exceptionally steep hill, and there was an unnerving
 noise. The one who was driving went down other steep hills
 at a great pace, with sudden applications of the brake and
 sudden quick curves, so that those at the back felt it
 dangerous, and ultimately had to stop him and insist on
 going slower. Raymond was in front with the one who was
 driving. The sensations of those at the back of the car
 were strongly connected with the brake and with curves;
 but they had mainly expected a reference from Raymond to
 the noise from the broken silencer, which they ultimately
 repaired during the same night with tools obtained at the
 first town they stopped at.]

O. J. L.--Did he say anything about a ferry?

 No, he doesn't remember that he did.

O. J. L.--Well, I got it down.

 There is one: all the same there is one. But he didn't
 mean to say anything about it. He says it was a stray
 thought that he didn't mean to give through the table.
 He has found one or two things come in like that. It was
 only a stray thought. You have got what you wanted, he
 says. 'Hill,' he meant to give, but not 'ferry.' They have
 nothing to do with each other.

       *       *       *       *       *

On a later occasion I took an opportunity of catechising him further
about this word FERRY, since none of the family remembered a ferry,
or could attach any significance to the word. He still insisted
that his mention of a ferry in connexion with a motor trip was not
wrong, only he admitted that "some people wouldn't call it a ferry."
I waited to see if any further light would come; and now, long
afterwards, on 18 August 1916 I receive from Alec a note referring to
a recent trip, this month, which says:--

 "By the way, on the run to Langland Bay (which is the
 motor run we all did the year before the run to Newquay)
 we pass through Briton Ferry; and there is precious little
 ferry about it."

So even this semi-accidental reminiscence seems to be turning out not
altogether unmeaning; though probably it ought not to have come in
answer to 'Dartmoor.' (See more about Dartmoor on p. 211.)


It will be realised, I think, that a single word, apart from the
context, thus thrown at a person who may be in a totally different
mood at the time, is exceedingly difficult; and on the whole I think
he must be credited with some success, though not with as much as
had been hoped for. If his brothers had been present, or had had any
interview with him in the meantime, it would have spoilt the test,
considered strictly; nevertheless, it might have made the obtaining
of the answers they wanted much more feasible, inasmuch as in their
presence he would have been in their atmosphere and be more likely
to remember their sort of surroundings. Up to this date they had not
had any sitting with a medium at all. In presence of his mother and
myself, and under all the circumstances, and what he felt to be the
gravity of some of his recent experiences, it is not to me surprising
that the answers were only partially satisfactory; though, indeed, to
me they seem rather good. Anyhow, they had the effect of stimulating
his brothers to arrange some sittings with a table at home on their
own account.



I might make many more extracts from this sitting of 22 October,
of which a short extract has just been quoted, because, though
not specially evidential, they have instructive and so to speak
common-sense features, but it is impossible to include everything. I
will therefore omit most of it, but quote a little, not because it is
evidential, but because what is said may be instructive to inquirers.


 He wants to gather evidence and give something clearly.
 He seems to think that his brother had been coming here
 (looking about).

O. J. L.--Your brother will come to see you to-morrow. [He was not
coming to Mrs. Leonard.]

 Where is he? He got the impression that he had either been
 here or should be here now; he has got the thought of him.
 He has been trying to get into touch with him himself; he
 has been trying to speak to him. Seems to have something
 to do with Mrs. Kathie,[19] and he has tried to write to
 him. The trouble is, that he can't always see distinctly.
 He feels in the air, but can't see always distinctly. (To
 M. F. A. L.) When you are sitting at the table he sees
 you, and can see what you have got on. When he tries to
 come to you, he can only sense you; but at the table he
 can see you.

O. J. L.--Has he seen his brothers at a table?

 No, not at the table. He sensed them, and he thought they
 were trying to speak to him; but didn't feel as if he was
 going to get near. It has something to do with a medium.
 Medium. [Meaning that they were trying to do without a

M. F. A. L.--When did he see me?

 When a medium is present he sees you quite distinctly.
 He saw you, not here, but at another place. Oh, it was
 in London, another place in London, some time ago. He
 was surprised to see you, and wondered how he could.
 [Presumably the occasion intended was when Mrs. Kennedy,
 who herself has power, was present as well as Peters.]
 He can only think the things he wants to say.[20] [Then
 reverting to his brothers' attempts at Mariemont.] "Tell
 them to go on. I shall never get tired. Never! Tell them
 to have patience. It is more interesting to me than to
 them." He does not seem sure if he got anything through.
 It is so peculiar. Even here, he is not always quite
 certain that he has said what he wanted to say, except
 sometimes when it is clear and you jump at it. Sometimes
 then he feels, "I've got that home, anyway!" He has got to
 feel his way. They must go easy with him--not ask too much
 all at once. If they have plenty of patience, in a while
 he will be able to come and talk as if he were there.

M. F. A. L.--Do you mean with the voice?

 No, with the table.

 More important than talking is to get things through with
 his own people, and to give absolute evidence. He doesn't
 want them to bother him with test questions till he feels
 at home. It doesn't matter here, where there is a medium,
 but the conditions there are not yet good. Tell them to
 take for granted that it is he, and later on he will be
 able to talk to them and say all he wishes to say. The
 boys are so eager to get tests. When grandpapa comes, it
 is to relieve him a little, while he is not there. He
 doesn't himself want to speak.

 Twice a week, he says.

 He is bringing a girl with him now--a young girl, growing
 up in the spirit world. She belongs to Raymond: long
 golden hair, pretty tall, slight, brings a lily in her
 hand. There is another spirit too who passed out very
 young--a boy; you wouldn't know him as he is now; he
 looks about the same age as Raymond, but very spiritual
 in appearance; he brings a W with him; he doesn't know
 much of the earth plane, nor the lily either; he passed
 over too young. They are both with Raymond now. They look
 spiritual and young. Spirit people look young if they
 passed on young. Raymond is in the middle between them. He
 says this is not very scientific. [All this is appropriate
 to a deceased brother and sister; the brother older, the
 sister younger.]

 Raymond really is happy now. He doesn't say this to make
 you feel satisfied. He is really happy now. He says
 this is most interesting, and is going to be fifty times
 more interesting than on the earth plane. There is such a
 big field to work in. Father and he are going to do such
 a lot together. He says, "I am going to help for all I
 am worth." (To M. F. A. L.) If you are happy, I will be
 happier too. You used to sigh; it had an awful effect on
 him, but he is getting lighter with you. Father has been
 wonderful. He is often with Paulie, and has been to see
 Mrs. Kathie too.

 [Meaning Mrs. Katherine Kennedy. Feda, of course, is
 speaking throughout.]

M. F. A. L.--Which way does he find the easiest to come?

 He is able to get to you by impression, and not only by
 writing. He thinks he can make you hear. He is trying to
 make you clair-audient. Let there be no misapprehension
 about that. He does it in order to help himself. He hopes
 to get something through.

O. J. L.--You might send the same thing through different channels.

 Yes, he says. He need not say much, but is going to think
 it out. He can get Mrs. K. to write it out, and then get
 it through the table with them. He thinks he will be able
 to do a lot with you, Mrs. Kathie. You know that Paulie's

(K. K. spoke to Paul for a short time.)

O. J. L.--Do you think it had better be tried on the same evening, or
on different evenings?

 Try it on the same evening at first, and see what success
 is got; if only one word came through the same, he would
 be very pleased. He might get one word first, then two,
 then two or three. Tell them to reserve a little time for
 just that, and give him some time specially for it, not
 mix it up with other things in the sittings.

K. K.--Shall I ask him to write some word?

 He will think of some word--no matter if it is
 meaningless. What you have to do is, not to doubt, but
 take it down. One word might be much more valuable than a
 long oration. One word would do, no matter how silly it
 sounded; even if it is only a jumble, so long as it is the
 same jumble. He is jumping now. [Meaning, he is pleased
 with the idea.] He says he finds it difficult owing to the
 medium. He is not able to get through all he wants to say,
 but on the whole thinks he got it pretty straight to-night.

 [The quickness with which the communicator jumped at the
 idea of a cross-correspondence was notable, because I do
 not think he had known anything about them. It sounded
 rather like the result of rapid Myersian instruction. I
 rather doubt if cross-correspondences of this kind can be
 got through Mrs. Kennedy, though she knows we are going to
 try for them. The boys are quite willing to take down any
 jumble, but she herself likes to understand what she gets,
 and automatically rejects gibberish.--O. J. L.]

       *       *       *       *       *

On 13 October, through the kind arrangement of Mrs. Kennedy, we had
an anonymous sitting with a medium new to us, a Mrs. Brittain, of
Hanley, Staffordshire, in Mrs. Kennedy's house.

It was not very successful--the medium seemed tired and worried--but
there were a few evidential points obtained, though little or nothing
about the boy; in the waking stage, however, she said that some one
was calling the name 'Raymond.'

At an interview next day with Mrs. Kennedy, Mrs. Brittain said that
a boy named 'Pat' had come with Paul to see her on the evening after
the sitting (see p. 148 for the significance of 'Pat'); and she
described it in writing to Mrs. Kennedy thus:--

 14 _October_ 1915

 "I was just resting, thinking over the events of the day,
 and worrying just a little about my ordeal of next Monday,
 when I became conscious of the presence of such a dear
 soldier boy. He said, 'I am Pat, and oh, I did want to
 speak to my mother.' Then I saw with him your dear boy
 [Paul]; he asked me to tell you about Pat, and to give
 the message to his father that he would get proof without
 seeking it."

    [Footnote 19: Mrs. Kennedy's name is Katherine, and Feda
    usually speaks of her as Mrs. Kathie.]

    [Footnote 20: This corresponds with an early statement
    made by "Myers" through Mrs. Thompson. See _Proceedings_,
    S.P.R., vol. xxiii. p. 221.]



_Introduction by O. J. L._

A word may be necessary about the attitude of Raymond's family to the
whole subject. It may be thought that my own known interest in the
subject was naturally shared by the family, but that is not so. So
far as I can judge, it had rather the opposite effect; and not until
they had received unmistakable proof, devised largely by themselves,
was this healthy scepticism ultimately broken down.

My wife had had experience with Mrs. Piper in 1889, though she
continued very sceptical till 1906 or thereabouts, when she had
some extraordinarily good evidence. But none of this experience was
shared by the family, who read neither my nor anyone else's books
on the subject, and had no first-hand evidence. For the most part
they regarded it without interest and with practical scepticism. If
in saying this I convey the impression of anything like friction or
disappointment, the impression is totally false. Life was full of
interest of many kinds, and, until Raymond's death, there was no
need for them to think twice about survival or the possibility of

The first sitting held by any of his brothers, apart from private
amateur attempts at home,--the first sitting, I may say, held by any
of them with any medium,--took place on 23 October, when Alec had a
sitting with Peters; his mother also was present, but no names were
given. Alec's record of this sitting, together with his preliminary
Note, I propose to quote practically in full.

Alec and his mother went in the morning to Mrs. Kennedy's house,
where the sitting was to take place. M. F. A. L. stopped on the way
to buy a bunch of violets, which she put on Peters' table. When he
arrived and saw them, he was very pleased; ejaculated "my flower,"
and said that he could not have had anything that gave him more

I may here remark, incidentally, that Peters is a man who takes
his mediumship seriously, and tries to regulate his life so as to
get good conditions. Thus, he goes into the country at intervals,
and stops all work for a time to recuperate. He lives, in fact, at
Westgate-on-Sea, and only has a room in London. He seems to lead a
simple life altogether, and his "control" spoke of his having been
prepared since six o'clock that morning for this sitting.

Alec went up prepared to take notes, and after the sitting wrote the
following preliminary account:--

_A. M. L.'s Remarks on the Sitting_

Mother and I arrived at Mrs. Kennedy's house at five minutes to
eleven. We saw Mrs. Kennedy, who asked us if we would like her to be
present. We said yes. Then she told us that Peters had come, and that
she would ask him. Peters wanted her to be present.

Mrs. Kennedy brought Peters up; he shook hands, without any
introduction. We had all gone up to Mrs. Kennedy's private room,
where Peters likes the sittings to take place. We four sat round a
table about four feet in diameter. A. and M. with backs to one or
other of the two windows, K. and P. more or less facing them. A. was
opposite P.; M. was opposite K. There was plenty of light, but the
room was partly shaded by pulling down blinds. They talked about
street noises at first. P. held K.'s and M.'s hands for a time. K.
and M. talked together a little. P. now moved about a little and
rubbed his face and eyes. Suddenly he jerked himself up and began
talking in broken English.

During the trance his eyes were apparently closed all the time; and
when speaking to anyone he 'looked' at them with his eyelids screwed
up. Sometimes a change of control occurred. While that was taking
place, he sat quiet, and usually held K.'s and M.'s hands until
another sudden jerk occurred, when he let go and started talking.

The sitting was rather disjointed, and most of it apparently not of
much importance, but for a few minutes in the middle it was very
impressive. It then felt to me exactly as if my hand was being held
in both Raymond's, and as if Raymond himself was speaking in his own
voice. My right hand was being held, but even if I had had it free I
could not possibly have taken notes under the circumstances.

(M. F. A. L. adds that neither could she nor anyone, while that part
of the sitting was going on.)

Peters spoke often very quickly, and sometimes indistinctly, so that
the notes are rather incomplete.

(To this O. J. L. adds that it was Alec's first experience of a
sitting, and that, even with experience, it is difficult to take
anything like full notes.)

_Report of Peters Sitting in Mrs. Kennedy's Room, at 11 a.m. on
Saturday, 23 October 1915_

(Revised by the Sitters)

_Present_--MRS. KENNEDY (K. K.), LADY LODGE (M. F. A. L.), ALEC M.
LODGE, and the Medium--VOUT PETERS


In a short time Peters went into trance, and 'Moonstone' was
understood to be taking control. He first made some general remarks:--

 Good morning! I generally say, "Good evening," don't I?
 Don't be afraid for Medie; he has been prepared since six
 o'clock this morning. Magnetism has to be stored up, and
 therefore it is best to use the same room and the same
 furniture every time.

 Then he spoke to K. K.:--

 Will you call on little woman close to? It will mean
 salvation to two people. [Abbreviated.]

(K. K. understood.)

 Then the medium took M.'s hand.

 Somebody not easy to describe; old lady; not tall; grey
 hair, parted in centre; grey eyes; nose thin; mouth fairly
 large and full. This describes her as she was before she
 passed away. Had big influence on your early life. Good
 character; loving, but perhaps lived in narrow outlook;
 not only a mother to her own belongings, but she mothered
 every man, woman, or child she came into contact with. She
 is here this morning and has been before. Is it not your

M. F. A. L.--If it is my Mother, it is a great pleasure to me.

 She has been with you and comforted you through this trial.

 She has been, and will go on, looking after the boy. You
 must not think she is not just as much with you because
 she has no body. She is just as much your mother. She
 _has_ a body, though it is different.

 (Pointing to A.) She is related to _him_. She puts her
 hand on his shoulder. She is very proud of what he is
 doing at the present time. He has been a great help
 to you. Since the passing away of him who is loved by
 you both, he has looked on spiritualism with much more
 respect, because previously it has not touched his heart.
 It is not only a thing of the head, it is now a thing of
 the heart.

 She suffered terribly before passing away. She bore her
 suffering patiently.

 She put her finger on her lips and says: "I am so proud of
 O.!" (Medium puts one finger on middle of lips.)

 It has always been what I thought: the triumph (?) has
 been a long time coming, but it will come greater than had
 been anticipated. There have been difficulties. I am glad
 of success. It will come greater than before. The book
 that is to be will be written from the heart, and not the
 head. But the book will not be written now. NOT NOW! NOT
 NOW! NOT NOW! (loud). Written later on. THE BOOK which is
 going to help many and convert many. The work done already
 is big. But what is coming is bigger.


 (Paul, sending a message to K. K.:--)

 I have been drilling her to link up. You don't know what
 it is. It is like teaching people to transmit messages by
 the telegraph. Don't let the boy come, let Granny come.
 (The medium here imitated Paul's manner of sitting down
 and pulling up the knees of his trousers.) She laughs at
 the idea of being drilled.

 He says (Paul still communicating): You know, little
 Mother, you wonder why I was taken; but it is a great
 deal better like this. Thousands of people can be helped
 like this. You are the link, and the means of reaching
 thousands of mothers.

 (Then 'Moonstone' was understood to say:--)

 Returning to Madam (_i.e._ the old lady again, and medium
 turning to M. F. A. L.), she says: "I am so glad you not
 only told him what you did--this is not to you but some
 one away (finger on lips), somebody she will not give--and
 reached out as you did."

 This is from Madam. She is going away.

M. F. A. L.--My love to her.

 No, no, no, she does not go away; she stands back, to let
 some one else come forward--like actors take turns at a

 [Then an impersonation of my Uncle Jerry was represented,
 with the statement, "Your husband will know who he is";
 but this part of the record is omitted as comparatively
 unimportant. It was unintelligible to the sitter.--O. J.

 (Then a new control came in, which was by K. K. understood
 to be 'Redfeather.' When he arrived, the medium smacked
 his hands and spoke to K. K.:--)

 I come dis little minute to try experiment. If we succeed,
 all right; if we don't, don't mind. There will be some

 You know me? (To K. K.)

K. K.--Yes. It is 'Redfeather.'

 Glad to see you better. You used to feel--a hand on your
 head. It was a little girl. It was your boy who brought
 her. Now I go. Just talk a little.

(K. K. then thanked the speaker for his help.)

 Who could help better than me?

 ... long ago I was killed.

 Who could help better?

 (Then there was an interval, and evident change of
 control. And speech very indistinct at first.)

 I want to come.

 Call Mother to help me.

 Because you know.

 You understand.

 It wasn't so bad.

 Not so bad.

 I knew you knew the possibility of communicating, so when
 I went out as I did, I was in a better condition than
 others on the other side. We had often talked about this
 subject, father understanding it as he did; and now,
 coming into touch with his strength, makes it easy.

 (Medium here reached out across the table to A. and
 grasped his right hand, so that the notes were temporarily
 interrupted. The medium's arms were now both stretched
 out across the table, with his head down on them, and he
 held A.'s hand in both his. All this time he spoke with
 great emotion: the medium was shaken with sobs; his head
 and neck were suffused with blood; the whole circumstances
 were strained, and strongly emotional; and the voice was
 extraordinarily like Raymond's. A., too, felt that his
 hands were being gripped in a grasp just like Raymond's.
 This was the central part of the sitting; and for the time
 no notes could be taken, even by Mrs. Kennedy. But after
 a bit the hand was released, the strain rather lightened,
 and notes continue which run thus:--)

[A. M. L. says, "In time the interval was brief," but it was
surcharged with emotion, strongly felt by all present.]

 But no, wait.

 Because they tell me.

 I am not ashamed.

 I am glad.

 I tell you, I would do it again.

 I realise things differently to what one saw here.

 And oh, thank God, I can speak!

 But ...

 The boys help me.

 You don't know what he has done.

 Who could help?

 But I must keep quiet, I promised them to keep calm.

 The time is so short.

 Tell father that I am happy.

 That I am happy that he has not come.

 If he had come here, I couldn't have spoken.

 I find it difficult to express what I want.

 Every time I come back it is easier.

 The only thing that was hard was just before.

 The 15th, do you understand?

 And the 12th.

 [We do not clearly understand these dates.]

 But every time I come it is better.

 Grandmamma helped or I couldn't.

 Now I must go.

 ... broken ...

 But I have done it, thank God!

(Then this special control ended; while the medium murmured, as to
himself, first the word 'John,' and then the word 'God.' Then the
strain was relieved by a new control, understood to be 'Biddy.')

 Surely it's meself that has come to speak. Here's another
 mother. I am helping the boy. I said to him to come out.

 (To A. M. L.) Just you go and do your work. When the boy
 comes as he did, it upsets the body. I come to help to
 soothe the nerves of the medium. It is a privilege to
 help. I am an old Irishwoman.

 (To K. K.) You don't realise that the world is governed
 by chains, and that you are one of the links. I was
 a washerwoman and lived next a church, and they say
 cleanliness comes next to godliness! One of my chains is
 to help mothers. Well, I am going. But for comfort,--the
 boy is glad he is come. (To K. K.) Your husband is a fine
 man. I love him. His heart's as big as his body, and it
 is not only medicine, but love that he dispenses.

 (Then an interval; and another control--probably
 'Moonstone' again, or else Peters himself clairvoyantly:--)

 We succeeded a little in our experiment.

 Now the boy is with....

 (Here the medium seized _both_ Alec's hands, and K. K.
 continues the notes.)

 [But they may be abbreviated here, as they represent only
 Peters's ordinary clairvoyance--probably.]

 You bring with you a tremendous force. You don't always
 say what you think. A quick way of making up your mind.
 Your intuitional force is very strong. Your mind is very
 evenly balanced, [and so on].... The last three months,
 things have altered. It has stirred you to the depths of
 your innermost being. You had no idea how strong the bond
 was between you and one who has been here to-day. Want to
 shield and take care of your mother. You know her devotion
 to both you and the one gone over....

 The one gone over is a brother. He wants to send a message.

 (Some messages omitted.)

 You did not cry, but heart crying inside.

 Help others. You are doing it. If you ever tried to do
 what he did, you would physically break down. All this is
 from him.

 (To Mother) So glad about the photograph. Something you
 have had done that is satisfactory.

 [This is good, but it only occurred to me to-day, 31
 October. It evidently relates to two photographs in a
 pocket case, found on his body, which Raymond carried
 with him, and which had been returned to the original by
 us.--A. M. L.]

 Wants to convey message to father, but it is not about
 himself this time. I get the initials F W M--not clear
 about all the letters--but F M wishes to be remembered. He
 says: I am still very active. Get into touch with Crookes
 _re_ the Wireless.

[O. J. L. was at Muirhead's works in Kent on this subject, at this
moment.--A. M. L.]

 Still active, still at work.

 [Spoken like "I see you are still active, still at
 work."--A. M. L.]

 Then he gives me a curious thing, and laughs. One of the
 things I am most proud of is "St. Paul."

[This puzzled K. K., the note-taker.]

 (To Alec.) So glad you _came_, boy! What a lot you think!

 (Medium came-to, breathing and struggling. Said he
 had been under _very_ deep--like coming-to after an

       *       *       *       *       *


Lady Lodge impressed me considerably with the genuine and deeply
affecting character of the above episode of personal control. It was
evidently difficult to get over for the rest of the day. I doubt
if the bare record conveys much: though it may to people of like



It may be asked why I report so much of what may be called ordinary
conversation, instead of abbreviating and concentrating on specific
instances and definite statements of fact. I reply:--

1. That a concentrated version is hard to read, while a fuller
version is really less tedious in spite of its greater length. A
record is always a poor substitute for actual experience; and too
much abbreviation might destroy whatever relic of human interest the
records possess.

2. That abbreviation runs the risk of garbling and amending; it is
undesirable in reports of this kind to amend style at the expense of

3. That the mannerisms and eccentricities of a 'control' (or
secondary personality) are interesting, and may be instructive; at
any rate they exhibit to a novice the kind of thing to be expected.

4. A number of inquiries want to know--and I think properly want to
know--what a sitting is like, what kind of subjects are talked about,
what the 'communicators'--_i.e._ the hypothetical personalities who
send messages through the 'control'--have to say about their own
feelings and interests and state of existence generally. Hence,
however the record be interpreted, it seems better to quote some
specimens fully.

5. I am aware that some of the records may appear absurd. Especially
absurd will appear the free-and-easy statements, quoted later, about
the nature of things 'on the other side,'--the kind of assertions
which are not only unevidential but unverifiable, and which we
usually either discourage or suppress. I have stated elsewhere my
own reasons for occasionally encouraging statements of this kind
and quoting them as they stand. (See beginning of Chapter XVI.) And
though I admit that to publish them is probably indiscreet, I still
think that the evidence, such as it is, ought to be presented as a

6. The most evidential class of utterance, what we call
cross-correspondence, is not overlooked; and while every now and then
it occurs naturally and spontaneously, sometimes an effort is made to
obtain it.


 It will be convenient to explain that by the term
 "Cross-correspondence" is meant the obtaining through two
 or more independent mediums, at about the same time, a
 message from a single communicator on any one definite

 It is usually impossible for the coincidence of time to
 be exact, because both mediums may not be sitting at the
 same time. But in some cases, wherein coincidence of
 subject is well marked, coincidence in time is of little
 moment; always provided that the subject is really an
 out-of-the-way or far-fetched one, and not one common to
 every English-speaking person, like Kitchener or Roberts
 or Jellicoe.

 Cross-correspondences are of various grades. The simplest
 kind is when two mediums both use the same exceptional
 word, or both refer to the same non-public event, without
 any normal reason that can be assigned. Another variety is
 when, say, three mediums refer to one and the same idea
 in different terms,--employing, for instance, different
 languages, like 'mors,' 'death,' and 'thanatos.' (See
 _Proc._, S.P.R., xxii, 295-304.) Another is when the
 idea is thoroughly masked and brought in only by some
 quotation--perhaps by a quotation the special significance
 of which is unknown to the medium who reproduces it,
 and is only detected and interpreted by a subsequent
 investigator to whom all the records are submitted.
 Sometimes a quotation is maltreated, evidently with
 intention, by the communicator; the important word to
 which attention is being directed being either omitted or

 A large number of examples of this more complex kind
 of cross-correspondence are reported at length in the
 _Proceedings_ of the Society for Psychical Research; see
 especially vol. xxi. p. 369 and xxii. _passim_, or a
 briefer statement in _Survival of Man_, chap. xxv.

 Some of these instances as expounded by Mr. Piddington may
 seem extraordinarily complicated and purposely concealed.
 That is admitted. They are specially designed to eliminate
 the possibility of unintended and unconscious telepathy
 direct from one medium to another, and to throw the
 investigator back on what is

 asserted to be the truth, namely that the mind of one
 single communicator, or the combined mind of a group
 of communicators,--all men of letters,--is sending
 carefully designed messages through different channels,
 in order to prove primarily the reality of the operating
 intelligence, and incidentally the genuineness of the
 mediums who are capable of receiving and transmitting
 fragments of messages so worded as to appear to each of
 them separately mere meaningless jargon; though ultimately
 when all the messages are put together by a skilled person
 the meaning is luminous enough. Moreover, we are assured
 that the puzzles and hidden allusions contained in these
 messages are not more difficult than literary scholars are
 accustomed to; that, indeed, they are precisely of similar

 This explanation is unnecessary for the simple
 cross-correspondences (c.c.) sometimes obtained and
 reported here; but the subject itself is an important
 one, and is not always understood even by investigators,
 so I take this opportunity of referring to it in order to
 direct the attention of those who need stricter evidence
 to more profitable records.


Returning to the kind of family records here given, in which evidence
is sporadic rather than systematic though none the less effective,
one of the minor points, which yet is of interest, is the appropriate
way in which different youths greet their relatives. Thus, while Paul
calls his father 'Daddy' and his mother by pet names, as he used to;
and while Raymond calls us simply 'Father' and 'Mother,' as he used to;
another youth named Ralph--an athlete who had fallen after splendid
service in the war--greeted his father, when at length that gentleman
was induced to attend a sitting, with the extraordinary salutation
"Ullo 'Erb!," spelt out as one word through the table; though, to
the astonishment of the medium, it was admitted to be consistent and
evidential. The ease and freedom with which this Ralph managed to
communicate are astonishing, and I am tempted to add as an appendix
some records which his family have kindly allowed me to see, but I
refrain, as they have nothing to do with Raymond.



On the 29th of October I had a sitting with Peters alone, unknown to
the family, who I felt sure were still sceptical concerning the whole
subject. It was arranged for, as an anonymous sitting, by my friend
Mr. J. Arthur Hill of Bradford. The things said were remarkable, and
distinctly pointed to clairvoyance. I am doubtful about reporting
more than a few lines, however. There was a great deal that might
be taken as encouraging and stimulating, intermixed with the more
evidential portions. A small part of this sitting is already reported
in Chapter III, and might now be read by anyone interested in the
historical sequence.

A few unimportant opening lines I think it necessary to report,
because of their connexion with another sitting:--

_Anonymous O. J. L. Sitting with A. Vout Peters at 15 Devereux Court,
Fleet Street, on Friday, 29 October 1915, from 10.30 to 11.45 a.m._

(Sitter only spoken of as a friend of Mr. Hill)[21]

 PETERS.--Before we begin, I must say something: I feel
 that I have a certain fear of you, I don't know what it
 is, but you affect me in a most curious way. I must tell
 you the honest truth before I am controlled....

 [Whatever this may mean it corresponds with what was said
 at the previous M. F. A. L. Sitting, p. 132, though M. F.
 A. L. had sat as a friend of Mrs. Kennedy in her house,
 and I sat as a friend of Mr. Hill in Peters's room, and no
 sort of connexion was indicated between us].

 (Soon afterwards the medium twitched, snapped his fingers,
 and began to speak as 'Moonstone':--)

 "I come to speak to you, but I must get my Medie deep;
 we get superficial control first, and then go deeper and
 deeper; with your strong personality you frighten him a
 little; I find a little fear in the medium.... You bring
 with you a tremendous amount of work and business," etc.

 Now I get a new influence: an old lady, medium height,
 rounded face; light eyes; grey hair; small nose; lips
 somewhat thin, or held together as suppressed; a lady with
 very strong will; tremendously forcible she is. She passed
 away after leading a very active life....

 She's a very good woman. It is not the first time she has
 come back. She tells me to tell you that they are all
 here. ALL. Because they are trying to reach out to you
 their love and sympathy at the present occasion, and they
 are thanking you both for the opportunity of getting back
 to you. "We are trying all we can also to bring him back
 to you, to let you realise that your faith, which you
 have held as a theory"--it is curious, but she wants me
 to say her message word for word--"as a theory for years,
 shall be justified." Then she rejoices ... (and refers
 to religious matters, etc.). [This clearly suggested the
 relative whose first utterance of this kind is reported
 so long ago as 1889 in _Proc._, S.P.R., vol. vi. p. 468 &

 Now she brings up a young man from the back. I must
 explain what we mean by 'the back' some time.

O. J. L.--But I understand.

 He is of medium height; somewhat light eyes; the face
 browned somewhat; fairly long nose; the lips a little
 full; nice teeth. He is standing pretty quiet.

 Look here, I know this man! And it is not

 the first time he has been to us. Now he smiles, 'cos I
 recsonise him [so pronounced], but he comes back very,
 very strongly. He tells me that he is pushing the door
 open wider. Now he wants me to give you a message. He is
 going to try to come down with you; because it looks to me
 as though you are travelling to-day. "Down," he says. "I
 come down with you. We will try" (he says 'we,' not 'I'),
 "we will try to bring our united power to prove to you
 that I am here; I and the other young man who helped me,
 and who will help me."

 [The association of Raymond with 'another young man,' and
 his intention to come 'down' with me when I travelled
 back home on the same day to meet Mrs. Kennedy there, are
 entirely appropriate.--O. J. L.]

 Look here, it is your boy! Because he calls you 'Father';
 not 'Pa,' nor anything, but 'Father.' [True.]

O. J. L.--Yes, my son.

 Wait a minute; now he wants to tell me one thing: "I am
 so glad that you took such a common-sense view of the
 subject, and that you didn't force it on mother. But you
 spoke of it as an actuality. She treated it like she
 treats all your things that she couldn't understand;
 giving you, as she always has done, the credit of being
 more clever than herself. But when I came over as I
 did, and in her despair, she came to you for help; but
 she wanted to get away from anything that you should

[Unfortunately, some one knocked at the door--a servant probably,
wanted to come in and clear the room. The medium jerked and said,
"Tell them to go away." I called out, "Can't come in now, private,
engaged." Some talking continued outside for a little time--very
likely it was some one wanting an interview with Peters. After a time
the disturbance ceased. It was not very loud; the medium ignored
it, except for the rather loud and strong knock, which certainly
perturbed him.]

 Tell me where I was.

(I repeated: "She wanted to get away from anything that you should

 Oh yes. He wants to say that you were quite right in
 staying away and letting her work altogether by herself.
 She was able to do better than if you had been there. You
 would have spoilt it.

 Your common-sense method of approaching the subject in the
 family has been the means of helping him to come back as
 he has been able to do; and had he not known what you had
 told him, then it would have been far more difficult for
 him to come back. He is very deliberate in what he says.
 He is a young man that knows what he is saying.

 Do you know F. W. M.?

O. J. L.--Yes, I do.

[The next portion, relating to Myers, has been already reported in
Chapter III; and the concluding portion, which is rather puzzling,
shall be suppressed, as it relates to other people.]

Towards the end 'Moonstone' began talking about himself, which he
does in an interesting manner, and I shall perhaps give him an
opportunity of saying more about the assumption of 'control' from his
point of view. Meanwhile I quote this further extract:--


 Have you been suffering inside?

O. J. L.--No, not that I know of.

 Your heart's been bleeding. You never thought you could
 love so deep. There must be more or less suffering. Even
 though you are crucified, you will arise the stronger,
 bigger, better man. But out of this suffering and
 crucifixion, oh, how you are going to help humanity! This
 is a big work. It has been prophesied. It is through the
 sufferings of humanity that humanity is reached. It must
 be through pain. Let me tell you something about myself. I
 was Yogi--do you understand?

O. J. L.--Yes; a kind of hermit.

 I lived a selfish life: a good life, but a selfish one,
 though I didn't know it then. I isolated myself and did
 not mix with people, not even with family life. When I
 go over, I find it was a negative goodness, so then I
 wanted to help humanity, because I hadn't helped it. I
 had not taken on the sufferings even of a family man. It
 was useless. And so that is why I came back to my Medie,
 and try to bear through him the sorrows of the world. It
 is through suffering that humanity is helped. That is one
 great thing in your beautiful religion; you know what I
 mean--the sacrifice of Jesus. He demonstrated eternity,
 but to do it He must be sacrificed and taste death. So all
 who teach the high ... must tread the same path; there's
 no escaping the crucifixion, it comes in one way or
 another. And you must remember, back in the past, when the
 good things came to you, how you began to realise (?) that
 there was a spirit world and a possibility of coming back.
 Though you speak cautiously, yet possibly in your prayers
 to God you say, "Let me suffer, let me know my cross, so
 that I can benefit humanity"; and when you make a compact
 with the unseen world, it is kept. You have told no one
 this, but it belongs to you and to your son. Out of it
 will come much joy, much happiness to others.

Mr. Stead was, I understand, a friend to Peters, and how much of
the above is tinged by Mr. Stead's influence, I cannot say: but
immediately afterwards his name was mentioned, in the following way:--

 Flashing down the line comes a message from Mr. Stead. I
 can't help it, I must give it. He says: "We did not see
 eye to eye; you thought I was too impetuous and too rash,
 but our conclusions are about the same now. We are pretty
 well on the level, and I have realised, even through
 mistakes, that I have reached and influenced a world that
 is suffering and sorrowing. But you have a world bigger
 and wider than mine, and your message will be bigger and
 will reach farther."


As far as evidence is concerned, Peters has done well at each of
the three sittings any member of my family has had with him since
Raymond's death. On the whole, I think he has done as well as any
medium; especially as the abstention from supplying him normally with
any identifying information has been strict.

It is true that I have not, through Peters, asked test questions
of which the answers were unknown to me, as I did at one sitting
with Mrs. Leonard (Chapter IX). But the answers there given, though
fairly good, and in my view beyond chance, were not perfect. Under
the circumstances I think they could hardly have been expected to be
perfect. It was little more than a month since the death, and new
experiences and serious surroundings must have been crowding in upon
the youth, so that old semi-frivolous reminiscences were difficult
to recall. There was, however, with Peters no single incident so
striking as the name 'Norman,' to me unknown and meaningless, which
was given in perfectly appropriate connexion through the table at
Mrs. Leonard's.

    [Footnote 21: Whether it be assumed that I was known or
    not, does not much matter; but I have no reason to suppose
    that I was. Rather the contrary. Peters seems barely to
    look at his sitters, and to be anxious to receive no
    normal information.]



At length, on 17 November 1915, Raymond's brother Lionel (L. L.)
went to London to see if he could get an anonymous sitting with
Mrs. Leonard, without the intervention of Mrs. Kennedy or anybody.
He was aware that by that time the medium must have sat with dozens
of strangers and people not in any way connected with our family,
and fortunately he succeeded in getting admitted as a complete
stranger. This therefore is worth reporting, and the contemporary
record follows. A few portions are omitted, partly for brevity,
partly because private, but some non-evidential and what may seem
rather absurd statements are reproduced, for what they are worth. It
must be understood that Feda is speaking throughout, and that she
is sometimes reporting in the third person, sometimes in the first,
and sometimes speaking for herself. It is unlikely that lucidity is
constant all the time, and Feda may have to do some padding. She is
quite good and fairly careful, but of course, like all controls, she
is responsible for certain mannerisms, and in her case for childishly
modified names like 'Paulie,' etc. The dramatic circumstances of
a sitting will be familiar to people of experience. The record
tries to reproduce them--probably with but poor success. And it is
always possible that the attempt, however conscientious, may furnish
opportunity for ridicule, if any hostile critic thinks ridicule

_L. L.'s Sitting with Mrs. Leonard at her house, as a stranger, no
one else being present, 12 o'clock, Wednesday, 17 November 1915._


Lionel wrote to Mrs. Leonard at her old address in Warwick Avenue,
for I had forgotten that she had moved, and I had not told him her
new address. He wrote on plain paper from Westminster without signing
it, saying that he would be coming at a certain time. But she did not
get the letter; so that, when he arrived about noon on Wednesday, 17
November, he arrived as a complete stranger without an appointment.
He had at first gone to the wrong house and been redirected. Mrs.
Leonard answered the door. She took him in at once when he said
he wanted a sitting. She drew the blind down, and lit a red lamp
as usual. She told him that she was controlled by 'Feda.' Very
quickly--in about two minutes--the trance began, and Feda spoke.

Here follows his record:--


_Subsequent annotations, in square brackets, are by O. J. L._

 Good morning!

 Why, you are psychic yourself!

L. L.--I didn't know I was.

 It will come out later.

 There are two spirits standing by you; the elder is fully
 built up, but the younger is not clear yet.

 The elder is on the tall side, and well built; he has a
 beard round his chin, but no moustache.

 (This seemed to worry Feda, and she repeated it several times, as if
 trying to make it clear.)

 A beard round chin, and hair at the sides, but upper
 lip shaved. A good forehead, eyebrows heavy and rather
 straight--not arched--eyes greyish; hair thin on top, and
 grey at the sides and back. It looks as if it had been
 brown before it went grey. A fine-looking face. He is
 building up something. He suffered here before he passed
 out (medium indicating chest or stomach). Letter W is held
 up. (See photograph facing p. 258.)

 [This is the one that to other members of the family had
 been called Grandfather W., p. 143.]

 There is another spirit.

 Somebody is laughing.

 Don't joke--it is serious.

 (This was whispered, and sounded as if said to some one
 else, not to me.)

 It's a young man, about twenty-three, or might be
 twenty-five, judging only by appearance. Tall; well-built;
 not stout, well-built; brown hair, short at the sides
 and back; clean shaven; face more oval than round; nose
 not quite straight, rather rounded, and broader at the

 (_Whispering._) Feda can't see his face.

 (_Then clearly._) He won't let Feda see his face; he is

 (_Whispered several times._) L, L, L.

 (_Then said out loud._) L. This is not his name; he puts
 it by you.

 (_Whispering again._) Feda knows him--Raymond.

 Oh, it's Raymond!

 (The medium here jumps about, and fidgets with her hands,
 just as a child would when pleased.)

 That is why he would not show his face, because Feda would
 know him.

 He is patting you on the shoulder hard. You can't feel it,
 but he thinks he is hitting you hard.

 [It seems to have been a trick of his to pat a brother on
 the shoulder gradually harder and harder till humorous
 retaliation set in.]

 He is very bright.

 This is the way it is given--it's an impression.

 He has been trying to come to you at home, but there has
 been some horrible mix-ups; not really horrible, but a
 muddle. He really got through to you, but other conditions
 get through there, and mixes him up.

 [This evidently refers to some private 'Mariemont'
 sittings, without a medium, with which neither Feda
 nor Mrs. Leonard had had anything to do. It therefore
 shows specific knowledge and is of the nature of a mild
 cross-correspondence; cf. p. 217.]

L. L.--How can we improve it?

 He does not understand it sufficiently himself yet. Other
 spirits get in, not bad spirits, but ones that like to
 feel they are helping. The peculiar manifestations are
 not him, and it only confuses him terribly. Part of it
 was him, but when the table was careering about, it was
 not him at all. He started it, but something comes along
 stronger than himself, and he loses the control.

 (_Whispered._) "Feda, can't you suggest something?"

 [This seemed to be a reported part of conversation on the
 other side.]

 Be very firm when it starts to move about.

 Prayer helps when things are not relevant.

 He is anxious about F.

L. L.--I don't know who F. is. Is it some friend?

 (Medium here fidgets.)

 Letter F. all right; it's some one he is interested in.

 He says he is sorry he worried his mother about [an
 incident mentioned at some previous sitting].

L. L.--Was it a mistake?

 Yes, tell her, because (etc. etc.). When I thought it over
 I knew it was a mistake. If it had been now, and I had a
 little more experience in control, I should not have said
 so; but it was at the beginning--everything seemed such a
 rush--and I was not quite sure of what I did get through.
 He did not look at things in the right pers--perpec----

L. L.--Perspective?

 Yes, that's what he said.

 Do you follow me, old chap?

L. L.--Perfectly.

L. L.--Do you remember a sitting at home when you told me you had a
lot to tell me?

 Yes. What he principally wanted to say was about the place
 he is in. He could not _spell_ it all out--too laborious.
 He felt rather upset at first. You do not feel so real
 as people do where he is, and walls appear transparent
 to him now. The great thing that made him reconciled to
 his new surroundings was--that things appear so solid
 and substantial. The first idea upon waking up was, I
 suppose, of what they call 'passing over.' It was only
 for a second or two, as you count time, [that it seemed a]
 shadowy vague place, everything vapoury and vague. He had
 that feeling about it.

 The first person to meet him was Grandfather.

 (This was said very carefully, as if trying to get it
 right with difficulty.)

 And others then, some of whom he had only heard about.
 They all appeared to be so solid, that he could scarcely
 believe that he had passed over.

 He lives in a house--a house built of bricks--and there
 are trees and flowers, and the ground is solid. And if you
 kneel down in the mud, apparently you get your clothes
 soiled. The thing I don't understand yet is that the night
 doesn't follow the day here, as it did on the earth plane.
 It seems to get dark sometimes, when he would like it to
 be dark, but the time in between light and dark is not
 always the same. I don't know if you think all this is a

 (I was here thinking whether my pencils would last out; I
 had two, and was starting on the second one.)

 What I am worrying round about is, how it's made, of what
 it is composed. I have not found out yet, but I've got a
 theory. It is not an original idea of my own; I was helped
 to it by words let drop here and there.

 People who think everything is created by thought are
 wrong. I thought that for a little time, that one's
 thoughts formed the buildings and the flowers and trees
 and solid ground; but there is more than that.

 He says something of this sort:--

[This means that Feda is going to report in the third person again,
or else to speak for herself.--O. J. L.]

 There is something always rising from the earth
 plane--something chemical in form. As it rises to ours, it
 goes through various changes and solidifies on our plane.
 Of course I am only speaking of where I am now.

 He feels sure that it is something given off from the
 earth, that makes the solid trees and flowers, etc.

 He does not know any more. He is making a study of this,
 but it takes a good long time.

L. L.--I should like to know whether he can get into touch with
anybody on earth?

 Not always.

 Only those wishing to see him, and who it would be right
 for him to see. Then he sees them before he has thought.

 I don't seem to wish for anything.

 He does not wish to see anybody unless they are going to
 be brought to him.

 I am told that I can meet anyone at any time that I want
 to; there is no difficulty in the way of it. That is what
 makes it such a jolly fine place to live in.

L. L.--Can he help people here?

 That is part of his work, but there are others doing that;
 the greatest amount of his work is still at the war.

 I've been home--only likely I've been home--but my actual
 work is at the war.

 He has something to do with father, though his work still
 lies at the war, helping on poor chaps literally shot into
 the spirit world.

L. L.--Can you see ahead at all?

 He thinks sometimes that he can, but it's not easy to

 I don't think that I really know any more than when on

L. L.--Can you tell anything about how the war is going on?

 There are better prospects for the war. On all sides now
 more satisfactory than it has been before.

 This is not apparent on the earth plane, but I feel more
 ... the surface, and more satisfied than before.

 I can't help feeling intensely interested. I believe we
 have lost Greece, and am not sure that it was not due to
 our own fault. We have only done now what should have
 been done months ago.

 He does not agree about Serbia. Having left them so long
 has had a bad effect upon Roumania. Roumania thinks will
 she be in the same boat, if she joins in.

 All agree that Russia will do well right through the
 winter. They are going to show what they can do. They are
 used to their ground and winter conditions, and Germany
 is not. There will be steady progress right through the

 I think there is something looming now.

 Some of the piffling things I used to be interested in,
 I have forgotten all about. There is such a lot to be
 interested in here. I realise the seriousness sometimes of
 this war.... It is like watching a most interesting race
 or game gradually developing before you. I am doing work
 in it, which is not so interesting as watching.

L. L.--Have you any message for home?

 Of course love to his mother, and to all, specially to
 mother. H. is doing very well. [Meaning his sister Honor.]

L. L.--In what way?

 H. is helping him in a psychic way; she makes it easy for
 him. He doesn't think he need tell father anything, he is
 so certain in himself meaning Raymond, in spite of silly
 mistakes. It disappoints him. We must separate out the
 good from the bad, and not try more than one form; not the

L. L.--I know; jigger. [A kind of Ouija.]

 No. He didn't like the jigger. He thinks he can work the
 table. [See Chapter XIX.]

L. L.--Would you tell me how I could help in any way?

 Just go very easily, only let one person speak, as he has
 said before. It can be H. or L. L. Settle on one person to
 put the questions, the different sound of voices confuses
 him, and he mixes it up with questions from another's
 thoughts. In time he hopes it will be not so difficult.
 He wouldn't give it up, he loves it. Don't try more than
 twice a week, perhaps only once a week. Try to keep the
 same times always, and to the same day if possible.

 He is going.

 Give my love to them all. Tell them I am very happy. Very
 well, and plenty to do, and intensely interested. I did
 suffer from shock at first, but I'm extremely happy now.

 I'm off. He won't say good-bye.

       *       *       *       *       *

 A lady comes too: A girl, about medium height; on the
 slender side, not thin, but slender; face, oval shape;
 blue eyes; lightish brown hair, not golden.

L. L.--Can she give a name--I cannot guess who she is from the

 She builds up an L.

 Not like the description when she was on earth. Very
 little earth life. She is related to you. She has grown up
 in the spirit life.

 Oh, she is your sister!

 She is fair; not so tall as you; a nice face; blue eyes.

L. L.--I know her name now. [See at a previous sitting where this
deceased sister is described, p. 159.]

 Give her love to them at home, but also principally to
 mother. And say that she and her brother, not Raymond,
 have been also to the sittings at home.

 She is giving his name. She gives it in such a funny way,
 as if she was writing, so---- She wrote an N, then quickly
 changed it into a W. [See also pp. 134, 159, and 190.]

 She brings lilies with her; she is singing--it's like
 humming; Feda can't hear the words.

 She is going too--power is going.

L. L.--Give my love to her.

 Feda sends her love also.

 Raymond was having a joke by not showing his face to Feda.


 (_Sitting ended at 1.30 p.m._)



_Friday, 26 November 1915_

A few things may be reported from a sitting which Lady Lodge had
with Mrs. Leonard on 26 November, however absurd they may seem. They
are of course repeated by the childish control Feda, but I do not by
that statement of bare fact intend to stigmatise them in any way.
Criticism of unverifiable utterances seems to me premature.

The sitting began without preliminaries as usual. It is not a
particularly good one, and the notes are rather incomplete,
especially near the end of the time, when Feda seemed to wander from
the point, and when rather tedious descriptions of people began.
These are omitted.

_Sitting of M. F. A. L. with Mrs. Leonard at her house on Friday, 26
November 1915, from 3 to 4.30 p.m._

(No one else present.)

(The sitting began with a statement from Feda that she liked Lionel,
and that Raymond had taken her down to his home. Then she reported
that Raymond said:--)

 "Mother darling, I am so happy, and so much more so
 because you are."

M. F. A. L.--Yes, we are; and as your father says, we can face
Christmas now.

 Raymond says he will be there.

M. F. A. L.--We will put a chair for him.

 Yes, he will come and sit in it.

 He wants to strike a bargain with you. He says, "If I
 come there, there must be no sadness. I don't want to be
 a ghost at the feast. There mustn't be one sigh. Please,
 darling, keep them in order, rally them up. Don't let
 them. If they do, I shall have the hump." (Feda, _sotto
 voce_.--'hump,' what he say.)

M. F. A. L.--We will all drink his health and happiness.

 Yes, you can think I am wishing you health too.

M. F. A. L.--We were interested in hearing about his clothes and
things; we can't think how he gets them! [The reference is to a
second sitting of Lionel, not available for publication.]

 They are all man-u-fac-tured. [Feda stumbling over long

 Can you fancy you seeing me in white robes? Mind, I
 didn't care for them at first, and I wouldn't wear them.
 Just like a fellow gone to a country where there is a
 hot climate--an ignorant fellow, not knowing what he is
 going to; it's just like that. He may make up his mind to
 wear his own clothes a little while, but he will soon be
 dressing like the natives. He was allowed to have earth
 clothes here until he got acclimatised; they let him; they
 didn't force him. I don't think I will ever be able to
 make the boys see me in white robes.

 Mother, don't go doing too much.

M. F. A. L.--I am very strong.

 You think you are, but you tire yourself out too much. It
 troubles me.

M. F. A. L.--Yes, but I should be quite glad to come over there, if I
could come quickly, even though I am so happy here, and I don't want
to leave people.

 Don't you think I would be glad to have you here! If
 you do what he says, you will come over when the time
 comes--quick, sharp.

 He says he comes and sees you in bed. The reason for that
 is the air is so quiet then. You often go up there in the
 spirit-land while your body is asleep.

M. F. A. L.--Would you like us to sit on the same night as Mrs.
Kennedy sits, or on different nights? [Meaning in trials for

 On the same night, as it wastes less time. Besides, he
 forgets, if there is too long an interval. He wants to get
 something of the same sort to each place.

 William and Lily come to play with Raymond. Lily had gone
 on, but came back to be with Raymond. [These mean his
 long-deceased infant brother and sister.]

  (More family talk omitted.)

 Get some sittings soon, so as to get into full swing by
 Christmas. Tell them when they get him through, and he
 says, "Raymond," tell them to go very easily, and not
 to ask too many questions. Questions want thinking out
 beforehand. They are not to talk among themselves, because
 then they get part of one thing and part of another. And
 not to say, "No, don't ask him that," or he gets mixed.

 Do you know we sometimes have to prepare answers a little
 before we transmit them; it is a sort of mental effort to
 give answers through the table. When they say, do you ask,
 we begin to get ready to speak through the table. Write
 down a few questions and keep to them.



_With Some Unverifiable Matter_

At a sitting which I had with Mrs. Leonard on 3 December 1915,
information was given about the photograph--as already reported,
Chapter IV. In all these 'Feda' sittings, the remarks styled _sotto
voce_ represent conversation between Feda and the communicator,
not addressed to the sitter at all. I always try to record these
scraps when I can overhear them; for they are often interesting, and
sometimes better than what is subsequently reported as the result
of the brief conversation. For she appears to be uttering under her
breath not only her own question or comment, but also what she is
being told; and sometimes names are in that way mentioned correctly,
when afterwards she muddles them. For instance, on one occasion she
said _sotto voce_, "What you say? Rowland?" (in a clear whisper);
and then, aloud, "He says something like Ronald." Whereas in this
case 'Rowland' proved to be correct. The dramatically childlike
character of Feda seems to carry with it a certain amount of childish
irresponsibility. Raymond says that he "has to talk to her seriously
about it sometimes."

A few other portions, not about the photograph, are included in
the record of this sitting, some of a very non-evidential and
perhaps ridiculous kind, but I do not feel inclined to suppress
them. (For reasons, see Chapter XII.) Some of them are rather
amusing. Unverifiable statements have hitherto been generally
suppressed, in reporting Piper and other sittings; but here, in
deference partly to the opinion of Professor Bergson-- who when
he was in England urged that statements about life on the other
side, properly studied, like travellers' tales, might ultimately
furnish proof more logically cogent than was possible from mere
access to earth memories--they are for the most part reproduced.
I should think, myself, that they are of very varying degrees of
value, and peculiarly liable to unintentional sophistication by the
medium. They cannot be really satisfactory, as we have no means of
bringing them to book. The difficulty is that Feda encounters many
sitters, and though the majority are just inquirers, taking what
comes and saying very little, one or two may be themselves full
of theories, and may either intentionally or unconsciously convey
them to the 'control'; who may thereafter retail them as actual
information, without perhaps being sure whence they were derived.
Some books, moreover, have been published of late, purporting to give
information about ill-understood things in a positive and assured
manner, and it is possible that the medium has read these and may be
influenced by them. It will be regrettable if these books are taken
as authoritative by people unable to judge of the scientific errors
which are conspicuous in their more normal portions; and the books
themselves seem likely to retard the development of the subject in
the minds of critical persons.

_Sitting with Mrs. Leonard at her House on Friday, 3 December 1915,
from 6.10 p.m. to 8.20 p.m._

(O. J. L. alone.)

_This is a long record, because I took verbatim notes, but I propose
to inflict it all upon the reader, in accordance with promise to
report unverifiable and possibly absurd matter, just as it comes, and
even to encourage it._

Feda soon arrived, said good evening, jerked about on the chair, and
squeaked or chuckled, after her manner when indicating pleasure.
Then, without preliminaries, she spoke:--

 He is waiting; he's looking very pleased. He's awful
 anxious to tell you about the place where he lives; he
 doesn't understand _yet_ how it looks so solid. (Cf. p.

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--What you say? Yes, Feda knows.) He's
 been watching lately different kinds of people what come
 over, and the different kinds of effect it has on them.

 Oh, it is interesting, he says--much more than on the old
 earth plane. I didn't want to leave you and mother and all
 of them, but it _is_ interesting. I wish you could come
 over for one day, and be with me here. There are times
 you do go there, but you won't remember. They have all
 been over with him at night-time, and so have you, but he
 thought it very hard you couldn't remember. If you did, he
 is told (he doesn't know it himself, but he is told this),
 the brain would scarcely bear the burden of the double
 existence, and would be unfitted for its daily duties; so
 the memory is shut out. That is the explanation given to

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--What, Raymond? Al--lec, he says,
 Al--lec, Al--lec.)

 He keeps on saying something about Alec. He has been
 trying to get to Alec, to communicate with him; and he
 couldn't see if he made himself felt--whether he really
 got through.

 (The medium hitherto had been holding O. J. L.'s left
 hand; here she let go, Feda saying: He will let you have
 your own hand back.)

 He thought he had got into a bedroom, and that he knocked;
 but there wasn't much notice taken.

O. J. L.--Alec must come here sometime.[22]

 Yes, he wanted to see him.

 And he also hopes to be able to talk to Lionel with the
 direct voice; not here, he says, but somewhere else. He is
 very anxious to speak to him. Through a chap, he says, a
 direct voice chap.

O. J. L.--Very well, I will take the message.

 Well, he says, he wants to try once or twice. He wants
 to be able to say what he says to Feda in another way. He
 thinks he could get through in his own home sometime. He
 would much rather have it there. And he thinks that if he
 got through once or twice with direct voice, he might be
 able to do better in his own home. H. is psychic, he says,
 but he is afraid of hurting her; he doesn't want to take
 too much from her. But he really is going to get through.
 He really has got through at home; but silly spirits
 wanted to have a game. There was a strange feeling there;
 he didn't seem to know how much he was doing himself, so
 he stood aside part of the time. [Mariemont sittings are
 reported later. Chapter XIX.]

 _Then the photograph episode came, as reported in Chapter

 Then it went on (Feda talking, of course, all the time):--

 He says he has been trying to go to somebody, and see
 somebody he used to know. He's not related to them, and
 the name begins with S. It's a gentleman, he says, and he
 can't remember, or can't tell Feda the name, but it begins
 with S. He was trying to get to them, but is not sure that
 he succeeded.

O. J. L.--Did he want to?

 He says it was only curiosity; but he likes to feel that
 he can look up anybody. But he says, if they take no
 notice, I shall give up soon, only I just like to see what
 it feels like to be looking at them from where I am.

O. J. L.--Does he want to say anything more about his house or his
clothes or his body?

 Oh yes. He is bursting to tell you.

 He says, my body's very similar to the one I had before.
 I pinch myself sometimes to see if it's real, and it is,
 but it doesn't seem to hurt as much as when I pinched the
 flesh body. The internal organs don't seem constituted on
 the same lines as before. They can't be quite the same.
 But to all appearances, and outwardly, they are the same
 as before. I can move somewhat more freely, he says.

 Oh, there's one thing, he says, I have never seen anybody

O. J. L.--Wouldn't he bleed if he pricked himself?

 He never tried it. But as yet he has seen no blood at all.

O. J. L.--Has he got ears and eyes?

 Yes, yes, and eyelashes, and eyebrows, exactly the same,
 and a tongue and teeth. He has got a new tooth now in
 place of another one he had--one that wasn't quite right
 then. He has got it right, and a good tooth has come in
 place of the one that had gone.

 He knew a man that had lost his arm, but he has got
 another one. Yes, he has got two arms now. He seemed
 as if without a limb when first he entered the astral,
 seemed incomplete, but after a while it got more and more
 complete, until he got a new one. He is talking of people
 who have lost a limb for some years.

O. J. L.--What about a limb lost in battle?

 Oh, if they have only just lost it, it makes no
 difference, it doesn't matter; they are quite all right
 when they get here. But I am told--he doesn't know this
 himself, but he has been told--that when anybody's blown
 to pieces, it takes some time for the spirit-body to
 complete itself, to gather itself all in, and to be
 complete. It dissipated a certain amount of substance
 which is undoubtedly theric, theric--etheric, and it
 has to be concentrated again. The _spirit_ isn't blown
 apart, of course,--he doesn't mean that,--but it has an
 effect upon it. He hasn't seen all this, but he has been
 inquiring because he is interested.

O. J. L.--What about bodies that are burnt?

 Oh, if they get burnt by accident, if they know about it
 on this side, they detach the spirit first. What we call a
 spirit-doctor comes round and helps. But bodies should not
 be burnt on purpose. We have terrible trouble sometimes
 over people who are cremated too soon; they shouldn't be.
 It's a terrible thing; it has worried me. People are so
 careless. The idea seems to be--"hurry up and get them out
 of the way now that they are dead." Not until seven days,
 he says. They shouldn't be cremated for seven days.

O. J. L.--But what if the body goes bad?

 When it goes bad, the spirit is already out. If that much
 (indicating a trifle) of spirit is left in the body, it
 doesn't start mortifying. It is the action of the spirit
 on the body that keeps it from mortifying. When you speak
 about a person 'dying upwards,' it means that the spirit
 is getting ready and gradually getting out of the body.
 He saw the other day a man going to be cremated two days
 after the doctor said he was dead. When his relations on
 this side heard about it, they brought a certain doctor
 on our side, and when they saw that the spirit hadn't got
 really out of the body, they magnetised it, and helped it
 out. But there was still a cord, and it had to be severed
 rather quickly, and it gave a little shock to the spirit,
 like as if you had something amputated; but it had to be
 done. He believes it has to be done in every case. If
 the body is to be consumed by fire, it is helped out by
 spirit-doctors. He doesn't mean that a spirit-body comes
 out of its own body, but an essence comes out of the
 body--oozes out, he says, and goes into the other body
 which is being prepared. Oozes, he says, like in a string.
 String, that's what he say. Then it seems to shape itself,
 or something meets it and shapes round it. Like as if they
 met and went together, and formed a duplicate of the body
 left behind. It's all very interesting.[23]

 He told Lionel about his wanting a suit at first [at an
 unreported second sitting]. He never thought that they
 would be able to provide him with one.

O. J. L.--Yes, I know, Lionel told us; that you wanted something
more like your old clothes at first, and that they didn't force you
into new ones, but let you begin with the old kind, until you got
accustomed to the place (p. 189).

 Yes, he says, they didn't force me, but most of the people
 here wear white robes.

O. J. L.--Then, can you tell any difference between men and women?

 There are men here, and there are women here. I don't
 think that they stand to each other quite the same as they
 did on the earth plane, but they seem to have the same
 feeling to each other, with a different expression of it.
 There don't seem to be any children born here. People are
 sent into the physical body to have children on the earth
 plane; they don't have them here. But there's a feeling of
 love between men and women here which is of a different
 quality to that between two men or two women; and husband
 and wife seem to meet differently from mother and son, or
 father and daughter. He says he doesn't want to eat now.
 But he sees some who do; he says they have to be given
 something which has all the appearance of an earth food.
 People here try to provide everything that is wanted. A
 chap came over the other day, would _would_ have a cigar.
 "That's finished them," he thought. He means he thought
 they would never be able to provide that. But there are
 laboratories over here, and they manufacture all sorts of
 things in them. Not like you do, out of solid matter, but
 out of essences, and ethers, and gases. It's not the same
 as on the earth plane, but they were able to manufacture
 what looked like a cigar. He didn't try one himself,
 because he didn't care to; you know he wouldn't want
 to. But the other chap jumped at it. But when he began
 to smoke it, he didn't think so much of it; he had four
 altogether, and now he doesn't look at one.[24] They don't
 seem to get the same satisfaction out of it, so gradually
 it seems to drop from them. But when they first come they
 do want things. Some want meat, and some strong drink;
 they call for whisky sodas. Don't think I'm stretching it,
 when I tell you that they can manufacture even that. But
 when they have had one or two, they don't seem to want it
 so much--not those that are near here. He has heard of
 drunkards who want it for months and years over here, but
 he hasn't seen any. Those I have seen, he says, don't want
 it any more--like himself with his suit, he could dispense
 with it under the new conditions.

 He wants people to realise that it's just as natural as on
 the earth plane.

O. J. L.--Raymond, you said your house was made of bricks. How can
that be? What are the bricks made of?

 That's what he hasn't found out yet. He is told by some,
 who he doesn't think would lead him astray, that they
 are made from sort of emanations from the earth. He
 says there's something rising, like atoms rising, and
 consolidating after they come; they are not solid when
 they come, but we can collect and concentrate them--I mean
 those that are with me. They appear to be bricks, and
 when I touch them, they feel like bricks; and I have seen
 granite too.

 There's something perpetually rising from your plane;
 practically invisible--in atoms when it leaves your
 plane--but when it comes to the ether, it gains
 certain other qualities round each atom, and by the
 time it reaches us, certain people take it in hand,
 and manufacture solid things from it. Just as you can
 manufacture solid things.

 All the decay that goes on on the earth plane is not lost.
 It doesn't just form manure or dust. Certain vegetable
 and decayed tissue does form manure for a time, but it
 gives off an essence or a gas, which ascends, and which
 becomes what you call a 'smell.' Everything dead has a
 smell, if you notice; and I know now that the smell is of
 actual use, because it is from that smell that we are able
 to produce duplicates of whatever form it had before it
 became a smell. Even old wood has a smell different from
 new wood; you may have to have a keen nose to detect these
 things on the earth plane.

 Old rags, he says (_sotto voce_.--Yes, all right, Feda
 will go back), cloth decaying and going rotten. Different
 kinds of cloth give off different smells--rotting linen
 smells different to rotting wool. You can understand how
 all this interests me. Apparently, as far as I can gather,
 the rotting wool appears to be used for making things like
 tweeds on our side. But I know I am jumping, I'm guessing
 at it. My suit I expect was made from decayed worsted on
 your side.[25]

 Some people here won't take this in even yet--about the
 material cause of all these things. They go talking about
 spiritual robes made of light, built by the thoughts
 on the earth plane. I don't believe it. They go about
 thinking that it is a thought robe that they're wearing,
 resulting from the spiritual life they led; and when we
 try to tell them that it is manufactured out of materials,
 they don't believe it. They say, "No, no, it's a robe of
 light and brightness which I manufactured by thought."
 So we just leave it. But I don't say that they won't get
 robes quicker when they have led spiritual lives down
 there; I think they do, and that's what makes them think
 that they made the robes by their lives.

 You know flowers, how they decay. We have got flowers
 here; your decayed flowers flower again with us--beautiful
 flowers. Lily has helped me a lot with flowers.

O. J. L.--Do you like her?

 Yes, but he didn't expect to see her.

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--No. Raymond, you don't mean that.)

 Yes, he does. He says he's afraid he wasn't very polite to
 her when he met her at first; he didn't expect a grown-up
 sister there. Am I a little brother, he said, or is she
 my little sister? She calls me her little brother, but
 I have a decided impression that she should be my little

 He feels a bit of a mystery: he has got a brother there he
 knows, but he says _two_.

 (_Sotto voce._--No, Yaymond, you can't have two. No, Feda
 doesn't understand.) Is it possible, he says, that he has
 got another brother--one that didn't live at all?

O. J. L.--Yes, it is possible.

 But he says, no earth life at all! That's what's strange.
 I've seen some one that I am told is a brother, but I
 can't be expected to recognise him, can I? I feel somehow
 closer to Lily than I do to that one. By and by I will get
 to know him, I dare say.

 I'm told that I am doing very well in the short time I
 have been here. Taking to it--what he say?--duck to water,
 he say.

O. J. L.--You know the earth is rolling along through space. How do
you keep up with it?

 It doesn't seem like that to him.

O. J. L.--No, I suppose not. Do you see the stars?

 Yes, he sees the stars. The stars seem like what they did,
 only he feels closer to them. Not really closer, but they
 look clearer; not appreciably closer, he says.

O. J. L.--Are they grouped the same? Do you see the Great Bear, for

 Oh, yes, he sees the Great Bear. And he sees the ch, ch,
 chariot, he says.

O. J. L.--Do you mean Cassiopeia?

 Yes. [But I don't suppose he did.]

 There's one more mystery to him yet, it doesn't seem day
 and night quite by regular turns, like it did on the earth.

O. J. L.--But I suppose you see the sun?

 Yes, he sees the sun; but it seems always about the same
 degree of warmth, he doesn't feel heat or cold where he
 is. The sun doesn't make him uncomfortably hot. That
 is not because the sun has lost its heat, but because
 he hasn't got the same body that sensed the heat. When
 he comes into contact with the earth plane, and is
 manifesting, then he feels a little cold or warm--at least
 he does when a medium is present--not when he comes in the
 ordinary way just to look round. When he sang last night,
 he felt cold for a minute or two.

O. J. L.--Did he sing?

 Yes, he and Paulie had a scuffle. Paulie was singing
 first, and Yaymond thought he would like to sing too, so
 he chipped in at the end. He sang about three verses. It
 wasn't difficult, because there was a good deal of power
 there. Also nobody except Mrs. Kathie knew who he was, and
 so all eyes were not on him, and they were not expecting
 it, and that made it easier for him. He says it wasn't
 so difficult as keeping up a conversation; he just took
 the organs there, and materialised his own voice in her
 throat. He didn't find it very difficult, he hadn't got
 to think of anything, or collect his ideas; there was an
 easy flow of words, and he just sang. And I _did_ sing, he
 says; I thought I'd nearly killed the medium. She hadn't
 any voice at all after. When he heard himself that he had
 really got it, he had to let go. Raised the roof, he says,
 and he _did_ enjoy it!

 (Here Feda gave an amused chuckle with a jump and a

 He was just practising there, Yaymond says. At first he
 thought it wouldn't be easy.

 [This relates to what I am told was a real occurrence at a
 private gathering; but it is not evidential.]

O. J. L.--Raymond, you know you want to give me some proofs. What
kind of proofs do you think are best? Have you talked it over with
Mr. Myers, and have you decided on the kind of proof that will be
most evidential?

 I don't know yet. I feel divided between two ways:
 One is to give you objective proof, such as simple
 materialisations and direct voice, which you can set down
 and have attested. Or else I should have to give you
 information about my different experiences here, either
 something like what I am doing now, or through the table,
 or some other way. But he doesn't know whether he will be
 able to do the two things together.

O. J. L.--No, not likely, not at the same time. But you can take
opportunities of saying more about your life there.

 Yes, that's why he has been collecting information. He
 does so want to encourage people to look forward to a life
 they will certainly have to enter upon, and realise that
 it is a rational life. All this that he has been giving
 you now, and that I gave to Lionel, you must sort out, and
 put in order, because I can only give it scrappily. I want
 to study things here a lot. Would you think it selfish if
 I say I wouldn't like to be back now?--I wouldn't give
 this up for anything. Don't think it selfish, or that
 I want to be away from you all. I have still got you,
 because I feel you so close, closer even. I wouldn't come
 back, I wouldn't for anything that anyone could give me.

 He hardly liked to put it that way to his mother.

 Is Alec here? (Feda looking round.)

O. J. L.--No, but I hope he will be coming.

 Tell him not to say who he is. I did enjoy myself that
 first time that Lionel came--I could talk for hours.

(O. J. L. had here looked at his watch quietly.)

 I could talk for hours; don't go yet.

 He says he thinks he was lucky when he passed on,
 because he had so many to meet him. That came, he knows
 now, through your having been in with this thing for so
 long. He wants to impress this on those that you will be
 writing for: that it makes it so much easier for them if
 they and their friends know about it beforehand. It's
 awful when they have passed over and won't believe it
 for weeks,--they just think they're dreaming. And they
 won't realise things at all sometimes. He doesn't mind
 telling you now that, just at first, when he woke up, he
 felt a little depression. But it didn't last long. He
 cast his eyes round, and soon he didn't mind. But it was
 like finding yourself in a strange place, like a strange
 city; with people you hadn't seen, or not seen for a long
 time, round you. Grandfather was with me straight away;
 and presently Robert. I got mixed up between two Roberts.
 And there's some one called Jane comes to him, who calls
 herself an aunt, he says. Jane. He's uncertain about her.
 Jane--Jennie. She calls herself an aunt; he is told to
 call her 'Aunt Jennie.' Is she my Aunt Jennie? he says.

O. J. L.--No, but your mother used to call her that.

 [And so on, simple talk about family and friends.]

 He has brought that doggie again, nice doggie. A doggie
 that goes like this, and twists about (Feda indicating
 a wriggle). He has got a nice tail, not a little stumpy
 tail, nice tail with nice hair on it. He sits up like that
 sometimes, and comes down again, and puts his tongue out
 of his mouth. He's got a cat too, plenty of animals, he
 says. He hasn't seen any lions and tigers, but he sees
 horses, cats, dogs, and birds. He says you know this
 doggie; he has nice hair, a little wavy, which sticks
 up all over him, and has twists at the end. Now he's
 jumping round. He hasn't got a very pointed face, but it
 isn't like a little pug-dog either; it's rather a long
 shape. And he has nice ears what flaps, not standing up;
 nice long hairs on them too. A darkish colour he looks,
 darkish, as near as Feda can see him. [See photograph, p.

O. J. L.--Does he call him by any name?

 He says, 'Not him.'

 (_Sotto voce._--What you mean 'not him'? It is a 'him';
 you don't call him 'it.')

 No, he won't explain. No, he didn't give it a name. It can

 [All this about a she-dog called Curly, whose death had
 been specially mentioned by 'Myers' through another medium
 some years ago,--an incident reported privately to the
 S.P.R. at the time,--is quite good as far as it goes.]

 He has met a spirit here, he says, who knows you--G.
 Nothing to do with the other G. Some one that's a very
 fine sort indeed. His name begins with G--Gal, Gals, Got,
 Got,--he doesn't know him very well, but it sounds like
 that. It isn't who you feel, though it might have been,
 nothing to do with that at all. Some one called Golt--he
 didn't know him, but he is interested in you, and had met

 It's surprising how many people come up to me, he says,
 and shake me by the hand, and speak to me. I don't know
 them from Adam. (_Sotto voce_.--Adam, he say.) But they
 are doing me honour here, and some of them are such
 fine men. He doesn't know them, but they all seem to
 be interested in you, and they say, "Oh, are you his

 Feda is losing control.

O. J. L.--Well, good-bye, Raymond, then, and God bless you.

 God bless _you_. I do so want you to know that I am very
 happy. And bless them all. My love to you. I can't tell
 what I feel, but you can guess. It's difficult to put
 into words. My love to all. God bless you and everybody.
 Good-bye, father.

O. J. L.--Good-bye, Raymond. Good-bye, Feda.

(Feda here gave a jerk, and a 'good-bye.')

 Love to her what 'longs to you, and to Lionel. Feda knows
 what your name is, 'Soliver,' yes. (Another squeak.)

  (_Sitting ended 8.20 p.m._)

The conclusion of sittings is seldom of an evidential character, and
by most people would not be recorded; but occasionally it may be best
to quote one completely, just as a specimen of what may be called the
'manner' of a sitting.

    [Footnote 22: Alec had had a sitting with Peters, not with
    Mrs. Leonard.]

    [Footnote 23: I confess that I think that Feda may have
    got a great deal of this, perhaps all of it, from people
    who have read or written some of the books referred to
    in my introductory remarks. But inasmuch as her other
    utterances are often evidential, I feel that I have no
    right to pick and choose; _especially as I know nothing
    about it, one way or the other_.]

    [Footnote 24: Some of this Feda talk is at least humorous.]

    [Footnote 25: have not yet traced the source of all this
    supposed information.]



On 17 December 1915, I was talking to Mrs. Kennedy when her hand
began to write, and I had a short conversation which may be worth

 I have been here such a long time, please tell father I am

O. J. L.--My boy!

 Dear father!

 Father, it was difficult to say all one felt, but now I
 don't care. I love you. I love you intensely. Father,
 please speak to me.

O. J. L.--I recognise it, Raymond. Have you anything to say for the
folk at home?

 I have been there to-day; I spoke to mother. I don't know
 if she heard me, but I rather think so. Please tell her
 this, and kiss her from me.

O. J. L.--She had a rather vivid dream or vision of you one morning
lately. I don't know if it was a dream.

 I feel sure she will see me, but I don't know, because I
 am so often near her that I can't say yes or no to any
 particular time.

O. J. L.--Raymond, you know it is getting near Christmas now?

 I know. I shall be there; keep jolly or it hurts me
 horribly. Truly, I know it is difficult, but you _must_
 know by now that I am so splendid. I shall never be one
 instant out of the house on Christmas Day. (Pause.)

 He has gone to fetch some one.--Paul.

 (This is the sort of interpolation which frequently
 happens. Paul signs his explanatory sentence.)

 (K. K. presently said that Raymond had returned, and
 expected me to be aware of it.)

 I have brought Mr. Myers. He says he doesn't often come to
 use this means, but he wants to speak for a moment.

 "Get free and go on," he says. "Don't let them trammel
 you. Get at it, Lodge."--Myers.

 He has gone, tell my father.

(O. J. L., _sotto voce_.--What does that mean?)

(K. K.--I haven't an idea.)

O. J. L.--Has Myers gone right away?

 "I have spoken, but I will speak again, if you keep quiet
 (meaning K. K.). Do cease to think, or you are useless.
 Tell Lodge I can't explain half his boy is to me. I feel
 as if I had my own dearly loved son here, yet I know he is
 only lent to me.

 "Pardon me if I rarely use you (to K. K.); I can't stand
 the way you bother."--Myers.

K. K.--Do you mean the way I get nervous if I am taking a message
from you?

 "Yes, I do."

 [This interpolated episode was commented on by O. J. L. as
 very characteristic.]

O. J. L.--Is Raymond still there?


O. J. L.--Raymond, do you know we've got that photograph you spoke
of? Mrs. Cheves sent us it, the mother of Cheves--Captain Cheves, you
remember him?

 Yes, I know you have the photograph.

O. J. L.--Yes, and your description of it was very good. And we have
seen the man leaning on you. Was there another one taken of you?

K. K.--'Four,' he says 'four.' Did you say 'four,' Raymond?

 Yes, I did.

O. J. L.--Yes, we have those taken of you by yourself, but was
another taken of you with other officers?

 I hear, father; I shall look, but I think you have had the
 one I want you to have; I have seen you looking at it. I
 have heard all that father has said. It is ripping to come
 like this. Tell my father I have enjoyed it.--Raymond.

O. J. L.--Before you go, Raymond, I want to ask a serious question.
Have you been let to see Christ?

 Father, I shall see him presently. It is not time yet. I
 am not ready. But I know he lives, and I know he comes
 here. All the sad ones see him if no one else can help
 them. Paul has seen him: you see he had such a lot of
 pain, poor chap. I am not expecting to see him yet,
 father. I shall love to when it's the time.--Raymond.

O. J. L.--Well, we shall be very happy this Christmas I think.

 Father, tell mother she has her son with her all day on
 Christmas Day. There will be thousands and thousands of
 us back in the homes on that day, but the horrid part is
 that so many of the fellows don't get welcomed. Please
 keep a place for me. I must go now. Bless you again,

 (Paul then wrote a few words to his mother.)



On 21 December 1915 Alec had his first sitting with Mrs. Leonard;
but he did not manage to go quite anonymously--the medium knew that
he was my son. Again there is a good deal of unverifiable matter,
which whether absurd or not I prefer not to suppress; my reasons are
indicated in Chapters xii and xvi Part II, and xi Part III.

_Alec's (A. M. L.'s) Sitting with Mrs. Leonard at her House on
Tuesday Afternoon, 21 December 1915, 3.15 to 4.30 p.m._

(Medium knows I am Sir Oliver Lodge's son.)

Front room; curtains drawn; dark; small red lamp. No one else present.

Mrs. Leonard shook hands saying, "Mr. Lodge?"

(Medium begins by rubbing her own hands vigorously.)

 Good morning! This is Feda.

 Raymond's here. He would have liked A _and_ B.

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--What you mean, A _and_ B?)

 Oh, he would have liked to talk to A and B. [See Note A.]
 He says: "I wish you could see me, I am so pleased; but
 you know I am pleased."

 He has been trying hard to get to you at home. He thinks
 he is getting closer, and better able to understand the
 conditions which govern this way of communicating. He
 thinks that in a little while he will be able to give
 actual tests at home. He knows he has got through, but
 not satisfactorily. He gets so far, and then flounders.

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--That's what fishes do!)

 He says he is feeling splendid. He did not think it was
 possible to feel so well.

 He was waiting here; he knew you were coming, but thought
 you might not be able to come to-day. [Train half an hour

 Did you take notice of what he said about the place he is

A. M. L.--Yes. But I find it very difficult to understand.

 He says, it is such a solid place, I have not got over it
 yet. It is so wonderfully real.

 He spoke about a river to his father; he has not seen the
 sea yet. He has found water, but doesn't know whether he
 will find a sea. He is making new discoveries every day.
 So _much_ is new, although of course not to people who
 have been here some time.

 He went into the library with his grandfather--Grandfather
 William--and also somebody called Richard, and he says the
 books there seem to be the same as you read.

 Now this is extraordinary: There are books there not yet
 published on the earth plane. He is told--only told, he
 does not know if it is correct--that those books will be
 produced, books like those that are there now; that the
 matter in them will be impressed on the brain of some man,
 he supposes an author.

 He says that not everybody on his plane is allowed to read
 those books; they might hurt them--that is, the books not
 published yet. Father is going to write one--not the one
 on now, but a fresh one.

 Has his father found out who it was, beginning with G, who
 said he was going to help (meaning help Raymond) for his
 father's sake? It was not the person he thought it was at
 the time (p. 204).

 It is very difficult to get things through. He wants to
 keep saying how pleased he is to come.

 There are hundreds of things he will think of after he is

 He has brought Lily, and William--the young one----

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--I don't know whether it is right,
 but he appears to have two brothers.)

 [Two brothers as well as a sister died in extreme infancy.
 He would hardly know that, normally.--O. J. L.]

 A. M. L.--Feda, will you ask Raymond if he would like me
 to ask some questions?

 Yes, with pleasure, he says.

A. M. L.--A little time ago, Raymond said he was with mother. Mother
would like to know if he can say what she was doing when he came? Ask
Raymond to think it over, and see if he can remember?

 Yes, yes. She'd got some wool and scissors. She had a
 square piece of stuff--he is showing me this--she was
 working on the square piece of stuff. He shows me that she
 was cutting the wool with the scissors.

 Another time, she was in bed.

 She was in a big chair--dark covered----

 This refers to the time mentioned first. [Note B.]

A. M. L.--Ask Raymond if he can remember which room she was in?


 He can't remember. He can't always see more than a corner
 of the room--it appears vapourish and shadowy.

 He often comes when you're in bed.

 He tried to call out loudly: he shouted, 'Alec, Alec!'
 but he didn't get any answer. That is what puzzles him.
 He thinks he has shouted, but apparently he has not even
 manufactured a whisper.

A. M. L.--Feda, will you ask Raymond if he can remember trivial
things that happened, as these things often make the best tests?

 He says he can now and again.

A. M. L.--The questions that father asked about 'Evinrude,'
'Dartmoor,' and 'Argonauts,' are all trivial, but make good tests,
as father knows nothing about them.

 Yes, Raymond quite understands. He is just as keen as you
 are to give those tests.

A. M. L.--Ask Raymond if the word 'Evinrude' in connexion with a
holiday trip reminds him of anything?

 Yes. (Definitely.)

A. M. L.--And 'Argonauts'?

 Yes. (Definitely.)

A. M. L.--And 'Dartmoor'?

 Yes. (Definitely.)

A. M. L.--Well, don't answer the questions now, but if father asks
them again, see if you can remember anything.

 (While Alec was speaking, Feda was getting a message

 He says something burst.

[This is excellent for Dartmoor, but I knew it.--A. M. L.]
[Note C.]

A. M. L.--Tell Raymond I am quite sure he gets things through
occasionally, but that I think often the meaning comes through
altered, and very often appears to be affected by the sitter. It
appears to me that they usually get what they expect.

 Raymond says, "I only wish they did!" But in a way you are
 right. He is never able to give all he wishes. Sometimes
 only a word, which often must appear quite disconnected.
 Often the word does not come from his mind; he has no
 trace of it. Raymond says, for this reason it is a good
 thing to try, more, to come and give something definite at
 home. When you sit at the table, he feels sure that what
 he wants to say is influenced by some one at the table.
 Some one is helping him, some one at the table is guessing
 at the words. He often starts a word, but somebody
 finishes it.

 He asked father to let you come and not say who you were;
 he says it would have been a bit of fun.

A. M. L.--Ask Raymond if he can remember any characteristic things we
used to talk about among ourselves?

 Yes. He says you used to talk about cars.

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--What you mean? Everybody talks about

 And singing. He used to fancy he could sing. He didn't
 sing hymns. On Thursday nights he has to sing hymns, but
 they are not in his line.

 [On Thursday nights I am told that a circle holds sittings
 for developing the direct voice at Mrs. Leonard's, and
 that they sing hymns. Paul and Raymond have been said to
 join in. Cf. near end of Chapter XVI, p. 201.]

A. M. L.--What used he to sing?

 Hello--Hullalo--sounds like Hullulu--Hullulo. Something
 about 'Hottentot'; but he is going back a long way, he
 thinks. [See note in Appendix about this statement.]

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--An orange lady?)

 He says something about an orange lady.

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--Not what sold oranges?)

 No, of course not. He says a song extolling the virtues
 and beauties of an orange lady.

[Song: "My Orange Girl." Excellent. The last song he
bought.--A. M. L.]

 And a funny song which starts 'MA,' but Feda can't see any
 more--like somebody's name. Also something about 'Irish
 eyes.' [See Note D.]

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--Are they really songs?)

 Very much so.

(A number of unimportant incidents were now mentioned.)

 He says it is somebody's birthday in January.

A. M. L.--It _is_.

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--What's a beano? Whose birthday?)

 He won't say whose birthday. He says, _He_ knows (meaning

[Raymond's own birthday, 25 Jan., was understood.]

 (More family talk.)

 Yes, he says he is going now. He says the power is getting

A. M. L.--Wish him good luck from me, Feda.

 Love to all of them.

 My love to you, old chap.

 Just before I go: Don't ever any of you regret my going. I
 believe I have got more to do than I could have ever done
 on the earth plane. It is only a case of waiting, and just
 meeting every one of you as you come across to him. He is
 going now. He says Willie too--young Willie. [His deceased

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--Yes, what? Proclivities?)

 Oh, he is only joking.

 He says: Not Willie of the weary
 proplic--propensities--that's it.

 He is joking. Just as many jokes here as ever before.
 Even when singing hymns. When he and Paul are singing,
 they do a funny dance with their arms. (Showing a sort of
 cake-walk--moving arms up and down.)

 (Feda.--It's a silly dance, anyway.)

 Good-bye, and good luck.

 [Characteristic; see, for instance, a letter of his on
 page 41 above. I happen to have just seen another letter,
 to Brodie, which concludes: "Well, good-bye, Brodie, and
 good luck."--O. J. L.]

 Yes, he is going. Yes. He is gone now, yes.

 Do you want to say anything to Feda?

A. M. L.--Yes, thank you very much for all your help. The messages
are sometimes difficult, but it is most important to try and give
exactly what you hear, and nothing more, whether you understand it or

 Feda understands. She only say exactly what she hear, even
 though it is double-Dutch. Don't forget to give my love to
 them all.

A. M. L.--Good-bye, Feda. (Shakes hands.)

Medium comes-to in about two or three minutes.

  (Signed) A. M. L.

  21 _December_ 1915

[All written out fair same evening. Part on way home, and part after
arriving, without disturbance from seeing anybody.]


This seems to have been a good average sitting; it contains a few
sufficiently characteristic remarks, but not much evidential. What is
said about songs in it, however, is rather specially good. In further
explanation, a few notes, embodying more particular information
obtained by me from the family when reading the sitting over to them,
may now be added:--


The 'A _and_ B' manifestly mean his brothers Alec and Brodie; and
there was a natural reason for bracketing them together, inasmuch
as they constitute the firm Lodge Brothers, with which Raymond was
already to a large extent, and hoped to be still more closely,
associated. But there may have been a minor point in it, since
between Alec and Brodie long ago, at their joint preparatory school,
there was a sort of joke, of which Raymond was aware, about problems
given in algebra and arithmetic books: where, for instance, A buys
so many dozen at some price, and B buys some at another price; the
question being to compare their profits. Or where A does a piece of
work in so many days, and B does something else. It is usually not at
all obvious, without working out, which gets the better of it, A or
B; and Alec seems to have recognised, in the manner of saying A and
B, some reference to old family chaff on this subject.


The reference to a square piece of stuff, cut with scissors, suggests
to his mother, not the wool-work which she is doing like everybody
else for soldiers, but the cutting of a circular piece out of a
Raymond blanket that came back with his kit, for the purpose of
covering a round four-legged table which was subsequently used for
sittings, in order to keep it clean without its having to be dusted
or otherwise touched by servants. It is not distinct enough to be
evidential, however.


About Dartmoor, "he says something burst." Incidents referred to in a
previous sitting, when I was there alone, were the running downhill,
clapping on brake, and swirling round corners (p. 156); but all
this was associated with, and partly caused by, the bursting of the
silencer in the night after the hilly country had been reached. And
it was the fearful noise subsequent to the bursting of the silencer
that the boys had expected him to remember.


The best evidential thing, however, is on p. 212--a reference to
a song of his called "My Orange Girl." If the name of the song
merely had been given, though good enough, it would not have been
quite so good, because the name of a song is common property. But
the particular mode of describing it, in such a way as to puzzle
Feda, namely, "an orange lady," making her think rather of a market
woman, is characteristic of Raymond--especially the sentence about
"extolling her virtues and beauties," which is not at all appropriate
to Feda, and is exactly like Raymond. So is "Willie of the weary

The song "Irish Eyes" was also, I find, quite correct. It seems to
have been a comparatively recent song, which he had sung several

Again, the song described thus by Feda:--

"A funny song which starts Ma. But Feda can't see any more--like
somebody's name."

I find that the letters M A were pronounced separately--not as a
word. To me the MA had suggested one of those nigger songs about 'Ma
Honey'--the kind of song which may have been indicated by the word
'Hottentot' above. But, at a later table sitting at Mariemont, he
was asked what song he meant by the letters M A, and then he spelt
out clearly the name 'Maggie.' This song was apparently unknown to
those at the table, but was recognised by Norah, who was in the room,
though not at the table, as a still more recent song of Raymond's,
about "Maggie Magee." (See Appendix also.)



(Dictated by O. J. L., 12 April 1916.)

Last night the family were singing over some songs, and came across
one which is obviously the one referred to in the above sitting of
A. M. L. with Mrs. Leonard, held nearly four months ago, of which a
portion ran thus (just before the reference to Orange Girl):--

"A. M. L.--What used he to sing?

 Hello--Hullalo--sounds like Hullulu,--Hullulo. Something
 about 'Hottentot'; but he is going back a long way, he

References to other songs known to the family followed, but this
reference to an unknown song was vaguely remembered by the family
as a puzzle; and it existed in A. M. L.'s mind as "a song about
'Honolulu,'"--this being apparently the residual impression produced
by the 'Hullulu' in combination with 'Hottentot'; but no Honolulu
song was known.

A forgotten and overlooked song has now (11 April 1916) turned up,
which is marked in pencil "R. L. 3.3.4.," _i.e._ 3 March 1904, which
corresponds to his "going back a long way"--to a time, in fact, when
he was only fifteen. It is called, "My Southern Maid"; and although
no word about 'Honolulu' occurs in the printed version, one of the
verses has been altered in Raymond's writing in pencil; and that
alteration is the following absurd introduction to a noisy chorus:--

  "Any little flower from a tulip to a rose,
  If you'll be Mrs. John James Brown
  Of Hon-o-lu-la-lu-la town."

Until these words were sung last night, nobody seems to have
remembered the song "My Southern Maid," and there appears to be no
reason for associating it with the word 'Honolulu' or any similar
sound, so far as public knowledge was concerned, or apart from
Raymond's alterations.

Alec calls attention to the fact that, in answer to his question
about songs, no songs were mentioned which were not actually
Raymond's songs; and that those which were mentioned were not those
he was expecting. Furthermore, that if he had thought of these songs
he would have thought of them by their ordinary titles, such as
"My Orange Girl" and "My Southern Maid"; though the latter he had
forgotten altogether.

(A sort of disconnected sequel to this song episode occurred some
months later, as reported in Chapter XXIII.)



It had been several times indicated that Raymond wanted to come into
the family circle at home, and that Honor, whom he often refers to
as H., would be able to help him. Attempted private sittings of this
kind were referred to by Raymond through London mediums, and he gave
instruction as to procedure, as already reported (pp. 160 and 190).

After a time some messages were received, and family communications
without any outside medium have gradually become easy.

Records were at first carefully kept, but I do not report them,
because clearly it is difficult to regard anything thus got as
evidential. At the same time, the naturalness of the whole, and the
ready way in which family jokes were entered into and each new-comer
recognised and welcomed appropriately, were very striking. A few
incidents, moreover, were really of an evidential character, and
these must be reported in due course.

But occasionally the table got rather rampageous and had to be
quieted down. Sometimes, indeed, both the table and things like
flower-pots got broken. After these more violent occasions, Raymond
volunteered the explanation, through mediums in London, that he
couldn't always control it, and that there was a certain amount of
skylarking, not on our side, which he tried to prevent (see pp.
182, 194 and 273); though in certain of the surprising mechanical
demonstrations, and, so to speak, tricks, which certainly seemed
beyond the normal power of anyone touching the table, he appeared to
be decidedly interested, and was represented as desirous of repeating
a few of the more remarkable ones for my edification.

I do not, however, propose to report in this book concerning any
purely physical phenomena. They require a more thorough treatment.
Suffice it to say that the movements were not only intelligent, but
were sometimes, though very seldom, such as apparently could not be
accomplished by any normal application of muscular force, however
unconsciously such force might be exerted by anyone--it might only be
a single person--left in contact with the table.

A family sitting with no medium present is quite different from one
held with a professional or indeed any outside medium. Information is
freely given about the doings of the family; and the general air is
that of a family conversation; because, of course, in fact, no one
but the family is present.

At any kind of sitting the conversation is rather one-sided, but
whereas with a medium the sitter is reticent, and the communicator
is left to do nearly all the talking, in a family group the sitters
are sometimes voluble; while the ostensible control only occasionally
takes the trouble to spell out a sentence, most of his activity
consisting in affirmation and negation and rather effective dumb show.

I am reluctant to print a specimen of these domestic chats, though it
seems necessary to give some account of them.

On Christmas Day, 1915, the family had a long table sitting. It was a
friendly and jovial meeting, with plenty of old songs interspersed,
which he seemed thoroughly to enjoy and, as it were, 'conduct';
but for publication I think it will be better to select something
shorter, and I find a description written by one to whom such things
were quite new except by report--a lady who had been governess in the
family for many years, when even the elder children were small, and
long before Raymond was born. This lady, Miss F. A. Wood, commonly
called 'Woodie' from old times, happened to be staying on a visit
to Mariemont in March 1916, and was present at two or three of the
family sittings. She was much interested in her first experience,
and wrote an account immediately afterwards, which, as realistically
giving the impression of a witness, I have obtained her permission to
copy here.

At this date the room was usually considerably darkened for a
sitting; but even partial darkness was unnecessary, and was soon
afterwards dispensed with, especially as it interfered with easy
reading of music at the piano.

_Table Sitting in the Drawing-room at Mariemont, Thursday, 2 March
1916, about 6 p.m._

_Sitters_--LADY LODGE, NORAH, and WOODIE; later, HONOR

_Report by Miss F. A. Wood_

As it was the first time that I had ever been at a sitting of any
kind, I shall put down the details as fully as I can remember them.

The only light in the room was from the gas-fire, a large one,
so that we could see each other and things in the room fairly
distinctly; the table used at this time was a rather small octagonal
one, though weighty for its size, with strong centre stem, supported
on three short legs, top like a chess-board. Lady Lodge sat with
her back to window looking on to drive, Norah with back to windows
looking on to tennis-lawn, and I, Woodie, had my back to the sofa.

As we were about to sit down, Lady Lodge said: "We always say a
little prayer first."

I had hoped that she intended to pray aloud for us all, but she did
it silently, so I did the same, having been upstairs before and done
this also.

For some time nothing whatever happened. I only felt that the table
was keeping my hands extremely cold.

After about half an hour, Lady Lodge said: "I don't think that anyone
is coming to-night; we will wait just a little longer, and then go."

LADY LODGE.--Is anyone here to-night to speak to us? Do come if you
can, because we want to show Woodie what a sitting is like. Raymond,
dear, do you think you could come to us?

 (No answer.)

 During the half-hour before Lady Lodge asked any questions I had felt
every now and then a curious tingling in my hands and fingers, and
then a much stronger drawing sort of feeling through my hands and
arms, which caused the table to have a strange intermittent trembling
sort of feeling, though it was not a movement of the _whole_ table.
Another 'feeling' was as if a 'bubble' of the table came up, and
tapped gently on the palm of my left hand. At first I only felt it
once; after a short interval three times; then a little later about
twelve times. And once (I shall not be able to explain this) I felt
rather than heard a faint tap in the centre of the table (away from
people's hands).

Nearly every time I felt these queer movements Lady Lodge asked, "Did
you move, Woodie?" I had certainly not done so consciously, and said
so, and while I was feeling that 'drawing' feeling through hands and
arms, I said nothing myself, till Lady Lodge and Norah both said,
"What _is_ the table doing? It has never done like this before." Then
I told of my strange feelings in hands and arms, etc. Lady Lodge said
it must be due to nerves, or muscles, or something of the sort. These
strange feelings did not last long at a time, and generally, but not
always, they came after Lady Lodge had asked questions (to some one
on the other side).

After a bit, when the 'feelings' had gone from me at least, Lady
Lodge suggested Norah's going for Honor, who came, but said on first
sitting down that the table felt dead, and she did not think that
anyone was there.

LADY L.--Is anyone coming? We should be so pleased if anyone could;
we have been sitting here some time very patiently.

Nothing happened for a bit, and Lady Lodge said, "I don't think it is
any good."

But I said, "Oh, do wait a little longer, that tingling feeling is
coming back again."

And Honor said, "Yes, I think there is something."

And then the table began to move, and Lady Lodge asked:--

LADY L.--Raymond, darling, is that you?

 (The table rocked three times.)

LADY L.--That is good of you, because Woodie did so want you to come.

 (The table rocked to and fro with a pleased motion, most
 difficult to express on paper.)

WOODIE.--Do you think that I have any power?


 [Personally, I do not feel so sure of this. After
 the sitting and during it, I felt there might be a

LADY L.--Lorna has gone to nurse the soldiers, night duty. They are
typhoid patients, and I do not like it. Do you think it will do her
any harm?


LADY L.--Do you like her doing this?


LADY L.--You are rocking like a rocking-horse. Do you remember the
rocking-horse at Newcastle?


LADY L.--Can you give its name? (They went through the alphabet, and
it spelt out:--)


 [It used to be called Archer Prince.]

 (Soon after this the table began to show signs of
 restlessness, and Honor said: "I expect he wants to send a
 message." So Lady Lodge said:--)

LADY L.--Do you want to send a message?


HONOR.--Well, we're all ready; start away.


HONOR.--Raymond, that is wrong, isn't it? Was "Your love to my" right?


HONOR.--Very well, we will start from there.

 (The message then ran:--


Before the whole of 'sister' was made out, he showed great delight;
and when the message was repeated to him in full to see if it was
right, he was so pleased, and showed it so vigorously, that _he_, and
we, all laughed together.

I could never have believed how real the feeling would be of his
presence amongst us.)

LADY L.--Do you mean Lily?


LADY L.--Is she here?


LADY L.--Are you here in the room?


LADY L.--Can Lily see us?


LADY L.--Lily, darling, your mother does love you so dearly. I have
wanted to send you my love. I shall come to see you some time, and
then we shall be so happy, my dear, dear little girl. Thank you very
much for coming to help Raymond, and coming to the table sometimes,
till he can come himself. My love to you, darling, and to Brother
Bill, too.

 (Raymond seemed very pleased when Brother Bill was

 (The table now seemed to wish to get into Lady Lodge's
 lap, and made most caressing movements to and fro, and
 seemed as if it could not get close enough to her.

 Soon we realised that he was wanting to go, so we asked
 him if this was so, and he said:--)


 (So we said 'good night' to him, and after giving two
 rather slight movements, which I gather is what he
 generally does just as he is going, we said 'good night'
 once more, and came away.)

  (Signed)      WOODIE

One other family sitting, a still shorter one, may be quoted as a
specimen also; though out of place. A question asked was suggested by
something reported on page 230. It appears that Miss Wood was still
here, but that on this occasion she was not one of those that touched
the table.

At this date the table generally used happened to be a chess-table
with centre pillar and three claw feet. After this table and another
one had got broken during the more exuberant period of these domestic
sittings, before the power had got under control, a stronger and
heavier round table with four legs was obtained, and employed only
for this purpose.

_Table Sitting in the Drawing-Room at Mariemont, 9 p.m., Monday, 17
April 1916_


Music going on in the drawing-room at Mariemont.

The girls (four of them) and Alec singing at the piano. Woodie and
Honor and I sitting at the other end of the room. Lionel in the large

The Shakespeare Society was meeting in the house, and at that time
having coffee in the dining-room, so O. J. L. was not with us.

Woodie thought Raymond was in the room and would like to hear the
singing, but Honor thought it too late to begin with the table, as we
should shortly be going into the dining-room.

However, I got the table ready near the piano, and Honor came to it,
and the _instant_ she placed her hands on it, it began to rock. I put
my hands on too.

We asked if it was Raymond, and if he had been waiting, and he said:--


He seemed to wish to listen to the music, and kept time with it
gently. And after a song was over that he liked, he very distinctly
and decidedly applauded.

Lionel came (I think at Raymond's request) and sat at the table with
us. It was determined to edge itself close to the piano, though we
said we must pull it back, and did so. But it would go there, and
thumped Barbie, who was playing the piano, in time to the music. Alec
took one of the black satin cushions and held it against her as a
buffer. The table continued to bang, and made a little hole in the

It then edged itself along the floor, where for a minute or two it
could make a sound on the boards beyond the carpet. Then it seemed to
be feeling about with one foot (it has three).

It found a corner of the skirting board, where it could lodge one
foot about 6 inches from the ground. It then raised the other three
level with it, in the air; and this it did many times, seeming
delighted with its new trick.

It then laid itself down on the ground, and we asked if we should
help it and lift it up, but it banged a


on the floor, and raised itself a little several times without having
the strength to get up. It lifted itself quite a foot from the
ground, and was again asked if we might not lift it, but it again
banged once for


But Lionel then said:--

LIONEL.--Well, Pat, my hand is in a most uncomfortable position;
won't you let me put the table up?

 It at once banged three times for


 So we raised it.

 I then said:--

M. F. A. L.--Raymond, I want to ask you a question as a test: What is
the name of the sphere on which you are living?

[I did this, because others beside Raymond have said, through Mrs.
Leonard, that they were living on the third sphere, and that it
was called 'Summerland,' so I thought it might be an idea of the
medium's.[26] I don't much like these 'sphere' messages, and don't
know whether they mean anything; but I assume that 'sphere' may mean
condition, or state of development.]

We took the alphabet, and the answer came at once:--


We asked, after the second R, if there was not some mistake; and
again when O came, instead of the A we had expected for 'Summerland.'

But he said No.

So we went on, though I thought it was hopelessly wrong, and ceased
to follow. I felt sure it was mere muddle.

So my surprise was the greater when the note-taker read out, 'Summer
R. Lodge,' and I found he had signed his name to it, to show, I
suppose, that it was his own statement, and not Feda's.

[Lorna reports that the impression made upon them was that Raymond
knew they had been expecting one ending, and that he was amused
at having succeeded in giving them another. They enjoyed the joke
together, and the table shook as if laughing.]

We talked to him a little after this, and Alec and Noël put their
hands on the table, and we said good night.

It is only necessary to add that the mechanical movements here
described are _not_ among those which, on page 218, I referred to
as physically unable to be done by muscular effort on the part of
anyone whose hands are only on the table top. I am not in this book
describing any cases of that sort. Whatever was the cause of the
above mechanical trick movements, which were repeated on a subsequent
occasion for my observation, the circumstances were not strictly
evidential. I ought to say, however, that most certainly I am sure
that no _conscious_ effort was employed by anyone present.

[Illustration: MARIEMONT]



It may be well to give a word of warning to those who find that they
possess any unusual power in the psychic direction, and to counsel
regulated moderation in its use. Every power can be abused, and even
the simple faculty of automatic writing can with the best intentions
be misapplied. Self-control is more important than any other form of
control, and whoever possesses the power of receiving communications
in any form should see to it that he remains master of the situation.
To give up your own judgement and depend solely on adventitious
aid is a grave blunder, and may in the long run have disastrous
consequences. Moderation and common sense are required in those who
try to utilise powers which neither they nor any fully understand,
and a dominating occupation in mundane affairs is a wholesome

    [Footnote 26: The statement will be found on page 230, in
    the record of a sitting preceding this in date.]



After Christmas I had proposed to drop the historical order and make
selections as convenient, but I find that sequence must to some
extent be maintained, because of the inter-locking of sittings with
different mediums and development generally. I shall, however, only
preserve historical order so far as it turns out useful or relevant,
and will content myself with reporting that on 3 January 1916
Raymond's eldest sister, Violet (the one married to the 'Rowland'
that he mentioned through Feda), had a good sitting with him, and
was not only recognised easily, but knowledge was shown of much that
she had been doing, and of what she was immediately planning to do.
Reference was also made by Raymond to what he called his special room
in her house (p. 45); and, later, he said that that room was bare of
furniture, which it was.

And at some of the sittings now, deceased friends, not relatives,
were brought by Raymond, and gave notable evidence both to us and
to other people; especially to parents in some cases, to widows in
others; some of which may perhaps be partially reported hereafter.

I propose now to pass on to some unverifiable matter (see Chapters
XII and XVI), and especially to a strange and striking sitting which
Lady Lodge had with Mrs. Leonard on 4 February 1916.

This may as well be reported almost in full, in spite of unimportant
and introductory portions, since it seems fairer to give the context,
especially of unverifiable matter. But I feel bound to say that
there is divergence of opinion as to whether this particular record
ought to be published or not. I can only say that I recognise the
responsibility, and hope that I am right in partially accepting it.

_Non-Evidential Sitting of M. F. A. L. with Mrs. Leonard at her House
on Friday, 4 February 1916, from 8.30 p.m. to 11.10 p.m._

(M. F. A. L. alone.)

 Feda.--Oh, it's Miss Olive!

M. F. A. L.--So glad to meet you, Feda!

 Feda love you and Soliver best of all. SLionel and SAlec
 too she love very much.

 Yaymond is here. He has been all over the place with
 Paulie, to all sorts of places to the mediums, to try and
 get poor boys into touch with their mothers. Some are very
 jealous of those who succeed. They try to get to their
 mothers, and they can't--they are shut out. They make me
 feel as though I could cry to see them. We explain that
 their mothers and fathers don't know about communicating.
 They say, why don't they all go to mediums?

 Yaymond say, it makes me wonder too.

 He say, he was telling Feda, it was awful funny the things
 some of them did--it has a funny side, going to see the
 mediums. You see, Paul and he couldn't help having a joke;
 they are boys themselves, laughing over funny things.

 He says he was listening to Paul, and he was describing
 the drawing-room at home. (A good description was now
 given of the drawing-room at Mariemont, which the medium
 had never seen.)

 Feda sees flowers; they're Feda's, not Gladys's.

 [M. F. A. L. had brought flowers for Mrs. Leonard.]

M. F. A. L.--Don't you have flowers, then?

 Yes, lots of flowers. But Feda like to have them in
 Gladys's room. [Apparently this must be Mrs. Leonard's

 There's a lot in prayer. Prayer keeps out evil things,
 and keeps nice clean conditions. Raymond says, keeps out

 Mother, I don't want to talk about material things, but
 to satisfy anxiety. I was very uneasy on Monday night. I
 tried to come near, but there was a band round me. We were
 all there.

M. F. A. L.--The Zeppelins did come on Monday night, but they did not
touch us. [We went to bed and didn't worry about them.]

 He says, they worked in a circular way, east and south of
 you. Awful! He hoped it wouldn't upset you; he didn't want
 them to come too close. I know you're not nervous, but I
 fear for you. If he'd been on the earth plane, he'd have
 been flying home. He says _New Street_ was the mark.

 Some one called 'M.' sent you a message through Mrs. F.
 (?), and wanted her dearest love given. She's had to be
 away rather from the earth plane for some time, but he
 actually has seen M. several times. Conditions of war
 have brought her back. She had progressed a good way. She
 wondered if you realised it was not her will to leave you
 so long, but progression. She belongs to a higher plane.

 M. knew something about this before she passed on, though
 perhaps it makes it easier to be always communicating.

[Some friends will know for whom this is intended--a great friend of
our and many other children. She had had one sitting with Mrs. Piper
at Mariemont, not a good one.--O. J. L.]

Her life on the earth plane made it easier for her to go on quickly
after she passed out.

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--What you say?)

 M. says, it will be a test, that she was with his father
 at a medium's, where she saw a control named Alice Anne,
 a little girl control; she didn't speak to Soliver, but
 was with him at the medium's. "The old Scotch girl" what
 Paulie calls her; old Scotch lady--same thing.

[This is correct about a sitting with Miss McCreadie, when this 'M.'
had unmistakably sent messages through Miss McC.'s usual control.--
O. J. L.]

 (_Added later_.)

 Some friends will be interested in this lady,--a really
 beautiful character, with initials M. N. W.,--so I record
 something that came through from Feda on a much later
 occasion--in July 1916:--

 Raymond's got rather a young lady with him. Not the sister
 who passed away a little baby. But she's young--she looks
 twenty-four or twenty-five. She's rather slender, rather
 pretty. Brown hair, oval face. Not awful handsome, but
 got a nice expression. She's very nice, and comes from a
 high sphere. She's able to come close to-night, but can't
 always come. Name begins with an M. And she says, "Don't
 think that because she didn't come, she didn't want to
 come. She had to keep away for so long. It was necessary
 for her to stay away from the earth for a while, because
 she had work in high spheres for three years, and it's
 difficult for her to come through.

 Good, good--something about the lady, lady--two people,
 she says. Lady and good man. Feda ought to remember it--a
 lady and good man.

 Between them Soliver and her, Soliver and Miss Olive, and
 her. Lady and good man and M. She must have been very good
 on the earth plane, she wasn't ordinary at all. Quite
 unusual and very very good. You can tell that by what she
 looks like now.

 She brings a lot of flowers--pansies, not quite pansies,
 flower like a pansy, and not quite a pansy. Heartsease,
 that's what it is. She brings lots of those to you. She
 brought a lot of them when Raymond wented over there. But
 not for very long, she didn't--they wasn't wanted very

_M. F. A. L. Record of February 4--continued_

 He said about some one, that she'd gone right on to a very
 high sphere indeed, as near celestial as could possibly
 be. His sister, he says--can't get her name. [He means
 Lily, presumably.] He says William had gone on too, a good
 way, but not too far to come to him. [His brother.]

 Those who are fond of you never go too far to come back to
 too far to communicate, never too far to meet you when
 you pass over.

M. F. A. L.--That's so comforting, darling. I don't want to hold you

 You gravitate here to the ones you're fond of. Those
 you're not fond of, if you meet them in the

 street, you don't bother yourself to say 'how-do-you-do.'

M. F. A. L.--There are streets, then?

 Yes. He was pleased to see streets and houses.

 At one time, I thought it might be created by one's own
 thoughts. You gravitate to a place you are fitted for.
 Mother, there's no judge and jury, you just gravitate,
 like to like.

 I've seen some boys pass on who had nasty ideas and vices.
 They go to a place I'm very glad I didn't have to go to,
 but it's not hell exactly. More like a reformatory--it's
 a place where you're given a chance, and when you want to
 look for something better, you're given a chance to have
 it. They gravitate together, but get so bored. Learn to
 help yourself, and immediately you'll be helped. Very like
 your world; only no unfairness, no injustice--a common law
 operating for each and every one.

M. F. A. L.--Are all of the same rank and grade?

 Rank doesn't count as a virtue. High rank comes by being
 virtuous. Those who have been virtuous have to pass
 through lower rank to understand things. All go on to the
 astral first, just for a little.

 He doesn't remember being on the astral himself. He thinks
 where he is now, he's about third. Summerland--Homeland,
 some call it. It is a very happy medium. The very highest
 can come to visit you. It is just sufficiently near the
 earth plane to be able to get to those on earth. He thinks
 you have the best of it there, so far as he can see.

 Mother, I went to a gorgeous place the other day.

M. F. A. L.--Where was it?

Goodness knows!

 I was permitted, so that I might see what was going on in
 the Highest Sphere. Generally the High Spirits come to us.

 I wonder if I can tell you what it looked like!

 [Until the case for survival is considered established, it is thought
 improper and unwise to relate an experience of a kind which may be
 imagined, in a book dealing for the most part with evidential matter.
 So I have omitted the description here, and the brief reported
 utterance which followed. I think it fair, however, to quote the
 record so far as it refers to the youth's own feelings, because
 otherwise the picture would be incomplete and one-sided, and he might
 appear occupied only with comparatively frivolous concerns.]

       *       *       *       *       *

 I felt exalted, purified, lifted up. I was kneeling. I
 couldn't stand up, I _wanted_ to kneel.

       *       *       *       *       *

 Mother, I thrilled from head to foot. He didn't come near
 me, and I didn't feel I wanted to go near him. Didn't
 feel I ought. The Voice was like a bell. I can't tell you
 what he was dressed or robed in. All seemed a mixture of
 shining colours.

 No good; can you imagine what I felt like when he put
 those beautiful rays on to me? I don't know what I've
 ever done that I should have been given that wonderful
 experience. I never thought of such a thing being
 possible, not at any rate for years, and years, and years.
 No one could tell what I felt, I can't explain it.

 Will they understand it?

 I know father and you will, but I want the others to try.
 I can't put it into words.

 I didn't walk, I had to be taken back to Summerland, I
 don't know what happened to me. If you could faint with
 delight! Weren't those beautiful words?

 I've asked if Christ will go and be seen by everybody; but
 was told, "Not quite in the same sense as you saw Him." I
 was told Christ was always in spirit on earth--a sort of
 projection, something like those rays, something of him in
 every one.

 People think he is _a_ Spirit, walking about in a
 particular place. Christ is everywhere, not as a
 personality. There _is_ a Christ, and He lives on the
 higher plane, and that is the one I was permitted to see.

 There was more given me in that beautiful message; I can't
 remember it all. He said the whole of it, nearly and word
 for word, of what I've given you. You see from that I'm
 given a mission to do, helping near the earth plane....

 Shall I tell you why I'm so glad that is my work, given me
 by the Highest Authority of all!

 First of all, I'm proud to do His work, no matter what it
 is; but the great thing is, I can be near you and father.

M. F. A. L.--If we can only be worthy!

 You are both doing it, every bit you can.

M. F. A. L.--Well, I'm getting to love people more than I used to do.

 I have learnt over here, that every one is not for you. If
 not in affinity, let them go, and be with those you _do_

 Mother, will they think I'm kind of puffing myself up
 or humbugging? It's so wonderful, will they be able to
 understand that it's just Raymond that's been through
 this? No Sunday school.

 I treasured it up to give you to-night. I put it off
 because I didn't know if I could give it in the right
 words that would make them feel like I feel--or something
 like. Isn't it a comfort? You and father think it well
 over. I didn't ask for work to be near the earth plane! I
 thought that things would be made right. But think of it
 being given me, the work I should have prayed for!

M. F. A. L.--Then you're nearer?

 Much nearer! I was bound to be drawn (?). So beautiful to
 think, now I can _honestly_ stay near the earth plane.
 Eventually, instead of going up by degrees, I shall take,
 as Feda has been promised, a jump. And when you and father
 come, you will be on one side, and father on the other.
 We shall be a while in Summerland, just to get used to
 conditions. He says very likely we shall be wanted to
 keep an eye on the others. He means brothers and sisters.
 I can't tell you how pleased I feel--'pleased' is a poor

M. F. A. L.--About what, my dear?

 About being very near the earth plane.

 I've pressed on, getting used to conditions here, and yet
 when I went into the Presence I was overawed.

 How can people....

 It made me wish, in the few seconds I was able to think
 of anything, that I had led one of the purest lives
 imaginable. If there's any little tiny thing I've ever
 done, it would stand out like a mountain. I didn't have
 much time to think, but I did feel in that few seconds....

 I felt when I found myself back in Summerland that I was
 _charged_ with something--some wonderful power. As if I
 could stop rivers, move mountains; and so wonderfully glad.

 He says, don't bother yourself about trying to like people
 you've got an antipathy for, it's waste of you. Keep love
 for those who want it, don't throw it away on those who
 don't; it's like giving things to over-fed people when
 hungry chaps are standing by.

 Do you know that I can feel my ideas altering, somehow.

 I feel more naturally in tune with conditions very far
 removed from the earth plane; yet I like to go round with
 Paul, and have fun, and enjoy myself.

 After that wonderful experience, I asked some one if it
 wasn't stupid to like to have fun and go with the others.
 But they said that if you've got a work to do on the
 earth plane, you're not to have all the black side, you
 are allowed to have the lighter side too, sunshine and
 shadow. One throws the other up, and makes you better able
 to judge the value of each. There are places on my sphere
 where they can listen to beautiful music when they choose.
 Everybody, even here, doesn't care for music, so it's not
 in my sphere compulsory.

 He likes music and singing, but wouldn't like to live in
 the middle of it always, he can go and hear it if he wants
 to, he is getting more fond of it than he was.

 Mr. Myers was very pleased. He says, you know it isn't
 always the parsons, not always the parsons, that go
 highest first. It isn't what you professed, it's what
 you've done. If you have not believed definitely in life
 after death, but have tried to do as much as you could,
 and led a decent life, and have left alone things you
 don't understand, that's all that's required of you.
 Considering how simple it is, you'd think everybody would
 have done it, but very few do.

 On our side, we expect a few years will make a great
 difference in the conditions of people on the earth plane.

 In five years, ever so many more will be wanting to know
 about the life to come, and how they shall live on the
 earth plane so that they shall have a pretty good life
 when they pass on. They'll do it, if only as a wise
 precaution. But the more they know, the higher lines
 people will be going on.

M. F. A. L.--Did you see me reading the sitting to your father?

 I'm going to stop father from feeling tired. Chap with red
 feather helping. Isn't it wonderful that I can be near you
 and father?

 Some people ask me, are you pleased with where your body
 lies? I tell them I don't care a bit, I've no curiosity
 about my body now. It's like an old coat that I've done
 with, and hope some one will dispose of it. I don't want
 flowers on my body. Flowers in house, in Raymond's home.

M. F. A. L.--Can he tell the kind of flowers I put for him on his

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--Try and tell Feda.)

 Doesn't seem able to get it.

 Don't think he knew. I can't get it through. Don't think I
 don't appreciate them. Sees some yellow and some white.

 He thinks it is some power he takes from the medium which
 makes for him a certain amount of physical sight. He can't
 see properly.

M. F. A. L.--Can he tell me where I got the flowers from for his

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--Flowers doesn't grow now. Winter

 Yes, they do. Thinks they came from home.

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--Try and tell me any little thing.)

 He means they came from his own garden.

[Yes, they did. It was yellow jasmine, cut from the garden at
Mariemont.--M. F. A. L.]

 Paul's worried 'cos medium talk like book. Paul calls
 Feda 'Imp.' Raymond sometimes calls Feda 'Illustrious
 One.' I think Yaymond laughing! Always pretending Feda
 very little, and that they've lost Feda, afraid of
 walking on her, but Feda pinches them sometimes, pretend
 they've trodden on Feda. But Feda just as tall as lots of

M. F. A. L.--Isn't Feda tired now?


M. F. A. L.--I think Raymond must be.

 Well, power is going.

M. F. A. L.--Anyhow, I must go. Some one perhaps of your brothers
will come soon.

 I want no heralds or flourish of trumpets, let them come
 and see if I can get through to them.

M. F. A. L.--(I here said something about myself, I forget; I think
it was about being proud.)

 If I see any signs, I'll take you in hand at once; it
 shall be nipped in the bud!

 Good night.

M. F. A. L.--Do you sleep?

 Well, I doze.

M. F. A. L.--Do you have rain?

 Well, you can go to a place where rain is.

M. F. A. L.--Do you know that your father is having all the sittings
bound together in a book?

 It will be very interesting to see how I change as I go on.

 Good night.


It must be remembered that all this, though reported in the first
person, really comes through Feda; and though her style and grammar
improve in the more serious portions, due allowance must be made for
this fact.



On the morning of 3 March I had a sitting in Mrs. Kennedy's house
with a Mrs. Clegg, a fairly elderly dame whose peculiarity is that
she allows direct control by the communicator more readily than most
mediums do.

Mrs. Kennedy has had Mrs. Clegg two or three times to her house, and
Paul has learnt how to control her pretty easily, and is able to make
very affectionate demonstrations and to talk through the organs of
the medium, though in rather a jerky and broken way. She accordingly
kindly arranged an anonymous sitting for me.

The sitting began with sudden clairvoyance, which was unexpected.
It was a genuine though not a specially successful sitting, and
it is worth partially reporting because of the reference to it
which came afterwards through another medium, on the evening of
the same day; making a simple but exceptionally clear and natural

_Anonymous Sitting of O. J. L. with Mrs. Clegg_

At 11.15 a.m. on Friday, 3 March 1916, I arrived at Mrs. Kennedy's,
went up and talked to her in the drawing-room till nearly 11.30, when
Mrs. Clegg arrived.

She came into the room while I was seeing to the fire, spoke to Mrs.
Kennedy, and said, "Oh, is this the gentleman that I am to sit with?"
She was then given a seat in front of the fire, being asked to get
quiet after her omnibus journey. But she had hardly seated herself
before she said:--

"Oh, this room is so full of people; oh, some one so eager to come!
I hear some one say 'Sir Oliver Lodge.' Do you know anyone of that

I said, yes, I know him.

Mrs. Kennedy got up to darken the room slightly, and Mrs. Clegg

"Who is Raymond, Raymond, Raymond? He is standing close to me."

She was evidently going off into a trance, so we moved her chair back
farther from the fire, and without more preparation she went off.

For some time, however, nothing further happened, except contortions,
struggling to get speech, rubbings of the back as if in some pain or
discomfort there, and a certain amount of gasping for breath.

Mrs. Kennedy came to try and help, and to give power. She knelt by
her side and soothed her. I sat and waited.

Presently the utterance was distinguished as, "Help me, where's the

After a time, with K. K.'s help, the control seemed to get a little
clearer, and the words, "So glad; father; love to mother; so glad,"
frequently repeated in an indistinct and muffled tone of voice, were
heard, followed by, "Love to all of them."

Nothing was put down at the time, for there seemed nothing to
record--it seemed only preliminary effort; and in so far as anything
was said, it consisted merely of simple messages of affection,
and indications of joy at being able to come through, and of
disappointment at not being able to do better. The medium, however,
went through a good deal of pantomime, embracing me, stroking my
arm, patting my knees, and sometimes stroking my head, sometimes
also throwing her arms round me and giving the impression of being
overjoyed, but unable to speak plainly.

Then other dumb show was begun. He seemed to be thinking of the
things in his kit, or things which had been in his possession, and
trying to enumerate them. He indicated that his revolver had not
come back, and that in his diary the last page was not written up. I
promised to complete it.

After a time, utterance being so difficult, I gave the medium a pad
and pencil, and asked for writing. The writing was large and sprawly,
single words: 'Captain' among them.

While Raymond was speaking, and at intervals, the medium kept
flopping over to one side or the other, hanging on the arm of her
chair with head down, or else drooping forward, or with head thrown
back--assuming various limp and wounded attitudes. Though every now
and then she seemed to make an effort to hold herself up, and once or
twice crossed knees and sat up firm, with arms more or less folded.
But the greater part of the time she was flopping about.

Presently Raymond said 'Good-bye,' and a Captain was supposed to
control. She now spoke in a vigorous martial voice, as if ordering
things, but saying nothing of any moment.

Then he too went away, and 'Hope' appeared, who, I am told, is Mrs.
Clegg's normal control. Hope was able to talk reasonably well, and
what she said I recorded for what it might be worth, but I omit
the record, because though it contained references to people and
things outside the knowledge of the medium or Mrs. Kennedy, and was
therefore evidential as regards the genuineness and honesty of the
medium, it was not otherwise worth reporting, unless much else of
what was said on the same subjects by other mediums were reported too.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the evening of this same 3rd of March--_i.e._ later in the same
day that I had sat with Mrs. Clegg--I went alone to Mrs. Leonard's
house and had rather a remarkable sitting, at which full knowledge
of the Clegg performance was shown. It is worthy therefore of some
careful attention.

After reading this part, the above very abbreviated record of the
Clegg sitting, held some hours before in another house and other
conditions, should again be read. I wish to call attention to the
following 3rd of March sitting as one of the best; other members of
the family have probably had equally good ones, but my notes are
fuller. I hope it is fully understood that the mannerisms are Feda's

_Sitting of O. J. L. with Mrs. Leonard at her House on Friday, 3
March 1916, from 9.15 p.m. to 11.15 p.m._

(O. J. L. alone.)

No preliminaries to report. Feda came through quickly, jerked in the
chair, and seemed very pleased to find me.

(I asked if she had seen Raymond lately.)

 Oh yes, Raymond's here.

 He came to help Feda with the lady and gentleman--on
 Monday, Feda thinks it was. Not quite sure when. But
 there was a lady and gentleman, and he came to help; and
 Feda said, "Go away, Raymond!" He said, "No, I've come to
 stay." He wouldn't go away, and he did help them through
 with their boy.

 [The reference here is to a sitting which a colleague of mine,
 Professor and Mrs. Sonnenschein, had had, unknown to me, with Mrs.
 Leonard. I learnt afterwards that the arrangements had been made
 by them in a carefully anonymous manner, the correspondence being
 conducted _via_ a friend in Darlington; so that they were only known
 to Mrs. Leonard as "a lady and gentleman from Darlington." They
 had reported to me that their son Christopher had sent good and
 evidential messages, and that Raymond had turned up to help. It was
 quite appropriate for Raymond to take an interest in them and bring
 their son, since Christopher Sonnenschein had been an engineering
 fellow-student with Raymond at Birmingham. But there was no earthly
 reason, so far as Mrs. Leonard's knowledge was concerned, for him
 to put in an appearance; and indeed Feda at first told him to 'Go
 away,' until he explained that he had come to help. Hence the
 mention of Raymond, under the circumstances, was evidential.]

 He's only been once to help beside this, and then he said,
 Don't tell the lady he was helping. [See below.]

 He's been with Paulie to-day, to Paulie's mother's. He
 says he's been at Paulie's house, but not with Mrs.
 Kathie, with another lady, a medie, Feda thinks. She was
 older than this one; a new one to him.[27] He wanted
 to speak through her, but he found it was difficult.
 Paul manages it all right, he says, but _he_ finds it
 difficult. He says he started to get through, and then
 he didn't feel like himself. It's awful strange when one
 tries to control anybody. He wanted to very bad; he almost
 had them. (_Sotto voce._--What you mean, Yaymond?) He says
 he thought he almost had them. He means he nearly got
 through. Oh, he says, he's not given it up; he's going to
 try again. What worries him is that he doesn't feel like
 himself. You know, father, I might be anybody. He says, Do
 you believe that in that way, practice makes perfect?

O. J. L.--Yes, I'm sure it gets easier with practice.

 Oh, then he'll practise dozens of times, if he thinks it
 will be any good.

O. J. L.--Did he like the old woman?

 Oh, yes; she's a very good sort.

O. J. L.--Who was there sitting?

 [This question itself indicates, what was the fact, that I had so
 far given no recognition to the statement that Raymond had been
 trying to control a medium on the morning of that same day. I wanted
 to take what came through, without any assistance.]

 He's not sure, because he didn't seem to get all properly
 into the conditions; it was like being in a kind of mist,
 in a fog. He felt he was getting hold of the lady, but he
 didn't quite know where he was. He'd got something ready
 to say, and he started to try and say it, and it seemed
 as if he didn't know where he was.

 [Feda reports sometimes in the third person, sometimes in the first.]

 What does she flop about for, father? _I_ don't want to do
 that; it bothered me rather, I didn't know if I was making
 her ill or something. Paulie said she thought it was the
 correct thing to do! But I wish she wouldn't. If she would
 only keep quiet, and let me come calmly, it would be
 much easier. Mrs. Kathie [Feda's name for Mrs. Katherine
 Kennedy] tries to help all she can, but it makes such
 a muddled condition. I might not be able to get a test
 through, even when I controlled better; I should have to
 get quite at home there, before I could give tests through
 her. He and Paulie used to joke about the old lady, but
 they don't now. Paul manages to control; he used to see
 Paulie doing it. I will try again, he says, and I will try
 again. It's worth trying a few times, then I can get my
 bearings, and I feel that what I wanted to say beforehand
 I will be able to get through.

 Feda has an idea that what he had saved up to say was only
 just the usual messages. He had got them ready in his
 head; he had learnt it up--just a few words. Paulie told
 him he had better do that, and then (oh, you had better
 not tell Mrs. Kathie this, for it isn't polite!)--and then
 Paulie told him to spit it out. And that's what he tried
 to do--just to say the few words that he had learnt up.
 He just wanted to say how pleased he was to see you. He
 wanted also to speak about his mother, and to bring in, if
 he could, about having talked to you through Feda. Just
 simple things like that. He had to think of simple things,
 because Paulie had told him that it was no good trying to
 think of anything in-tri-cate.

 [Feda always pronounces what she no doubt considers long words in a
 careful and drawnout manner.]

 He didn't see clearly, but he felt. He had a good idea
 that you were there, and that Mrs. Kathie was there, but
 he wasn't sure; he was all muddled up. Poor Mrs. Kathie
 was doing her best. He says, Don't change the conditions,
 if you try it again. He never quite knows whether he is
 going to have good conditions or not. He wanted to speak
 about all this. That's all about that.

 [This is a completely accurate reference to what had happened with
 Mrs. Clegg in the morning of the same day. Everything is properly
 and accurately represented. It is the best thing about the sitting
 perhaps, though there are many good things in it.]

 [The next incident concerns other people--and I usually omit
 these--but I propose to include this one.]

About the lady he tried to help--the one that he didn't want Feda to
tell who he was (p. 241).

He was helping through a man who had got drowned. This lady had had
no belief nor nothing in spiritual things before. The guides brought
her to Feda, that she might speak with a dear friend of hers. I
helped him, he says, and got both of his initials through to her--E.

O. J. L.--Do I know these people?

 Yes, you write a lot to the lady.

 [I remembered afterwards that I had had some correspondence with a
 lady who was told at a sitting, apparently by Raymond, that I knew a
 Dr. A. She was and is a stranger, but for this curious introduction.]

O. J. L.--Is A the surname?

 Yes, the spirit's, not the lady's. The lady doesn't know
 that he [Raymond] is telling you this. And she doesn't
 know that he helped her. He says, It's for your own use,
 father. It's given her a new outlook on life.

O. J. L.--I have no idea who she is. Can you get her name?

 Oh yes, she's a lady called Mrs. D. [Full name given
 easily, but no doubt got from the sitter in ordinary
 course.] And before, you see, she was living a worldly
 life. She was interested in a way, but not much. She never
 tried to come into it. When she came, she thought she
 would have her fortune told. Raymond was waiting for her
 to come, and brought up the right conditions at once. The
 man was a nice man, he liked him, and he wanted to bring
 her into it. The man was fond of her. Raymond has been
 helping him a lot. He says, I can only help in a small
 way, but if you could go round and see the people just
 on the verge of learning something! I can't help them in
 a big way, but still, it's something important even what
 I can do. For every one I bring in like that lady, there
 will be a dozen coming from that.

O. J. L. (still remembering nothing about these people.)--Did the man
drown himself?

 Oh no, he wented down in a boat; they nearly all wented
 down together.

 The lady wasn't expecting him--she nearly flopped over
 when he came.

O. J. L.--Was he related to the lady?

 No, but he had been the biggest thing in her life. He says
 it seemed as though she must have felt something, to make
 her write to you.

O. J. L.--However did Raymond know that she had written to me?

 Feda doesn't know. (_Sotto voce._--Tell Feda, Yaymond.)

 Do you believe me, father, I really can't tell you how I
 know some things. It's not through inquiry, but sometimes
 I get it just like a Marconi apparatus receives a message
 from somewhere, and doesn't know where it comes from at
 first. Sometimes I try to find out things, and I can't.

 [I perceived gradually that this episode related to some one
 named E. A. (unknown to me), about whom I had been told at a Feda
 sitting on Friday, 28 January 1916, Raymond seeming to want me to
 speak to E. A.'s father about him. And in a note to that sitting
 it is explained how I received a letter shortly afterwards from a
 stranger, a Mrs. D., who consulted me about informing Dr. A. of the
 appearance of his son. The whole episode is an excellent one, but it
 concerns other people, and if narrated at all must be narrated more
 fully and in another place. Suffice it to say that the son had been
 lost in tragic circumstances, and that the father is impressed by
 the singular nature of the evidence that has now been given through
 the lady--a special visit to Scotland having been made by her for
 that express purpose. She had not known the father before, but she
 found him and his house as described; and he admits the details as
 surprisingly accurate.]

Here is the extract from my sitting of 28 January 1916 relating to
this affair:--


 He has met somebody called E., Raymond has. He doesn't
 know who it is, but wonders if you do.

O. J. L.--Is she an old lady?

 It's a man, he says. He was drownded. I have helped him
 a bit, at least I tried, he says. He passed on before
 Raymond did.

O. J. L.--Did he drown himself?

 Raymond doesn't say that. His name was E. He was from
 Scotland. You will know his father.

 Raymond says, I have got a motive in this, father; I don't
 want to say too much, and I don't want to say too little.
 You have met E.'s father, and you will meet him again; he
 comes from Scotland. Raymond is not quite certain, but he
 thinks he is in Scotland now. His father's name begins
 with an A, so the other man is E. A. He was fighting his
 ship. Raymond thinks they was all drownded. He's older
 than Raymond. Raymond says he's a pretty dark chap. You
 know his father best, I don't know whether you knew the
 other chap at all. You have known his father for some
 years, but you don't often get a chance of meeting. I have
 got an idea that you will be hearing from him soon. Then
 you will be able to unload this onto him. They are trying
 to bring it about, that meeting with the father of E.

O. J. L.--I could make a guess at the surname, but perhaps I had
better not.

 No, don't. You know I'm not always sure of my facts. I
 know pretty well how things are, and I think I am pretty
 safe in saying that it is Scotland. He gives D. also.
 That's not a person, it's a place. Some place not far from
 it, called D., he says. It's near, not the place, where he
 lives. 'Flanked,' he calls it, 'flanked' on the other side
 by L. They never knew how E. passed on really. They know
 he was drowned, but not how it happened.

On receiving this message I felt that the case was a genuine one,
and that I did know a Dr. A. precisely as described. And I also
gradually remembered that he had lost a son at sea, though I did not
know the son. But I felt that I must wait for further particulars
before broaching what might be an unpalatable subject to Dr. A.

  (_End of extract from 28 January 1916._)

Ultimately I did receive further particulars as narrated above, and
so a month later I did go to call on the old Doctor, after the ice
had been broken by Mrs. D.,--who in some trepidation had made a
special journey for the purpose, and then nearly came away without
opening the subject,--and I verified the trance description of his
house which Mrs. D. had received and sent me. Indeed, all the facts
stated turned out to be true.

       *       *       *       *       *

The sitting of 3 March, now being reported, and interrupted by this
quotation from a previous sitting, went on thus:--

 He took his mother some red roses, and he wants you to
 tell her. He took them to her from the spirit world, they
 won't materialise, but I gathered some and took them to
 her. This isn't a test, father.

O. J. L.--No. Very well, you just want her to know. I will tell her.

 (A little talk omitted.)

O. J. L.--Do you want to say anything about the other two people that
you helped--last Monday, I think it was? [The Sonnenscheins; still
only known to Mrs. Leonard as a lady and gentleman from Darlington.]

 No, there's nothing much to tell you about that, or about
 them. But he brought a son to them.

 He stood on one side so as not to take any of the power.
 He just came at first to show Feda it was all right, and
 he just came in at the end to send his love.

O. J. L.--Why did he help those particular people?

[I knew why, but I thought proper to ask, since from the medium's
point of view there was no reason at all.]

 He says he had to. They have been worrying about whether
 their son had suffered much pain before he passed on.
 There seems to have been some uncertainty about as to
 whether he had or not. His body wasn't recovered as soon
 as it ought to have been. But he didn't suffer much. He
 was numbed, and didn't as a matter of fact feel much. He
 throwed up his arms, and rolled down a bank place.

[Christopher Sonnenschein was killed by falling down a snow mountain,
and his body was not recovered for five days.]

O. J. L.--Did you know these people before?

 Yes. He says, yes. But he won't tell Feda who they is.

O. J. L.--Does he want to send them any message?

 He says nothing further has come out, except that he is
 getting on very well, and that he was pleased. You might
 tell them that he is happier now. Yes, he is, since he
 seed them.

[The sitting referred to here, as having been held by a lady and
gentleman last Monday, refers to my colleague and his wife and their
deceased son Christopher. Their identity had been completely masked
by the arrangements they had made, without my knowledge. The letters
making arrangements were sent round by Darlington to be posted, in
order to cover up tracks and remove all chance of a discoverable
connexion with me. (See p. 240.) Hence it is interesting that Raymond
turned up to help, for in their normal life the two youths had known
each other.]

 He has been trying to help you since he saw you here last
 time. He thought that you knew that he was. He did try
 hard. He says, I helped you in such a funny way. I got
 near you and felt such a desire to help you and prevent
 you from getting tired. He was concentrating on the
 back of your head, and sort of saying to himself, and
 impressing the thought towards you: "It's coming easy, you
 shan't get tired, the brain is going to be very receptive,
 everything is going to flow through it easily in order." I
 feel myself saying it all the time, and I get so close I
 nearly lean on you. To my great delight, I saw you sit up
 once, and you said: "Ah, that's good." It was some little
 time back.

O. J. L.--I speak to your photograph sometimes.

 Yes. I can speak to you without a photograph! I am often
 with you, very often.

 He's taking Feda into a room with a desk in it; too big
 for a desk, it must be a table. A sort of a desk, a pretty
 big one. A chair is in front of it, not a chair like that,
 a high up chair, more wooden, not woolly stuff; and the
 light is falling on to the desk; and you are sitting there
 with a pen or pencil in your hand; you aren't writing
 much, but you are looking through writing, and making
 bits of writing on it; you are not doing all the writing
 yourself, but only bits on it. Raymond is standing at the
 back of you; he isn't looking at what you are doing. [The
 description is correct.]

 He thought you were tired out last time you came here. He
 knows you are sometimes. He's been wanting to say to you,
 "Leave some of it."

O. J. L.--But there's so much to be done.

 Yes, he knows it isn't easy to leave it. But it would be
 better in the end if you can leave a bit, father. You are
 doing too much.

 You know that I am longing and dying for the day when you
 come over to me. It will be a splendid day for me. But I
 mustn't be selfish. I have got to work to keep you away
 from us, and that's not easy for me.

 He says that lots over here talk, and say that you will
 be doing the most wonderful work of your life through the
 war. People are ready to listen now. They had too many
 things before to let them think about them; but now it's
 the great thing to think about the after-life.

 I want you to know that when first I came over here, I
 thought it a bit unfair that such a lot of fellows were
 coming over in the prime of life, coming over here. But
 now he sees that for every one that came over, dozens of
 people open their eyes, and want to know where he has
 gone to. Directly they want to know, they begin to learn
 something. Some of them never stopped to think seriously
 before. "He must be somewhere," they say, "he was so full
 of life; can we find out?" Then I see that through this,
 people are going to find out, and find out not only for
 themselves, but will pass it on to many others, and so it
 will grow.

 He wants to tell you that Mr. Myers says that in ten years
 from now the world will be a different place. He says that
 about fifty per cent. of the civilised portion of the
 globe will be either spiritualists, or coming into it.

O. J. L.--Fifteen per cent.?

 Fifty, he said.

 Raymond says, I am no judge of that, but he isn't the only
 one that thinks it. He says, I've got a kind of theory,
 in a crude sort of way, that man has made the earth
 plane into such a hotbed of materialism and selfishness,
 that man again has to atone by sacrifices of mankind
 in the prime of their physical life. So that by that
 prime self-effacement, they will bring more spiritual
 conditions on to the earth, which will crush the spirit of
 materialism. He says that isn't how I meant to put it, but
 I've forgotten how I meant to say it.

O. J. L.--Well now, Raymond, Mr. Myers sent me a message to say that
you had got some tests ready to get through, and that I was to give
you an opportunity of giving them.

 Oh yes, he says. But I can't get anything through about
 the Argonauts: that seems worst of anything.

 He's showing Feda a thing that looks like a canvas house.
 Yes, it must be a canvas house. And it looks to Feda as
 though it's on a place that seems to be open--a wide
 place. Yes, no, there's not much green showing where Feda
 can see. There's a kind of a door in it, like that. (Feda
 made some sign I didn't catch.) The canvas is sort of
 grey, quite a light colour, but not quite white. Oh yes,
 Feda feels the sound of water not far from it--ripple,
 ripple. Feda sees a boy--not Raymond--half lying, half
 sitting at the door of the tent place, and he hasn't got
 a proper coat on; he's got a shirt thing on here, and
 he's like spreaded out. It's a browny-coloured earth, not
 nice green, but sandy-coloured ground. As Feda looks at
 the land, the ground rises sharp at the back. Must have
 been made to rise, it sticks up in the air. He's showing
 it as though it should be in some photograph or picture.
 Feda got wondering about it, what it was for. It's a
 funny-shaped tent, not round, sort of lop-sided. The door
 isn't a proper door, it flops. You ought to be able to see
 a picture of this. [See photographs opposite.]

O. J. L.--Has it got to do with the Argonauts?


O. J. L.--Oh, it's not Coniston then?


O. J. L.--Is it by the sea?

 Near the water, he says; he doesn't say the sea. No, he
 won't say that; he says, near water. It looks hot there.

O. J. L.--Will the boys know?

 You will know soon about it, he says.

 Feda gets a feeling that there are two or three moving
 about inside that tent.

 O. J. L.--Is it all one chamber in the tent?

 He didn't say that. He was going to say, no, and then he
 stopped to think. No, I don't think it was, it was divided



[See photographs of two forms of this tent.]

 Now he is showing something right on top of that. Now he
 is showing Feda a yacht, a boat with white sails. Now he
 is going back to the tent again. The raised up land is at
 the back of the tent, well set back. It doesn't give an
 even sticking up, but it goes right along, with bits up
 and bits lower down.

[The description could not be completely taken down, but it gave the
impression of a raised bank of varying height, behind an open space,
and a tent in front of it. It quite suggested that sort of picture.]

[See photograph facing p. 252.]

 Maps, what's that? Maps, maps, he says. He's saying
 something about maps. This is something that the boys
 will know. Poring, he says. Not pouring anything out, but
 poring over maps. Ask the boys. [See note after further
 reference to maps later in the sitting.]

O. J. L.--What about that yacht with sails; did it run on the water?

 No. (Feda, _sotto voce_.--Oh, Raymond, don't be silly!) He
 says, no. (Feda.--It must have done!) He's showing Feda
 like a thing on land, yes, a land thing. It's standing up,
 like edgeways. A narrow thing. No it isn't water, but it
 has got nice white sails.

O. J. L.--Did it go along?

 He says it DIDN'T! He's laughing! When he said 'didn't'
 he shouted it. Feda should have said, 'He laid peculiar
 emphasis on it.' This is for the boys.

O. J. L.--Had they got to do with that thing?

 Yes, they will know, they will understand. Yes, he keeps
 on showing like a boat--a yacht, he calls it, a yacht.

[See note below and photographs.]

 Now he is showing Feda some figures. Something flat, like
 a wall. Rods and things, long rods. Some have got little
 round things shaking on them, like that. And he's got
 strings, some have got strings. 'Strings' isn't the right
 word, but it will do. Smooth, strong, string-like. In the
 corner, where it's a little bit dark, some one is standing
 up and leaning against something, and a piece of stuff is
 flapping round them.

 Now he is saying again something about maps. He's going
 to the maps again. It isn't a little map, but it's one
 you can unfold and fold up small. And they used to go
 with their fingers along it, like that--not he only, but
 the boys. And it wasn't at home, but when they were going
 somewhere--some distance from home. And Feda gets the
 impression as though they must be looking at the map when
 it was moving. They seem to be moving smoothly along, like
 in one of those horrible trains. Feda has never been in a

[The mention of folded-up maps cannot be considered important, but it
is appropriate, because many of the boys' common reminiscences group
round long motor drives in Devonshire and Cornwall, when they must
frequently have been consulting the kind of map described.]

[_Note by O. J. L. on Tent and Boat._--All this about the tent and
boat is excellent, though not outside my knowledge. The description
of the scenery showed plainly that it was Woolacombe sands that
was meant--whither the family had gone in the summer for several
years--a wide open stretch of sand, with ground rising at the back,
as described, and with tents along under the bank, one of which--a
big one--had been made by the boys. It was on wheels, it had two
chambers with a double door, and was used for bathing by both the
boys and girls. Quite a large affair, oblong in shape, like a small
cottage. One night a gale carried it up to the top of the sand-hills
and wrecked it. We saw it from the windows in the morning.



The boys pulled it to pieces, and made a smaller tent of the remains,
this time with only one chamber, and its shape was now a bit
lop-sided. I felt in listening to the description that there was some
hesitation in Raymond's mind as to whether he was speaking of the
first or the second stage of this tent.

As for the sand-boat, it was a thing they likewise made at Mariemont,
and carted down to Woolacombe. A kind of long narrow platform or
plank on wheels, with a rudder and sails. At first, when it had small
sails, it only went with a light passenger and a strong wind behind.
But in a second season they were more ambitious, and made bigger
sails to it, and that season I believe it went along the sands very
fast occasionally; but it still wouldn't sail at right angles to the
wind as they wanted. They finally smashed the mast by sailing in a
gale with three passengers. There had been ingenuity in making it,
and Raymond had been particularly active over it, as he was over all
constructions. On the whole it was regarded as a failure, the wheels
were too small; and Raymond's 'DIDN'T' is quite accepted.

References to these things were evidently some of the tests (p. 249)
which he had got together for transmission to me. [See photographs.]

The rod and rings and strings, mentioned after the 'boat,' I don't
at present understand. So far as I have ascertained, the boys don't
understand, either, at present.]

       *       *       *       *       *

I don't know whether I have got anything more that I can really call
a test. You will have to take, he says (he's laughing now)--take the
information about the old lady as a test.

O. J. L.--You mean what he began with? [_i.e._ about Mrs. Clegg.]


O. J. L.--Well, it's a very good one.

 He's been trying to find somebody whose name begins with
 K. But it isn't Mrs. Kathie, it's a gentleman. He's been
 trying to find him.

O. J. L.--What for?

 He thought his mother would be interested. There's
 something funny about this. One is in the spirit world,
 but one they believe is still on the earth plane. He
 hasn't come over yet. [One of the two referred to
 is certainly dead; the other may possibly, but very
 improbably, be a prisoner.] There's a good deal of mystery
 about this, but I'm sure he isn't actually come over yet.
 Some people think that because we are here, we have only
 to go anywhere we choose, and find out anything we like.
 But that's Tommy-rot. They are limited, but they send
 messages to each other, and what he sincerely believes is,
 that that man has not passed on.

O. J. L.--Mother thinks he has, and so do his people.

 Yes, yes. I don't know whether it would be advisable to
 tell them anything, but I have a feeling that he isn't
 here. I have been looking for him everywhere.

 He keeps on building up a J. He doesn't answer when Feda
 asks what that is. He says there will be a few surprises
 for people later on.

O. J. L.--Well, I take it that he wants me to understand that J. K.
is on our side?

 Yes, he keeps nodding his head. Yes, in the body. Mind,
 he says, I've got a feeling--I can only call it a
 feeling--that he has been hurt, practically unconscious.
 Anyway, time will prove if I am right.

O. J. L.--I hope he will continue to live, and come back.

 I hope so too. Except for the possible doubt about it,
 I would say tell them at once. But after all they are
 happier in thinking that he has gone over, than that he's
 in some place undergoing terrible privations.

 Now he's saying something carefully to Feda. He says they
 should not go by finding a stick. He wants you to put
 that down--they ought not to go by finding a stick.

O. J. L.--Oh, they found a stick, did they?

 Yes, that's how, yes.

[I clearly understood that this statement referred to a certain
Colonel, about whom there was uncertainty for months. But a funeral
service has now been held--an impressive one, which M. F. A. L.
attended. On inquiry from her, I find (what I didn't know at the time
of the sitting) that the evidence of his death is a riding-whip,
which they found in the hands of an unrecognisable corpse. From
some initials on this riding-whip, they thought it belonged to him;
and on this evidence have concluded him dead. So far as I know,
they entertain no doubt about it. At any rate, we have heard none
expressed, either publicly or privately. Hence, the information now
given may possibly turn out of interest, though there is always
the possibility that, if he is a prisoner in Germany, he may not
survive the treatment. He was leading an attack on the Hohenzollern
Redoubt when he fell; he was seen to fall, wounded; there was great
slaughter, and when at night his man returned to try and find him, he
could not be found. This is my recollection of the details, but of
course they can be more accurately given. At what period the whip was
found, I don't know, but can ascertain.] (See also p. 266.)

[No further news yet--September 1916. But I must confess that I think
the information extremely unlikely.--O. J. L.]

O. J. L.--Does he remember William, our gardener?


 Feda doesn't know what he means, but he says something
 about coming over. (Feda, _sotto voce_.--Tell Feda what
 you mean.)

 He doesn't give it very clearly. Feda gets an idea that he
 means coming over there. Yes, he does mean into the spirit
 world. Feda asks him, did he mean soon; but he shakes his

O. J. L.--Does he mean that he has come already?

 He doesn't get that very clearly. He keeps saying, coming
 over, coming over, and when Feda asked 'Soon?' he shook
 his head, as if getting cross.

O. J. L.--If he sees him, perhaps he will help him.

 Of course he will. He hasn't seen him yet. No, he hasn't
 seen him.

 [I may here record that William, the gardener, died within a week
 before the sitting, and that Raymond here clearly indicates a
 knowledge, either of his death or of its imminence.]

 It's difficult when people approach you, and say they knew
 your father or your mother; you don't quite know what to
 say to them!

O. J. L.--Yes, it must be a bother. Do you remember a bird in our

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--Yes, hopping about?)

O. J. L.--No, Feda, a big bird.

 Of course, not sparrows, he says! Yes, he does. (Feda,
 _sotto voce_.--Did he hop, Yaymond?) No, he says you
 couldn't call it a hop.

O. J. L.--Well, we will go on to something else now; I don't want to
bother him about birds. Ask him does he remember Mr. Jackson?

 Yes. Going away, going away, he says. He used to come to
 the door. (Feda, _sotto voce_.--Do you know what he means?
 Anyone can come to the door!) He used to see him every
 day, he says, every day. (_Sotto voce_.--What did he do,

 He says, nothing. (I can't make out what he says.) He's
 thinking. It's Feda's fault, he says.

O. J. L.--Well, never mind. Report anything he says, whether it makes
sense or not.

 He says he fell down. He's sure of that. He hurt himself.
 He builds up a letter T, and he shows a gate, a small
 gate--looks like a foot-path; not one in the middle of a
 town. Pain in hands and arms.

O. J. L.--Was he a friend of the family?

 No. No, he says, no. He gives Feda a feeling of tumbling,
 again he gives a feeling as though--(Feda thinks Yaymond's
 joking)--he laughed. He was well known among us, he says;
 and yet, he says, not a friend of the family. Scarcely a
 day passed without his name being mentioned. He's joking,
 Feda feels sure. He's making fun of Feda.

O. J. L.--No, tell me all he says.

 He says, put him on a pedestal. No, that they put him on a
 pedestal. He was considered very wonderful. And he 'specs
 that he wouldn't have appreciated it, if he had known;
 but he didn't know, he says. Not sure if he ever will, he
 says. It sounds nonsense, what he says. Feda has got an
 impression that he's mixing him up with the bird, because
 he said something about 'bird' in the middle of it--just
 while he said something about Mr. Jackson, and then he
 pulled himself up, and changed it again. Just before he
 said 'pedestal' he said 'fine bird,' and then he stopped.
 In trying to answer the one, he got both mixed up, Mr.
 Jackson and the bird.

O. J. L.--How absurd! Perhaps he's getting tired.

 He won't say he got this mixed up! But he did! Because
 he said 'fine bird,' and then he started off about Mr.

O. J. L.--What about the pedestal?

 On a pedestal, he said.

O. J. L.--Would he like him put on a pedestal?

 No, he doesn't say nothing.

[_Contemporary Note by O. J. L._--The episode of Mr. Jackson and the
bird is a good one. 'Mr. Jackson' is the comic name of our peacock.
Within the last week he has died, partly, I fear, by the severe
weather. But his legs have been rheumatic and troublesome for some
time; and in trying to walk he of late has tumbled down on them. He
was found dead in a yard on a cold morning with his neck broken. One
of the last people I saw before leaving home for this sitting was
a man whom Lady Lodge had sent to take the bird's body and have it
stuffed. She showed him a wooden pedestal on which she thought it
might be placed, and tail feathers were being sent with it. Hence,
the reference to the pedestal, if not telepathic from me, shows a
curious knowledge of what was going on. And the jocular withholding
from Feda of the real meaning of Mr. Jackson, and the appropriate
remarks made concerning him which puzzled Feda, were quite in
Raymond's vein of humour.

Perhaps it was unfortunate that I had mentioned a bird first, but I
tried afterwards, by my manner and remarks, completely to dissociate
the name Jackson from what I had asked before about the bird; and
Raymond played up to it.

It may be that he acquires some of these contemporary items of family
information through sittings which are held in Mariemont, where of
course all family gossip is told him freely, no outsider or medium
being present. But the death of Mr. Jackson, and the idea of having
him stuffed and put on a pedestal, were very recent, and I was
surprised that he had knowledge of them. I emphasise the episode as
exceptionally good.]

 He's trying to show Feda the side of a house; not a wall,
 it has got glass. He's taking Feda round to it; it has got
 glass stuff. Yes, and when you look in, it's like flowers
 inside and green stuff. He used to go there a lot--be
 there, he says. Red-coloured pots.

O. J. L.--Is that anything to do with Mr. Jackson?

 He's shaking his head now. That's where mother got the
 flowers from. Tell her, she will know.

[Illustration: "GRANDFATHER W."]

[Illustration: "MR. JACKSON" WITH M. F. A. L. AT MARIEMONT]

[There is more than one greenhouse that might be referred to. M. F.
A. L. got the yellow jasmine, which she thinks is the flower referred
to, from the neighbourhood of one of them. And it is one on which the
peacock used commonly to roost; though whether the reference to it
followed on, or had any connexion with, the peacock is uncertain, and
seems to be denied.]

 Yes, he's not so clear now, Soliver. He _has_ enjoyed
 himself. Sometimes he enjoys himself so much, he forgets
 to do the good things he prepared. I could stay for hours
 and hours, he says. But he's just as keen as you are in
 getting tests through. I think I have got some. When I go
 away, I pat myself on the back and think, That's something
 for them to say, "Old Raymond does remember something."
 What does aggravate him sometimes is that when he can't
 get things through, people think it's because he has
 forgotten. It isn't a case of forgetting. He doesn't
 forget anything.

 Father, do you remember what I told mother about the place
 I had been to, and whom I had been allowed to see? What
 did they think of it?

[See M. F. A. L. sitting with Mrs. Leonard, 4 February 1916, Chap.

O. J. L.--Well, the family thought that it wasn't like Raymond.

 Ah, that's what I was afraid of. That's the awful part of

O. J. L.--Well, I don't suppose they knew your serious side.

 Before he gave that to his mother, he hesitated, and
 thought he wouldn't. And then he said, Never mind what
 they think now, I must let mother and father know. Some
 day they will know, and so, what does it matter?

 He knew that they might think it was something out of a
 book, not me; but perhaps they didn't know that side of me
 so well.

O. J. L.--No. But among the things that came back, there was a
Bible with marked passages in it, and so I saw that you had thought
seriously about these things. [page 11.]

 Yes, he says. Yet there's something strange about it
 somehow. We are afraid of showing that side; we keep it to
 ourselves, and even hide it.

O. J. L.--It must have been a great experience for you.

 I hadn't looked for it, I hadn't hoped for it, but it was

O. J. L.--Do you think you could take some opportunity of speaking
about it through some other medium, not Feda? Because at present the
boys think that Feda invented it.

 Yes, that's what they do think. He says he will try very

O. J. L.--Have you ever seen that Person otherwise than at that time?

 No, I have not seen Him, except as I told you; he says,
 father, He doesn't come and mingle freely, here and there
 and everywhere. I mean, not in that sense; but we are
 always conscious, and we feel him. We are conscious of his
 presence. But you know that people think that when they go
 over, they will be with him hand in hand, but of course
 they're wrong.

 He doesn't think he will say very much more about that
 now, not until he's able to say it through some one else.
 It may be that they will say it wrong, that it won't be
 right; it may get twisted. Feda does that sometimes.
 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--No, Feda doesn't!) Yes she does, and
 that's why I say, go carefully.

O. J. L.--Has he been through another medium to a friend of mine

[This was intended to refer to a sitting which Mr. Hill was holding
with Peters about that date, and, as it turned out, on the same day.]

 He doesn't say much. No, he doesn't say nothing about it.
 He hasn't got much power, and he's afraid that he might go

 Good-bye, father, now. My love to you, my love to mother.
 I am nearer to you than ever before, and I'm not so silly
 about [not] showing it. Love to all of them. Lionel is a
 dear old chap. My love to all.



 Don't forget to tell mother about the roses I brought her.
 There's nothing to understand about them; I just wanted
 her to know that I brought her some flowers.

 Good night, father. I am always thinking of you. God bless
 you all.

 Give Feda's love to SrAlec.

O. J. L.--Yes, I will, Feda. We are all fond of you.

 Yes, Feda feels it, and it lifts Feda up, and helps her.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. Leonard speedily came-to, and seemed quite easy and well,
although the sitting had been a long one, and it was now nearly 11.30

       *       *       *       *       *

[I repeat in conclusion that this was an excellent sitting, with a
good deal of evidential matter.--O. J. L.]

    [Footnote 27: This shows clear and independent knowledge
    of the sitting which I had held with Mrs. Clegg that same
    morning (see early parts of this chapter).]



On 24 March, we had some more unverifiable material through Mrs.
Leonard; it was much less striking than that given on 4 February, and
I am inclined myself to attribute a good deal of it to hypothetical
information received by Feda from other sitters: but it seems unfair
to suppress it. In accordance with my plan I propose to reproduce it
for what it is worth.

_Sitting with Mrs. Leonard at our Flat, Friday, 24 March 1916, from
5.45 p.m. to 8 p.m._

(_Present_--O. J. L. AND M. F. A. L.)


(Mrs. Leonard arrived about 5.30 to tea, for a sitting with M. F. A.
L. I happened to be able to come too, in order to take notes. She
had just come away from another sitting, and had had some difficulty
in getting rid of her previous sitter in time, which rather bothered
her. The result was not specially conducive to lucidity, and the
sitting seemed only a moderately good one.

When Feda arrived she seemed pleased, and said:--)

 Yes it is, yes, it's Soliver!

 How are you? Raymond's here!

M. F. A. L.--Is he here already?

 Yes, of course he is!

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--What's he say?) He says he hasn't
 come to play with Feda, or make jokes; he's come about
 serious things.

 Do you remember, Miss Olive [Feda's name for Lady Lodge],
 some time ago, about that beautiful experience what he
 had? He's so glad that you and Soliver know about it, even
 though the others can't take it in. Years hence he thinks
 they may. He says, over there, they don't mind talking
 about the real things, over there, 'cos they're the things
 that count.

 He thinks the one that took it in mostly was Lionel.
 Yes, it seemed to sink in mostly; he was turning it over
 afterwards, though he didn't say much. He's more ready for
 that than the others. He says he would never have believed
 it when he was here, but he is.

 He hasn't been to that place again, not that same
 place. But he's been to a place just below it. He's
 been attending lectures, at what they call, "halls of
 learning": you can prepare yourself for the higher spheres
 while you are living in lower ones. He's on the third, but
 he's told that even now he could go on to the fourth if he
 chose; but he says he would rather be learning the laws
 ap-per-taining to each sphere while he's still living on
 the third, because it brings him closer--at least until
 you two have come over. He will stay and learn, where he
 is. He wouldn't like to go on there and then find it to be
 difficult to get back. He will wait till we can go happily
 and comfortably together!

 Would it interest you for him to tell you about one of
 the places he's been to? It's so interesting to him, that
 he might seem to exaggerate; but the experience is so
 wonderful, it lives with him.

 He went into a place on the fifth sphere--a place he takes
 to be made of alabaster. He's not sure that it really
 was, but it looked like that. It looked like a kind of
 a temple--a large one. There were crowds passing into
 this place, and they looked very happy. And he thought,
 "I wonder what I'm going to see here." When he got mixed
 up with the crowd going into the temple, he felt a kind
 of--(he's stopping to think). It's not irreverency what he
 says, but he felt a kind of feeling as if he had had too
 much champagne--it went to his head, he felt too buoyant,
 as if carried a bit off the ground.

 That's 'cos he isn't quite attuned to the conditions of
 that sphere. It's a most extraordinary feeling. He went
 in, and he saw that though the building was white, there
 were many different lights: looked like certain places
 covered in red, and ... was blue, and the centre was
 orange. These were not the crude colours that go by those
 names, but a softened shade. And he looked to see what
 they came from. Then he saw that a lot of the windows were
 extremely large, and the panes in them had glass of these
 colours. And he saw that some of the people would go and
 stand in the pinky coloured light that came through the
 red glass, and others would stand in the blue light, and
 some would stand in the orange or yellow coloured light.
 And he thought, "What are they doing that for?" Then
 some one told him that the pinky coloured light was the
 light of the love-colour; and the blue was the light of
 actual spiritual healing; and the orange was the light of
 intellect. And that, according to what people wanted, they
 would go and stand under that light. And the guide told
 him that it was more important than what people on earth
 knew. And that, in years to come, there would be made a
 study of the effect of different lights.

 The pinky people looked clever and developed in their
 attitude and mentality generally; but they hadn't been
 able to cultivate the love-interest much, their other
 interests had overpowered that one. And the people who
 went into the intellectual light looked softer and happy,
 but not so clever looking. He says he felt more drawn to
 the pink light himself, but some one said, "No, you have
 felt a good deal of that," and he got out and went into
 the other two, and he felt that he liked the blue light
 best. And he thinks that perhaps you will read something
 into that. I had the other conditions, but I wanted the
 other so much. The blue seemed to call me more than the
 others. After I had been in it some time, I felt that
 nothing mattered much, except preparing for the spiritual
 life. He says that the old Raymond seemed far away at the
 time, as though he was looking back on some one else's
 life--some one I hadn't much connexion with, and yet who
 was linked on to me. And he felt, "What does anything
 matter, if I can only attain this beautiful uplifting
 feeling." I can't tell you what I felt like, but reading
 it over afterwards, perhaps you will understand. Words
 feel powerless to describe it. He won't try, he will just
 tell you what happened after.

 We sat down--the seats were arranged something like pews
 in a church--and as he looked towards the aisle, he saw
 coming up it about seven figures. And he saw, from his
 former experience, that they were evidently teachers come
 down from the seventh sphere. He says, they went up to
 the end part, and they stood on a little raised platform;
 and then one of them came down each of the little aisles,
 and put out their hands on those sitting in the pews.
 And when one of the Guides put his hand on his head, he
 felt a mixture of all three lights--as if he understood
 everything, and as if everything that he had ever felt,
 of anger or worry, all seemed nothing. And he felt as if
 he could rise to any height, and as if he could raise
 everybody round him. As if he had such a power in himself.
 He's stopping to think over it again.

 They sat and listened, and the first part of the ceremony
 was given in a lecture, in which one of the Guides was
 telling them how to teach others on the lower spheres
 and earth plane, to come more into the spiritual life,
 while still on those lower planes. I think that all that
 went before was to make it easy to understand. And he
 didn't get only the words of the speaker, words didn't
 seem to matter, he got the thought--whole sentences,
 instead of one word at a time. And lessons were given on
 concentration, and on the projection of uplifting and
 helpful thoughts to those on the earth plane. And as he
 sat there--he sat, they were not kneeling--he felt as if
 something was going from him, through the other spheres on
 to the earth, and was helping somebody, though he didn't
 know who it was. He can't tell you how wonderful it was;
 not once it happened, but several times.

 He's even been on to the sixth sphere too. The sixth
 sphere was even more beautiful than the fifth, but at
 present he didn't want to stay there. He would rather be
 helping people where he is.

O. J. L.--Does he see the troubles of people on the earth?

 Yes, he does sometimes.

 I do wish that we could alter people so that they were
 not ashamed to talk about the things that matter. He can
 see people preparing for the summer holidays, and yet
 something may prevent them. But the journey that they have
 got to go some time, that they don't prepare for at all.

M. F. A. L.--How can you prepare for it?

 Yes, by speaking about it openly, and living your life so
 as to make it easier for yourself and others.

O. J. L.--Is Raymond still there? Has he got any more tests to give,
or anything to say, to the boys or anybody?

 Did they understand about the yacht?

O. J. L.--Yes, they did.

 And about the tent?

O. J. L.--Yes, they did.

 He's very pleased--it bucks him up when he gets things

O. J. L.--Have you learnt any more about [the Colonel[28]]?

 He's not on the spirit side. He feels sure he isn't.
 Somebody told him that there was a body found, near the
 place where he had been, and it was dressed in uniform
 like he had had. But something had happened to it here
 (pointing to her head).

O. J. L.--Who was it told you?

 Some one on the other side; just a messenger, not one who
 knew all about it. No, the messenger didn't seem to know
 J. K. personally, but he had gathered the information
 from the minds of people on the earth plane. And Feda
 isn't quite sure, but thinks that there was something
 missing from the body--missing from the body that they
 took to be him, which would have identified him.

O. J. L.--Do you mean the face?

 No, he doesn't mean the face.

 (M. F. A. L., here pointing to her chest, signified to me
 that she knew that it was the identification disk that was

M. F. A. L.--Why was it missing?

 Because it wasn't he! In the first place, it couldn't be,
 but if that had only been there, they would have known. He
 can't say where he is at the present moment, but he heard
 a few days ago that he is being kept somewhere, and as far
 as he can make out, in Belgium. It's as though he had been
 taken some distance.

 Raymond's not showing this--but Feda's shown in a sort
 of flash a letter. First a B, and then an R. But the B
 doesn't mean Belgium; it's either a B or an R, or both. It
 just flashed up. It may mean the place where he is. But
 Raymond doesn't know where he is, only he's quite sure
 that he isn't on the spirit side. But he's afraid he's ill.

O. J. L.--Have you anything more to say about E. A.? [See 3
March record, p. 243.]

 No, no more. Raymond came to Feda to help the lady who
 came. Feda started describing Raymond. And he said, no,
 only come to help. And then he brought the one what was
 drownded. He came to help also with another, but Feda
 didn't tell that lady, 'cos she didn't know you. He
 doesn't like Feda to tell. Feda couldn't understand why
 he wanted to help, because she didn't know he knew that
 gentleman. He helped E. A. to build up a picture of his
 home. Perhaps she thinks it was Feda being so clever!

O. J. L.--Yes, I know, she's been there to see it. [See p.

Yes, and she found it what she said. He told

 her that she wouldn't be seeing his mother. She couldn't
 see why she shouldn't see his mother; but she didn't.
 [True.] Raymond hasn't got any good tests. He can't
 manufacture them, and they are so hard to remember.

O. J. L.--Is he still in his little house?

 Oh yes, he feels at home there.

O. J. L.--He said it was made of bricks--I could make nothing of that.

 I knew you couldn't! It's difficult to explain. At-om-;
 he say something about at-om-ic principle. They seem
 to be able to draw (?) certain unstable atoms from the
 atmosphere and crystallise them as they draw near certain
 central attraction. That isn't quite what Feda thinks
 of it. Feda has seen like something going round--a
 wheel--something like electricity, some sparks dropping
 off the edge of the wheel, and it goes crick, crick,
 and becomes like hard; and then they falls like little
 raindrops into the long thing under the wheel--Raymond
 calls it the accumulator. I can't call them anything but
 bricks. It's difficult to know what to call them. Wait
 until you come over, and I'll show you round. And you will
 say, "By Jove, so they are!" Things are quite real here.
 Mind, I don't say things are as heavy as on the earth,
 because they're not. And if he hit or kicked something
 it wouldn't displace it so much as on the earth, because
 we're lighter. I can't tell you exactly what it is; I'm
 not very interested in making bricks, but I can see
 plainly how it's apparently done.

 He says it appears to him too, that the spirit spheres
 are built round the earth plane, and seem to revolve with
 it. Only, naturally, the first sphere isn't revolving
 at such a rate as the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and
 seventh spheres. Greater circumference makes it seem to
 revolve more rapidly. That seems to have an actual effect
 on the atmospheric conditions prevailing in any one of the
 spheres. Do you see what he's getting at?

O. J. L.--Yes. He only means that the peripheral velocity is greater
for the bigger spheres, though the angular velocity is the same.

 Yes, that's just what he means. And it does affect the
 different conditions, and that's why he felt a bit careful
 when he was on a higher sphere, in hanging on to the

[A good deal of this struck me as nonsense; as if Feda had picked it
up from some sitter. But I went on recording what was said.]

 Such a lot of people think it's a kind of thought-world,
 where you think all sort of things--that it's all "think."
 But when you come over you see that there's no thinking
 about it; it's _there_, and it does impress you with
 reality. He does wish you would come over. He will be
 as proud as a cat with something tails--two tails, he
 said. Proud as a cat with two tails showing you round the
 places. He says, father will have a fine time, poking into
 everything, and turning everything inside out.

 There's plenty flowers growing here, Miss Olive, you will
 be glad to hear. But we don't cut them here. They doesn't
 die and grow again; they seem to renew themselves. Just
 like people, they are there all the time renewing their
 spirit bodies. The higher the sphere he went to, the
 lighter the bodies seemed to be--he means the fairer,
 lighter in colour. He's got an idea that the reason why
 people have drawn angels with long fair hair and very fair
 complexion is that they have been inspired by somebody
 from very high spheres. Feda's not fair; she's not brown,
 but olive coloured; her hair is dark. All people that's
 any good has black hair.

 Do you know that [a friend] won't be satisfied unless he
 comes and has a talk through the table. Feda doesn't mind
 now, 'cos she has had a talk. So she will go now and let
 him talk through the table all right.

 Give Feda's love to all of them, specially to
 SLionel--Feda likes him.

       *       *       *       *       *

(Mrs. Leonard now came-to, and after about ten minutes she and M. F.
A. L. sat at a small octagonal table, which, in another five minutes,
began to tilt.)

[But the subject now completely changed, and, if reported at all,
must be reported elsewhere.]

I may say that several times, during a Feda sitting, some special
communicator has asked for a table sitting to follow, because he
considers it more definite and more private. And certainly some of
the evidence so got has been remarkable; as indeed it was on this
occasion. But the record concerns other people, distant friends of my
wife, some of whom take no interest in the subject whatever.

    [Footnote 28: See record on P. 254.]



There are a number of incidents which might be reported, some of them
of characteristic quality, and a few of them of the nature of good
tests. The first of these reported here is decidedly important.



Lionel and Norah, going through London on the way to Eastbourne, on
Friday, 26 May 1916, arranged to have a sitting with Mrs. Leonard
about noon. They held one from 11.55 to 1.30, and a portion of their
record is transcribed below.

At noon it seems suddenly to have occurred to Alec in Birmingham to
try for a correspondence test; so he motored up from his office,
extracted some sisters from the Lady Mayoress's Depot, where they
were making surgical bandages, and took them to Mariemont for a
brief table sitting. It lasted about ten minutes, between 12.10 and
12.20 p.m. And the test which he then and there suggested was to ask
Raymond to get Feda in London to say the word "Honolulu." This task,
I am told, was vigorously accepted and acquiesced in.

 A record of this short sitting Alec wrote on a letter-card to me,
which I received at 7 p.m. the same evening at Mariemont: the first I
had heard of the experiment. The postmark is "1 p.m. 26 My 16," and
the card runs thus:--

  "_Mariemont, Friday, 26 May, 12.29 p.m._

  "Honor, Rosalynde, and Alec sitting in drawing-room at
  table. Knowing Lionel and Norah having Feda sitting in
  London simultaneously. Asked Raymond to give our love to
  Norah and Lionel and to try and get Feda to say Honolulu.
  Norah and Lionel know nothing of this, as it was arranged
  by A. M. L. after 12 o'clock to-day.


It is endorsed on the back in pencil, "Posted at B'ham General P.O.
12.43 p.m."; and, in ink, "Received by me 7 p.m.--O. J. L. Opened and
read and filed at once."

The sitters in London knew nothing of the contemporaneous attempt;
and nothing was told them, either then or later. Noticing nothing odd
in their sitting, which they had not considered a particularly good
one, they made no report till after both had returned from Eastbourne
a week later.

The notes by that time had been written out, and were given me to
read to the family. As I read, I came on a passage near the end, and,
like the few others who were in the secret, was pleased to find that
the word "Honolulu" had been successfully got through. The subject of
music appeared to have been rather forced in by Raymond, in order to
get Feda to mention an otherwise disconnected and meaningless word;
the time when this was managed being, I _estimate_, about 1.0 or
1.15. But of course it was not noted as of any interest at the time.

Here follow the London Notes. I will quote portions of the sitting
only, so as not to take up too much space:--

_Sitting of Lionel and Norah with Mrs. Leonard in London, Friday, 26
May 1916, beginning 11.55 a.m._


After referring to Raymond's married sister and her husband, Feda
suddenly ejaculated:--

 How is Alec?

L. L.--Oh, all right.

 He just wanted to know how he was, and send his love to
 him. He does not always see who is at the table; he feels
 some more than others.[29]

 He says you (to Norah) sat at the table and Lionel.

 He felt you (Norah) more than any one else at the table.

[This is unlikely. He seems to be thinking that it is Honor.]

 Feda feels that if you started off very easily, you would
 be able to see him. Develop a normal ... [clairvoyance

 Raymond says, go slowly, develop just with time, go
 slowly. Even the table helps a little.

 He can really get through now in his own words. When he is
 there, he now knows what he has got through.

 The Indians have got through their hanky-panky. [We
 thought that this meant playing with the table in a way
 beyond his control.]

 He says that Lily is here. (Feda, _sotto voce_.--Where is

 She looks very beautiful, and has lilies; she will help
 too, and give you power.

 Sit quietly once or twice a week, hold your hands, the
 right over the left, so, for ten minutes, then sit
 quiet--only patience. He could wait till doomsday.

 He says, Wait and see; he is laughing!

 He has seen Curly (p. 203).

L. L.--Is Curly there now?

 No, see her when we wants to. That's the one that wriggles
 and goes ... (here Feda made a sound like a dog panting,
 with her tongue out--quite a good imitation).

 Raymond has met another boy like Paul, a boy called Ralph.
 He likes him. There is what you call a set. People meet
 there who are interested in the same things. Ralph is a
 very decent sort of chap.[30]

 (To Norah).--You could play.

N. M. L.--Play what?

 Not a game, a music.

N. M. L.--I am afraid I can't, Raymond.

 (Feda, _sotto voce_.--She can't do that.)

 He wanted to know whether you could play Hulu--Honolulu.

 Well, can't you try to? He is rolling with laughter
 [meaning that he's pleased about something].

 He knows who he is speaking to, but he can't give the name.

[Here he seems to know that it is Norah and not Honor.]

L. L.--Should I tell him?


 He says something about a yacht; he means a test he sent
 through about a yacht. Confounded Argonauts![31]

 He is going. Fondest love to them at Mariemont.

The sitting continued for a short time longer, ending at 1.30 p.m.,
but the present report may end here.


In my judgment there were signs that the simultaneous holding of two
sittings, one with Honor and Alec in Edgbaston, and one with Lionel
and Norah in London, introduced a little harmless confusion; there
was a tendency in London to confuse Norah with Honor, and Alec was
mentioned in London in perhaps an unnecessary way. I do not press
this, however, but I do press the 'Honolulu' episode--

 (i) because it establishes a reality about the home sittings,

 (ii) because it so entirely eliminates anything of the nature of
collusion, conscious or unconscious,

 (iii) because the whole circumstances of the test make it an
exceedingly good one.

What it does not exclude is telepathy. In fact it may be said to
suggest telepathy. Yes, it suggests distinctly one variety of what,
I think, is often called telepathy--a process sometimes conducted, I
suspect, by an unrecognised emissary or messenger between agent and
percipient. It was exactly like an experiment conducted for thought
transference at a distance. For at Edgbaston was a party of three
sitting round a table and thinking for a few seconds of the word
'Honolulu'; while in London was a party of two simultaneously sitting
with a medium and recording what was said. And in their record the
word 'Honolulu' occurs. Telepathy, however--of whatever kind--is not
a normal explanation; and I venture to say that there is no normal
explanation, since in my judgment chance is out of the question. The
subject of music was forced in by the communicator, in order to bring
in the word; it did not occur naturally; and even if the subject of
music had arisen, there was no sort of reason for referring to that
particular song. The chief thing that the episode establishes, to
my mind, and a thing that was worth establishing, is the genuine
character of the simple domestic sittings without a medium which
are occasionally held by the family circle at Mariemont. For it is
through these chiefly that Raymond remains as much a member of the
family group as ever.


Once at Mariemont, I am told, when M. F. A. L. and Honor were
touching it, the table moved up to a book in which relics and
reminiscences of Raymond had been pasted, and caused it to be opened.
In it, among other things, was an enlargement of the snapshot facing
page 278, showing him in an old 'Nagant' motor, which had been passed
on to him by Alec, stopping outside a certain house in Somersetshire.
He was asked what house it was, and was expected to spell the name
of the friend who lived there, but instead he spelt the name of the
house. The record by M. F. A. L., with some unimportant omissions,
is here reproduced--merely, however, as another example of a private
sitting without a medium.

_Impromptu Table Sitting at Mariemont, Tuesday, 25 April 1916_


I had been thinking of Raymond all day, and wanting to thank him for
what he did yesterday for [a friend]. Honor had agreed that we might
do it some time, but when I mentioned it about 10.50 p.m., she did
not want to sit then--she thought it too late. We were then in the

Honor, sitting on the Chesterfield, said, "I wonder if any table
would be equally good for Raymond?"--placing her hands on the
middle-sized table of the nest of three. It at once began to stir,
and she asked me to place mine on the other side to steady it.

I asked if it was Raymond, and it decidedly said YES.

I then thanked him with much feeling for what he had done for [two
separate families] lately. I told him how much he had comforted them,
and how splendidly he was doing; that there were quite a number of
people he had helped now. We discussed a few others that needed help.

Then I think we asked him if he knew what room we were in--YES. And
after knocking me a good deal, and making a noise which seemed to
please him against my eyeglasses, he managed, by laying the table
down, to get one foot on to the Chesterfield and raise the table
up on it; and there it stayed, and rocked about for a long time
answering questions--I thought it would make a hole in the cover.

I don't quite remember how it got down, but it did, and then edged
itself up to the other larger table, which had been given me by
Alec, Noël, and Raymond, after they had broken a basket table I used
to use there--it was brought in with a paper, "To Mother from the
culprits." (This was a year or two ago.) Well, he got it up to this
table, and fidgeted about with the foot of the smaller table on which
we had our hands, until he rested it on a ledge and tried to raise
it up. But the way he did this most successfully was when he got the
ledge of our small table onto a corner of the other and then raised
it off the ground level. This he did several times. I took one hand
off, leaving one hand on the top, and Honor's two hands lying on the
top, _no part_ of them being over the edge, and I measured the height
the legs were off the ground. The first time it was the width of
three fingers, and the next time four fingers.

Honor told him this was very clever.

I then tried to press it down, but could not--a curious feeling, like
pressing on a cushion of air.

He had by this time turned us right round, so that Honor was sitting
where I had been before, and I was sitting or sometimes standing in
her place. Then we were turned round again, and he seemed to want to
knock the other table again; he went at it in a curious way. I had
with one hand to remove a glass on it which I thought he would upset.
He continued to edge against it, until he reached a book lying on
it. This he knocked with such intention, that Honor asked him if he
wanted it opened.


[This was a scrap-book in which I collect anything about
him--photographs, old and new; poems made _about_ him, or sent to
me in consolation; and it has his name outside, drawn on in large
letters.--M. F. A. L.]

So I opened it, and showed him the photograph of himself seated in
the 'Nagant.' [A motor-car which Alec had practically given him not
long before the war, and with which he was delighted.]

Honor asked if he could see it, and he said YES, and seemed pleased.

She asked if he could tell her what house it was standing in front
of, and he spelt out--


[This was pretty good, as the name of the Jacques's house is 'St.

 (Honor had forgotten the name till he began, and expected him to say

We told him he had got it, but that his spelling wasn't quite as good
as it had been.

Honor talked to him then about the 'Nagant' and the 'Gabrielle Horn,'
all of which seemed to delight him.

We then showed him some other photographs, and the one of his dog,
and asked him to spell its name, which he did without mistake--


He couldn't see the little photograph of the goats, as it was too
small. But he saw himself in uniform--the one taken by Rosalynde and
enlarged--and he seemed to like seeing that.

We talked a lot to him. I asked if he remembered his journey with
me out to Italy, and the Pullman car, etc. At this he knocked very
affectionately against me.

We then thought it was time for us all to go to bed. But he said NO.
So we went on telling him family news. He listened with interest and
appreciative knocks, and he then tried his balancing trick again,
sometimes with success, but often failing to get the leg right. But
he did it again in the end. We tried to say good night, it being then
nearly one o'clock, but he didn't seem to want to go.

We said au revoir, and told him we would see him again soon.


A striking incident is reported in one of my 'Feda' sittings--that
on 3 March 1916--shortly after the death of our peacock, which went
by the comic name of 'Mr. Jackson,' his wives being Matilda Jackson
and Janet. He was a pet of M. F. A. L.'s, and had recently met with a
tragic end. It was decided to have him stuffed, and one of the last
things I had seen before leaving Mariemont was a wooden pedestal on
which it was proposed to put him.

When I asked Feda if Raymond remembered Mr. Jackson, he spoke of him
humorously, greatly to Feda's puzzlement, who said at last that he
was mixing him up with a bird, about whom I had previously inquired;
because he said, 'Fine bird, put him on a pedestal.'



If this was not telepathy from me, it seems to show a curious
knowledge of what is going on at his home, for the bird had not
been dead a week, and if he were alive there would be no sense in
saying, 'put him on a pedestal.' Feda evidently understood it, or
tried to understand it, as meaning that some man, a Mr. Jackson, was
metaphorically put on a pedestal by the family.

The fact, however, that Mr. Jackson was at once known by Raymond to
be a bird is itself evidential, for there was nothing in the way I
asked the question to make Feda or anyone think he was not a man.
Indeed, that is precisely why she got rather bewildered. See Chapter


It is unnecessary to call attention to the importance of the
photograph incident, which is fully narrated in Chapter IV; but he
spoke later of another photograph, in which he said was included
his friend Case. It is mentioned near the end of Chapter IV. That
photograph we also obtained from Gale & Polden, and it is true that
Case is in it as well as Raymond, whereas he was not in the former
group; but this one is entirely different from the other, for they
are both in a back row standing up, and in a quite open place.
If this had been sent to us at first, instead of the right one,
we should have considered the description quite wrong. As it is,
the main photograph episode constitutes one of the best pieces of
evidence that has been given.

       *       *       *       *       *


The number of more or less convincing proofs which we have obtained
is by this time very great. Some of them appeal more to one person,
some to another; but taking them all together every possible ground
of suspicion or doubt seems to the family to be now removed. And it
is legitimate to say, further, that partly through Raymond's activity
a certain amount of help of the same kind has been afforded to
other families. Incidentally it has been difficult to avoid brief
reference to a few early instances of this, in that part of the
record now published. For the most part, however, these and a great
number of other things are omitted; and I ought perhaps to apologise
for the quantity which I have thought proper to include. Some home
critics think that it would have been wiser to omit a great deal
more, so as to lighten the book. But one can only act in accordance
with one's own judgment; and the book, if it is to achieve what it
aims at, cannot be a light one. So, instead of ending it here, I
propose to add a quantity of more didactic material--expressing my
own views on the subject of Life and Death--the result of many years
of thought and many kinds of experience.

Some people may prefer the details in Part II; but others who
have not the patience to read Part II may tolerate the more
general considerations adduced in Part III--the "Life and Death"
portion--which can be read without any reference to Raymond or to
Parts I and II.

    [Footnote 29: It is noteworthy, in connexion with these
    remarks, that Honor and Alec were sitting for a short time
    at Mariemont just about now.--O. J. L.]

    [Footnote 30: This is the first mention of a
    Ralph--presumably the one whose people, not known to us
    personally, had had excellent table sittings with Mrs.
    Leonard. See Chapter XII.--O. J. L.]

    [Footnote 31: This is too late to be of any use, but
    'Yacht' appears to be the sort of answer they had wanted
    to 'Argonauts.'--O. J. L.]


  "Eternal form shall still divide
  The eternal soul from all beside;
  And I shall know him when we meet."

  Tennyson, _In Memoriam_.


In this "Life and Death" portion a definite side is unobtrusively
taken in connexion with two outstanding controversies; and though
the treatment is purposely simple and uncontroversial, the author is
under no delusion that every philosophical reader will agree with
him. Explicit argumentation on either side is no novelty, but this is
not the place for argument; moreover, the opposing views have already
been presented with ample clearness by skilled disputants.

Briefly then it may be said that Interactionism rather than
Epiphenomenalism or Parallelism is the side taken in one controversy.
And the non-material nature of life--the real existence of some kind
of vital essence or vivifying principle as a controlling and guiding
entity--is postulated in another: though the author never calls it a
force or an energy.

Philosophical literature teems with these topics, but it may
suffice here to call the attention of the general reader to two
or three easily readable summaries--one an explanatory article by
Mr. Gerald Balfour, in _The Hibbert Journal_ for April 1910, on
the Epiphenomenon controversy, and generally on the alternative
explanations of the connexion between Mind and Body, in the light
thrown on the subject by Telepathy and Psychical Research; while on
the vitality controversy a small book embodying a short course of
lectures by the physiologist and philosopher Dr. J. S. Haldane under
the title _Mechanism, Life, and Personality_, or a larger book by
Professor M'Dougal called _Body and Mind_, may be recommended. On
this subject also the writings of Professor J. Arthur Thomson may be
specially mentioned.

The opinions of the present author on these topics, whatever they
may be worth, are held without apology or hesitation, because to him
they appear the inevitable consequence of facts of nature as now
known or knowable. Some of these facts are not generally accepted
by scientific men; and if the facts themselves are not admitted,
naturally any conclusion based upon them will appear ill-founded, and
the further developed structure illusory. He anticipates that this
will be said by critics.

In so far as the author's manner of statement is in terms of frank
Dualism, he regards that as inevitable for scientific purposes. He
does not suppose that any form of Dualism can be the last word about
the Universe; but, for practical purposes, mind and matter, or soul
and body, must be thought of separately, and it must be the work of
higher Philosophy to detect ultimate unity--a unity which he feels
certain cannot possibly be materialistic in any sense intelligible to
those who are at present studying matter and energy.

It may be doubted whether Materialism as a philosophy exists any
longer, in the sense of being sustained by serious philosophers;
but a few physiological writers, of skill and industry, continue
to advocate what they are pleased to call Scientific Materialism.
Properly regarded this is a Policy, not a Philosophy, as I will
explain; but they make the mistake of regarding it as a Philosophy
comprehensive enough to give them the right of negation as well
as of affirmation. They do this in the interest of what they feel
instinctively to be the ultimate achievement, a Monism in which mind
and matter can be recognised as aspects of some one fundamental
Reality. We can sympathise with the aim, and still feel how far from
accomplishment we are. Nothing is gained by undue haste, and by
unfounded negation much may be lost. We must not deny any part of the
Universe for the sake of a premature unification. Simplification by
exclusion or denial is a poverty-stricken device.

The strength of such workers is that they base themselves on the
experience and discoveries of the past, and, by artificial but
convenient limitation of outlook, achieve practical results. But they
are not satisfied with results actually achieved--they forget their
limitations--and, by a gigantic system of extrapolation from what has
been done, try to infer what is going to be done; their device being
to anticipate and speak of what they hope for, as if it were already
an accomplished fact. Some of the assumptions or blind guesses made
by men of this school are well illustrated by an exposition in _The
Hibbert Journal_ for July 1916, where an able writer states the main
propositions of Scientific Materialism thus:--

 1. The law of universal causation;

 2. The principle of mechanism--_i.e._ the denial of purpose in the
 universe and all notions of absolute finalism or teleology;

 3. The denial that there exists any form of 'spiritual' or 'mental'
 entity that cannot be expressed in terms of matter and motion.

These appear to be its three propositions, and they are formulated by
the exponent "as being of the first importance in the representation
of materialistic thought."

Now proposition 1 is common property; materialistic thought has no
sort of exclusive right over it; and to claim propositions 2 and
3 as corollaries from it is farcical. Taking them as independent
postulates--which they are--all that need be said about proposition
2 is that a broad denial always needs more knowledge than a specific
assertion, and it is astonishing that any sane person can imagine
himself to know enough about the Universe as a whole to be able
complacently to deny the existence of any "purpose" in it. All he
can really mean is that scientific explanations must be framed so
as to exhibit the immediate means whereby results in nature are
accomplished; for whether, or in what sense, they are first or
simultaneously conceived in a Mind--as human undertakings are--is
a matter beyond our scientific ken. Thus Darwinian and Mendelian
attempts to explain how species arise, and how inheritance occurs,
are entirely legitimate and scientific. For our experience is that
every event has a proximate cause which we can investigate. Of
ultimate causes we as scientific men are ignorant: they belong to a
different region of inquiry. If the word "denial," therefore, in the
above proposition is replaced by the phrase "exclusion from practical
scientific attention," I for one have no quarrel with clause 2;
for it then becomes a mere self-denying ordinance, a convenient
limitation of scope. It represents Policy, not Philosophy.

But attention may be more usefully directed to the extravagantly
gratuitous guess involved in hypothesis 3. As a minor point, it is
not even carefully worded; for entities which cannot be expressed in
terms of matter and motion are common enough without going outside
the domain of physics. Light, for instance, and Electricity, have
not yet proved amenable, and do not appear likely to be amenable, to
purely dynamical theory.

Certain phenomena have been reduced to matter and motion,--heat, for
instance, and sound, the phenomena of gases and liquids, and all the
complexities of astronomy. And in a famous passage Newton expressed
an enthusiastic hope that all the phenomena of physics might some
day be similarly reduced to the attractive simplicity of the three
laws of motion--inertia, acceleration, and stress. And ever since
Newton it has been the aim of physics to explain everything in its
domain in terms of pure dynamics. The attempt has been only partially
successful: the Ether is recalcitrant. But its recalcitrance is not
like mere surly obstruction, it is of a helpful and illuminating
character, and I shall not be misleading anyone if I cheerfully
admit that in some modified and expanded form dynamical theory in
mathematical physics has proved itself to be supreme.

But does dominance of that kind give to that splendid science--the
glory of Britain and of Cambridge--the right to make a gigantic
extrapolation and sprawl over all the rest of the Universe, throwing
out tentacles even into regions which it has definitely abstracted
from its attention or excluded from its ken? There is not a physicist
who thinks so. The only people who try to think so are a few
enthusiasts of a more speculative habit of thought, who are annoyed
with the physicists, from Lord Kelvin downwards, for not agreeing
with them. And being unable to gather from competent authority any
specific instance in which dynamics has explained a single fact in
the region of either life or mind or consciousness or emotion or
purpose or will,--because it is known perfectly well that dynamical
jurisdiction does not extend into those regions,--these speculators
set up as authorities on their own account, and, on the strength of
their own expectation, propound the broad and sweeping dogma that
nothing in the Universe exists which is not fully expressible in
terms of matter and motion. And then, having accustomed themselves to
the sound of some such collocation of words, they call upon humanity
to shut its eyes to any facts of common experience which render such
an assertion ridiculous.

The energy and enthusiasm of these writers, and the good work
they may be doing in their own science, render them more or less
immune from attack; but every now and then it is necessary to say
clearly that such extravagant generalisations profane the modesty of
science: whose heritage it is to recognise the limitations of partial
knowledge, and to be always ready to gain fresh experience and learn
about the unknown. The new and unfamiliar is the vantage ground, not
of scientific dogmatism, but of scientific inquiry.

       *       *       *       *       *

The expository or theoretical part of this book may at first appear
too abstract for the general reader who has had no experience of
the kind of facts already described. Such reader may fail to see a
connexion between this more didactic portion and the illustrations or
examples which have preceded it; but if he will give sufficient time
and thought to the subject, the connexion will dawn upon him with
considerable vividness.

It has always seemed to the author legitimate, and in every way
desirable, for an experimenter to interpret and make himself
responsible for an explanation or theory of his observations, so far
as he can. To record bare facts and expect a reader of the record
to arrive at the same conclusion as that reached by one who has
been immersed in them for a long time, is to expect too strenuous
an effort, and is not a fair procedure. Such a practice, though
not unusual and sometimes even commended in physical science, is
not followed by the most famous workers; and it has been known to
retard progress for a considerable time by loading the student with
an accumulation of undigested facts. The hypothesis on which an
observer has been working, or which he has arrived at in the course
of his investigations, may or may not be of permanent value, but if
his experience has led him to regard it as the best solution so far
attainable, and if he is known not to be a specially obstinate or
self-opinionated person, his views for what they are worth should be
set forth for the guidance of future inquirers. If he mauls the facts
in his direction, he will be detected; but such an accusation is a
serious one, and should not be made lightly or without opportunity
for reply.

The string on which beads are strung may not be extremely durable,
and in time it may give place to something stronger, but it is better
than a random heap of beads not threaded on anything at all.

The main thread linking all the facts together in the present case is
the hypothesis not only of continued or personal psychical existence
in the abstract, but a definite inter-locking or inter-communication
between two grades of existence,--the two in which we are most
immediately interested and about which we can ascertain most,--that
of the present and that of the immediate future for each individual;
together with the added probabilities that the actual grades of
existence are far more than two, and that the forthcoming transition,
in which we cannot but be interested even if we do not believe in it,
is only one of many of which we shall, in some barely imaginable way,
in due time become aware.

The hypothesis of continued existence in another set of conditions,
and of possible communication across a boundary, is not a gratuitous
one made for the sake of comfort and consolation, or because of a
dislike to the idea of extinction; it is a hypothesis which has been
gradually forced upon the author--as upon many other persons--by the
stringent coercion of definite experience. The foundation of the
atomic theory in Chemistry is to him no stronger. The evidence is
cumulative, and has broken the back of all legitimate and reasonable

And if by selecting the atomic theory as an example he has chosen one
upon which supplementary and most interesting facts have been grafted
in the progress of discovery--facts not really contradicting the old
knowledge, even when superficially appearing to do so, but adding to
it and illuminating it further, while making changes perhaps in its
manner of formulation--he has chosen such an example of set purpose,
as not unlikely to be imitated in the present case also.



"Eternal process moving on."--TENNYSON

The shorter the word the more inevitable it is that it will be used
in many significations; as can be proved by looking out almost any
monosyllable in a large dictionary. The tendency of a simple word to
have many glancing meanings--like shot silk, as Tennyson put it--is
a character of high literary value; though it may be occasionally
inconvenient for scientific purposes. It is unlikely that we can
escape an ambiguity due to this tendency, but I wish to use the term
'life' to signify the vivifying principle which animates matter.

That the behaviour of animated matter differs from what is often
called dead matter is familiar, and is illustrated by the description
sometimes given of an uncanny piece of mechanism--that "it behaves
as if it were alive." In the case of a jumping bean, for instance,
its spasmodic and capricious behaviour can be explained with apparent
simplicity, though with a suspicious trend towards superstition,
by the information that a live and active maggot inhabits a cavity
inside. It is thereby removed from the bare category of physics
only, though still perfectly obedient to physical laws: it jumps in
accordance with mechanics, but neither the times nor the direction of
its jumps can be predicted.[32]

We must admit that the term 'dead matter' is often misapplied. It
is used sometimes to denote merely the constituents of the general
inorganic world. But it is inconvenient to speak of utterly inanimate
things, like stones, as 'dead,' when no idea of life was ever
associated with them, and when 'inorganic' is all that is meant. The
term 'dead' applied to a piece of matter signifies the absence of a
vivifying principle, no doubt, but it is most properly applied to a
collocation of organic matter which has been animated.

Again, when animation has ceased, the thing we properly call dead
is not the complete organism, but that material portion which is
left behind; we do not or should not intend to make any assertion
concerning the vivifying principle which has left it,--beyond the
bare fact of its departure. We know too little about that principle
to be able to make safe general assertions. The life that is
transmitted by an acorn or other seed fruit is always beyond our ken.
We can but study its effects, and note its presence or its absence by

Life must be considered _sui generis_; it is not a form of energy,
nor can it be expressed in terms of something else. Electricity is
in the same predicament; it too cannot be explained in terms of
something else. This is true of all fundamental forms of being.
Magnetism may be called a concomitant of moving electricity; ordinary
matter can perhaps be resolved into electric charges: but an electric
charge can certainly not be expressed in terms of either matter or
energy. No more can life. To show that the living principle in a seed
is not one of the forms of energy, it is sufficient to remember that
that seed can give rise to innumerable descendants, through countless
generations, without limit. There is nothing like a constant quantity
of something to be shared, as there is in all examples of energy:
there is no conservation about it: the seed embodies a stimulating
and organising principle which appears to well from a limitless

But although life is not energy, any more than it is matter, yet it
directs energy and thereby controls arrangements of matter. Through
the agency of life specific structures are composed which would not
otherwise exist, from a sea-shell to a cathedral, from a blade of
grass to an oak; and specific distributions of energy are caused,
from the luminosity of a firefly to an electric arc, from the song of
a cricket to an oratorio.

Life makes use of any automatic activities, or transferences and
declensions of energy, which are either potentially or actually
occurring. In especial it makes use of the torrent of ether tremors
which reach the earth from the sun. Every plant is doing it
constantly. Admittedly life exerts no force, it does no work, but
it makes effective the energy available for an organism which it
controls and vivifies; it determines in what direction and when
work shall be done. It is plain matter of fact that it does this,
whether we understand the method or not,--and thus indirectly life
interacts with and influences the material world. The energy of
coal is indirectly wholly solar, but without human interference it
might remain buried in the earth, and certainly would never propel
a ship across the Atlantic. One way of putting the matter is to say
that life _times_, and _directs_. If it runs a railway train, it
runs the train not like a locomotive but like a General Manager.
It enters into battle with a walking-stick, but guns are fired to
its orders. It may be said to aim and fire: one of its functions is
to discriminate between the wholesome and the deleterious, between
friend and foe. That is a function outside the scope of physics.

Energy controlled by life is not random energy: the kind of
self-composition or personal structure built by it depends on the
kind of life-unit which is operating, not on the pabulum which is
supplied. The same food will serve to build a pig, a chicken, or
a man. Food which is assimilable at all takes a shape determined
by the nature of the operative organism, and indeed by the portion
of the organism actually reached by it. Unconscious constructive
ability is as active in each cell of the body as in a honeycomb; only
in a beehive we can see the operators at work. The construction of
an eye or an ear is still more astonishing. In the inorganic world
such structures would be meaningless, for there would be nothing
to respond to their stimulus; they can only serve elementary mind
and consciousness. The brain and nerve system is an instrument of
transmutation or translation from the physical to the mental, and
_vice versa_.


Steps in the progress of evolution--great stages which have been
likened by Sir James Crichton Browne to exceptional Mendelian
Mutations--may be rather imaginatively rehearsed somewhat thus:--

Starting with

 The uniform Ether of Space, we can first suppose

 The specialisation or organisation of specks of ether into Electrons;
 followed by

 Associated systems of electrons, constituting atoms of Matter; and so

 The whole inorganic Universe.

Then, as a new and astonishing departure, comes--

 The cell, or protoplasmic complex which Life can construct and
 utilise for manifestation and development.[33]

And after that

 A brain cell, which can become the physical organ for the rudiments
 of Mind.

Followed by

 Further mental development until Consciousness becomes possible.
 With subsequent

 Sublimation of consciousness into Ethics, Philosophy, and Religion.

We need not insist on these or any other stages for our present
purpose; yet something of the kind would seem to have occurred, in
the mysterious course of time.



The biological explanation of a jumping bean is sometimes felt to be
puzzling, inasmuch as the creature is wholly enclosed; and a man in
a boat knows that he cannot propel it by movement inside, without
touching the water or something external. But the reaction of a
table can be made use of through the envelope, and a live thing can
momentarily vary its own weight-pressure and even reverse its sign.
This fact has a bearing on some psycho-physical experiments, and
hence is worthy of a moment's attention.

To weigh an animal that jumps and will not keep still is always
troublesome. It cannot alter its average weight, truly, but it can
redistribute it in time; at moments its apparent weight may be
excessive, and at other moments zero or even negative, as during the
middle of an energetic leap. Parenthetically we may here interpolate
a remark and say that what is called interference of light (two
lights producing darkness, in popular language) is a redistribution
of luminous energy in space. No light, nor any kind of wave motion,
is destroyed by interference when two sets of waves overlap, but the
energy rises to a maximum in some places, and in other places sinks
to zero. No wave energy is consumed by interference--only rearranged.
This fact is often misstated. And probably the other statement, about
the varying apparent weight--_i.e._ pressure on the ground--of a live
animal, may be misstated too: though there is no question of energy
about that, but only of force. The force or true weight, in the sense
of the earth's attraction, is there all the time, and is constant;
but the pressure on the ground, or the force needed to counteract the
weight, is not constant. After momentary violence, as in throwing, no
support need be supplied for several seconds; and, like the maggot
inside a hollow bean, a live thing turning itself into a projectile
may even carry something else up too. It is instructive also to
consider a flying bird, and a dirigible balloon, and to ask where the
still existing weight of these things can be found.


The properties which differentiate living matter from any kind of
inorganic imitation may be instinctively felt, but can hardly be
formulated without expert knowledge. The differences between a
growing organism and a growing crystal are many and various, but it
must suffice here to specify the simplest and most familiar sort of
difference; and as it is convenient to take a possibly controversial
statement of this kind from the writings of a physiologist, I quote
here a passage from an article by Professor Fraser Harris, of
Halifax, Nova Scotia, in the current number of the quarterly magazine
called _Science Progress_ edited by Sir Ronald Ross--

  "Living animal bioplasm has the power of growing, that
  is of assimilating matter in most cases chemically
  quite unlike that of its own constitution. Now this is
  a remarkable power, not in the least degree shared by
  non-living matter. Its very familiarity has blinded us to
  its uniqueness as a chemical phenomenon. The mere fact
  that a man eating beef, bird, fish, lobster, sugar, fat,
  and innumerable other things can transform these into
  human bioplasm, something chemically very different even
  from that of them which most resembles human tissue, is
  one of the most extraordinary facts in animal physiology.
  A crystal growing in a solution is not only not analogous
  to this process, it is in the sharpest possible contrast
  with it. The crystal grows only in the sense that it
  increases in bulk by accretions to its exterior, and only
  does that by being immersed in a solution of the same
  material as its own substance. It takes up to itself only
  material which is already similar to itself; this is not
  assimilation, it is merely incorporation.

       *       *       *       *       *

  "The term 'growth,' strictly speaking, can be applied
  only to metabolism in the immature or convalescent
  organism. The healthy adult is not 'growing' in this
  sense; when of constant weight he is adding neither to
  his stature nor his girth, and yet he is assimilating as
  truly as ever he did. Put more technically: in the adult
  of stationary weight, anabolism is quantitatively equal
  to katabolism, whereas in the truly growing organism
  anabolism is prevailing over katabolism; and reversely in
  the wasting of an organism or in senile decay, katabolism
  is prevailing over anabolism. The crystal in its solution
  offers no analogies with the adult or the senile
  states--but these are of the very essence of the life of
  an organism....

  "The fact, of course familiar to every beginner in
  biology, is that the crystal is only incorporating and
  not excreting anything, whereas the living matter is
  always excreting as well as assimilating. This one-sided
  metabolism--if it can be dignified with that term--is
  indeed characteristic of the crystal, but it is at no
  time characteristic of the living organism. The organism,
  whether truly growing or only in metabolic equilibrium,
  is constantly taking up material to replace effete
  material, is replenishing because it has previously
  displenished itself or cast off material. The resemblance
  between a so-called 'growing' crystal and a growing
  organism is verily of the most superficial kind."

And Professor Fraser Harris concludes his article thus:--

  "Between the living and the non-living there is a great
  gulf fixed, and no efforts of ours, however heroic, have
  as yet bridged it over."


We know that as vitality diminishes the bodily deterioration called
old age sets in, and that a certain amount of deterioration results
in death; but it turns out, on systematic inquiry, that old age and
death are not essential to living organisms. They represent the
deterioration and wearing out of working parts, so that the vivifying
principle is hampered in its manifestation and cannot achieve results
which with a younger and healthier machine were possible; but the
parts which wear out are not the essential bearers of the vivifying
principle; they are accreted or supplementary portions appropriate
to developed individual earth life, and it does not appear
improbable that the progress of discovery may at least postpone the
deterioration that we call old age, for a much longer time than at
present. Emphasis on this distinction between germ cell and body
cell, usually associated with Weismann, seems to have been formulated
before him by Herdman of Liverpool.

Biologists teach us that the phenomenon of old age is not evident in
the case of the unicellular organisms which reproduce by fission.
The cell can be killed, but it need neither grow old nor die. Death
appears to be a prerogative of the higher organisms. But even among
these Professor Weismann adopts and defends the view that "death is
not a primary necessity, but that it has been secondarily acquired
by adaptation." The cell is not inherently limited in its number
of cell-generations. The low unicellular organism is potentially
immortal; the higher multicellular form, with well-differentiated
organs, contains the germ of death within its _soma_. Death seems to
supervene by reason of its utility to the species: continued life of
an individual after a certain stage being comparatively useless. From
the point of view of the race the soma or main body is "a secondary
appendage of the real bearer of life--the reproductive cells."
The somatic cells probably lost their immortal qualities on this
immortality becoming useless to the species. Their mortality may have
been a mere consequence of their differentiation. "Natural death was
not introduced from absolute intrinsic necessity, inherent in the
nature of living matter," says Weismann, "but on grounds of utility;
that is from necessities which sprang up, not from the general
conditions of life, but from those special conditions which dominate
the life of multicellular organisms."

It is not the germ cell itself, but the bodily accretion or
appendage, which is abandoned by life, and which accordingly dies and

    [Footnote 32: See Explanatory Note A at end of chapter.]

    [Footnote 33: See Explanatory Note B.]



"And Life, still wreathing flowers for Death to

Whatever Life may really be, it is to us an abstraction: for the word
is a generalised term to signify that which is common to all animals
and plants, and which is not directly operative in the inorganic
world. To understand life we must study living things, to see what
is common to them all. An organism is alive when it moulds matter to
a characteristic form, and utilises energy for its own purposes--the
purposes especially of growth and reproduction. A living organism,
so far as it is alive, preserves its complicated structure from
deterioration and decay.[34]

Death is the cessation of that controlling influence over matter and
energy, so that thereafter the uncontrolled activity of physical and
chemical forces supervene. Death is not the absence of life merely,
the term signifies its departure or separation, the severance of the
abstract principle from the concrete residue. The term only truly
applies to that which has been living.

Death therefore may be called a dissociation, a dissolution, a
separation of a controlling entity from a physicochemical organism;
it may be spoken of in general and vague terms as a separation
of soul and body, if the term 'soul' is reduced to its lowest

Death is not extinction. Neither the soul nor the body is
extinguished or put out of existence. The body weighs just as much
as before, the only properties it loses at the moment of death are
potential properties. So also all we can assert concerning the vital
principle is that it no longer animates that material organism: we
cannot safely make further assertion regarding it, or maintain its
activity or its inactivity without further information.

When we say that a body is dead we may be speaking accurately. When
we say that a _person_ is dead, we are using an ambiguous term;
we may be referring to his discarded body, in which case we may
be speaking truly and with precision. We may be referring to his
personality, his character, to what is really himself; in which case
though we must admit that we are speaking popularly, the term is
not quite simply applicable. He has gone, he has passed on, he has
"passed through the body and gone," as Browning says in _Abt Vogler_,
but he is--I venture to say--certainly not dead in the same sense as
the body is dead. It is his absence which allows the body to decay,
he himself need be subject to no decay nor any destructive influence.
Rather he is emancipated; he is freed from the burden of the flesh,
though with it he has also lost those material and terrestrial
potentialities which the bodily mechanism conferred upon him; and
if he can exert himself on the earth any more, it can only be with
some difficulty and as it were by permission and co-operation of
those still here. It appears as if sometimes and occasionally he can
still stimulate into activity suitable energetic mechanism, but his
accustomed machinery for manifestation has been lost: or rather it is
still there for a time, but it is out of action, it is dead.

Nevertheless inasmuch as those who have lost their material body have
passed through the process of dissolution or dissociative severance
which we call death, it is often customary to speak of them as dead.
They are no longer living, if by living we mean associated with a
material body of the old kind; and in that sense we need not hesitate
to speak of them collectively as 'the dead.'

We need not be afraid of the word, nor need we resent its use or
hesitate to employ it, when once we and our hearers understand the
sense in which it may rightly be employed. If ideas associated with
the term had always been sensible and wholesome, people need have had
no compunction at all about using it. But by the populace, and by
Ecclesiastics also, the term has been so misused, and the ideas of
people have been so confused by insistent concentration on merely
physical facts, and by the necessary but over-emphasised attention to
the body left behind, that it was natural for a time to employ other
words, until the latent ambiguity had ceased to be troublesome. And
occasionally, even now, it is well to be emphatic in this direction,
in order to indicate our disagreement with the policy of harping
on worms and graves and epitaphs, or on the accompanying idea of a
General Resurrection, with reanimation of buried bodies. Hence in
strenuous contradiction to all this superstition comes the use of
such phrases as 'transition' or 'passing,' and the occasional not
strictly justifiable assertion that "there is no death."

For as a matter of familiar fact death there certainly is; and to
deny a fact is no assistance. No one really means to deny a fact;
those who make the statement only want to divert thoughts from a side
already too much emphasised, and to concentrate attention on another
side. What they mean is, there is no extinction. They definitely
mean to maintain that the process called death is a mere severence
of soul and body, and that the soul is freed rather than injured
thereby. The body alone dies and decays; but there is no extinction
even for it--only a change. For the other part there can hardly
be even a change--except a change of surroundings. It is unlikely
that character and personality are liable to sudden revolutions or
mutations. Potentially they may be different, because of different
opportunities, but actually at the moment they are the same. Likening
existence to a curve, the curvature has changed, but there is no
other discontinuity.

Death is not a word to fear, any more than birth is. We change our
state at birth, and come into the world of air and sense and myriad
existence; we change our state at death and enter a region of--what?
Of Ether, I think, and still more myriad existence; a region in which
communion is more akin to what we here call telepathy, and where
intercourse is not conducted by the accustomed indirect physical
processes; but a region in which beauty and knowledge are as vivid as
they are here: a region in which progress is possible, and in which
"admiration, hope, and love" are even more real and dominant. It is
in this sense that we can truly say, "The dead are not dead, but
alive." ούδέ τεθνᾷσι θανὸντες.



A lady was brought by a friend to call on us at Mariemont during a
brief visit to Edgbaston, and I happened to have a talk with her
in the garden. I found that she had been one of the victims of the
_Lusitania_, and as she seemed very cheerful and placid about it,
I questioned her as to her feelings on the occasion. I found her a
charming person, and she entered into the matter with surprising
fulness, considering that she was a complete stranger. Her chief
anxiety seems to have been for her husband, whom she had left either
in America or the West Indies, and for her friends generally; but on
her own behalf she seems to have felt extremely little anxiety or
discomfort of any kind. She told me she had given up hope of being
saved, and was only worried about friends mourning on her behalf and
thinking that she must have suffered a good deal, whereas, in point
of fact, she was not really suffering at all. She was young and
healthy, and apparently felt no evil results from the three hours'
immersion. She was sucked down by the ship, and when she came to the
surface again, her first feeling was one of blank surprise at the
disappearance of what had brought her across the Atlantic. The ship
was "not there."

I thought her account so interesting, that after a few months I got
her address from the friend with whom she had been staying, and wrote
asking if she would write it down for me. In due course she did so,
writing from abroad, and permits me to make use of the statement,
provided I suppress her name; which accordingly I do, quoting the
document otherwise in full.

_The Document referred to_

  "Your letter came to me as a great pleasure and surprise.
  I have always remembered the sympathy with which you
  listened to me, that morning at Edgbaston, and sometimes
  wondered at the amount I said, as it is not easy to give
  expression to feelings and speculations which are only
  roused at critical moments in one's life.

  "What you ask me to do is not easy, as I am only one of
  those who are puzzling and groping in the dark--while you
  have found so much light for yourself and have imparted
  it to others.

  "I would like, however, most sincerely to try to recall
  my sensations with regard to that experience, if they
  would be of any value to you.

  "It would be absurd to say now, that from the beginning
  of the voyage I knew what would happen; it was not a
  very actual knowledge, but I was conscious of a distinct
  forewarning, and the very calmness and peace of the
  voyage seemed, in a way, a state of waiting for some
  great event. Therefore when the ship was rent by the
  explosion (it was as sudden as the firing of a pistol) I
  felt no particular shock, because of that curious inner
  expectancy. The only acute feeling I remember at the
  moment was one of anger that such a crime could have been
  committed; the fighting instinct predominated in the face
  of an unseen but near enemy. I sometimes think it was
  partly that same instinct--the desire to die game--that
  accounted for the rather grim calmness of some of the
  passengers. After all--it was no ordinary shipwreck, but
  a Chance of War. I put down my book and went round to the
  other side of the ship where a great many passengers were
  gathering round the boats; it was difficult to stand, as
  the _Lusitania_ was listing heavily. There seemed to be
  no panic whatever; I went into my cabin, a steward very
  kindly helped me with a life-jacket, and advised me to
  throw away my fur coat. I felt no hurry or anxiety, and
  returned on deck, where I stood with some difficulty--
  discussing our chances with an elderly man I just knew by

  "It was then I think we realised what a strong instinct
  there was in some of us--_not_ to struggle madly for
  life--but to wait for something to come to us, whether
  it be life or death; and not to lose our personality and
  become like one of the struggling shouting creatures who
  were by then swarming up from the lower decks and made
  one's heart ache. I never felt for a moment that my time
  to cross over had come--not until I found myself in the
  water--floating farther and farther away from the scene
  of wreckage and misery--in a sea as calm and vast as the
  sky overhead. Behind me, the cries of those who were
  sinking grew fainter, the splash of oars and the calls
  of those who were doing rescue work in the lifeboats;
  there seemed to be no possibility of rescue for me; so I
  reasoned with myself and said, 'The time _has_ come--you
  must believe it--the time to cross over'--but inwardly
  and persistently something continued to say, 'No--not

  "The gulls were flying overhead and I remember noticing
  the beauty of the blue shadows which the sea throws up
  to their white feathers: they were very happy and alive
  and made me feel rather lonely; my thoughts went to my
  people--looking forward to seeing me, and at that moment
  having tea in the garden at ----; the idea of their grief
  was unbearable--I had to cry a little. Names of books
  went through my brain;--one specially, called 'Where
  no Fear is,' seemed to express my feeling at the time!
  Loneliness, yes, and sorrow on account of the grief
  of others--but no Fear. It seemed very normal,--very
  right,--a natural development of some kind about to take
  place. How can it be otherwise, when it _is_ natural?
  I rather wished I knew some one on the other side, and
  wondered if there are friendly strangers there who come
  to the rescue. I was very near the border-line when a
  wandering lifeboat quietly came up behind me and two men
  bent down and lifted me in. It was extraordinary how
  quickly life came rushing back;--every one in the boat
  seemed very self-possessed--although there was one man
  dead and another losing his reason. One woman expressed
  a hope for a 'cup of tea' shortly--a hope which was
  soon to be realised for all of us in a Mine Sweeper
  from Queenstown. I have forgotten her name--but shall
  always remember the kindness of her crew--specially the
  Chief Officer, who saved me much danger by giving me dry
  clothes and hot towels.

  "All this can be of very little interest to you--I have
  no skill in putting things on paper;--but, you know. I
  am glad to have been near the border; to have had the
  feeling of how very near it is _always_--only there are
  so many little things always going on to absorb one here.

  "Others on that day were passing through a Gate which was
  not open for me--but I do not expect they were afraid
  when the time came--they too probably felt that whatever
  they were to find would be beautiful--only a fulfilment
  of some kind.... I have reason to think that the passing
  from here is very painless--at least when there is no
  illness. We seemed to be passing through a stage on the
  road of Life."

    [Footnote 34: See Note C at end of preceding chapter.]



"All, that doth live, lives always!"--EDWIN ARNOLD

Consider now the happenings to the discarnate body. In the first
place, I repeat, it is undesirable to concentrate attention on
a grave. The discarnate body must be duly attended to when done
with; the safety of the living is a paramount consideration; the
living must retain control over what is dead. Uncontrolled natural
forces are often dangerous: the only thing harmful about a flood
or a fire is the absence of control. Either the operations must be
supervised and intelligently directed, or they must be subjected
to such disabilities that they can do no harm. But to associate
continued personality with a dead body, such as is suggested by
phrases like "lay him in the earth", or "here lies such an one," or
to anticipate any kind of physical resuscitation, is unscientific and
painful. Unfortunately the orthodox religious world at some epochs
has attached superstitious importance, not to the decent disposal,
but to the imagined future of the body. Painful and troublesome to
humanity those rites have been. The tombs of Egypt are witness to the
harassing need felt by the living to provide their loved ones with
symbols or tokens of all that they might require in a future state of
existence,--as if material things were needed by them any more, or as
if we could provide them if they were.[35] The simple truth is always
so much saner and happier than the imaginings of men; or, as Dr.
Schuster said in his Presidential address to the British Association
at Manchester, 1915,--"The real world is far more beautiful than any
of our dreams."

What is the simple truth? It can be regarded from two points of view,
the prosaic and the poetic.

Prosaically we can say that the process of decay, if regarded
scientifically, is not in itself necessarily repugnant. It may be
as interesting as fermentation or any other chemical or biological
process. Putrefaction, like poison, is hostile to higher living
organisms, and hence a self-protecting feeling of disgust has arisen
round it, in the course of evolution. An emotional feeling arises
in the mind of anyone who has to combat any process or operation of
nature,--like the violent emotions excited in an extreme teetotaller
by the word 'drink': a result of the evil its profanation has done;
for the verb itself is surely quite harmless. Presumably a criminal
associates disagreeable anticipations with the simple word 'hanging.'
The idea of a rank weed is repulsive to a gardener, but not to a
botanist; the idea of disease is repellent to a prospective patient,
not to a doctor or bacteriologist; the idea of dirt is objectionable
to a housewife, but it is only matter out of place; the word 'poison'
conveys nothing objectionable to a chemist. Everything removed from
the emotional arena, and transplanted into the intellectual, becomes
interesting and tractable and worthy of study. Living organisms of
every kind are good in themselves, though when out of place and
beyond control they may be harmful. A tiger is an object of dread to
an Indian village: to a hunting party he may be keenly attractive.
In any case he is a lithe and beautiful and splendid creature.
Microscopic organisms may have troublesome and destructive effects,
but in themselves they can be studied with interest and avidity. All
living creatures have their assuredly useful function, only it may
be a function on which we naturally shrink from dwelling when in an
emotional mood. Everything of this kind is an affair of mood; and,
properly regarded, nothing in nature is common or unclean. That a
flying albatross is a beautiful object every one can cordially admit,
but that the crawling surface of a stagnant sea can be regarded with
friendly eyes seems an absurdity; yet there is nothing absurd in it.
It is surely the bare truth concerning all living creatures of every
grade, that "the Lord God made them all"; and it was of creeping
water-snakes that the stricken Mariner at length, when he had learnt
the lesson, ejaculated:--

    "O happy living things!
    A spring of love gushed from my heart,
    And I blessed them unaware."

For what can be said poetically about the fate of the beloved body, the
poets themselves must be appealed to. But that there is kinship between
the body and the earth is literal truth. Of terrestrial particles it is
wholly composed, and that they should be restored to the earth whence
they were borrowed is natural and peaceful. Moreover, out of the same
earth, and by aid of the very same particles, other helpful forms of
life may arise; and though there may be no conscious unification or
real identity, yet it is pardonable to associate, in an imaginative and
poetic mood, the past and future forms assumed by the particles:--

                  "Lay her i' the earth;--
    And from her fair and unpolluted flesh,
    May violets spring!"

Quotations are hardly necessary to show that this idea runs through
all poetry. An ancient variety is enshrined in the Hyacinthus and
Adonis legends. From spilt blood an inscribed lily springs, in the
one tale; and the other we may quote in Shakespeare's version (_Venus
and Adonis_):--

    "And in his blood that on the ground lay spilled,
    A purple flower sprung up chequered with white,
      Resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood
      Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood."

So also Tennyson:--

    "And from his ashes may be made
    The violet of his native land."

  _In Memoriam_

We find the same idea again, I suppose, in the eastern original of
Fitzgerald's well-known stanza:--

    "And this delightful Herb whose tender Green
    Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean--
      Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
    From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!"

The soil of a garden is a veritable charnel-house of vegetable and
animal matter, and from one point of view represents death and decay,
but the coltsfoot covering an abandoned heap of refuse, or the briar
growing amid ruin, shows that Nature only needs time to make it all
beautiful again. Let us think of the body as transmuted, not as

The visible shape of the body was no accident, it corresponded to
a reality, for it was caused by the indwelling vivifying essence;
and affection entwines itself inevitably round not only the true
personality of the departed, but round its material vehicle also--the
sign and symbol of so much beauty, so much love. Symbols appeal to
the heart of humanity, and anything cherished and honoured becomes
in itself a thing of intrinsic value, which cannot be regarded with
indifference. The old and tattered colours of a regiment, for which
men have laid down their lives--though replaced perhaps by something
newer and more durable--cannot be relegated to obscurity without a
pang. And any sensitive or sympathetic person, contemplating such
relics hereafter, may feel some echo of the feeling with which they
were regarded, and may become acquainted with their history and the
scenes through which they have passed.

       *       *       *       *       *

In such cases the kind of knowledge to be gained from the relic,
and the means by which additional information can be acquired,
are intelligible; but in other cases also information can be
attained, though by means at present not understood. It may sound
superstitious, but it is a matter of actual experience, that some
sensitives have intuitive perception, of an unfamiliar kind,
concerning the history and personal associations of relics or
fragments or personal belongings. The faculty is called psychometry;
and it is no more intelligible, although no less well-evidenced, than
the possibly allied faculty of dowsing or so-called water-divining.
Psychometry is a large subject on which much has already been
written: this brief mention must here suffice.

It seems to me that these facts, when at length properly
understood, will throw some light on the connexion between mind
and matter; and then many another obscure region of semi-science
and semi-superstition will be illuminated. At present in all such
tracts we have to walk warily, for the ground is uneven and insecure;
and it is better, or at least safer, for the majority to forgo the
recognition of some truth than rashly to invade a district full of
entanglements and pitfalls.


Longfellow's line, "There is no death; what seems so is transition,"
at once suggests itself. Read literally the first half of this
sentence is obviously untrue, but in the sense intended, and as
a whole, the statement is true enough. There is no extinction,
and the change called death is the entrance to a new condition of
existence--what may be called a new life.

Yet life itself is continuous, and the conditions of the whole of
existence remain precisely as before. Circumstances have changed
for the individual, but only in the sense that he is now aware of a
different group of facts. The change of surroundings is a subjective
one. The facts were of course there, all the time, as the stars are
there in the daytime; but they were out of our ken. Now these come
into our ken, and others fade into memory.

The Universe is one, not two. Literally there is no 'other'
world--except in the limited and partial sense of other planets--the
Universe is one. We exist in it continuously all the time; sometimes
conscious in one way, sometimes conscious in another; sometimes aware
of a group of facts on one side of a partition, sometimes aware of
another group, on the other side. But the partition is a subjective
one; we are all one family all the time, so long as the link of
affection is not broken. And for those who believe in prayer at
all to cease from praying for the welfare of their friends because
they are materially inaccessible--though perhaps spiritually more
accessible than before--is to succumb unduly to the residual evil
of past ecclesiastical abuses, and to lose an opportunity of happy

    [Footnote 35: It is rash to condemn a human custom
    which has prevailed for centuries or millenniums, and
    it is wrong to treat it _de haut en bas_. I would not
    be understood as doing so, in this brief and inadequate
    reference to the contents of Egyptian tombs. Their fuller
    interpretation awaits the labour of students now working
    at them.

    In the same spirit I wish to leave open the question of
    what possible rational interpretation may be given to the
    mediæval phrase "Resurrection of the body"; a subject on
    which much has been written. What I am contending against
    is not the scholarly but the popular interpretation. For
    further remarks on this subject see Chapter VII below.]




 "Sit down before fact as a little child, be prepared to
 give up every preconceived notion, follow humbly wherever
 and to whatsoever abysses Nature leads."--HUXLEY.

People often feel a notable difficulty in believing in the reality
of continued existence. Very likely it is difficult to believe or
to realise existence in what is sometimes called "the next world";
but then, when we come to think of it, it is difficult to believe in
existence in this world too; it is difficult to believe in existence
at all. The whole problem of existence is a puzzling one. It could
by no means have been predicated _a priori_. The whole thing is a
question of experience; that is, of evidence. We know by experience
that things actually do exist; though how they came into being, and
what they are all for, and what consequences they have, is more
than we can tell. We have no reason for asserting that the kind we
are familiar with is the only kind of existence possible, unless
we choose to assert it on the ground that we have no experience of
any other. But that is becoming just the question at issue: have we
any evidence, either direct or indirect, for any other existence
than this? If we have, it is futile to cite in opposition to it the
difficulty of believing in the reality of such an existence; we
surely ought to be guided by facts.

At this stage in the history of the human race few facts of science
are better established and more widely appreciated than the main
facts of Astronomy: a general acquaintance with the sizes and
distances, and the enormous number, of the solar systems distributed
throughout space is prevalent. Yet to the imaginative human mind the
facts, if really grasped, are overwhelming and incredible.

The sun a million times bigger than the earth; Arcturus a hundred
times bigger than the sun, and so distant that light has taken two
centuries to come, though travelling at a rate able to carry it to
New York and back in less than the twentieth part of a second,--facts
like these are commonplaces of the nursery; but even as bare facts
they are appalling.

That the earth is a speck invisible from any one of the stars, that
we are on a world which is but one among an innumerable multitude of
others, ought to make us realise the utter triviality of any view of
existence based upon familiarity with street and train and office,
ought to give us some sense of proportion between everyday experience
and ultimate reality. Even the portentous struggle in which Europe is

  "What is it all but a trouble of ants in the gleam of a
  million million of suns?"

Yet, for true interpretation, the infinite worth and vital importance
of each individual human soul must be apprehended too. And that
is another momentous fact, which, so far from restricting the
potentialities of existence, by implication still further enlarges
them. The multiplicity, the many-sidedness, the magnificence, of
material existence does not dwarf the human soul; far otherwise: it
illumines and expands the stage upon which the human drama is being
played, and ought to make us ready to perceive how far greater still
may be the possibilities--nay, the actualities--before it, in its
infinite unending progress.

That we know little about such possibilities as yet, proves
nothing;--for mark how easy it would have been to be ignorant of the
existence of all the visible worlds and myriad modes of being in
space. Not until the business of the day is over, and our great star
has eclipsed itself behind the earth, not until the serener period of
night, does the grandeur of the material universe force itself upon
our attention. And, even then, let there be but a slight permanent
thickening of our atmosphere, and we should have had no revelation
of any world other than our own. Under those conditions--so barely
escaped from--how wretchedly meagre and limited would have been our
conception of the Universe! Aye, and, unless we foolishly imagine
that our circumstances are such as to have already given us a clue to
every kind of possible existence, I venture to say that "wretchedly
meagre and limited" must be a true description of our conception of
the Universe, even now,--even of the conception of those who have
permitted themselves, with least hesitation, to follow whithersoever
facts lead.

If there be any group of scientific or historical or literary
students who advocate what they think to be a sensible, but what
I regard as a purblind, view of existence, based upon already
systematised knowledge and on unfounded and restricting speculation
as to probable boundaries and limitations of existence,--if such
students take their own horizon to be the measure of all things,--the
fact is to be deplored. Such workers, however admirable their
industry and detailed achievements, represent a school of thought
against the fruits of which we of the Allied Nations are in arms.

Nevertheless speculation of this illegitimate and negative kind is
not unknown among us. It originates partly in admiration for the
successful labours of a bygone generation in clearing away a quantity
of clinging parasitic growth which was obscuring the fair fabric of
ascertained truth, and partly in an innate iconoclastic enthusiasm.

The success which has attended Darwinian and other hypotheses has
had a tendency to lead men--not indeed men of Darwinian calibre, but
smaller and less conscientious men--in science as well as in history
and theology, to an over-eager confidence in probable conjecture
and inadequate attention to facts of experience. It has even been
said--I quote from a writer in the volume _Darwin and Modern
Science_, published in connexion with a Darwin jubilee celebration at
Cambridge--that "the age of materialism was the least matter-of-fact
age conceivable, and the age of science the age which showed least of
the patient temper of enquiry." I would not go so far as this myself,
the statement savours of exaggeration, but there is a regrettable
tendency in surviving materialistic quarters for combatants to
entrench themselves in dogma and preconceived opinion, to regard
these vulnerable shelters as sufficient protection against observed
and recorded facts, and even to employ them as strongholds from which
alien observation-posts can be shattered and overthrown.



 "How often have men thus feared that Nature's wonders
 would be degraded by being closelier looked into! How
 often, again, have they learnt that the truth was higher
 than their imagination; and that it is man's work, but
 never Nature's, which to be magnificent must remain
 unknown!"--F. W. H. M., Introduction to _Phantasms of the

Our actual experience is strangely limited. We cannot be actually
conscious of more than a single instant of time. The momentary flash
which we call the present, the visual image of which can be made
permanent by the snap of a camera, is all of the external world that
we directly apprehended. But our real existence embraces far more
than that. The present, alone and isolated, would be meaningless to
us; we look before and after. Our memories are thronged with the
past; our anticipations range over the future; and it is in the past
and the future that we really live. It is so even with the higher
animals: they too order their lives by memory and anticipation. It is
under the influence of the future that the animal world performs even
the most trivial conscious acts. We eat, we rest, we work, all with
an eye to the immediate future. The present moment is illuminated
and made significant, is controlled and dominated, by experience of
the past and by expectation of the future. Without any idea of the
future our existence would be purely mechanical and meaningless: with
too little eye to the future--a mere living from hand to mouth--it
becomes monotonous and dull.

Hence it is right that humanity, transcending merely animal scope,
should seek to answer questions concerning its origin and destiny,
and should regard with intense interest every clue to the problems
of 'whence' and 'whither.'

It is no doubt possible, as always, to overstep the happy mean, and
by absorption in and premature concern with future interests to lose
the benefit and the training of this present life. But although we
may rightly decide to live with full vigour in the present, and do
our duty from moment to moment, yet in order to be full-flavoured and
really intelligent beings--not merely with mechanical drift following
the line of least resistance--we ought to be aware that there is a
future,--a future determined to some extent by action in the present;
and it is only reasonable that we should seek to ascertain, roughly
and approximately, what sort of future it is likely to be.

Inquiry into survival, and into the kind of experience through which
we shall all certainly have to go in a few years, is therefore
eminently sane, and may be vitally significant. It may colour all
our actions, and give a vivid meaning both to human history and to
personal experience.

If death is not extinction, then on the other side of dissolution
mental activity must continue, and must be interacting with other
mental activity. For the fact of telepathy proves that bodily
organs are not absolutely essential to communication of ideas. Mind
turns out to be able to act directly on mind, and stimulate it into
response by other than material means. Thought does not belong to the
material region: although it is able to exert an influence on that
region through mechanism provided by vitality. Yet the means whereby
it accomplishes the feat are essentially unknown, and the fact that
such interaction is possible would be strange and surprising if we
were not too much accustomed to it. It is reasonable to suppose that
the mind can be more at home, and more directly and more exuberantly
active, where the need for such interaction between psychical and
physical--or let us more safely and specifically say between mental
and material--no longer exists, when the restraining influence
of brain and nerve mechanism is removed, and when some of the
limitations connected with bodily location in space are ended.

Experience must be our guide. To shut the door on actual observation
and experiment in this particular region, because of preconceived
ideas and obstinate prejudices, is an attitude common enough, even
among scientific men; but it is an attitude markedly unscientific.
Certain people have decided that inquiry into the activities of
discarnate mind is futile; some few consider it impious; many,
perhaps wisely mistrusting their own powers, shrink from entering on
such an inquiry. But if there are any facts to be ascertained, it
must be the duty of some volunteers to try to ascertain them: and for
people having any acquaintance with scientific history to shut their
eyes to facts when definitely announced, and to forbid investigation
or report concerning them on pain of ostracism,--is to imitate a
bygone theological attitude in a spirit of unintended flattery--a
flattery which from every point of view is eccentric; and likewise to
display an extraordinary lack of humour.


I do not wish to complicate the issue at present by introducing
the idea of prognostication or prevision, for I do not understand
how anticipation of the future is possible. It is only known to be
possible by one of two processes--

  (_a_) Inference--_i.e._ deduction from a wide knowledge of the

  (_b_) Planning--_i.e._ the carrying out of a prearranged scheme.

And these methods must be pressed to the utmost before admitting any
other hypothesis.

As to the possibility of prevision in general, I do not dogmatise,
nor have I a theory wherewith to explain every instance; but I keep
an open mind and try to collate and contemplate the facts.

Scientific prediction is familiar enough; science is always either
historic or prophetic (as Dr. Schuster said at Manchester in
the British Association Address for 1915), "and history is only
prophecy pursued in the negative direction." This thesis is worth
illustrating:--That Eclipses can be calculated forwards or backwards
is well known. A tide-calculating machine, again, which is used
to churn out tidal detail in advance by turning a handle, could be
as easily run backwards and give past tides if they were wanted;
but always on the assumption that no catastrophe, no unforeseen
contingency, nothing outside the limits of the data, occurs to
interfere with the placid course of phenomena. There must be no
dredging or harbour bar operations, for instance, if the tide machine
is to be depended on. Free-will is not allowed for, in Astronomy or
Physics; nor any interference by living agents.

The real truth is that, except for unforeseen contingencies, past,
present, and future are welded together in a coherent whole; and
to a mind with wider purview, to whom perhaps hardly anything is
unforeseen, there may be possibilities of inference to an unsuspected
extent. Human character, and action based upon it, may be more
trustworthy and uncapricious than is usually supposed; and data
depending on humanity may be included in a completer scheme of
foreknowledge, without the exercise of any compulsion. "The past,"
says Bertrand Russell eloquently, "does not change or strive; like
Duncan, after life's fitful fever it sleeps well; what was eager
and grasping, what was petty and transitory, has faded away; the
things that were beautiful and eternal shine out of it like stars in
the night." My ignorance will not allow me to attempt to compose a
similar or rather a contrasting sentence about the future.


  It will be observed that none of those indications or
  intimations or intuitions which are referred to in a
  note on page 34, Part I, if they mean anything, raise
  the difficult question of prevision. In every case the
  impression was felt after or at the time of the event,
  though before reception of the news. The only question
  of possible prevision in the present instance arises in
  connexion with the 'Faunus' message quoted and discussed
  in Part II. But even here nothing more than kindly
  provision, in case anything untoward should happen, need
  be definitely assumed. Moreover, if the concurrence in
  time suggests prognostication, the fact that a formidable
  attempt to advance the English Front at the Ypres salient
  was probably in prospect in August 1915, though not known
  to ordinary people in England, and not fully carried
  out till well on in September, must have been within
  human knowledge; and so would have to be considered
  telepathically accessible, if that hypothesis is
  considered preferable to the admission of what Tennyson
  speaks of as--

  "Such refraction of events As often rises ere they rise."

  Prognostication can hardly be part of the evidence for
  survival. The two things are not essential to each other;
  they hardly appear to be connected. But one knows too
  little about the whole thing to be sure even of this, and
  I decline to take the responsibility for suppressing any
  of the facts. I know that Mr. Myers used to express an
  opinion that certain kinds of prevision would constitute
  clear and satisfactory evidence of something supernormal,
  and so attract attention; though the establishment of
  such a possibility might tend to suggest a kind of higher
  knowledge, not far short of what might be popularly
  called omniscience, rather than of merely human survival.



  "Spiritus intus alit, totamque infusa per artus
  Mens agitat molem, et magno se corpore miscet."

  _Æneid_, vi. 726

Life and mind and consciousness do not belong to the material region;
whatever they are in themselves, they are manifestly something quite
distinct from matter and energy, and yet they utilise the material
and dominate it.

Matter is arranged and moved by means of energy, but often at the
behest of life and mind. Mind does not itself exert force, nor does
it enter into the scheme of physics, and yet it indirectly brings
about results which otherwise would not have happened. It definitely
causes movements and arrangements or constructions of a purposed
character. A bird grows a feather, and a bird builds a nest: I doubt
if there is less design in the one case than in the other. How life
achieves the guidance, how even it accomplishes the movements, is
a mystery, but that it does accomplish them is a commonplace of
observation. From the motion of a finger to the construction of an
aeroplane, there is but a succession of steps. From the growth of a
weed to the flight of an eagle,--from a yeast granule at one end,
to the human body at the other,--the organising power of life over
matter is conspicuous.

Who can doubt the supremacy of the spiritual over the material? It is
a fact which, illustrated by trivial instances, may be pressed to the
most portentous consequences.

If interaction between mind and matter really occurs, and if both
are persistent and enduring entities, there is no limit to the
possibilities under which such interaction may occur--no limit which
can be laid down beforehand--we must be guided and instructed solely
by experience.

Whether the results produced are styled miraculous or not, depends
on our knowledge,--our knowledge of all the powers latent in nature,
and a knowledge of all the intelligences which exist. A savage on
his first encounter with white men must have come into contact with
what to him was supernatural. A letter, a gun, even artificial teeth,
have all aroused superstition; while a telegram must be obviously
miraculous, to anyone intelligent enough to perceive the wonder. A
colony of bees, unused to the ministrations or interference of man,
might puzzle itself over the provision made for its habitation and
activities, if it had intelligence enough to ponder the matter.
So human beings, if they are open-minded and developed enough to
contemplate all the happenings in which they are concerned, have been
led to recognise guidance; and they have responded to the perception
by the worshipful attitude of religion. In other words, they have
essentially recognised the existence of a Power transcending ordinary
nature--a Power that may properly be called supernatural.


Our experience of bodies here and now is that they are composed
of material particles derived from the earth, whether they be
bodies animated by vegetable or by animal forms of life. But I
take it that the real meaning of the term 'body' is a _means of
manifestation_,--perhaps a physical mode of manifestation adopted
by something which without such instrument or organ would be in a
different and elusive category. Why should we say that bodies must be
made of matter? Surely only because we know of nothing else of which
they could be made; but that lack of knowledge is not very efficient
as an argument. True, if they were made of anything else they would
not be apparent to us now, with our particular evolutionally-derived
sense organs; for these only inform us about matter and its
properties. Constructions built of Ether would have no chance of
appealing to our senses, they would not be apparent to us; they
would therefore not be what we ordinarily call bodies; at any rate
they would not be material bodies. In order to become apparent to us,
a psychical or vital entity must enter the material realm, and either
clothe itself with, or temporarily assimilate, material particles.

It may be that etherial bodies do not exist; the burden of proof
rests upon those who conceive of their possible existence; but we
are bound to admit that even if they did exist, they would make no
impression on our senses. Hence if there are any intelligences in
another order of existence interlocked with ours, and if they can in
any sense be supposed to have bodies at all, those bodies must be
made either of Ether or of something equally intangible to us in our
present condition.[36]

Yet, though intangible and elusive, we have reason to know that Ether
is substantial enough,--far more substantial indeed than matter,
which turns out to be a rare and filmy insertion in, or modification
of, the Ether of Space; and a different set of sense organs might
make the Ether eclipse matter in availability and usefulness. In my
book _The Ether of Space_ this thesis is elaborated from a purely
physical point of view.

I wish, however, to make no assertion concerning the possible
psychical use of the Ether of Space. Anything of that kind must
be speculative; the only bodies we now know of in actual fact are
material bodies, and we must be guided by facts. Yet we must not shut
the door prematurely on other possibilities; and we can remember
that inspired writers have sometimes contemplated what they term a
spiritual body.


But why should anyone suppose a body of some kind always necessary?
Why should they assume a perpetual sort of dualism about existence?
The reason is that we have no knowledge of any other form of animate
existence; and it may be claimed as legitimate to assume that the
association between life and matter here on the planet has a real
and vital significance, that without such an episode of earth life
we should be less than we are, and that the relation is typical of
something real and permanent.

  "Such use may lie in blood and breath."--TENNYSON

_Why_ matter should be thus useful to spirit and even to life it is
not easy to say. It may be that by the interaction of two things
better and newer results can always be obtained than was possible
for one alone. There are analogies enough for that. Do we not find
that genius seems to require the obstruction or the aid of matter
for its full development? The artist must enjoy being able to compel
refractory material to express his meaning. Didactic writings are
apt to emphasise the obstructiveness of matter; but that may be
because its usefulness seems self-evident. Our limbs, and senses,
and bodily faculties generally, are surely of momentous service;
microscopes and telescopes and laboratory instruments, and machinery
generally, are only extensions of them. Tools to the man who can
use them:--orchestra to the musician, lathe or theodolite to the
engineer, books and records to the historian, even though not much
more than pen and paper is needed by the poet or the mathematician.

But our bodily organs are much more than any artificial tools can be,
they are part of our very being. The body is part of the constitution
of man. We are not spirit or soul alone,--though it is sometimes
necessary to emphasise the fact that we are soul at all,--we are in
truth soul and body together. And so I think we shall always be;
though our bodies need not always be composed of earthly particles.
Matter is the accidental part: there is an essential and more
permanent part, and the permanent part must survive.

This is the strength, as I have said elsewhere and will not now
at any length repeat, of the sacramental claims and practices of
religion. Forms and customs which appeal to the body are a legitimate
part of the whole; and while some natures derive most benefit from
the exclusively psychical and spiritual essence, others probably do
well to prevent the more sensuous and more puzzling concomitants from
falling into disuse.

    [Footnote 36: That a great poet should have represented
    the meeting between the still incarnate Æneas and his
    discarnate father Anchises as a bodily disappointment, is

    "Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circum; Ter frustra
    comprensa manus effugit imago, Par levibus ventis,
    volucrique simillima somno."

    _Æneid_, vi. 700

    It may be said that what is intangible ought to be
    invisible; but that does not follow. The Ether is a medium
    for vision, not for touch. Ether and Ether may interact,
    just as matter and matter interact; but interaction
    between Ether and matter is peculiarly elusive.]



  "Never the spirit was born; the spirit shall cease to be never."


In the whole unknown drama of the soul the episode of bodily
existence must have profound significance. Matter cannot only be
obstructive, even usefully obstructive,--by which is meant the kind
of obstruction which stimulates to effort and trains for power,
like the hurdles in an obstacle race,--it must be auxiliary too.
Whatever may be the case with external matter, the body itself is
certainly an auxiliary, so long as it is in health and strength;
and it gives opportunity for the development of the soul in new and
unexpected ways--ways in which but for earth life its practice would
be deficient. This it is which makes calamity of too short a life.

But let us not be over-despondent about the tragedy of the present.
It may be that the concentrated training and courageous facing of
fate which in most cases must have accompanied voluntary entry into
a dangerous war, compensates in intensity what it lacks in duration,
and that the benefit of bodily terrestrial life is not so much lost
by violent death of that kind as might at first appear. Yet even
with some such assurance, the spectacle of thousands of youths in
full vigour and joy of life having their earthly future violently
wrenched from them, amid scenes of grim horror and nerve-wracking
noise and confusion, is one which cannot and ought not to be regarded
with equanimity. It is a bad and unnatural truncation of an important
part of each individual career, a part which might have done much to
develop faculties and enlarge experience.

Meanwhile, the very fact that we lament so sincerely this dire
and man-caused fate serves to illustrate the view we inevitably
take that the earth-body is not only a means of manifestation but
is a real servant of the soul,--that flesh can in some sense help
spirit as spirit can undoubtedly help flesh,--and that while its
very weaknesses are serviceable and stimulating, its strength is
exhilarating and superb. The faculties and powers developed in the
animal kingdom during all the millions of years of evolution, and
now inherited for better for worse by man, are not to be despised.
Those therefore who are able to think that some of the essential
elements or attributes of the body are carried forward into a higher
life--quite irrespective of the manifestly discarded material
particles which never were important to the body, for they were
always in perpetual flux as individual molecules--those, I say, who
think that the value derived and acquired through the body survives,
and becomes a permanent possession of the soul, may well feel that
they can employ the mediæval phrase "resurrection of the body" to
express their perception. They may feel that it is a truth which
needs emphasising all the more from its lack of obviousness. These
old phrases, consecrated by long usage, and familiar to all the
saints, though their early and superficial meaning is evidently
superseded, may be found to have an inner and spiritual significance
which when once grasped should be kept in memory, and brought before
attention, and sustained against challenge: in no case should they be
lightly or hastily discarded.

It seems not altogether fanciful to trace some similarity or analogy,
between the ideas about inheritance usually associated with the name
of Weismann, and the inheritance or conveyance of bodily attributes,
or of powers acquired through the body, into the future life of the

When considering whether anything, or what, is likely to be
permanent, the answer turns upon whether or not the soul has been
affected. Mere bodily accidents of course are temporary; loss of an
arm or an eye is no more carried on as a permanent disfigurement than
it is transmissible to offspring. But, apart from accidents which may
happen to the body, there are some evil things--rendered accessible
by and definitely associated with the body--which assault and hurt
the soul. And the effect of these is transmissible, and may become
permanent. Habits which write their mark on the countenance--whether
the writing be good or bad--are not likely to take effect on
the body alone. And in this sense also future existence may be
either glorified or stained, for a time, by persistence of bodily
traits,--by this kind of "resurrection of the body."

Furthermore it is found that although bodily marks, scars and wounds,
are clearly not of soul-compelling and permanent character, yet
for purposes of identification, and when re-entering the physical
atmosphere for the purpose of communication with friends, these
temporary marks are re-assumed; just as the general appearance at
the remembered age, and details connected with clothes and little
unessential tricks of manner, may--in some unknown sense--be assumed

And it is to this category that I would attribute the curious
interest still felt in old personal possessions. They are attended to
and recalled, not for what by a shopman is called their 'value,' but
because they furnish useful and welcome evidence of identity; they
are like the _pièces de conviction_ brought up at a trial, they bear
silent witness to remembered fact. And in so far as the disposal or
treatment of them by survivors is evidence of the regard in which
their late owner was held, it is unlikely that they should have
suddenly become matters of complete indifference. Nothing human, in
the sense of affecting the human spirit, can be considered foreign to
a friendly and sympathetic soul, even though his new preoccupations
and industries and main activities are of a different order. It
appears as if, for the few moments of renewed earthly intercourse,
the newer surroundings shrink for a time into the background. They
are remembered, but not vividly. Indeed it seems difficult to live
in both worlds at once, especially after the life-long practice here
of living almost exclusively in one. Those whose existence here was
coloured or ennobled by wider knowledge and higher aims seem likely
to have the best chance of conveying instructive information across
the boundary; though their developed powers may be of such still
higher value, that only from a sense of duty or in a missionary
spirit can they be expected to absent them from felicity while in
order to help the brethren.

Quotation of a passage from Plotinus seems here permissible:--

"Souls which once were in men, when they leave the body, need not
cease from benefiting mankind. Some indeed, in addition to other
services, give occult messages (oracular replies), thus proving by
their own case that other souls also survive" (_Enn._ IV. vii. 15).

       *       *       *       *       *

As a digression of some importance, I venture to say that claims of
thoughtless and pertinacious people upon the charitable and eminent,
even here, are often excessive: it is to be hoped that such claims
become less troublesome and less effective hereafter; but it is a
hope without much foundation. Remonstrances are useless, however,
for only the more thoughtful and those most deserving of help are
likely to attend to remonstrances. Nevertheless--useless or not--it
behoves one to make them. We are indeed taught that in exceptional
cases there may ultimately supervene such an extraordinary elevation
of soul that no trouble is too great, and no appeal is unheard. But
still, even in the Loftiest case of all, the episode of having passed
through a human body contributes to the power of sympathising with
and aiding ordinary humanity.



  "For nothing is that errs from law."--TENNYSON

It is sometimes thought that memory is located in the brain; and
undoubtedly there must be some physiological process at work in the
brain when any incident of memory is recalled and either uttered or
written. But it does not at all follow that memory itself is located
in the brain; though there must be some easier channel, or some
already prepared path, which enables an idea to be translated from
the general mental reservoir into consciousness, with clarity and
power sufficient to stimulate the necessary nerves and muscles into a
condition adequate for reproduction.

Sometimes in order to remember a thing, one writes it in a note-book;
and the memory may be said to be in the note-book about as accurately
as it may be said to be in the brain. A physical process has put it
in the note-book; there is a physical configuration persisting there;
and when a sort of reverse physical process is repeated, it can be
got back into consciousness by simply what we call 'looking' at the
book and reading. But surely the real memory is in the _mind_ all the
time, and the deposit in the note-book is a mere detent for calling
it out or for making it easy of recovery. In order to communicate
any information we must focus attention on it; and whether we
focus attention on a part of the brain or on a page of a note-book
matters very little; the attention itself is a mental process, not a
physiological one, though it has a physiological concomitant.

This is an important matter, the keystone in fact of our problem
about the connexion between mind and matter, and I propose to amplify
its treatment further; for this is an unavoidably controversial
portion of the book.


I am familiar with all the usual analogies drawn between organic
habit and memory on the one hand, and the more ready repetition of
physical processes by inorganic material on the other. Imperfectly
elastic springs, for instance, which show reminiscences of previous
bendings or twistings by their subsequent unwindings; and cogs which
wear into smooth running by repetition; are examples of this kind.
A violin which by long practice becomes more musical in tone, is
another; or a path which by being often traversed becomes easier to
the feet. A flower-bed recently altered in shape, by being partly
grassed over, is liable to exhibit its former outline by aid of bulbs
and other half-forgotten growths which come up through the grass in
the old pattern.

This last is a striking example of apparent memory, not indeed in the
inorganic but in the unconscious world; where indeed it is prevalent,
for every one must recognise the memory of animals--there can be no
doubt of that. And it would seem that a kind of race-memory must be
invoked to account for many surprising cases of instinct; of which
the building of specific birds' nests, and the accurate pecking of a
newly-hatched chicken, are among the stock instances. No experience
can be lodged in the _brain_ of the newly-hatched!

That some sort of stored facility should exist in the adult brain,
is in no way surprising; and that there is some physical or
physiological concomitant of actual remembrance is plain; but that is
a very different thing from asserting that memory itself, or any kind
of consciousness, is located in the brain; though truly without the
aid of the brain it is, as far as this planet is concerned, latent
and inaccessible.

Plotinus puts the matter in an interesting but perhaps rather too
extreme form:--

 "As to memory, the body is an impediment ... the unstable
 and fluctuating nature of the body makes for oblivion not
 for memory. Body is a veritable River of Lethe. Memory
 belongs to the soul" (_Enn._ IV. iii. 26).

The actual reproduction or remembrance of a fact--the demonstration
or realisation of memory--undoubtedly depends on brain and muscle
mechanism; but memory itself turns out to be essentially mental,
and is found to exist apart from the bodily mechanism which helped
originally to receive and store the impression. And though without
that same or some equivalent mechanism we cannot get at it, so that
it cannot be displayed to others, yet in my experience it turns out
not to be absolutely necessary to use actually the same instrument
for its reproduction as was responsible for its deposition:
though undoubtedly to use the same is easier and helpful. In the
early Edison phonographs the same instrument had to be used for
both reception and reproduction; but now a record can readily be
transferred from one instrument to another. This may be regarded as
a rough mechanical analogy to the telepathic or telergic process
whereby a psychic reservoir of memory can be partially tapped through
another organism.

But, apart from any consideration of what may be regarded as
doubtful or uncertain, there are some facts about the relation of
brain to consciousness, which, though universally admitted, are
frequently misinterpreted. Injure the brain, and consciousness
is lost. 'Lost' is the right word--not 'destroyed.' Repair the
lesion, and consciousness may be restored, i.e. normal manifestation
of consciousness can once more occur. It is the _display_ of
consciousness, in all such cases, that we mean when we speak of the
effect of brain injury; the utilisation of bodily organs is necessary
for its exhibition. If the bodily organs do not exist, or are too
damaged, no normal manifestation is possible. That is the fact which
may be misinterpreted.

In general we may say, with fair security, that no receptivity to
physical phenomena exists save through sense-organ, nerve, and brain;
nor any initiation of physical phenomena, save through brain, nerve,
and muscle. Apart from physical phenomena consciousness is isolated
and inaccessible: we have no right to say that it is non-existent.
In ordinary usage it is not customary or necessary to be always
harping on this completer aspect of things: it is only necessary when
misunderstanding has arisen from uniformly inaccurate, or rather
unguarded, modes of expression.

In an excellent lecture by Dr. Mott on "The Effects of High
Explosives upon the Central Nervous System," I find this sentence:--

"It is known that a continuous supply of oxygen is essential for

What is intended is clear enough, but analysed strictly this
assertion goes far beyond what is known. We do not really know that
oxygen, or any form of matter, has anything to do with consciousness:
all that we know, and all that Dr. Mott really means to say, I
presume, is that without a supply of oxygen consciousness gives no
physical sign.

Partial interruptions of physical manifestations of consciousness
well illustrate this: as, for instance, when speech-centres of
the brain alone are affected. If in such case we had to depend on
mouth-muscle alone we should say that consciousness had departed, and
might even think that it was non-existent; but the arm-muscle may
remain under brain control, and by intelligent writing can show that
consciousness is there all the time, and that it is only inhibited
from one of the specially easy modes of manifestation. In some cases
the inhibition may be complete,--from such cases we do not learn
much; but when it is only partial we learn a good deal.

I quote again from Dr. Mott, omitting for brevity the detailed
description of certain surgical war-cases, under his care, which
precedes the following explanatory interjection and summary:--

  "Why should these men, whose silent thoughts are perfect,
  be unable to speak? They comprehend all that is said
  to them unless they are deaf; but it is quite clear
  that [even] in these cases their internal language
  is unaffected, for they are able to express their
  thoughts and judgments perfectly well by writing, even
  if they are deaf. The mutism is therefore not due to
  an intellectual defect, nor is it due to volitional
  inhibition of language in silent thought. Hearing, the
  primary incitation to vocalisation and speech, is usually
  unaffected, yet they are unable to speak; they cannot
  even whisper, cough, whistle, or laugh aloud. Many who
  are unable to speak voluntarily yet call out in their
  dreams expressions they have used in trench warfare and
  battle. Sometimes this is followed by return of speech,
  but more often not. One man continually shouted out in
  his sleep, but he did not recover voluntary speech or
  power of phonation till eight months after admission to
  the hospital for shell-shock."

Very well, all this interesting experience serves among other things
to illustrate our simple but occasionally overlooked thesis. For it
is through physical phenomena that normally we apprehend, here and
now; and it is by aid of physical phenomena that we convey to others
our wishes, our impressions, our ideas, and our memories. Dislocate
the physical from the psychical, and communication ceases. Restore
the connexion, in however imperfect a form, and once more incipient
communication may become possible again.

That is the rationale of the process of human intercourse. Do we
understand it? No. Do we understand even how our own mind operates on
our own body? No. We know for a fact that it does.

Do we understand how a mind can with difficulty and imperfectly
operate another body submitted to its temporary guidance and control?
No. Do we know for a fact that it does? Aye, that is the question--a
question of evidence. I myself answer the question affirmatively;
not on theoretical grounds--far from that--but on a basis of
straightforward experience. Others, if they allow themselves to take
the trouble to get the experience, will come to the same conclusion.

Will they do so best by allowing their own bodies or brains to be
utilised? No, that seems not even the best, and certainly not the
only way. It may not, for the majority of people, be a possible
way. The sensitive or medium who serves us, by putting his or her
bodily mechanism at our disposal, is not likely to be best informed
concerning the nature of the process. Mediums have perhaps but
little conscious information to give us concerning their powers; we
must learn from what they do, not from what they say. The outside
observer, the experimenter, whose senses are alert all the time and
who continues fully conscious without special receptivity or any
peculiar power of his own, is in a better position to note and judge
what is happening,--at least from the normal and scientific point of
view. Let us be as cautious and critical, aye and as sceptical as we
like, but let us also be patient and persevering and fair; do not let
us start with a preconceived notion of what is possible and what is
impossible in this almost unexplored universe; let us only be willing
to learn and be guided by facts, not by dogmas; and gradually the
truth will permeate our understanding and make for itself a place in
our minds as secure as in any other branch of observational science.



The limitation of scope which eminent Professors of a certain school
of modern science have laid down for themselves is forcibly expressed
by one of the ablest of their champions thus:--

  "No sane man has ever pretended, since science became a
  definite body of doctrine, that we know or ever can hope
  to know or conceive the possibility of knowing whence
  the mechanism has come, why it is there, whither it is
  going, or what may be beyond and beside it which our
  senses are incapable of appreciating. These things are
  not 'explained' by science and never can be."--SIR E. RAY

I should myself hesitate to promulgate such a markedly _non-possumus_
and _ignorabimus_ statement concerning the scope of physical science,
even as narrowly and popularly understood; but it illuminates the
position taken up by those _savants_ who are commonly known as
Materialists, and explains their expressed though non-personal
hostility to other scientific men who seek to exceed the boundaries
laid down, and investigate things beyond the immediate range of the

Eliminating the future tense from the statement, however, I can
agree with it. The instrument of translation from the mental to the
physical, and back from the physical to the mental, is undoubtedly
the brain, but as to how the translation is accomplished, I venture
to say, we have not the inkling of an idea. Nevertheless, hints which
may gradually lead towards a partial understanding of psycho-physical
processes may be gained by study of exceptional cases: for such study
is often more instructive than continued scrutiny of the merely

The fact of human consciousness, though it raises the problem to a
high degree of conspicuousness, by no means exhausts the difficulty;
for it is one which faces us in connexion with every form of life.
The association of life with matter, and of mind with life, are
problems of similar order, and a glimmering of understanding of
the one may be expected to throw light upon the other. But until
we know more of the method by which the simplest and most familiar
psycho-physical interaction occurs--until we know enough to see
how the gulf between two apparently different Modes of Being is
bridged--it is safest to observe and accumulate facts, and to be very
chary of making more than the most tentative and cautious of working
hypotheses. For to frame even a tentative hypothesis, of any helpful
kind, may require some clue which as yet we do not possess.

I have been struck by the position taken by Dr. Chalmers Mitchell in
his notable small book _Evolution and the War_, the early chapters of
which, on Germany of the past and present, I would like unreservedly
to commend to the reader. Indeed, commendation of a friendly and
non-patronising kind may well extend to the whole book, although it
must be admitted that here and there mere exposition of Darwinism is
suspended, and difficult and debatable questions are touched upon.

On these questions I would not like to be understood as expressing
a hasty opinion, either against or for the views of the author.
The points at issue between us are more or less fine-drawn, and
cannot be dealt with parenthetically; nor do I ever propose to deal
with them in a controversial manner. The author, as a biologist of
fame, is more than entitled to such expression of his own views
as he has cared to give. I quote with admiration, not necessarily
with agreement, a few passages from the part dealing with the
relation between mind and matter, and especially with the wide and
revolutionary difference between man and animal caused by either the
evolution or the incoming of free and conscious Choice.

He will not allow, with Bergson and others, that the roots of
consciousness, in its lower grades, go deep down into the animal,
and even perhaps into the vegetable, kingdom; he has no patience
with those who associate elementary consciousness and freedom and
indeterminateness not merely with human life but with all life, and
who detect rudiments of purpose and intelligence in the protozoa.
Nor, on the other hand, does he approve the dogmatic teaching of the
'ultra-scientific' school, which, being obsessed by the idea of man's
animal origin, interprets human nature solely in terms of protoplasm.
He opposes the possibility of this by saying:--

"However fruitful and interesting it may be to remember that we are
rooted deep in the natal mud, our possession of consciousness and the
sense of freedom is a vital and overmastering distinction."

On the more interesting of the above-mentioned alternatives Dr.
Chalmers Mitchell expresses himself thus:--

  "The Bergsonian interpretation does nothing to make
  consciousness and freedom more intelligible; and by
  extending them from man, in whom we know them to exist,
  to animals, in which their presence is at best an
  inference, it not only robs them of definiteness and
  reality, but it blurs the real distinction between men
  and animals, and evades the most difficult problem
  of science and philosophy. The facts are more truly
  represented by such phraseology as that animals
  are instinctive, man is intelligent, animals are
  irresponsible, man is responsible, animals are automata,
  man is free; or if you like, that God gave animals a
  beautiful body, man a rational soul...."

And soon afterwards he continues:--

"Not 'envisaging itself,' not being at once actor, spectator, and
critic, 'living in the flashing moment,' not seeing the past and the
present and the future separately, this is the highest at which we
can put the consciousness of animals, and herein lies the distinction
between man and the animals which makes the overwhelming difference.

  "Must we then suppose, with Russel Wallace, that
  somewhere on the upward path from the tropical forests
  to the groves of Paradise, a soul was interpolated from
  an outside source into the gorilla-like ancestry of man?
  I do not think so, although I not only admit but assert
  that such a view gives a more accurate statement of fact
  than does either of the fashionable doctrines that I
  have discussed. I believe with Darwin, that as the body
  of man has been evolved from the body of animals, so the
  intellectual, emotional, and moral faculties of man have
  been evolved from the qualities of animals. I help myself
  towards the comprehension of the process by reflecting on
  two phenomena of observation [which he proceeds to cite].
  I help myself, and perchance may help others; no more;
  could I speak dogmatically on what is the central mystery
  of all science and all philosophy and all thought, my
  words would roll with the thunder of Sinai."

Let it not be supposed for a moment that this distinguished biologist
is in agreement with me on many matters dealt with in the present book.
If he were, he would, I believe, achieve a more admirable and eloquent
work than is consistent with the technically 'apologetic' tone which,
in the present state of the scientific atmosphere, it behoves me to
take. To guard against unwelcome misrepresentation of his views, and
yet at the same time to indicate their force, I will make one more

  "Writing as a hard-shell Darwinian evolutionist, a
  lover of the scalpel and microscope, and of patient,
  empirical observation, as one who dislikes all forms
  of supernaturalism, and who does not shrink from the
  implications even of the phrase that thought is a
  secretion of the brain as bile is a secretion of the
  liver, I assert as a biological fact that the moral
  law is as real and as external to man as the starry
  vault. It has no secure seat in any single man or in any
  single nation. It is the work of the blood and tears
  of long generations of men. It is not, in man, inborn
  or innate, but is enshrined in his traditions, in his
  customs, in his literature and his religion. Its creation
  and sustenance are the crowning glory of man, and his
  consciousness of it puts him in a high place above the
  animal world. Men live and die; nations rise and fall,
  but the struggle of individual lives and of individual
  nations must be measured not by their immediate needs,
  but as they tend to the debasement or perfection of man's
  great achievement."

My own view, which in such matters I only put forth with diffidence
and brevity, is more in favour of Continuity. I do not trace so
catastrophic a break between man and animals, nor between animal and
vegetable, perhaps not even between organised and unorganised forms of
matter, as does Dr. Chalmers Mitchell.

I would venture to extend the range of the term 'soul' down to a very
large denominator,--to cases in which the magnitude of the fraction
becomes excessively minute,--and tentatively admit to the possibility
of survival, though not individual survival, every form of life. As to
Individuality and Personality--they can only survive where they already
exist; when they really exist they persist; but bare survival, as an
alternative to improbable extinction, may be widespread.

Matter forms an instrument, a means of manifestation, but it need
not be the only one possible. We have utilised matter to build up
this beautiful bodily mechanism, but, when that is done with, _the
constructive ability remains_; and it can be expected to exercise
its organising powers in other than material environment. If this
hypothesis be true at all (and admittedly I am now making hypothesis)
_it must be true of all forms of life_; for what the process of
evolution has accomplished here may be accomplished elsewhere, under
conditions at present unknown.[37] So I venture to surmise that the
surroundings of non-material existence will be far more homely and
habitual than people in general have been accustomed to think likely.

And how do I know that the visible material body of anything is all
the body, or all the existence, it possesses? Why should not things
exist also, or have etherial counterparts, in an etherial world?
Perhaps everything has already an etherial counterpart, of which our
senses tell us the material aspect only. I do not know. Such an idea
may be quoted as an absurdity; but if the evidence drives me in that
direction, in that direction I will go, without undue resistance.
There have been those who do not wait to be driven, but who lead; and
the inspired guidance of Plotinus in that direction may secure more
attention, and attract more disciples, when the way is illuminated by
discoverable facts.

Meanwhile facts await discovery.

       *       *       *       *       *

Passages from Plotinus, it may be remembered, are eloquently
translated by F. W. H. Myers, from the obscure and often
ungrammatical Greek, in _Human Personality_, vol. ii. pp. 289-291;
and readers of S.P.R. _Proceedings_, vol. xxii, pp. 108-172, will
remember the development by Mrs. Verall of the [Greek: kai autos
ouranos akumôn] motto prefixed to F. W. H. Myers's post-humously
published poem on Tennyson in _Fragments of Prose and Poetry_.

My reference just above to teachings of Plotinus about the kind of
things to be met with in the other world, or the etherial world, or
whatever it may be called, is due to information from Professor J.
H. Muirhead that, roughly speaking, Plotinus teaches that things
there are on the same plan as things here: each thing here having
its counterpart or corresponding existence there, though glorified
and fuller of reality. Not to misrepresent this doctrine, but to
illustrate it as far as can be by a short passage, Professor Muirhead
has given me the following translation from the _Enneads_:--

  "But again let us speak thus: For since we hold that
  _this_ universe is framed after the pattern of _That_,
  every living thing must needs first be There; and since
  Its Being is perfect, all must be There. Heaven then must
  There be a living thing nor void of what are here called
  stars; indeed such things belong to heaven. Clearly too
  the earth which is There is not an empty void, but much
  more full of life, wherein are all creatures that are
  here called land animals and plants that are rooted in
  life. And sea is There, and all water in ebb and flow and
  in abiding life, and all creatures that are in the water.
  And air is a part of the all that is There, and creatures
  of the air in accordance with the nature and laws of air.
  For in the Living how should living things fail? How then
  can any living thing fail to be There, seeing that as
  each of the great parts of nature is, so needs must be
  the living things that therein are? As then Heaven is,
  and There exists, so are and exist all the creatures that
  inhabit it; nor can these fail to be, else would those
  (on earth?) not be."

  _Enn._ VI. vii.

The reason why this strange utterance or speculation is reproduced
here is because it seems to some extent to correspond with curious
statements recorded in another part of this book; _e.g._ in Chapter
XIV, Part II.

I expect that it would be misleading to suppose that the terms used by
Plotinus really signify any difference of locality. It may be nearer
the truth to suppose that when freed from our restricting and only
matter-revealing senses we become aware of much that was and is 'here'
all the time, interfused with the existence which we knew;--forming
part indeed of the one and only complete existence, of which our
present normal knowledge is limited to a single aspect. We might think
and speak of many interpenetrating universes, and yet recognise that
ultimately they must be all one. It is not likely that the Present
differs from what we now call the Future except in our mode of
perceiving it.

    [Footnote 37: I wish to emphasise this paragraph, as
    perhaps an important one.]



 "In scientific truth there is no finality, and there
 should therefore be no dogmatism. When this is forgotten,
 then science will become stagnant, and its high-priests
 will endeavour to strangle new learning at its birth."--R.
 A. GREGORY, _Discovery_.

How does mind communicate with mind? Our accustomed process is
singularly indirect.

Speech is the initiation of muscular movements, under brain and
nerve guidance, which result in the production of atmospheric
pulsations--alternate condensations and rarefactions--which spread
out in all directions in a way that can be likened superficially
to the spreading of ripples on a pond. In themselves the aerial
pulsations have no psychical connotation, and are as purely
mechanical as are those ripples, though like the indentations on the
wax of a phonograph their sequence is cunningly contrived; and it is
in their sequence that the code lies--a code which anyone who has
struggled with a foreign language knows is difficult to learn. Sound
waves have in some respects a still closer analogy with the etherial
pulsations generated at a wireless-telegraph sending station, which
affect all sensitive receiving instruments within range and convey a
code by their artificially induced sequence.

Hearing is reception of a small modicum of the above aerial
pulsations, by suitable mechanism which enables them to stimulate
ingeniously contrived nerve-endings, and so at length to affect
auditory centres in the brain, and to get translated into the
same kind of consciousness as was responsible for the original
utterance. The whole is done so quickly and easily, by the perfect
physiological mechanism provided, that the indirect and surprising
nature of the process is usually overlooked; as most things are when
they have become familiar. Wireless telegraphy is not an iota more
marvellous, but, being unfamiliar, it has aroused a sense of wonder.

Writing and Reading by aid of black marks on a piece of paper,
perceived by means of the Ether instead of the air, and through
the agency of the eye instead of the ear,--though the symbols are
ultimately to be interpreted as if heard,--hardly need elaboration
in order to exhibit their curiously artificial and complicated
indirectness: and in their case an element of delay, even a long
time-interval--perhaps centuries--may intervene between production
and reception.

Artistic representation also, such as painting or music, though of
a less articulate character, less dependent on purely linguistic
convention and less limited by nationality, is still truly
astonishing when intellectually regarded. An arrangement of pigments
designed for the reception and modification and re-emission or
reflexion of ether-tremors, in the one case; and, in the other,
a continuous series of complicated vibrations excited by grossly
mechanical means; intervene between the minds of painter and
spectator, of composer and auditor, or, in more general terms,
between agent and percipient,--again with possible great lapse of

That ideas and feelings, thus indirectly and mechanically transmitted
or stored, can affect the sensitive soul in unmistakable fashion, is
a fact of experience; but that deposits in matter are competent to
produce so purely psychic an effect can surely only be explained in
terms of the potentialities and previous experience of the mind or
soul itself. No emotional influence can be expressed, or rendered
intelligible, in terms of matter. Matter is an indirect medium
of communication between mind and mind. That direct telepathic
intercourse should be able to occur between mind and mind, without
all this intermediate physical mechanism, is therefore not really
surprising. It has to be proved, no doubt, but the fact is
intrinsically less puzzling than many of those other facts to which
we have grown hardened by usage.

Why should telepathy be unfamiliar to us? Why should it seem only an
exceptional or occasional method of communication? There is probably,
as M. Bergson has said, an evolutionary advantage in our present
almost exclusive limitation to mechanical and physical methods of
communication; for these are under muscular control and can be shut
off. We can isolate ourselves from them, if not in a mechanical, then
in a topographical manner: we can go away, out of range. We could not
thus protect ourselves against insistent telepathy. Hence probably
the practical usefulness of the inhibiting and abstracting power of
the brain; a power which in some lunatics is permanently deficient.

Physical things can reach consciousness--if at all--only through the
brain; that remains true as regards physical things, however much we
may admit telepathy from other minds; and, conversely, only through
the brain can we operate with conscious purpose on the material
world. To any more direct mental or spiritual intercourse we are,
unless specially awakened, temporarily dead or asleep. There is some
inversion of ordinary ideas here, for a state of trance appears to
rouse or free the dormant faculties, and to render direct intercourse
more possible. At any rate it does this for some people. For we find
here and there, a few perfectly sane individuals, from whom, when in
a rather exceptional state, the customary brain-limitation seems to
be withdrawn or withdrawable. Their minds cease to be isolated for a
time, and are accessible to more direct influences. Not the familiar
part of their minds, not the part accustomed to operate and to be
operated on by the habitually used portion of brain, no, but what is
called a subliminal stratum of mind, a part only accessible perhaps
to physical things through an ordinarily unused and only subconscious
portion of the brain.

The occurrence of such people, _i.e._ of people with such exceptional
and really simple faculties, could not have been predicted or
expected on a basis of everyday experience; but if evidence is
forthcoming for their existence--even although it be not quite
of an ordinary character--and if we can make examination of the
subject-matter and criticise the statements of fact which are thus
receivable, there is no sort of sense in opposing the facts by
adducing preconceived negative opinions about impossibility, and
declining to look into the evidence or judge of the results. There
were people once who would not look at the satellites of Jupiter,
lest their cherished convictions should be disturbed. There was
a mathematician not long ago who would not see an experimental
demonstration of conical refraction, lest if it failed his confidence
in refined optical theory should be upset. And so, strange to
say, there are people to-day who deny the fact, and condemn the
investigation, of any manner of communication outside the realm of
ordinary commonplace experience: having no ground at all for their
denial save prejudice.

Well, like other little systems, they have their day and cease to be.
We need not attend to them overmuch. If the facts of the Universe
have come within our contemplation, a certain amount of contemporary
blindness, though it may surprise, need not perplex us. The study
of the material side of things, under the limitations appropriate
thereto, has done splendid service. Only gradually can mental scope
be enlarged to take in not only all this but more also.

In so far as those who are open to the less well-defined and more
ambitious region are ignorant or unresponsive to what has been
achieved in the material realm, it is no wonder that their asserted
enlargement of scope is not credited. It does not seem likely that
a new revelation has been vouchsafed to them, when they are so
ignorant concerning the other and already recognised kind of Natural
knowledge. They cannot indeed have attained information through the
same channels, or in the same way. And it is this dislocation of
knowledge, this difference of atmosphere, this barely reconcilable
attitude of two diverse groups of people--though occasionally, by the
device of water-tight compartments, the same individual has breathed
both kinds of air and belonged to both groups--it is this bifurcation
of method that has retarded mutual understanding. There are
pugnacious members of either group who try to strengthen their own
position by decrying the methods of the other; and were it not for
the occurrence from time to time of a Wallace or a Crookes, _i.e._
of men who combine in their own persons something of both kinds of
knowledge, attained not by different but by similar methods--all
their theses being maintained and justified on scientific grounds,
and after experimental inquiry--the chances for a reasonable and
scientific outlook into a new region, and ultimately over the
border-line into the domain of religion, would not be encouraging.
The existence of such men, however, has given the world pause, has
sometimes checked its facile abuse, and has brought it occasionally
into a reflective, perhaps now even into a partially receptive, mood.
We need not be in any hurry, though we can hardly help hoping for
quick progress if the new knowledge can in any way alleviate the
terrible amount of sorrow in the world at present; moreover, if a new
volume is to be opened in man's study of the Universe, it is time
that the early chapters were being perused.

It may be asked, do I recommend all bereaved persons to devote the
time and attention which I have done to getting communications and
recording them? Most certainly I do not. I am a student of the
subject, and a student often undertakes detailed labour of a special
kind. I recommend people in general to learn and realise that their
loved ones are still active and useful and interested and happy--more
alive than ever in one sense--and to make up their minds to live a
useful life till they rejoin them.

What steps should be taken to gain this peaceful assurance must
depend on the individual. Some may get it from the consolations of
religion, some from the testimony of trusted people, while some
may find it necessary to have first-hand experience of their own
for a time. And if this experience can be attained privately, with
no outside assistance, by quiet and meditation or by favour of
occasional waking dreams, so much the better.

What people should not do, is to close their minds to the possibility
of continued existence except in some lofty and inaccessible and
essentially unsuitable condition; they should not selfishly seek to
lessen pain by discouraging all mention, and even hiding everything
likely to remind them, of those they have lost; nor should they give
themselves over to unavailing and prostrating grief. Now is the time
for action; and it is an ill return to those who have sacrificed
all and died for the Country if those left behind do not throw off
enervating distress and helpless lamentation, and seek to live for
the Country and for humanity, to the utmost of their power.

Any steps which are calculated to lead to this wholesome result in
any given instance are justified; and it is not for me to offer
advice as to the kind of activity most appropriate to each individual

       *       *       *       *       *

I have suggested that the new knowledge, when generally established
and incorporated with existing systems, will have a bearing and
influence on the region hitherto explored by other faculties, and
considered to be the domain of faith. It certainly must be so,
whether the suggested expansion of scientific scope is welcomed or
not. Certainly the conclusions to which I myself have been led by
one mode of access are not contradictory of the conclusions which
have been arrived at by those who (naturally) seem to me the more
enlightened theologians; though I must confess that with some of
the ecclesiastical superstructure which has descended to us from a
bygone day, a psychic investigator can have but little sympathy.
Indeed he only refrains from attacking it because he feels that, left
to itself, it will be superseded by higher and better knowledge,
and will die a natural death. There is too much wheat mingled with
the tares to render it safe for any but an ecclesiastical expert to
attempt to uproot them.

Meanwhile, although some of the official exponents of Christian
doctrine condemn any attempt to explore things of this kind by
secular methods; while others refrain from countenancing any results
thus obtained; there are many who would utilise them in their
teaching if they conscientiously could, and a few who have already
begun to do so, on the strength of their own knowledge, however
derived, and in spite of the risk of offending weaker brethren.[38]

    [Footnote 38: For instance, a book called _The Gospel of
    the Hereafter_, by Dr. J. Paterson Smyth, of Montreal, may
    be brought to the notice of anyone who, while clinging
    tightly to the essential tenets of orthodox Christianity,
    and unwilling or unable to enter upon a course of study,
    would gladly interpret eastern and mediæval phrases in a
    sense not repugnant to the modern spirit.]



  "But he, the spirit himself, may come
  Where all the nerve of sense is numb."

  TENNYSON, _In Memoriam_

However it be accomplished, and whatever reception the present-day
scientific world may give to the assertion, there are many now who
know, by first-hand experience, that communication is possible across
the boundary--if there is a boundary--between the world apprehended
by our few animal-derived senses and the larger existence concerning
which our knowledge is still more limited.

Communication is not easy, but it occurs; and humanity has reason
to be grateful to those few individuals who, finding themselves
possessed of the faculty of mediumship, and therefore able to act as
intermediaries, allow themselves to be used for this purpose.

Such means of enlarging our knowledge, and entering into relations
with things beyond animal ken, can be abused like any other power: it
can be played with by the merely curious, or it can be exploited in
a very mundane and unworthy way in the hope of warping it into the
service of selfish ends, in the same way as old and long accessible
kinds of knowledge have too often been employed. But it can also be
used reverently and seriously, for the very legitimate purpose of
comforting the sorrowful, helping the bereaved, and restoring some
portion of the broken link between souls united in affection but
separated for a time by an apparently impassable barrier. The barrier
is turning out to be not hopelessly obdurate after all; intercourse
between the two states is not so impossible as had been thought;
something can be learnt about occurrences from either side; and
gradually it is probable that a large amount of consistent and fairly
coherent knowledge will be accumulated.

Meanwhile broken ties of affection have the first claim; and early
efforts at communication from the departed are nearly always directed
towards assuring survivors of the fact of continued personal
existence, towards helping them to realise that changed surroundings
have in no way weakened love or destroyed memory, and urging upon
their friends with eager insistence that earthly happiness need
not be irretrievably spoiled by bereavement. For purposes of this
kind many trivial incidents are recalled, such as are well adapted
to convince intimate friends and relatives that one particular
intelligence, and no other, must be the source from which the
messages ultimately spring, through whatever intermediaries they have
to be conveyed. And to people new to the subject such messages are
often immediately convincing.

Further thought, however, raises difficulties and doubts. The
gradually recognized possibility of what may be called normal
telepathy, or unconscious mind-reading from survivors, raises
hesitation--felt most by studious and thoughtful people--about
accepting such messages as irrefragable evidence of persistent
personal existence; and to overcome this curious and unexpected and
perhaps rather artificial difficulty, it is demanded that facts
shall be given which are unknown to anyone present, and can only
subsequently be verified. Communications of this occasional and
exceptional kind are what are called, by psychic investigators, more
specifically 'evidential': and time and perhaps good fortune may be
required for their adequate reception and critical appreciation.
For it is manifest that most things readily talked about between
two friends, and easily reproducible in hasty conversation, will
naturally be of a nature common to both, and on subjects well within
each other's knowledge.

The more recent development of an elaborate scheme of
'cross-correspondence,' entered upon since the death of specially
experienced and critical investigators of the S.P.R., who were
familiar with all these difficulties, and who have taken strong
and most ingenious means to overcome them, has made the proof,
already very strong, now almost crucial. The only alternative, in
the best cases, is to imagine a sort of supernormal mischievousness,
so elaborately misleading that it would have to be stigmatised as
vicious or even diabolical.

In most cases complete proof of this complicated and cold-blooded
kind is neither forthcoming nor is necessary: indeed it can hardly
be appreciated or understood by non-studious people. Effective
evidence is in most cases of a different kind, and varies with the
personality concerned. It often happens that little personal touches,
incommunicable to others in their full persuasiveness, sooner or
later break down the last vestiges of legitimate scepticism. What
goes on beyond that will depend upon personal training and interest.
With many, anything like scientific inquiry lapses at this point,
and communication resolves itself into emotional and domestic
interchange of ordinary ideas. But in a few cases the desire to
give new information is awakened; and when there is sufficient
receptivity, and, what is very important, a competent and suitable
Medium for anything beyond commonplace messages, instructive and
general information may be forthcoming. An explanation or description
of the methods of communication, for instance, as seen from their
side; or some information concerning the manner of life there;
and occasionally even some intelligent attempt to lessen human
difficulties about religious conceptions, and to give larger ideas
about the Universe as a whole,--all these attempts have been made.
But they always insist that their information is but little greater
than ours, and that they are still fallible gropers after truth,--of
which they keenly feel the beauty and importance, but of which they
realise the infinitude, and their own inadequacy of mental grasp,
quite as clearly as we do here.

These are what we call the 'unverifiable' communications; for we
cannot bring them to book by subsequent terrestrial inquiry in the
same way as we can test information concerning personal or mundane
affairs. Information of the higher kind has often been received, but
has seldom been published; and it is difficult to know what value to
put upon it, or how far it is really trustworthy.

I am inclined to think, however--with a growing number of serious
students of the subject--that the time is getting ripe now for
the production and discussion of material of this technically
unverifiable kind; to be scrutinised and tested by internal
consistency and inherent probability, in the same sort of way as
travellers' tales have to be scrutinised and tested. But until
humanity as a whole has taken the initial step, and shown itself
willing to regard such communications as within the range of
possibility, it may be unwise to venture far in this more ambitious

It has nevertheless been suggested, from a philosophic point of view,
that strict proof of individual survival must in the last resort
depend on examination and collation of these 'travellers' tales,'
rather than on any kind of resuscitation of the past; because, until
we know more about memory, it is possible to conjecture, as I think
Professor Bergson does, that all the past is potentially accessible
to a super-subliminal faculty for disinterring it. And so one might,
in a sceptical mood, when confronted with records of apparently
personal reminiscence, attribute them to an unconscious exercise of
this faculty, and say with Tennyson

                  "I hear a wind
    Of memory murmuring the past."

I do not myself regard this impersonal memory as a reasonable
hypothesis, I think that the simpler view is likely to be the
truer one, so I attach importance to trivial reminiscences and
characteristic personal touches; but I do agree that abstention from
recording and publishing, however apologetically, those other efforts
has had the effect of making ill-informed people--_i.e._ people with
very little personal experience--jump to the conclusion that all
communications are of a trivial and contemptible nature.



That such a contention as that mentioned at the end of the preceding
chapter is false is well known to people of experience; but so long
as the demand for verification and proof of identity persists--and
it will be long indeed before they can be dispensed with--so long
are trifling reminiscences the best way to achieve the desired end.
The end in this case amply explains and justifies the means. Hence
it is that novices and critics are naturally and properly regaled
with references to readily remembered and verifiable facts; and since
these facts, to be useful, must not be of the nature of public news,
nor anything which can be gleaned from biographical or historical
records, they usually relate to trifling family affairs or other
humorous details such as seem likely to stay in the memory. It can
freely be admitted that such facts are only redeemed from triviality
by the affectionate recollections interlinked with them, and by the
motive which has caused them to be reproduced. For their special
purpose they may be admirable; and there is no sort of triviality
about the thing to be proven by them. The idea that a departed friend
ought to be occupied wholly and entirely with grave matters, and
ought not to remember jokes and fun, is a gratuitous claim which has
to be abandoned. Humour does not cease with earth-life. Why should it?

It should be evident that communications concerning deeper matters
are not similarly serviceable as proof of identity, though they
may have a value and interest of their own; but it is an interest
which could not be legitimately aroused until the first step--the
recognition of veridical intercourse--had been taken; for, as a rule,
they are essentially unverifiable. Of such communications a multitude
could be quoted; and almost at random I select a few specimens from
the automatic writings of the gentleman and schoolmaster known to a
former generation as _M.A.Oxon._[39] Take this one, which happens to
be printed in a current issue of _Light_ (22 April 1916), with the
statement that it occurs in one of M.A.Oxon.'s subliminally written
and private notebooks, under date 12 July 1873--many others will
be found in the selections which he himself extracted from his own
script and published in a book called _Spirit Teachings_:--

  "You do not sufficiently grasp the scanty hold that
  religion has upon the mass of mankind, nor the
  adaptability of what we preach to the wants and cravings
  of men. Or perhaps it is necessary that you be reminded
  of what you cannot see clearly in your present state
  and among your present associations. You cannot see,
  as we see, the carelessness that has crept over men
  as to the future. Those who have thought over their
  future have come to know that they can find out nothing
  about it, except, indeed, that what man pretends to
  tell is foolish, contradictory, and unsatisfying. His
  reasoning faculties convince him that the Revelation of
  God contains very plain marks of human origin; that it
  will not stand the test of sifting such as is applied to
  works professedly human; and that the priestly fiction
  that reason is no measure of revelation, and that it
  must be left on the threshold of inquiry and give place
  to faith, is a cunningly planned means of preventing man
  from discovering the errors and contradictions which
  throng the pages of the Bible. Those who reason discover
  this soon; those who do not, betake themselves to the
  refuge of Faith, and become blind devotees, fanatical,
  irrational, and bigoted; conformed to a groove in which
  they have been educated and from which they have not
  broken loose simply because they have not dared to think.
  It would be hard for man to devise a means [more capable]
  of cramping the mind and dwarfing the spirit's growth
  than this persuading of a man that he must not think
  about religion. It is one which paralyses all freedom of
  thought and renders it almost impossible for the soul to
  rise. The spirit is condemned to a hereditary religion
  whether suited or not to its wants. That which may have
  suited a far-off ancestor may be quite unsuited to a
  struggling soul that lives in other times from those
  in which such ideas had vitality. The spirit's life is
  so made a question of birth and of locality. It is a
  question over which he can exercise no control, whether
  he is Christian, Mohammedan, or, as ye say, heathen:
  whether his God be the Great Spirit of the Red Indian, or
  the fetish of the savage; whether his prophet be Christ
  or Mahomet or Confucius; in short, whether his notion
  of religion be that of East, West, North, or South; for
  in all these quarters men have evolved for themselves a
  theology which they teach their children to believe.

  "The days are coming when this geographical sectarianism
  will give place before the enlightenment caused by the
  spread of our revelation, for which men are far riper
  than you think. The time draws nigh apace when the
  sublime truths of Spiritualism, rational and noble as
  they are when viewed by man's standard, shall wipe away
  from the face of God's earth the sectarian jealousy and
  theological bitterness, the anger and ill-will, the folly
  and stupidity, which have disgraced the name of religion
  and the worship of God; and man shall see in a clearer
  light the Supreme Creator and the spirit's eternal

  "We tell you, friend, that the end draws nigh; the
  night of ignorance is passing fast; the shackles which
  priestcraft has strung round the struggling souls shall
  be knocked off, and in place of fanatical folly and
  ignorant speculation and superstitious belief, ye shall
  have a reasonable religion and a knowledge of the reality
  of the spirit-world and of the ministry of angels with
  you. Ye shall know that the dead are alive indeed, living
  as they lived on earth, but more truly, ministering to
  you with undiminished love, animated in their perpetual
  intercourse with the same affection which they had whilst
  yet incarned."

Any one of these serious messages can be criticised and commented
upon with hostility and suspicion; they are not suited to establish
the first premise of the argument for continuance of personality;
and if they were put forward as part of the proof of survival,
then perhaps the hostility would be legitimate. It ought to be
clear that they are not to be taken as oracular utterances, or as
anything vastly superior to the capabilities of the medium through
whom they come,--though in fact they often are superior to any known
power of a given medium, and are frequently characteristic of the
departed personality, as we knew him, who is purporting to be the
Communicator: though this remark is not applicable to the particular
class of impersonal messages here selected for quotation. Yet in all
cases they must surely be more or less sophisticated by the channel,
and by the more or less strained method of communication, and must
share some of its limitations and imperfections.

However that may be, it is proper to quote them occasionally,
as here; not as specially profound utterances, but merely in
contradiction of the imaginary and false thesis that only trivial
and insignificant subjects are dealt with in automatic writings and
mediumistic utterances. For such utterances--whatever their value or
lack of value--are manifestly conclusive against that gratuitous and
ignorant supposition. Whatever is thought of them, they are at least
conceived in a spirit of earnestness, and are characterised by a
genuine fervour that may be properly called religious.

I now quote a few more of the records published in the book cited
above,--in this case dealing with Theological questions and puzzles
in the mind of the automatic writer himself:--

  "All your fancied theories about God have filtered down
  to you through human channels; the embodiments of human
  cravings after knowledge of Him; the creation of minds
  that were undeveloped, whose wants were not your wants,
  whose God, or rather whose notions about God are not
  yours. You try hard to make the ideas fit in, but they
  will not fit, because they are the product of divers
  degrees of development...."

  "God! Ye know Him not! One day, when the Spirit stands
  within the veil which shrouds the spirit world from
  mortal gaze, you shall wonder at your ignorance of Him
  whom you have so foolishly imagined! He is far other
  than you have pictured Him. Were He such as you have
  pictured Him, were He such as you think, He would avenge
  on presumptuous man the insults which he puts on his
  Creator. But He is other, far other than man's poor
  grovelling mind can grasp, and He pities and forgives
  the ignorance of the blind mortal who paints Him after
  a self-imagined pattern.... When you rashly complain
  of us that our teaching to you controverts that of the
  Old Testament, we can but answer that it does indeed
  controvert that old and repulsive view ... but that it is
  in fullest accord with that divinely inspired revelation
  of Himself which He gave through Jesus Christ--a
  revelation which man has done so much to debase, and
  from which the best of the followers of Christ have so
  grievously fallen away."

And again, in answer to other doubts and questions in the mind of the
automatist as to the legitimacy of the means of communication, and
his hesitation about employing a means which he knew was sometimes
prostituted by knaves to unworthy and frivolous or even base
objects,--very different from those served by humorous and friendly
family messages, about which no one with a spark of human feeling
has a word to say when once they have realised their nature and
object,--the writing continued thus:--

  "If there be nought in what we say of God and of man's
  after-life that commends itself to you, it must be that
  your mind has ceased to love the grander and simpler
  conceptions which it had once learned to drink in...."

  "Cease to be anxious about the minute questions which
  are of minor moment. Dwell much on the great, the
  overwhelming necessity for a clearer revealing of the
  Supreme; on the blank and cheerless ignorance of God
  and of us which has crept over the world: on the noble
  creed we teach, on the bright future we reveal. Cease
  to be perplexed by thoughts of an imagined Devil. For
  the honest, pure, and truthful soul there is no Devil
  nor Prince of Evil such as theology has feigned....
  The clouds of sorrow and anguish of soul may gather
  round [such a man] and his spirit may be saddened with
  the burden of sin--weighed down with consciousness of
  surrounding misery and guilt, but no fabled Devil can
  gain dominion over him, or prevail to drag down his soul
  to hell. All the sadness of spirit, the acquaintance
  with grief, the intermingling with guilt, is part of
  the experience, in virtue of which his soul shall rise
  hereafter. The guardians are training and fitting it by
  those means to progress, and jealously protect it from
  the dominion of the foe.

  "It is only they who, by a fondness for evil, by a
  lack of spiritual and excess of corporeal development,
  attract to themselves the congenial spirits of the
  undeveloped who have left the body but not forgotten its
  desires. These alone risk incursion of evil. These by
  proclivity attract evil, and it dwells with them at their
  invitation. They attract the lower spirits who hover
  nearest Earth, and who are but too ready to rush in and
  mar our plans, and ruin our work for souls. These are
  they of whom you speak when you say in haste, that the
  result of Spiritualism is not for good. You err, friend.
  Blame not us that the lower spirits manifest for those
  who bid them welcome. Blame man's insensate folly, which
  will choose the low and grovelling rather than the pure
  and elevated. Blame his foolish laws, which daily hurry
  into a life for which they are unprepared, thousands of
  spirits, hampered and dragged down by a life of folly and
  sin, which has been fostered by custom and fashion. Blame
  the ginshops, and the madhouses, and the prisons, and the
  encouraged lusts and fiendish selfishness of man. This it
  is which damns legions of spirits--not, as ye fancy, in
  a sea of material fire, but in the flames of perpetuated
  lust, condemned to burn itself out in hopeless longing
  till the purged soul rises through the fire and surmounts
  its dead passions. Yes, blame these and kindred causes,
  if there be around undeveloped intelligences who shock
  you by their deception, and annoy you by frivolity and

I suppose that the worst that can be said about writing of this
kind is that it consists of 'sermon-stuffe' such as could have
been presumably invented--whether consciously or unconsciously--by
the automatic writer himself. And the fact that with some of it he
tended to disagree, proves no more than the corresponding kind of
unexpected argumentation experienced by some dreamers. (Cf. L. P.
Jacks, _Hibbert Journal_, July, 1916.) The same kind of explanation
may serve for both phenomena, but I do not know what that explanation

    [Footnote 39: The Rev. Stainton Moses (M. A. Oxon) was one
    of the masters at University College School in London. He
    wrote automatically, _i.e._ subconsciously, in private
    notebooks at a regular short time each day for nearly
    twenty years, and felt that he was in touch with helpful
    and informing intelligences.]



Perhaps the commonest and easiest method of communication is what
is called 'automatic writing'--the method by which the above
examples were received--i.e. writing performed through the agency
of subconscious intelligence; the writer leaving his or her hand
at liberty to write whatever comes, without attempting to control
it, and without necessarily attending at the time to what is being

That a novice will usually get nothing, or mere nonsense or
scribbling, in this way is obvious: the remarkable thing is that some
persons are thus able to get sense, and to tap sources of information
outside their normal range. If a rudiment of such power exists, it
is possible, though not always desirable, to cultivate it; but care,
pertinacity, and intelligence are needed to utilise a faculty of
this kind. Unless people are well-balanced and self-critical and
wholesomely occupied, they had better leave the subject alone.

In most cases of fully-developed automatism known to me the
automatist reads what comes, and makes suitable oral replies or
comments to the sentences as they appear: so that the whole has then
the effect of a straightforward conversation of which one side is
spoken and the other written--the speaking side being usually rather
silent and reserved, the writing side free and expansive.

Naturally not every person has the power of cultivating this simple
form of what is technically known as motor automatism, one of the
recognised subliminal forms of activity; but probably more people
could do it if they tried; though for some people it would be
injudicious, and for many others hardly worth while.

The intermediate mentality employed in this process seems to be a
usually submerged or dream-like stratum of the automatist whose hand
is being used. The hand is probably worked by its usual physiological
mechanism, guided and controlled by nerve centres not in the most
conscious and ordinarily employed region of the brain. In some cases
the content or subject-matter of the writing may emanate entirely
from these nerve centres, and be of no more value than a dream; as
is frequently the case with the more elementary automatism set in
action by the use of instruments known as 'planchette' and 'ouija,'
often employed by beginners. But when the message turns out to be of
evidential value it is presumably because this subliminal portion of
the person is in touch, either telepathically or in some other way,
with intelligences not ordinarily accessible,--with living people at
a distance perhaps, or more often with the apparently more accessible
people who have passed on, for whom distance in the ordinary sense
seems hardly to exist, and whose links of connexion are of a kind
other than spatial. It need hardly be said that proof of communion
of this kind is absolutely necessary, and has to be insisted on;
but experience has demonstrated that now and again sound proof is

Another method, and one that turns out to be still more powerful, is
for the automatist not only to take off his or her attention from
what is being transmitted through his or her organism, but to become
comprehensively unconscious and go into a trance. In that case it
appears that the physiological mechanism is more amenable to control,
and is less sophisticated by the ordinary intelligence of the person
to whom it normally belongs; so that messages of importance and
privacy may be got through. But the messages have to be received
and attended to by another person; for in such cases, when genuine,
the entranced person on waking up is found to be ignorant of what
has been either written or uttered. In this state, speech is as
common as writing, probably more common because less troublesome to
the recipient, _i.e._ the friend or relative to whom or for whom
messages are being thus sent. The communicating personality during
trance may be the same as the one operating the hand without trance,
and the messages may have the same general character as those got
by automatic writing, when the consciousness is not suspended but
only in temporary and local abeyance; but in the trance state a
dramatic characterisation is usually imparted to the proceedings, by
the appearance of an entity called a 'Control,' who works the body
of the automatist in the apparent absence of its customary manager.
This personality is believed by some to be merely the subliminal self
of the entranced person, brought to the surface, or liberated and
dramatised into a sort of dream existence, for the time. By others
it is supposed to be a healthy and manageable variety of the more or
less pathological phenomenon known to physicians and psychiatrists as
cases of dual or multiple personality. By others again it is believed
to be in reality the separate intelligence which it claims to be.

But however much can be and has been written on this subject, and
whatever different opinions may be held, it is universally admitted
that the _dramatic semblance_ of the control is undoubtedly that of
a separate person,--a person asserted to be permanently existing
on the other side, and to be occupied on that side in much the
same functions as the medium is on this. The duty of controlling
and transmitting messages seems to be laid upon such a one--it is
his special work. The dramatic character of most of the controls
is so vivid and self-consistent, that whatever any given sitter
or experimenter may feel is the probable truth concerning their
real nature, the simplest way is to humour them by taking them at
their face value and treating them as separate and responsible and
real individuals. It is true that in the case of some mediums,
especially when overdone or tired, there are evanescent and absurd
obtrusions every now and then, which cannot be seriously regarded.
Those have to be eliminated; and for anyone to treat them as real
people would be ludicrous; but undoubtedly the serious controls
show a character and personality and memory of their own, and they
appear to carry on as continuous an existence as anyone else whom
one only meets occasionally for conversation. The conversation can
be taken up at the point where it left off, and all that was said
appears to be remarkably well remembered by the appropriate control;
while usually memory of it is naturally and properly repudiated by
another control, even when operating through the same medium; and
the entranced medium knows nothing of it afterwards after having
completely woke up.

So clearly is the personality of the control brought out, in the
best cases, so clear also are the statements of the communicators
that the control who is kindly transmitting their messages is a real
person, that I am disposed to accept their assertions, and to regard
a control, when not a mere mischievous and temporary impersonation,
as akin on their side to the person whom we call a medium on ours.

The process of regular communication--apart from the exceptional
more direct privilege occasionally vouchsafed to people in
extreme sorrow--thus seems to involve normally a double medium of
communication, and the activity of several people. First there is the
'Communicator' or originator of ideas and messages on the other side.
Then there is the 'control' who accepts and transmits the messages
by setting into operation a physical organism lent for the occasion.
Then there is the 'Medium' or person whose normal consciousness is in
abeyance but whose physiological mechanism is being used. And finally
there is the 'Sitter'--a rather absurd name--the recipient of the
messages, who reads or hears and answers them, and for whose benefit
all this trouble is taken. In many cases there is also present a
Note-taker to record all that is said, whether by sitters or by or
through the medium; and it is clear that the note-taker should pay
special attention to and carefully record any hints or information
either purposely or accidentally imparted by the sitter.

In scientific and more elaborately conducted cases there is also some
one present who is known as the Experimenter in charge--a responsible
and experienced person who looks after the health and safety of the
medium, who arranges the circumstances and selects the sitters,
making provision for anonymity and other precautions, and who
frequently combines with his other functions the duties of note-taker.

In oral or voice sittings the function of the note-taker is more
laborious and more responsible than in writing sittings; for
these latter to a great extent supply their own notes. Only as
the trance-writing is blindfold, _i.e._ done with shut eyes and
head averted, it is rather illegible without practice; and so the
experimenter in charge frequently finds it necessary to assist the
sitter, to whom it is addressed, by deciphering it and reading it
aloud as it comes--rather a tiring process; at the same time jotting
down, usually on the same paper, the remarks which the sitter makes
in reply, or the questions from time to time asked. Unless this is
done the subsequent automatic record lacks a good deal of clearness,
and sometimes lacks intelligibility.

For a voice-sitting the note-taker must be a rapid writer, and if
able to employ shorthand has an advantage. Sometimes a stenographer
is introduced; but the presence of a stranger, or of any person
not intimately concerned, is liable to hamper the distinctness and
fulness of a message; and may prevent or retard the occurrence of
such emotional episodes as are from time to time almost inevitable in
the cases--alas too numerous at present--where the sitter has been
recently and violently bereaved.

It is perhaps noteworthy--though it may not be interesting or
intelligible to a novice--that communicators wishing to give
private communications seldom or never object to the presence of
the actual 'medium'--_i.e._ the one on our side. That person seems
to be regarded as absent, or practically non-existent for a time;
the person whose presence they sometimes resent at first is the
'control,' _i.e._ the intelligence on their side who is ready to
receive and transmit their message, somewhat perhaps as an Eastern
scribe is ready to write the love-letters of illiterate persons.

As to the presence of a note-taker or third person on our side, such
person is taken note of by the control, and when anything private
or possibly private is mentioned--details of illnesses or such
like--that third person is often ordered out of the room. Sometimes
the experimenter in charge is likewise politely dispensed with,
and under these circumstances the sitting occasionally takes on
a poignant character in which note-taking by the deeply affected
sitter becomes a practical impossibility. But this experience is
comparatively rare; it must not be expected, and cannot wisely be

Another circumstance which makes me think that the more responsible
kind of control is a real person, is that sometimes, after
gained experience, the Communicator himself takes control, and
speaks or writes in the first person, not only as a matter of
first-person-reporting, which frequently occurs, but really in his
own proper person and with many of his old characteristics. So if
one control is a real person I see no reason against the probability
of others being real likewise. I cannot say that the tone of voice
or the handwriting is often thus reproduced--though it is, for a few
moments, by special effort sometimes; but the unusual physiological
mechanism accounts for outstanding or residual differences. Apart
from that, the peculiarities, the attitudes, the little touches
of manner, are often more or less faithfully reproduced, although
the medium may have known nothing of the person concerned. And the
characteristic quality of the message, and the kind of subjects dealt
with, become still more marked in such cases of actual control, than
when everything has to be transmitted through a kindly stranger
control, to whom things of a recondite or technical character may
appear rather as a meaningless collocation of words, very difficult
to remember and reproduce.


  When operating indirectly in the ordinary way through a
  control and a medium, it usually appears to be remarkably
  difficult to get names transmitted. Most mediums are
  able to convey a name only with difficulty. Now plainly
  a name, especially the proper name of a person, is a
  very conventional and meaningless thing: it has very few
  links to connect it with other items in memory; and hence
  arises the normally well-known difficulty of recalling
  one. Conscious effort made to recover a name seems to
  inhibit the power of doing so: the best plan is to leave
  it, and let subconsciousness work. An example occurred
  to me the other day, when I tried to remember the name
  of a prominent statesman or ex-Prime Minister whom I had
  met in Australia. What I seemed to recollect was that
  the name began with "D," and I made several shots at
  it, which I recorded. The effort went on at intervals
  for days, since I thought it would be an instructive
  experiment. I know now, a month or two later, without
  any effort and without looking it up, that the name was
  Deakin; but what my shots at it were I do not remember.
  I will have the page in the note-book looked up and
  reproduced here, as an example of memory-groping, at
  intervals, during more than one day. Here they are:--D.
  Dering, Denman, Deeming, Derriman, Derring, Deeley,
  Dempster, Denting, Desman, Deering.

  Now I knew the name quite well, and have known it for
  long, and have taken some interest in the gentleman who
  owns it; and I am known by some members of my family to
  have done so. Hence if I had been on 'the other side'
  and could only get as far as D, it would have seemed
  rather absurd to anyone whose memory for names is good.
  But indeed I have had times when names very much more
  familiar to me than that could not on the spur of the
  moment be recalled--not always even the initial letter;
  though, for some reason or other, the initial letter is
  certainly easier than the word.

  The kind of shots which I made at the name before
  recalling it--which it may seem frivolous to have
  actually recorded--are reminiscent of the kind of shots
  which are made by mediums under control when they too
  are striving after a name; and it was a perception of
  this analogy which caused me to jot down my own guesses,
  or what, in the case of a medium, we should impolitely
  call 'fishing.' I think that the name was certainly in
  my memory though it would not come through my brain. The
  effort is like the effort to use a muscle not often or
  ever used--say the outer ear--one does not know which
  string to pull, so to speak, or, more accurately, which
  nerve to stimulate, and the result is a peculiarly
  helpless feeling, akin to stammering. In the case of a
  medium, I suppose the name is often in the mind of the
  communicator, but it will not come through the control.
  The control sometimes describes it as being spoken or
  shown but not clearly caught. The communicator often does
  not know whether a medium has successfully conveyed it or



 "If man, then, shall attempt to sound and fathom the
 depths that lie not without him, but within, analogy
 may surely warn him that the first attempts of his rude
 _psychoscopes_ to give precision and actuality to thought
 will grope among 'beggarly elements'--will be concerned
 with things grotesque, or trivial, or obscure. Yet here
 also one handsbreadth of reality gives better footing than
 all the castles of our dream; here also by beginning with
 the least things we shall best learn how great things may
 remain to do."--F. W. H. M., Introduction to _Phantasms of
 the Living_

I must not shirk a rather queer subject which yet needs touching
upon, though it bristles with theoretical difficulties; and that is
the rationale of one of the most elementary methods of ultra-normal
communication, a method which many find practically the easiest to
begin with.

It is possible to get communication of a kind, not by holding a
pencil in the fingers, but by placing the hand on a larger piece of
wood not at all adapted for writing with. The movements are then
coarser, and the code more elementary; but in principle, when the
procedure is analysed, it is seen not to be essentially different. It
may be more akin to semaphore-arm signalling or flag-wagging; but any
device whereby mental activity can translate itself into movements
of matter will serve for subliminal as well as for conscious action;
and messages by tilting of a table, though crude and elementary, are
not really so surprising or absurd as at first sight they seem. The
tilts of a telegraphic operator's key are still more restricted; but
they serve. A pen or pencil is an inanimate piece of matter guided by
the fingers. A planchette is a mere piece of wood, and when touched
it must be presumed to be guided by the muscles,--though there is
often an illusion, as with the twig of the dowser, that the inanimate
object is moved directly, and not by muscular intervention. So also
we may assume that a table or other piece of furniture is tilted
or moved by regular muscular force: certainly it can only move at
the expense of the energy of the medium or of people present. And
yet in all these cases the substance of the message may be foreign
to the mind of anyone touching the instrument, and the guidance
necessary for sense and relevance need not be exercised by their own

When a table or similar rough instrument is employed, the ostensible
communicators say that they feel more _directly_ in touch with the
sitters than when they operate through an intermediary or 'control'
on their side,--as they appear to find it necessary to do for actual
speech or writing,--and accordingly they find themselves able to give
more private messages, and also to reproduce names and technicalities
with greater facility and precision. The process of spelling out
words in this way is a slow one, much slower than writing, and
therefore the method labours under disadvantages, but it seems to
possess advantages which to some extent counterbalance them.

Whether it sounds credible or not, and it is certainly surprising, I
must testify that when a thing of any mobility is controlled in this
more direct way, it is able to convey touches of emotion and phases
of intonation, so to speak, in a most successful manner. A telegraph
key could hardly do it, its range of movement is too restricted,
it operates only in a discontinuous manner, by make and break;
but a light table, under these conditions, seems no longer inert,
it behaves as if animated. For the time it is animated--somewhat
perhaps as a violin or piano is animated by a skilled musician and
schooled to his will,--and the dramatic action thus attained is very
remarkable. It can exhibit hesitation, it can exhibit certainty; it
can seek for information, it can convey it; it can apparently ponder
before giving a reply; it can welcome a new-comer; it can indicate
joy or sorrow, fun or gravity; it can keep time with a song as if
joining in the chorus; and, most notable of all, it can exhibit
affection in an unmistakable manner.

The hand of a writing medium can do these things too; and that
the whole body of a normal person can display these emotions is
a commonplace. Yet they are all pieces of matter, though some
are more permanently animated than others. But all are animated
temporarily,--not one of them permanently,--and there appears to be
no sharp line of demarcation. What we have to realise is that matter
in any form is able to act as agent to the soul, and that by aid of
matter various emotions as well as intelligence can be temporarily
incarnated and displayed.

The extraction of elementary music from all manner of
unlikely objects--kitchen utensils, for instance--is a known
stage-performance. The utilisation of unlikely objects for purposes
of communication, though it would not have been expected, may have to
be included in the same general category.

With things made for the purpose, from a violin to the puppets of a
marionette show, we know that simple human passions can be shown and
can be roused. With things made for quiet other purposes it turns out
that the same sort of possibility exists.

Table-tilting is an old and despised form of amusement, known to many
families and often wisely discarded; but with care and sobriety and
seriousness even this can be used as a means of communication; and
the amount of mediumistic power necessary for this elementary form of
psychic activity appears to be distinctly less than would be required
for more elaborate methods.

One thing it is necessary clearly to realise and admit, namely
that in all cases when an object is moved by direct contact of an
operator's body, whether the instrument be a pencil or a piece of
wood, unconscious muscular guidance must be allowed for; and anything
that comes through of a kind known to or suspected by the operator
must be discounted. Sometimes, however, the message comes in an
unexpected and for the moment puzzling form, and sometimes it conveys
information unknown to him. It is by the content of the communication
that its supernormal value must be estimated.

There are many obvious disadvantages about a Table Sitting,
especially in the slowness of the communications and in the fact
that the sitter has to do most of the talking; whereas when some
personality is controlling a medium, the sitters need say very little.

But, as said above, there are some communicators who object to a
control's presence, especially if they have anything private to say;
and these often prefer the table because it seems to bring them more
directly into contact with the sitter, without an intermediary.
They seem to ignore the presence of the medium on our side,
notwithstanding the fact that, at a table sitting, she is present in
her own consciousness and is aware of what goes on; they appear to
be satisfied with having dispensed with the medium on their side.
Moreover, it is in some cases found that information can be conveyed
in a briefer and more direct manner, not having to be wrapped up in
roundabout phrases, that names can be given more easily, and direct
questions answered better, through the table than through a control.

It must be remembered that under control every medium has some
peculiarities. Mrs. Leonard, for instance, is a very straightforward
and honest medium, but not a particularly strong one. Accordingly
anything like conversation and free interchange of ideas is hardly
possible, and direct questions seldom receive direct answers, when
put to the communicator through Feda.

I have known mediums much more powerful in this respect, so that free
conversation with one or two specially skilled communicators was
quite possible, and interchange of ideas almost as easy as when the
communicator was in the flesh. But instances of that kind are hardly
to be expected among hard-worked professional mediums.

       *       *       *       *       *

  I shall not in this volume touch upon still more
  puzzling and still more directly and peculiarly physical
  phenomena, such as are spoken of as 'direct voice,'
  'direct writing,' and 'materialisation.' In these strange
  and, from one point of view, more advanced occurrences,
  though lower in another sense, inert matter appears
  to be operated on without the direct intervention of
  physiological mechanism. And yet such mechanism must be
  in the neighbourhood. I am inclined to think that these
  weird phenomena, when established, will be found to shade
  off into those other methods that I have been speaking
  of, and that no complete theory of either can be given
  until more is known about both. This is one of the facts
  which causes me to be undogmatic about the certainty
  that all movements, even under contact, are initiated
  in the muscles. I only here hold up a warning against
  premature decision. The whole subject of psycho-physical
  interaction and activity requires attention in due time
  and place; but the ground is now more treacherous, the
  pitfalls more numerous, and the territory to many minds
  comparatively unattractive. Let it wait until long-range
  artillery has beaten down some of the entanglements,
  before organised forces are summoned to advance.



 "The vagueness and confusion inevitable at the beginning
 of a novel line of research, [are] naturally distasteful
 to the _savant_ accustomed to proceed by measurable
 increments of knowledge from experimental bases already
 assured. Such an one, if he reads this book, may feel as
 though he had been called away from an ordnance survey,
 conducted with a competent staff and familiar instruments,
 to plough slowly with inexperienced mariners through some
 strange ocean where beds of entangling seaweed cumber the
 trackless way. We accept the analogy; but we would remind
 him that even floating weeds of novel genera may foreshow
 a land unknown; and that it was not without ultimate gain
 to men that the straining keels of Columbus first pressed
 through the Sargasso Sea."--F. W. H. M., Introduction to
 _Phantasms of the Living_

It is rather remarkable that the majority of learned men have closed
their minds to what have seemed bare and simple facts to many people.
Those who call themselves spiritualists have an easy and simple
faith; they interpret their experiences in the most straightforward
and unsophisticated manner, and some of them have shown unfortunately
that they can be led into credulity and error, without much
difficulty, by unscrupulous people. Nevertheless, that simple-hearted
folk are most accessible to new facts seems to be rather accordant
with history. Whenever, not by reasoning but by direct experience,
knowledge has been enlarged, or when a revelation has come to the
human race through the agency of higher powers, it is not the wise
but the simple who are first to receive it. This cannot be used as an
argument either way; the simple may be mistaken, and may too blithely
interpret their sense-impressions in the most obvious manner; just as
on the other hand the eyes of the learned may be closed to anything
which appears disconnected from their previous knowledge. For after
all it is inevitable that any really new order of things must be so
disconnected; some little time must elapse before the weight of facts
impel the learned in a new direction, and meanwhile the unlearned
may be absorbing direct experience, and in their own fashion may be
forging ahead. It is an example of the ancient paradox propounded in
and about 1 _Cor._ i. 26; and no fault need be found with what is

It behoves me to mention in particular the attitude of men of
science, of whom I may say _quorum pars parva fui_; for in no way do
I wish to dissociate myself from either such stricture or such praise
as may be appropriate to men who have made a study of science their
vocation,--not indeed the peaks of the race, but the general body.
For it is safe to assume that we must have some qualities in common,
and that these must be among the causes which have switched us on to
a laborious and materially unremunerative road.

Michael Foster said in his Presidential Address to the British
Association at Dover:--

  "Men of science have no peculiar virtues, no special
  powers. They are ordinary men, their characters are
  common, even commonplace. Science, as Huxley said, is
  organised common sense, and men of science are common
  men, drilled in the ways of common sense."

This of course, like any aphorism, does not bear pressing unduly: and
Dr. Arthur Schuster in a similar Address at Manchester hedged it round
with qualifying clauses:--

  "This saying of Huxley's has been repeated so often
  that one almost wishes it were true; but unfortunately
  I cannot find a definition of common sense that fits
  the phrase. Sometimes the word is used as if it were
  identical with uncommon sense, sometimes as if it were
  the same thing as common nonsense. Often it means
  untrained intelligence, and in its best aspect it is, I
  think, that faculty which recognises that the obvious
  solution of a problem is frequently the right one. When,
  for instance, I see during a total solar eclipse red
  flames shooting out from the edge of the sun, the obvious
  explanation is that these are real phenomena, caused by
  masses of glowing vapours ejected from the sun. And when
  a learned friend tells me that all this is an optical
  illusion due to anomalous refraction, I object on the
  ground that the explanation violates my common sense. He
  replies by giving me the reasons which have led him to
  his conclusions; and though I still believe that I am
  right, I have to meet him with a more substantial reply
  than an appeal to my own convictions. Against a solid
  argument common sense has no power, and must remain a
  useful but fallible guide which both leads and misleads
  all classes of the community alike."

The sound moral of this is, not that a common-sense explanation is
likely to be the right one, or that it necessarily has any merits if
there are sound reasons to oppose to it, but that the common sense or
most obvious and superficial explanation _may_ turn out to be after
all truer as well as simpler than more recondite hypotheses which
have been substituted for it. In other words--the straightforward
explanation need not be false.

Now the phenomena encountered in psychical research have long ago
suggested an explanation, in terms of other than living human
intelligences, which may be properly called spiritistic. Every
kind of alternative explanation, including the almost equally
unorthodox one of telepathy from living people, has been tried: and
these attempts have been necessary and perfectly legitimate. If
they had succeeded, well and good; but inasmuch as in my judgment
there are phenomena which they cannot explain, and inasmuch as some
form of spiritistic hypothesis, given certain postulates, explains
practically all, I have found myself driven back on what I may call
the common-sense explanation; or, to adopt Dr. Schuster's parable, I
consider that the red flames round the sun are what they appear to be.

To attribute capricious mechanical performance to the action of live
things, is sufficient as a proximate explanation; as we saw in the
case of the jumping bean, Chapter I. If the existence of the live
thing is otherwise unknown, the explanation may seem forced and
unsatisfactory. But if after trying other hypotheses we find that
this only will fit the case, we may return to it after all with a
clear conscience. That represents the history of my own progress in
Psychical Research.


Meanwhile the attitude of scientific men is perfectly intelligible;
and not unreasonable, except when they forget their self-imposed
limitations and cultivate a baseless negative philosophy. People
who study mechanism of course find Mechanics, and if the mechanism
is physiological they find Physics and Chemistry as well; but they
are not thereby compelled to deny the existence of everything else.
They need not philosophise at all, though they should be able to
realise their philosophical position when it is pointed out. The
business of science is to trace out the mode of action of the laws of
Chemistry and Physics, everywhere and under all circumstances. Those
laws appear to be of universal application throughout the material
Universe,--in the most distant star as well as on the earth,--in the
animal organism as well as in inorganic matter; and the study of
their action alone has proved an ample task.

But scientific workers are sometimes thought to be philosophising
seriously when they should be understood as really only expressing
the natural scope of their special subject. Laplace, for instance, is
often misunderstood, because, when challenged about the place of God
in his system, he said that he had no need of such a hypothesis,--a
dictum often quoted as if it were atheistical. It is not necessarily
anything of the kind. As a brief statement it is right, though rather
unconciliatory and blunt. He was trying to explain astronomy on clear
and definite mechanical principles, and the introduction of a "finger
of God" would have been not only an unwarrantable complication but
a senseless intrusion. Not an intrusion or a complication in the
Universe, be it understood, but in Laplace's scheme, his _Systéme
du Monde_. Yet Browning's "flash of the will that can" in _Abt
Vogler_, with all that the context implies, remains essentially and
permanently true.

Theologians who admit that the Deity always works through agents
and rational means can grant to scientific workers all that they
legitimately claim in the positive direction, and can encourage them
in the detailed study of those agents and means. If people knew more
about science, and the atmosphere in which scientific men work, they
would be better able to interpret occasional rather rash negations;
which are quite explicable in terms of the artificial limitation of
range which physical science hitherto has wisely laid down for itself.

It is a true instinct which resents the mediæval practice of freely
introducing occult and unknown causes into working science. To
attribute the rise of sap, for instance, to a 'vital force' would
be absurd, it would be giving up the problem and stating nothing at
all. Progress in science began when spiritual and transcendental
causes were eliminated and treated as non-existent. The simplicity
so attained was congenial to the scientific type of mind; the
abstraction was eminently useful, and was justified by results. Yet
unknown causes of an immaterial and even of a spiritual kind may in
reality exist, and may influence or produce phenomena, for all that;
and it may have to be the business of science to discover and begin
to attend to them, as soon as the ordinary solid ground-plan of
Nature has been made sufficiently secure.

Some of us--whether wisely or unwisely--now want to enlarge the
recognised scope of physical science, so as gradually to take a
wider purview and include more of the totality of things. That is
what the Society for Psychical Research was established for,--to
begin extending the range of scientific law and order, by patient
exploration in a comparatively new region. The effort has been
resented, and at first ridiculed, only because misunderstood. The
effort may be ambitious, but it is perfectly legitimate; and if it
fails it fails.

But advance in new directions may be wisely slow, and it is readily
admissible that Societies devoted to long-established branches
of science are right to resist extraneous novelties, as long as
possible, and leave the study of occult phenomena to a Society
established for the purpose. Outlandish territories may in time
be incorporated as States, but they must make their claim good and
become civilised first.

Yet unfamiliar causes must be introduced occasionally into
systematised knowledge, unless our scrutiny of the Universe is
already exhaustive. Unpalatable facts can be ruled out from
attention, but they cannot without investigation be denied. Strange
facts do really happen, even though unprovided for in our sciences.
Amid their orthodox relations, they may be regarded as a nuisance.
The feeling they cause is as if capricious or mischievous live
things had been allowed to intrude into the determinate apparatus of
a physical laboratory, thereby introducing hopeless complexity and
appearing superficially to interfere with established laws. To avoid
such alien incursion a laboratory can be locked, but the Universe can
not. And if ever, under any circumstances, we actually do encounter
the interaction of intelligences other than that of living men, we
shall sooner or later become aware of the fact, and shall ultimately
have to admit it into a more comprehensive scheme of existence. Early
attempts, like those of the present, must be unsatisfactory and
crude; especially as the evidence is of a kind to which scientific
men for the most part are unaccustomed; so no wonder they are
resentful. Still the evidence is there, and I for one cannot ignore
it. Members of the Society for Psychical Research are aware that the
evidence already published--the carefully edited and sifted evidence
published by their own organisation--occupies some forty volumes of
_Journal_ and _Proceedings_; and some of them know that a great deal
more evidence exists than has been published, and that some of the
best evidence is not likely to be published,--not yet at any rate. It
stands to reason that, at the present stage, the best evidence must
often be of a very private and family character. Many, however, are
the persons who are acquainted with facts in their own experience
which appeal to them more strongly than anything that has ever been
published. No records can surpass first-hand direct experience in

Nevertheless we are also aware, or ought to be, that no one crucial
episode can ever be brought forward as deciding such a matter. That
is not the way in which things of importance are proven. Evidence
is cumulative, it is on the strength of a mass of experience that an
induction is ultimately made, and a conclusion provisionally arrived
at; though sometimes it happens that a single exceptionally strong
instance, or series of instances, may clinch it for some individual.

But indeed the evidence, in one form and another, has been crudely
before the human race from remote antiquity; only it has been treated
in ways more or less obfuscated by superstition. The same sort of
occurrences as were known to Virgil, and to many another seer--the
same sort of experiences as are found by folk-lore students, not only
in history but in every part of the earth to-day--are happening now
in a scientific age, and sometimes under scientific scrutiny. Hence
it is that from the scientific point of view progress is at length
being made; and any one with a real desire to know the truth need
not lack evidence, if he will first read the records with an open
mind, and then bide his time and be patient till an opportunity for
first-hand critical observation is vouchsafed him. The opportunity
may occur at any time: the readiness is all. Really clinching
evidence in such a case is never in the past; a _prima facie_ case
for investigation is established by the records, but real conviction
must be attained by first-hand experience in the present.

The things to be investigated are either true or false. If false,
pertinacious inquiry will reveal their falsity. If true, they are
profoundly important. For there are no half-truths in Nature; every
smallest new departure has portentous consequences; our eyes must
open slowly, or we should be overwhelmed. I once likened the feeling
of physical investigators in the year 1889 to that of a boy who had
long been strumming on the keyboard of a deserted organ into which
an unseen power had begun to blow a vivifying breath.[40] That was
at the beginning of the series of revolutionary discoveries about
radiation and the nature of matter which have since resounded
through the world. And now once more the touch of a finger elicits a
responsive note, and again the boy hesitates, half delighted, half
affrighted, at the chords which it would seem he can now summon forth
almost at will.

    [Footnote 40: _Modern Views of Electricity_, p. 408 of
    third and current edition.]



What then is the conclusion of the whole matter? Or rather, what
effect have these investigations had upon my own outlook on the
Universe? The question is not so unimportant as it seems; because if
the facts are to influence others they must have influenced myself
too; and that is the only influence of which I have first-hand
knowledge. It must not be supposed that my outlook has changed
appreciably since the event and the particular experiences related
in the foregoing pages: my conclusion has been gradually forming
itself for years, though undoubtedly it is based on experience of the
same sort of thing. But this event has strengthened and liberated my
testimony. It can now be associated with a private experience of my
own, instead of with the private experiences of others. So long as
one was dependent on evidence connected, even indirectly connected,
with the bereavement of others, one had to be reticent and cautious
and in some cases silent. Only by special permission could any
portion of the facts be reproduced; and that permission might in
important cases be withheld. My own deductions were the same then as
they are now, but the facts are now my own.

One little point of difference, between the time before and the time
after, has however become manifest. In the old days, if I sat with a
medium, I was never told of any serious imaginary bereavement which
had befallen myself--beyond the natural and inevitable losses from an
older generation which fall to the lot of every son of man. But now,
if I or any member of my family goes anonymously to a genuine medium,
giving not the slightest normal clue, my son is quickly to the fore
and continues his clear and convincing series of evidences; sometimes
giving testimony of a critically selected kind, sometimes contenting
himself with friendly family chaff and reminiscences, but always
acting in a manner consistent with his personality and memories and
varying moods. If in any case a given medium had weak power, or if
there were special difficulties encountered on a given occasion, he
is aware of the fact; and he refers to it, when there is opportunity,
through another totally disconnected medium (cf. Chapter XXI, Part
II). In every way he has shown himself anxious to give convincing
evidence. Moreover, he wants me to speak out; and I shall.

I am as convinced of continued existence, on the other side of
death, as I am of existence here. It may be said, you cannot be as
sure as you are of sensory experience. I say I can. A physicist is
never limited to direct sensory impressions, he has to deal with a
multitude of conceptions and things for which he has no physical
organ: the dynamical theory of heat, for instance, and of gases,
the theories of electricity, of magnetism, of chemical affinity,
of cohesion, aye and his apprehension of the Ether itself, lead
him into regions where sight and hearing and touch are impotent
as direct witnesses, where they are no longer efficient guides.
In such regions everything has to be interpreted in terms of the
insensible, the apparently unsubstantial, and in a definite sense the
imaginary. Yet these regions of knowledge are as clear and vivid to
him as are any of those encountered in everyday occupations; indeed
most commonplace phenomena themselves require interpretation in
terms of ideas more subtle,--the apparent solidity of matter itself
demands explanation,--and the underlying non-material entities of a
physicist's conception become gradually as real and substantial as
anything he knows. As Lord Kelvin used to say, when in a paradoxical
mood, we really know more about electricity than we know about matter.

That being so, I shall go further and say that I am reasonably
convinced of the existence of grades of being, not only lower in the
scale than man but higher also, grades of every order of magnitude
from zero to infinity. And I know by experience that among these
beings are some who care for and help and guide humanity, not
disdaining to enter even into what must seem petty details, if by
so doing they can assist souls striving on their upward course. And
further it is my faith--however humbly it may be held--that among
these lofty beings, highest of those who concern themselves directly
with this earth of all the myriads of worlds in infinite space, is
One on whom the right instinct of Christianity has always lavished
heartfelt reverence and devotion.

Those who think that the day of that Messiah is over are strangely
mistaken: it has hardly begun. In individual souls Christianity has
flourished and borne fruit, but for the ills of the world itself it
is an almost untried panacea. It will be strange if this ghastly war
fosters and simplifies and improves a knowledge of Christ, and aids
a perception of the ineffable beauty of his life and teaching: yet
stranger things have happened; and, whatever the Churches may do, I
believe that the call of Christ himself will be heard and attended
to, by a large part of humanity in the near future, as never yet it
has been heard or attended to on earth.

My own time down here is getting short; it matters little: but I
dare not go till I have borne this testimony to the grace and truth
which emanate from that divine Being,--the realisation of whose
tender-hearted simplicity and love for man may have been overlaid at
times and almost lost amid well-intentioned but inappropriate dogma,
but who is accessible as always to the humble and meek.

Intercommunion between the states or grades of existence is not
limited to messages from friends and relatives, or to conversation
with personalities of our own order of magnitude,--that is only a
small and verifiable portion of the whole truth,--intercourse between
the states carries with it occasional, and sometimes unconscious,
communion with lofty souls who have gone before. The truth of such
continued influence corresponds with the highest of the Revelations
vouchsafed to humanity. This truth, when assimilated by man, means
an assurance of the reality of prayer, and a certainty of gracious
sympathy and fellowfeeling from one who never despised the
suffering, the sinful, or the lowly; yea, it means more--it means
nothing less than the possibility some day of a glance or a word of
approval from the Eternal Christ.




Investigation is laborious and unexciting; it takes years, and
progress is slow; but in all regions of knowledge it is the method
which in the long-run has led towards truth; it is the method by
which what we feel to be solid and substantial progress has always
been made. In many departments of human knowledge this fact is
admitted--though men of science have had to fight hard for their
method before getting it generally recognised. In some departments
it is still contested, and the arguments of Bacon in favour of free
experimental inquiry are applicable to those subjects which are
claimed as superior to scientific test.

If it be objected that not by such means is truth in religious
matters ascertained, if it be held that we must walk by faith, not
by sight, and that never by searching will man find out any of the
secrets of God, I do not care to contest the objection, though I
disagree with its negative portion. That no amount of searching will
ever enable us to find out the Almighty to perfection is manifestly
true; that secrets may be revealed to inspired 'babes' which are
hidden from the wise and prudent is likewise certain; but that no
secret things of God can be brought to light by patient examination
and inquiry into facts is false, for you cannot parcel out truth
into that which is divine and that which is not divine; the truths
of science were as much God's secrets as any other, and they have
yielded up their mystery to precisely the process which is called in

We are part of the Universe, our senses have been evolved in and
by it; it follows that they are harmonious with it, and that the
way it appeals to our senses is a true way; though their obvious
limitation entitles us to expect from time to time fresh discoveries
of surprising and fundamental novelty, and a growing perception of
tracts beyond our ancient ken.

Some critics there are, however, who, calling themselves scientific,
have made up their minds in a negative direction and a contrary
sense. These are impressed not only with the _genuineness_ of the
truth afforded us through our senses and perceptions, but with
its _completeness_; they appear to think that the main lines of
research have already been mapped out or laid down, they will not
believe that regions other than those to which they are accustomed
can be open to scientific exploration; especially they imagine that
in the so-called religious domain there can be no guides except
preconception and prejudice. Accordingly, they appear to disbelieve
that anyone can be conscientiously taking trouble to grope his way
by patient inquiry, with the aid of such clues as are available;
and in order to contradict the results of such inquiry they fall
into the habit of doing that of which they accuse the workers,--they
appeal to sentiment and presumption. They talk freely about what
they believe, what they think unlikely, and what is impossible. They
are governed by prejudice; their minds are made up. Doubtless they
regard knowledge on certain topics as inaccessible, so they are
positive and selfsatisfied and opinionated and quite sure. They pride
themselves on their hard-headed scepticism and robust common sense;
while the truth is that they have bound themselves into a narrow cell
by walls of sentiment, and have thus excluded whole regions of human
experience from their purview.

       *       *       *       *       *

It so happens that I have been engaged for over forty years in
mathematical and physical science, and for more than half that period
in exploration into unusual psychical development, as opportunity
arose; and I have thus been led to certain tentative conclusions
respecting permissible ways of regarding the universe.

First, I have learned to regard the universe as a concrete and
full-bodied reality, with parts accessible and intelligible to us,
all of it capable of being understood and investigated by the human
mind, not as an abstraction or dream-like entity whose appearances
are deceptive. Our senses do not deceive us; their testimony is true
as far as it goes. I have learned to believe in Intelligibility.

Next, that everything, every single thing, has many aspects. Even
such a thing as water, for instance. Water, regarded by the chemist,
is an assemblage or aggregate of complex molecules; regarded by the
meteorologist and physiographer, it is an element of singular and
vitally important properties; every poet has treated of some aspect
of beauty exhibited by this common substance; while to the citizen
it is an ordinary need of daily life. All the aspects together do
not exhaust the subject, but each of them is real. The properties of
matter of which our senses tell us, or enable us to inquire into in
laboratories, are true properties, real and true. They are not the
whole truth, a great deal more is known about them by men of science,
but the more complex truths do not make the simpler ones false.
Moreover, we must admit that the whole truth about the simplest thing
is assuredly beyond us; the Thing-in-itself is related to the whole
universe, and in its fulness is incomprehensible.

Furthermore, I have learned that while positive assertions on any
given subject are often true, error creeps in when simple aspects
are denied in order to emphasise the more complex, or _vice versa_.
A trigonometrical sine, for instance, may be expressed in terms
of imaginary exponentials in a way familiar to all mathematical
students; also as an infinite series of fractions with increasing
factorials in the denominators; also in a number of other true and
legitimate and useful ways; but the simple geometrical definition, by
aid of the chord of a circle or the string of a bow, survives them
all, and is true too.

So it is, I venture to say, with the concept God.

It can be regarded from some absolute and transcendental standpoint
which humanity can only pretend to attain to. It can be regarded
as the highest and best idea which the human mind has as yet been
able to form. It can be regarded as dominating and including all
existence, and as synonymous with all existence when that is made
sufficiently comprehensive. All these views are legitimate, but they
are not final or complete. God can also be represented by some of the
attributes of humanity, and can be depicted as a powerful and loving
Friend with whom our spirits may commune at every hour of the day,
one whose patience and wisdom and long-suffering and beneficence are
never exhausted. He can, in fact, be regarded as displayed to us, in
such fashion as we can make use of, in the person of an incarnate
Being who came for the express purpose of revealing to man such
attributes of deity as would otherwise have been missed.

The images are not mutually exclusive, they may all be in some sort
true. None of them is complete. They are all aspects--partly true and
partly false as conceived by any individual, but capable of being
expressed so as to be, as far as they go, true.

Undoubtedly the Christian idea of God is the simple one.
Overpoweringly and appallingly simple is the notion presented to us
by the orthodox Christian Churches:--

A babe born of poor parents, born in a stable among cattle because
there was no room for them in the village inn--no room for them in
the inn--what a master touch! Revealed to shepherds. Religious people
inattentive. Royalty ignorant, or bent on massacre. A glimmering
perception, according to one noble legend, attained in the Far
East--where also similar occurrences have been narrated. Then the
child growing into a peasant youth, brought up to a trade. At length
a few years of itinerant preaching; flashes of miraculous power and
insight. And then a swift end: set upon by the religious people; his
followers overawed and scattered, himself tried as a blasphemer,
flogged, and finally tortured to death.

Simplicity most thorough and most strange! In itself it is not
unique; such occurrences seem inevitable to highest humanity in an
unregenerate world; but who, without inspiration, would see in them a
revelation of the nature of God? The life of Buddha, the life of Joan
of Arc, are not thus regarded. Yet the Christian revelation is clear
enough and true enough if our eyes are open, and if we care to read
and accept the simple record which, whatever its historical value, is
all that has been handed down to us.

Critics often object that there have been other attempted Messiahs,
that the ancient world was expectant of a Divine Incarnation. True
enough. But what then? We need not be afraid of an idea because it
has several times striven to make itself appreciated. It is foolish
to decline a revelation because it has been more than once offered to
humanity. Every great revelation is likely to have been foreshadowed
in more or less imperfect forms, so as to prepare our minds and make
ready the way for complete perception hereafter. It is probable that
the human race is quite incompetent to receive a really great idea
the first time it is offered. There must be many failures to effect
an entrance before the final success, many struggles to overcome
natural obstacles and submerge the stony products of human stolidity.
Lapse of time for preparation is required before anything great can
be permanently accomplished, and repeated attempts are necessary; but
the tide of general progress is rising all the time. The idea is well
expressed in Clough's familiar lines:--

    "For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
      Seem here no painful inch to gain,
    Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
      Comes silent, flooding in, the main."

So it was with the idea of the Messiah which was abroad in the land,
and had been for centuries, before Christ's coming; and never has he
been really recognised by more than a few. Dare we not say that he is
more truly recognised now than in any previous age in the history of
the Church--except perhaps the very earliest? And I doubt if we need
make that exception.

The idea of his Messiahship gradually dawned upon him, and he made no
mistake as to his mission:--

  The word which ye hear is not mine, but the Father's who
  sent me.

  As the Father gave me commandment, even so I do.

  The words which I say unto you I speak not of myself; the
  Father which dwelleth in me, he doeth the works.

  The Father is greater than I.

  But, for all that,

  He that hath seen me hath seen the Father.

Yes, truly, Christ was a planetary manifestation of Deity, a
revelation to the human race, the highest and simplest it has yet
had; a revelation in the only form accessible to man, a revelation in
the full-bodied form of humanity.

Little conception had they in those days of the whole universe as we
know it now. The earth was the whole world to them, and that which
revealed God to the earth was naturally regarded as the whole Cosmic
Deity. Yet it was a truly divine Incarnation.

A deity of some kind is common to every branch of the human race. It
seems to be possessed by every savage, overawed as he necessarily
is by the forces of nature. Caprice, jealousy, openness to flattery
and rewards, are likewise parts of early theology. Then in the gods
of Olympus--that poetic conception which rose to such heights and
fell to such depths at different epochs in the ancient world--the
attributes of power and beauty were specially emphasised. _Power_
is common to all deities, and favouritism in its use seems also a
natural supposition to early tribes; but the element of _Beauty_,
as a divine attribute, we in these islands, save for the poets,
have largely lost or forgotten--to our great detriment. In
Jehovah, however, the Hebrew race rose to a conception of divine
_Righteousness_ which we have assimilated and permanently retained;
and upon that foundation Christianity was grafted. It was to a race
who had risen thus far--a race with a genius for theology--that the
Christian revelation came. It was rendered possible, though only just
possible, by the stage attained. Simple and unknown folk were ready
to receive it, or, at least, were willing to take the first steps to

The power, the righteousness, and other worthy attributes belonging
to Jehovah, were known of old. The Christian conception takes
_them_ for granted, and concentrates attention on the pity, the
love, the friendliness, the compassion, the earnest desire to help
mankind--attributes which, though now and again dimly discerned by
one or another of the great seers of old, had not yet been thrown
into concrete form.

       *       *       *       *       *

People sometimes seek to deny such attributes as are connoted by
the word 'Personality' in the Godhead--they say it is a human
conception. Certainly it is a human conception; it is through
humanity that it has been revealed. Why seek to deny it? God
transcends personality, objectors say. By all means: transcends all
our conceptions infinitely, transcends every revelation which has
ever been vouchsafed; but the revelations are true as far as they go,
for all that.

Let us not befog ourselves by attempting impossible conceptions to
such an extent that we lose the simple and manifest reality. No
conception that we can make is too high, too good, too worthy. It
is easy to imagine ourselves mistaken, but never because ideas are
too high or too good. It were preposterous to imagine an over-lofty
conception in a creature. Reality is always found to exceed our
clear conception of it; never once in science has it permanently
fallen short. No conception is too great or too high. But also no
devout conception is too simple, too lowly, too childlike to have an
element--some grain--of vital truth stored away, a mustard seed ready
to germinate and bud, a leaven which may permeate the whole mass.

I would apply all this to what for brevity may be called Human
Immortality. It is possible to think of that rather simply; and, on
the other hand, it is possible to confuse ourselves with tortuous
thoughts till it seems unreal and impossible. It is part of the
problem of personality and individuality; for the question of how far
these are dependent on the bodily organism, or whether they can exist
without it, is a scientific question. It is open to research. And yet
it is connected with Christianity; for undoubtedly the Christian idea
of God involves a belief in human immortality. If _per impossible_
this latter could be authoritatively denied, a paralysing blow would
have been struck at the Christian idea. On the other hand, if by
scientific investigation the persistence of individual memory and
character were proved, a great step in the direction of orthodox
theology would have been taken.

The modern superstition about the universe is that, being suffused
with law and order, it contains nothing personal, nothing
indeterminate, nothing unforeseen; that there is no room for the
free activity of intelligent beings, that everything is mechanically
determined; so that given the velocity and acceleration and position
of every atom at any instant, the whole future could be unravelled by
sufficient mathematical power.

The doctrines of Uniformity and Determinism are supposed to be based
upon experience. But experience includes experience of the actions
of human beings; and some of them certainly appear to be of a
capricious and undetermined character. Or without considering human
beings, watch the orbits of a group of flies as they play; they are
manifestly not controlled completely by mechanical laws as are the
motions of the planets. The simplest view of their activity is that
it is self-determined, that they are flying about at their own will,
and turning when and where they choose. The conservation of energy
has nothing to say against it. Here we see free-will in its simplest
form. To suppose anything else in such a case, to suppose that every
twist could have been predicted through all eternity, is to introduce
præternatural complexity, and is quite unnecessary.

Why not assume, what is manifestly the truth, that free-will exists
and has to be reckoned with, that the universe is not a machine
subject to outside forces, but a living organism with initiations
of its own; and that the laws which govern it, though they include
mechanical and physical and chemical laws, are not limited to those,
but involve other and higher abstractions, which may perhaps some day
be formulated, for life and mind and spirit?

If it be said that free-will can be granted to deity but to nothing
lower, inasmuch as the Deity must be aware of all that is going to
happen, I reply that you are now making a hypothesis of a complicated
kind, and going beyond knowledge into speculation. But if still the
speculation appears reasonable, that only the Deity can be endowed
with free-will, it merely opens the question, What shall be included
in that term? If freedom is the characteristic mark of deity, then
those are justified who have taught that every fragment of mind and
will is a contributory element in the essence of the Divine Being.

How, then, can we conceive of deity? The analogy of the human
body and its relation to the white corpuscles in its blood is
instructive. Each corpuscle is a living-creature endowed with the
powers of locomotion, of assimilation, and, under certain conditions
now being inquired into, of reproduction by fission. The health and
polity of the body are largely dependent on the activity of these
phagocytes. They are to us extremely important; they are an essential
part of our being.

But now suppose one of these corpuscles endowed with
intelligence--what conception of the universe will it be able to
form? It may examine its surroundings, discourse of the vessels
through which it passes, of the adventures it encounters; and
if philosophically minded, it may speculate on a being of which
perhaps it and all its like form a part--an immanent deity, whose
constituents they are, a being which includes them and includes all
else which they know or can imagine--a being to whose existence
they contribute, and whose purposes they serve or share. So far
they could speculate, and so far they would be right. But if they
proceeded further, and entered on negations, if they surmised that
that immanent aspect of the universe in which they lived and moved
and had their being was the sole and only aspect, if they surmised
that there was no personality, no feeling, no locomotion, no mind,
no purpose, apart from them and their kind, they would greatly err.
What conception could they ever form of the manifold interests and
activities of man? Still less of the universe known to man, of which
he himself forms so trivial a portion.

All analogies fail at some point, but they are a help nevertheless,
and this analogy will bear pressing rather far. We ourselves are a
part of the agencies for good or evil; we have the power to help or
to hinder, to mend or to mar, within the scope of our activity. Our
help is asked for; lowly as we are, it is really wanted, on the earth
here and now, just as much wanted as our body needs the help of its
lowly white corpuscles--to contribute to health, to attack disease,
to maintain the normal and healthy life of the organism. We are the
white corpuscles of the cosmos, we serve and form part of an immanent

Truly it is no easy service to which we are called; something of
the wisdom of the serpent must enter into our activities; sanity
and moral dignity and sound sense must govern our proceedings; all
our powers must be called out, and there must be no sluggishness.
Impulses, even good impulses, alone are not sufficient; every faculty
of the human brain must be exerted, and we must be continually on
guard against the flabbiness of mere good intentions.

Our activity and service are thus an integral part of the Divine
Existence, which likewise includes that of all the perceptible
universe. But to suppose that this exhausts the matter, and that the
Deity has no transcendent Existence of which we can form no idea,--to
suppose that what happens is not the result of his dominant and
controlling Personality, is to step beyond legitimate inference, and
to treat appearance as exhaustive of reality.

Always mistrust negations. They commonly signify blindness and
prejudice--except when thoroughly established and carefully
formulated in the light of actual experience or mathematical proof.
And even then we should be ready to admit the possibility of higher
generalisations which may uproot them. They are only safe when thrown
into the form of a positive assertion.

The impossibility of squaring the circle is not really a negative
proposition, except in form. It is safer and more convincing when
thrown into the positive and definite form that the ratio of area
to diameter is incommensurable. That statement is perfectly clear
and legitimate; and the illustration may be used as a parable. A
positive form should be demanded of every comprehensive denial; and
whatever cannot be thrown into positive form, it is wise to mistrust.
Its promulgator is probably stepping out of bounds, into the cheap
and easy region of negative speculation. He is like a rationalistic
microbe denying the existence of a human being.

I have urged that the simple aspect of things is to be considered and
not despised; but, for the majority of people, is not the tendency
the other way? Are they not too much given to suppose the Universe
limited to the simplicity of their first and everyday conception of
it? The stockbroker has his idea of the totality of things; the navvy
has his. Students of mathematical physics are liable to think of it
as a determinate assemblage of atoms and ether, with no room for
spiritual entities--no room, as my brilliant teacher, W. K. Clifford,
expressed it, no room for ghosts.

Biological students are apt to think of life as a physicochemical
process of protoplasmic structure and cell organisation, with
consciousness as an epiphenomenon. They watch the lowly stages of
animal organisms, and hope to imitate their behaviour by judicious
treatment of inorganic materials. By all means let them try; the
effort is entirely legitimate, and not unhopeful. That which has
come into being in the past may come into being under observation in
the present, and the intelligence and co-operation of man may help.
Why not? The material vehicle would thus have been provided--in this
case, without doubt, purposely and designedly--for some incipient
phase of life. But would that in the least explain the nature of life
and mind and will, and reduce them to simple atomic mechanism and
dynamics? Not a whit. The real nature of these things would remain an
unanswered question.

During the past century progress has lain chiefly in the domain of
the mechanical and material. The progress has been admirable, and
has led to natural rejoicing and legitimate pride. It has also led
to a supposition that all possible scientific advance lies in this
same direction, or even that all the great fundamental discoveries
have now been made! Discovery proceeds by stages, and enthusiasm at
the acquisition of a step or a landing-place obscures for a time
our perception of the flight of stairs immediately ahead; but it is
rational to take a more comprehensive view.

Part of our experience is the connexion of spirit with matter. We are
conscious of our own identity, our own mind and purpose and will: we
are also conscious of the matter in which it is at present incarnate
and manifested. Let us use these experiences and learn from them.
Incarnation is a fact; we are not matter, yet we utilise it. Through
the mechanism of the brain we can influence the material world; we
are in it, but not of it; we transcend it by our consciousness. The
body is our machine, our instrument, our vehicle of manifestation;
and through it we can achieve results in the material sphere. Why
seek to deny either the spiritual or the material? Both are real,
both are true. In some higher mind, perhaps, they may be unified:
meanwhile we do not possess this higher mind. Scientific progress
is made by accepting realities and learning from them; the rest is
speculation. It is not likely that we are the only intelligent beings
in the Universe. There may be many higher grades, up to the Divine;
just as there are lower grades, down to the amoeba. Nor need all
these grades of intelligence be clothed in matter or inhabit the
surface of a planet. That is the kind of existence with which we are
now familiar, truly, and anything beyond that is for the most part
supersensuous; but our senses are confessedly limited, and if there
is any truth in the doctrine of human immortality the existence of
myriads of departed individuals must be assumed, on what has been
called "the other side."

But how are we to get evidence in favour of such an apparently
gratuitous hypothesis? Well, speaking for myself and with full and
cautious responsibility, I have to state that as an outcome of my
investigation into psychical matters I have at length and quite
gradually become convinced, after more than thirty years of study,
not only that persistent individual existence is a fact, but that
occasional communication across the chasm--with difficulty and under
definite conditions--is possible.

This is not a subject on which one comes lightly and easily to a
conclusion, nor can the evidence be explained except to those who
will give to it time and careful study; but clearly the conclusion
is either folly and self-deception, or it is a truth of the utmost
importance to humanity--and of importance to us in connexion with our
present subject. For it is a conclusion which cannot stand alone.
Mistaken or true, it affords a foothold for a whole range of other
thoughts, other conclusions, other ideas: false and misleading if the
foothold is insecure, worthy of attention if the foothold is sound.
Let posterity judge.

Meanwhile it is a subject that attracts cranks and charlatans. Rash
opinions are freely expressed on both sides. I call upon the educated
of the younger generation to refrain from accepting assertions
without severe scrutiny, and, above all, to keep an open mind.

If departed human beings can communicate with us, can advise us and
help us, can have any influence on our actions,--then clearly the
doors are open to a wealth of spiritual intercourse beyond what we
have yet imagined.

The region of the miraculous, it is called, and the bare possibility
of its existence has been hastily and illegitimately denied. But so
long as we do not imagine it to be a region denuded of a law and
order of its own, akin to the law and order of the psychological
realm, our denial has no foundation. The existence of such a region
may be established by experience; its non-existence cannot be
established, for non-experience might merely mean that owing to
deficiencies of our sense organs it was beyond our ken. In judging of
what are called miracles we must be guided by historical evidence and
literary criticism. We need not urge _a priori_ objections to them on
scientific grounds. They need be no more impossible, no more lawless,
than the interference of a human being would seem to a colony of ants
or bees.

The Christian idea of God certainly has involved, and presumably
always will involve, an element of the miraculous,--a flooding of
human life with influences which lie outside it, a controlling of
human destiny by higher and beneficent agencies. By evil agencies
too? Yes, the influences are not all on one side; but the Christian
faith is that the good are the stronger. Experience has shown to many
a saint, however tormented by evil, that appeal to the powers of good
can result in ultimate victory. Let us not reject experience on the
ground of dogmatic assertion and baseless speculation.

Historical records tell us of a Divine Incarnation. We may
consider it freely on historical grounds. We are not debarred from
contemplating such a thing by anything that science has to say to
the contrary. Science does not speak directly on the subject. If the
historical evidence is good we may credit it, just as we may credit
the hypothesis of survival if the present-day evidence is good. It
sounds too simple and popular an explanation--too much like the kind
of ideas suited to unsophisticated man and to the infancy of the
race. True; but has it not happened often in the history of science
that reality has been found simpler than our attempted conception of
it? Electricity long ago was often treated as a fluid; and a little
time ago it was customary to jeer at the expression--legitimate in
the mouth of Benjamin Franklin, but now apparently outgrown. And yet
what else is the crowd of mobile electrons, postulated by [not] the
very latest theory, in a metal? Surely it is in some sense a fluid,
though not a material one? The guess was not so far wrong after all.
Meanwhile we learned to treat it by mathematical devices, vector
potential, and other recondite methods. With great veneration I speak
of the mathematical physicists of the past century. They have been
almost superhuman in power, and have attained extraordinary results,
but in time the process of discovery will enable mankind to apprehend
all these things more simply. Progress lies in simple investigation
as well as in speculation and thought up to the limits of human
power; and when things are really understood, they are perceived to
be fairly simple after all.

So it seems likely to be with a future state, or our own permanent
existence; it has been thought of and spoken of as if it were
altogether transcendental--something beyond space and time (as it
may be), something outside and beyond all conception. But it is
not necessarily so at all; it is a question of fact; it is open
to investigation. I find part of it turning out quite reasonably
simple; not easy to grasp or express, for lack of experience and
language--that is true,--but not by any means conveying a feeling
of immediate vast difference and change. Something much more like
terrestrial existence, at least on one aspect of it, than we had
imagined. Not as a rule associated with matter; no, but perhaps
associated with ether--an etherial body instead of a material one;
certainly a body, or mode of manifestation, of some kind. It appears
to be a state which leaves personality and character and intelligence
much where it was. No sudden jump into something supernal, but steady
and continued progress. Many activities and interests beyond our
present ken, but with a surviving terrestrial aspect, occasionally
accessible, and showing interest in the doings of those on earth,
together with great desire to help and to encourage all efforts for
the welfare of the race. We need not search after something so far
removed from humanity as to be unintelligible.

       *       *       *       *       *

So likewise with the idea of God.

No matter how complex and transcendentally vast the Reality must be,
the Christian conception of God is humanly simple. It appeals to the
unlettered and ignorant; it appeals to "babes."

That is the way with the greatest things. The sun is the centre of
the solar system, a glorious object full of mystery and unknown
forces, but the sunshine is a friendly and homely thing, which shines
in at a cottage window, touches common objects with radiance, and
brings warmth and comfort even to the cat.

The sunshine is not the sun, but it is the human and terrestrial
aspect of the sun; it is that which matters in daily life. It
is independent of study and discovery; it is given us by direct
experience, and for ordinary life it suffices.

Thus would I represent the Christian conception of God. Christ is the
human and practical and workaday aspect. Christ is the sunshine--that
fraction of transcendental Cosmic Deity which suffices for the earth.
Jesus of Nazareth is plainly a terrestrial heritage. His advent is
the glory, His reception the shame, of the human race.

       *       *       *       *       *

Once more, then. Although there may be undue simplification of the
complex, there is also an undue complication of the simple; it is
easy to invent unnecessary problems, to manufacture gratuitous
difficulties, to lose our way in a humanly constructed and quite
undivine fog. But the way is really simple, and when the fog lifts
and the sunshine appears, all becomes clear and we proceed without
effort on our way: the wayfaring man, though a fool, need not err
therein. The way, the truth, and the life are all one. Reality
is always simple; it is concrete and real and expressible. Our
customary view of the commonest objects is not indeed the last word,
nay, rather, it is the first word, as to their nature; but it is a
true word as far as it goes. Analysing a liquid into a congeries
of discrete atoms does not destroy or weaken or interfere with its
property or fluidity. Analysing an atom into electrons does not
destroy the atom. Reducing matter to electricity, or to any other
etherial substratum, does not alter the known and familiarly utilised
properties of a bit of wood or iron or glass, in the least; no, nor
of a bit of bone or feather or flesh. Study may superadd properties
imperceptible to the plain man, but the plain man's concrete and
simple view serves for ordinary purposes of daily life.

And God's view, strange to say, must be more akin to that of the
plain man than to that of the philosopher or statistician. That is
how it comes that children are near the kingdom of heaven. It is
not likely that God really makes abstractions and "geometrises."
All those higher and elaborate modes of expression are human
counters; and the difficulties of dealing with them are human too.
Only in early stages do things require superhuman power for their
apprehension; they are easy to grasp when they are really understood.
They come out then into daily life; they are not then matters of
intellectual strain; they can appeal to our sense of beauty; they
can affect us with emotion and love and appreciation and joy; they
can enter into poetry and music, and constitute the subject-matter
of Art of all kinds. The range of art and of enjoyment must increase
infinitely with perfect knowledge. This is the atmosphere of God.
"Where dwells enjoyment, there is He." We are struggling upwards into
that atmosphere slowly and laboriously. The struggle is human, and
for us quite necessary, but the mountain top is serene and pure and
lovely, and its beauty is in nowise enhanced by the efforts of the
exhausted climber, as he slowly wins his way thither.

Yet the effort itself is of value. The climber, too, is part of the
scheme, and his upward trend may be growth and gain to the whole.
It adds interest, though not beauty. Do not let us think that the
universe is stagnant and fixed and settled and dull, and that all
its appearance of "going on" is illusion and deception. I would even
venture to urge that, ever since the grant to living creatures of
free will, there must be, in some sense or other, a real element of
contingency,--that there is no dulness about it, even to the Deity,
but a constant and aspiring Effort.

Let us trust our experience in this also. The Universe is a flux, it
is a becoming, it is a progress. Evolution is a reality. True and not
imaginary progress is possible. Effort is not a sham. Existence is a
true adventure. There is a real risk.

There was a real risk about creation--directly it went beyond the
inert and mechanical. The granting of choice and free will involved a
risk. Thenceforward things could go wrong. They might be kept right
by main force, but that would not be playing the game, that would not
be loyalty to the conditions.

As William James says: A football team desire to get a ball to a
certain spot, but that is not all they desire; they wish to do it
under certain conditions and overcome inherent difficulties--else
might they get up in the night and put it there.

So also we may say, Good is the end and aim of the Divine Being; but
not without conditions. Not by compulsion. Perfection as of machinery
would be too dull and low an achievement--something much higher is
sought. The creation of free creatures who, in so far as they go
right, do so because they will, not because they must,--that was the
Divine problem, and it is the highest of which we have any conception.

Yes, there was a real risk in making a human race on this planet.
Ultimate good was not guaranteed. Some parts of the Universe must
be far better than this, but some may be worse. Some planets may
comparatively fail. The power of evil may here and there get the
upper hand: although it must ultimately lead to suicidal destructive
failure, for evil is pregnant with calamity.

This planet is surely not going to fail. Its destinies have been more
and more entrusted to us. For millions of years it laboured, and
now it has produced a human race--a late-comer to the planet, only
recently arrived, only partly civilised as yet. But already it has
produced Plato and Newton and Shakespeare; yes, and it has been the
dwelling-place of Christ. Surely it is going to succeed, and in good
time to be the theatre of such a magnificent development of human
energy and power and joy as to compensate, and more than compensate,
for all the pain and suffering, all the blood and tears, which have
gone to prepare the way.

The struggle is a real one. The effort is not confined to humanity
alone: according to the Christian conception God has shared in it.
"God so loved the world that He gave"--we know the text. The earth's
case was not hopeless; the world was bad, but it could be redeemed;
and the redemption was worth the painful effort which then was
undergone, and which the disciples of the Cross have since in their
measure shared. Aye, that is the Christian conception; not of a God
apart from His creatures, looking on, taking no personal interest
in their behaviour, sitting aloof only to judge them; but One who
anxiously takes measures for their betterment, takes trouble, takes
pains--a pregnant phrase, takes pains,--One who suffers when they go
wrong, One who feels painfully the miseries and wrongdoings and sins
and cruelties of the creatures whom He has endowed with free will;
One who actively enters into the storm and the conflict; One who
actually took flesh and dwelt among us, to save us from the slough
into which we might have fallen, to show us what the beauty and
dignity of man might be.

Well, it is a great idea, a great and simple idea, so simple as to be
incredible to some minds. It has been hidden from many of the wise
and prudent; it has been revealed to babes.

       *       *       *       *       *

To sum up: Let us not be discouraged by simplicity. Real things are
simple. Human conceptions are not altogether misleading. Our view of
the Universe is a partial one but is not an untrue one. Our knowledge
of the conditions of existence is not altogether false--only
inadequate. The Christian idea of God is a genuine representation of

Nor let us imagine that existence hereafter, removed from these atoms
of matter which now both confuse and manifest it, will be something
so wholly remote and different as to be unimaginable; but let us
learn by the testimony of experience--either our own or that of
others--that those who have been, still are; that they care for us
and help us; that they, too, are progressing and learning and working
and hoping; that there are grades of existence, stretching upward
and upward to all eternity; and that God Himself, through His agents
and messengers, is continually striving and working and planning, so
as to bring this creation of His through its preparatory labour and
pain, and lead it on to an existence higher and better than anything
we have ever known.

    [Footnote 41: _Hibbert Journal_, July 1911.]


  Abstraction, 370, 372, 380

  _Abt Vogler_, 297, 370

  Acorn, 290

  Acquired characters, Inheritance of, 323, 324

  Acrostic, 19, 21, 25, 145

  Adonis, 304

  Æneid, 14, 317, 319

  Aeroplane, 142

  Agents, 291, 371, 386, 396

  Alec, 35, 46, 53, 70, 71, 120, 146, 147, 157, 162, 193,
    202, 208, 224, 271, 272, 276

  Amoeba, 389

  Animation of Matter, 363

  Anonymity, 96, 117, 128, 129, 180, 240, 247

  Anticipation and Reality, 303, 384, 386

  Argonauts, 153, 155, 211, 250, 274

  Army officers, 53

  Arnold, Sir Edwin, 302, 322

  Art, 393

  Aspasia, 13

  Asquith, Mr., 55

  Atheism, 370

  Atomic Theory, 288

  Atonement, 178, 249, 395

  Attacks, 52, 53

  Aunt Anne, 175

  Aunt Jennie, 203

  Australia, 9, 117, 149

  Automatic Writing, 86, 90, 94, 117, 118, 119, 120, 123,
    124, 205, 206, 207, 225, 350, 352, 355

  Bacon, Lord, 378

  Bailey, 61

  Balfour, Rt. Hon. G. W., 283

  Banks, Mitchell, 155

  Barbara, 38, 112, 145, 223

  Barrett, Sir W. F., 86

  Bayfield, Rev. M. A., 92

  Beads on string, 288

  Bean, Jumping, 289, 293, 369

  Beauty, 305, 383, 393

  Bedales, 4, 136

  Beehive, 291

  Belgian stove, 44

  Belgium, 25, 39

  Bereavement, 47, 102, 342, 374

  Bergson, Professor, 191, 333, 340, 348

  Biddy, 168

  Bill, Brother. See William

  Birmingham, 133

  Birthday, 212, 235

  Boast, Captain S. T., 77, 108, 110, 112, 113

  Body, 194, 195, 235, 305, 313, 318, 319, 320, 323, 388,

  Body and Mind, 328, 330

  Books, 5, 132, 209

  Boy at organ, 373

  Brain, Function of, 340

  Bricklaying, 34

  Bridging the chasm, 83, 389

  Briscoe, A. E., 109, 111

  British Warm, 19

  Brittain, Mrs., 161

  Brodie (B.), 208, 214

  Brothers, Two, 200, 210

  Browne, Sir James Crichton, 291

  Browning, 1, 297, 370

  Buddha, 381

  Burial, 48, 50, 65, 235

  Burial, Care taken in, 68

  Burlton, Lieut., 53

  Calamity, 322

  Calendar of Photograph, 115

  Cambridge, 286

  Card, Memorial, 12

  Case, Lieut., 42, 75, 76, 77, 114, 141, 279

  Caton, Dr., 155

  Cavalry officers, 54

  Change of Conditions, 306

  Charlatans, 389

  Chasm bridging, 83, 389

  Château, 25, 26, 27, 66

  Cheerfulness, 36, 42, 50, 59, 70, 71, 98, 99, 126, 127,
    159, 187, 204

  Chemistry, 100, 133, 288

  Chemistry and Physics, 370

  Cheves, Captain, 78, 106, 206

  Childhood, 5, 8

  Christian claim, 85

  Christianity, 178, 232, 376, 381, 383, 392, 395

  Christmas, 188, 190, 205, 207, 218

  Christopher Sonnenschein, 240, 247

  Clairvoyance, 86, 129

  Clegg, Mrs., 237, 239, 241, 243, 253

  Clifford, W. K., 388

  Clothes, 189, 197, 199

  Clough, A. H., 382

  Code signalling, 362

  Coleridge, 304

  Columbus, 367

  Coming down hill, 154, 155, 156

  Common-sense explanations, 348, 369

  Communicating, Instruction in, 165

  Communication, 389

  Communicator, 87, 171, 358

  Coniston, 52, 155

  Consciousness, 330, 332, 333

  Conservation, 290

  Constructive ability, 290, 291, 336

  Contingency, 289, 312, 385, 393, 394

  Continuity, 335, 391

  Control, 86, 103, 163, 167, 170, 171, 183, 238, 241, 357,
    358, 360

  Control, Method, 126

  Cooking, 28

  1 Corinthians i. 26, 368

  Corpuscles (white), 385, 386

  Cotton, Colonel, 53

  Covering Party, 68

  Creatures, Living, 304

  Crookes, Sir William, 170, 342

  Cross, Falling, 99, 128

  Cross-correspondence, 135, 159, 160, 172, 182, 189, 190,
    241, 242, 253

  Crystal and Organism, 293

  Curly, 203, 273, 278

  Dallas, Miss H. A., 86

  Damp, 62, 70

  Darlington, 240, 247

  Dartmoor, 154, 155, 211, 214

  Darwin, 310, 335

  Darwin and Mendel, 285

  Dead Matter, 289

  Deakin, The Hon. Mr. Alfred, 360

  Death, 6, 103, 126, 127, 134, 183, 202, 249, 294, 295,
    296, 298, 300, 306, 313

  Decay, 303

  Depression, 48, 203

  Design, 317, 393

  Determinism, 385, 394

  Diary Entry, 31, 108, 111, 115, 116, 148

  Dickebusch, 21, 75

  Digging, 36, 44

  Diotima, 83

  Direct Voice, 193, 201, 365

  Direct Writing, 365

  Dog, 79, 154, 203, 273, 278

  Dogmatism, 314

  Dowsing, 363

  Dream, 31, 34, 35

  Dualism, 284, 320

  Dug-outs, 33, 53, 57

  Dvinsk, 130

  Dynamics, 286

  E. A. Episode, 243, 244, 245, 267

  Ecclesiastes, 92

  Eclipse, Solar, 369

  Edinburgh, 3, 10, 45, 52

  Effort, Real, 393, 395

  Eggs and bacon, 67

  Egyptian tombs, 302

  Electric charge, 290

  Electricity, 286, 290, 375, 391

  Electricity, Modern views on, 373

  Electrons, 391

  Elusiveness, 319

  Emotion, Conveyance of, 220, 221, 222, 278, 363

  Energy, Directed, 138, 144, 151, 291

  Engineering, 3, 9, 29, 240

  Enjoyment, 393

  Enquiry, 313, 314

  Enquiry, Free, 378

  Enteric, 25, 46

  Entry in Diary, 31, 108, 111, 115, 116, 148

  Epiphenomenon, 283, 388

  Ether, 286, 298, 318, 319, 336, 339, 375, 391

  Ether of Space, The, 319

  Etherial body, 319, 336

  Evidence, 115, 151, 159, 201, 308, 324, 373

  Evil, 230, 353, 390, 394

  Evolution 292, 336

  Exclusion, 372, 379

  Exposure, 62, 70

  Extrapolation, 284, 286

  Facts, 287, 288, 308, 310, 314

  Faith, 367

  Falling Cross, 99, 128

  Faunus, 104, 315

  Faunus message, 90

  Fear, 126, 132, 168, 174, 175, 300

  Feda, 98, 120, 121, 125, 180, 191, 192, 213, 236, 260, 261

  Ferry, 154, 156, 157

  Fiacre, 55

  Fiddler, 46

  Finding people, 254

  Finger of God, 370

  Fire-fly, 290

  Fitzgerald, 305

  Fletcher, Lieut., 17, 22, 23, 31, 32, 33, 36, 37, 38, 39,
    41, 42, 43, 49, 51, 75, 77

  Flopping about, 239, 242

  Flowers, 227, 235, 258, 269

  Foster, Sir Michael, 368

  Franklin, Benjamin, 391

  Freedom, 289, 384, 394, 395

  Free enquiry, 378

  Free-will, 289, 315, 333, 385

  Future, 313

  Gale & Polden, 112, 113, 279

  Gardener, 255, 256

  Gas, 30, 47, 49

  Gow, Mr., 111

  Grades of Being, 375, 389, 396

  Grades of Existence, 389, 395

  Grandfather W., 121, 122, 127, 143, 159, 181, 184, 209

  Granny, 121, 165

  Grave, 78, 298, 302, 304

  Gray, 61, 67, 76

  Greece, 185

  Greenbank, 8

  Gregory, R. A., 338

  Grove Park, 5, 135, 145

  Gullane, 35, 95

  Gunn, Marjorie, 58

  Gurney, Edmund, 143, 145

  Guy Le Breton, 122, 123

  Habits, 324

  Haldane, Dr. J. S., 283

  Harborne, 51

  Harris, Professor Fraser, 293, 294

  Hell, 230, 353

  Helmet, German, 64

  Helping, 98, 102, 103, 123, 126, 143, 150, 160, 166, 178,
    185, 226, 232, 241, 243, 279, 307, 325, 376, 386, 391

  Herdman, Professor, 295

  _Hibbert Journal_, 283, 285, 378

  Hill, Coming down, 154, 155, 156

  Hill, Mr. J. Arthur, 86, 101, 109, 111, 174, 260

  Hill, 60, 38, 45, 58

  Hockey, 148

  Hodgson, Dr. Richard, 88, 90

  Holden, Mr., 57, 65

  Holt, Alfred, 155

  Homeliness, 184, 336, 337

  Honolulu, 216, 271, 274

  Honor, 112, 122, 186, 194, 219, 222, 272, 276

  Hooge, 63, 64, 74, 75

  Hope, Anthony, 41

  Horace, 91, 93, 104

  Hospitality, 53

  House-hunting, 56

  Houses, 135, 145, 230

  Humour, 349

  Humour of the life in France, 56

  Hun, 69

  Huxley, 308, 368

  Hyacinthus, 304

  Hypothesis, 287, 288, 389

  Immanence, 386

  Impersonal Memory, 348

  Impersonations, 357

  Impossibility, 387

  Impression, 126, 160, 209

  Incarnation, 381, 383, 388, 390

  Individual Case, 84, 85

  Infinitude, 309

  Information got from Sitters, 192, 196, 199

  Inheritance of acquired characters, 323, 324

  Inhibition, 138, 340

  Inspection by Army Corps Commander, 71

  Inspiration, 381

  Instruction in communicating, 165

  Instruments, 320

  Intelligibility, 380

  Interaction, 283, 317, 366, 372

  Intercommunion, 376

  "Irish Eyes," 215

  Italy, 11, 43, 45, 144, 278

  Jackson, Mr., 256, 258, 278

  James, Professor Wm., 87, 394

  J. K. Episode, 254, 266

  Joan of Arc, 381

  Johnsons, 32

  Jumping bean, 289, 293, 369

  Kelvin, Lord, 286, 375

  Kennedy, Mrs., 96, 97, 117, 120, 129, 158, 205

  Kitchener, Lord, 55

  Knife-rests, 28

  Langland Bay, 157

  Lankester, Sir E. Ray, 332

  Laplace, 370, 385

  Larry, 79, 154, 278

  Laws, Mr., 17, 21, 23, 39, 42, 43, 51

  Leave, 52, 54, 55

  Lectures, 43, 265

  Leith, Miss, 70

  Leith, Professor, 24

  Leonard, Mrs. Orborne, 98, 101, 106, 118, 121, 365

  Lethe, 327

  Life, 289

  Life and Energy, 290

  Life and Matter, 320

  Light, 286

  Lights, Coloured, 264

  Lights, "Very," 22, 24, 30, 31, 64

  Lily, 134, 159, 187, 190, 199, 200, 210, 221, 229, 273

  Limitation of Scope, 341

  Linga, The, 67, 95

  Lionel, 70, 147, 180, 186, 188, 193, 196, 202, 271, 273

  Liverpool, 3, 10, 135

  Living creatures, 304

  Lodge Brothers, 3, 9, 79

  Lodge Fume Deposit Co., 79

  Longfellow, 306

  Loos, 74

  Lorna, 52, 112, 220, 224

  Lusitania, 299, 300

  M.A.Oxon., 350

  Machine Gun, 3, 52, 54, 61, 66, 73, 77

  Madame Le Breton, 97, 119, 121, 123, 135

  Maggie Magee, 215

  Magnetism, 144, 164, 290

  Maps, 251, 252

  Margaret, 45

  Mariemont Sittings, 158, 159, 182, 190, 194, 211, 217,
    219, 222, 273, 274, 275

  Mariemont, Views of, 224

  Materialisation, 184, 197, 198, 201, 268, 365

  Materialism, 249, 284, 285, 310

  Mathematical Physics, 286

  Matter, Dead, 289

  Matter and Life, 320

  Maurice, 40, 41, 43, 72

  Maxwell, Clerk, 391

  McCreadie, Miss, 228

  M'Dougal, Professor, 283

  Meagreness of Conceptions, 310

  Mechanics, 289

  Mechanism, 88, 388

  Medium of artist, 88, 320, 339

  Mediums, 118, 128, 330, 358

  Memorial Card, 12

  Memorial Tablet, 7

  Memory, 259, 326, 327, 330, 348, 357

  Mendel and Darwin, 285

  Menexenus, 13

  Merlin, 93

  Messiah, 376, 382

  Microbe, 387

  Military terms, 41

  Mind and Matter, 291, 339

  Mines, 57, 61

  Miracles, 390

  Missionary spirit, 325

  Missionary zeal, 83

  Mitchell, Captain, 141, 142, 146, 149

  Mitchell, Dr. Chalmers, 333, 334, 335

  M. N. W., 228, 229

  Molesworth, 71

  Monism, 284

  Moonstone, 100, 105, 129, 164, 177

  Moses, Rev. Stainton, 350

  Motor, Nagant, 277

  Motor-buses, 51, 52, 72

  Motoring, 58, 156

  Motors, 58, 71, 212, 252, 278

  Mott, Dr., 329

  Mud, 17, 20, 184

  Muirhead, Dr. Alex., 170

  Muirhead, Prof. J. H., 337

  Music, 46, 222, 234

  "My Southern Maid," 216

  Myers, 84, 85, 88, 90, 92, 96, 97, 98, 100, 101, 103,
    104, 122, 143, 145, 159, 169, 177, 201, 203, 206, 234,
    249, 312, 316, 336, 362, 367

  Nagant Motor, 275, 277, 278

  Names, 173

  Names, Difficulty in remembering, 360

  Negations, 379, 387, 390

  Nerve cases, 40

  Newcastle, 145, 220

  Newton, 286, 394

  Nicknames, 148

  Noël, 22, 70, 140, 146, 148, 224, 276

  Norah, 38, 39, 52, 219, 271, 273

  Norman, 140, 146, 147, 148, 179

  Note-book, 326

  Note-taking, 358

  O'Brien, Sergeant, 33

  Old age, 295

  Olive, Miss, 227, 229, 262, 269

  Oliver, 6, 45, 52, 135

  Olives, 131, 144

  Omniscience, 316

  "Orange Girl, My," 215

  Oratorio, 290

  Orderly, 16, 18, 28, 61, 67, 76

  Organ, Boy at, 373

  Organising Power. See Constructive Ability

  Organism and Crystal, 293

  Ouija, 186, 356

  Outlook, 374

  Paraffin, exchange for window, 44

  Partition, 100, 133, 306, 345

  Pat, 140, 148, 161, 223

  Paul Kennedy, 117, 119, 121, 123, 146, 149, 176, 234,
    235, 241

  Peace, 25, 50

  Peacock, 256, 257, 258, 278

  Pedestal, 257, 279

  Penkhull, 8

  Periscope rifle attachments, 62

  Personal possessions, 324

  Personality, 298, 336, 383, 387, 391

  Peters, Mr. A. Vout, 99, 104, 105, 118, 129, 162, 163,
    174, 178, 260

  Phagocytes, 386

  Phinuit, Dr., 129

  Phonograph, 328

  Photograph, 105, 112, 114, 116, 132, 206, 279

  Photograph, Calendar of, 115

  Photograph, Description of, 110

  Physical phenomena, 137, 218, 222, 224, 277

  Physics and Chemistry, 370

  Piddington, Mr., 172

  Piper, Mrs., 87, 90, 94, 95, 129, 228

  Planchette, 356, 362

  Planisphere, 30

  Plato, 13, 394

  Plotinus, 325, 327, 330, 337

  Plumer, Sir Herbert, 71

  Polchet, M., 43, 45, 46, 51

  Policy not philosophy, 284, 285

  Poperinghe, 71

  Prayer, 183, 227, 307, 376

  Prediction. See Prevision

  Prejudice, 379

  Prevision, 35, 130, 185, 312, 314, 315, 316, 385

  Primus stove, 18, 29, 44

  Prisoners, 47

  Private affairs, 374

  Professional mediums, 118, 128

  Prognostication. See Prevision

  Progress, 395

  Protoplasm, 388

  Psychometry, 305, 306

  Purpose, 285

  Questions, Test, 152, 157, 159, 224, 249

  Ralph, 173, 273, 274

  Raps, 89

  Rathbone, William, 8

  Rats, 28

  Rawnsley, Canon, 12

  Reality and Anticipation, 303, 384, 386

  Record sleeps, 66, 119, 120, 121, 123, 145

  Rector, 129

  Red flames, 369

  Red roses, 246, 261

  Redfeather, 166, 235

  Relics, 305, 324

  Reninghelst, 113

  Resurrection, 298, 322, 323

  Revelation, 309, 376, 384

  Reverse, 34

  Riding, 37, 38

  Risk, 394

  Robbins, Miss, 90

  Rocking-horse, 220

  Rods and rings, 251, 253

  Room in Violet's house, 45, 226

  Rosalynde, 109, 112, 145, 272

  Roscoe, Lt. William, 42, 58, 60, 73

  Roses, 46, 47, 246, 261

  Ross, Sir Ronald, 294

  Rossetti, 296

  Roumania, 186

  Rowland, 35, 131, 135, 191, 226

  Russell, Bertrand, 315

  Russia, 186

  Sacraments, 321

  Sacrifice, 178, 249

  Salter, Captain, 48

  Sandboat, 251, 252, 253, 260

  Satellites of Jupiter, 341

  Sausages, 59, 61, 67

  Schuster, Dr. Arthur, 303, 368, 369

  Science, Men of, 368

  Secondary personality, 86, 171, 357

  Selection, 88

  Self-control, 225

  Senses, 380

  Serbia, 186

  Serenading, 46

  Serious messages, 352

  Serious side, 11, 233, 234, 259, 263, 266

  Servants, 16, 18, 28, 61, 67, 76

  Shakespeare, 304, 315, 394

  Shell shock, 329

  Shelley, 81

  Shelling, 3, 32, 60, 62

  Shrapnel, 32, 45, 47

  Sighs, 139, 160

  Simplicity, 380, 381, 384, 391, 392, 395

  Sinai, 335

  Singing, 201, 212, 213

  Sitter, 358

  Sitters, Information from, 192, 196, 199

  Slang, 40

  Sleeps, 66, 119, 120, 121, 123, 145

  Small Heath, 79, 132, 133

  Smyth, Dr. J. Patterson, 344

  Snipers, 48

  Sniperscopes, 63, 68

  Solidity, 184, 194, 198, 209, 375

  Songs, 212, 215, 222

  Sonnenschein, Professor, 240, 246, 247

  Sophistication, 87, 88, 180, 192, 213, 351

  Souvenir, 64, 69

  Speculation, 310

  Speech, 338

  Spirit and Matter, 320, 323

  _Spirit Teachings_, 350

  Spiritual body, 319

  S. P. R., 83, 84, 85, 87, 89, 100, 102, 104, 114, 133,
    172, 346, 371, 372

  Stallard, 79, 154

  Stand-to, 43, 44, 65, 66

  Stars, 24, 30, 200, 306, 309

  Stead, Mr., 131, 178

  St. Eloi, 73, 75

  St. Germains, 277

  St. Omer, 51

  St. Paul, 102, 170

  String, 196

  String of beads, 288

  Strong, Professor, 94

  Suffering, 178

  Summerland, 224, 230, 233, 263

  Superstition, 318

  Supremacy of Spiritual over Material, 317

  Surroundings of non-material existence, 336

  Survival, General, 336

  Survival of Man, 83, 86, 87, 101, 172

  Swinburne, 4, 7

  Symbols, 305

  Symposium, 83

  Table tilting, 89, 121, 122, 136, 137, 138, 143, 144,
    151, 183, 190, 224, 270, 362, 363, 364

  Tate, Harry, 54

  Taylor, Captain, 15, 17, 22, 37, 63, 64, 69, 71, 72

  Telegram, 153

  Telekinesis, 89

  Telepathy, 88, 114, 275, 283, 313, 339, 346

  Telephone operators, 87

  Telergy, 88

  Tennyson, 281, 289, 305, 309, 316, 320, 326, 345, 348

  Tent, 250, 252, 266

  Tent Lodge, Coniston, 155

  Tests, 152, 157, 159, 224, 249

  Theological attitude, 314

  Theology, 352, 384, 395

  Think things wanted said, 159

  Thomas, Humphrey, 17, 23, 31, 42, 43, 47, 49

  Thompson, Mrs. Isaac, 112

  Thomson, Professor J. Arthur, 283

  Thought Forms, 184, 198, 230

  Tools, 320

  Trance, 129, 356

  Trance medium, 86, 88

  Transcendence, 380, 384

  Transition, 101, 288, 306

  Trench improvement, 29, 33, 36, 63, 64, 66

  Trenches, 20, 24

  Trivial messages, 346, 349

  Truncation of Life, 322

  Tunnel simile, 100, 133

  Uncle Jerry, 166

  Unity, 284, 306, 307, 337

  Unverifiable statements, 171, 188, 195, 196, 207, 209,
    226, 230, 347

  Ventris, Mr., 57, 74, 76, 77, 78

  Verrall, Mr., 88, 91, 336

  Versailles, 43

  Violet, 35, 45, 52, 134, 226

  Virgil, 14, 317, 319, 373

  Vital Force, 371

  Voice, 193, 201, 365

  Walker, Messrs. Thos. & Son, 63

  Wallace, Dr. A. Russel, 334, 342

  War, 185, 309

  Warning, 225, 342

  Way, Lieutenant, 53, 55

  Weddings, 58

  Weismann, Professor, 295, 323

  Whizz-bangs, 56, 60

  Will, 134

  William (see also Grandfather and Gardener), 159, 187,
   190, 210, 213, 221, 229

  Window, exchange for paraffin, 44

  Winifred, 52

  Winter campaign, 50

  Wireless telegraphy, 244, 338

  Wolseley Motor Works, 4, 79

  Wood, Miss. F. A., 218, 221

  Woolacombe, 250, 253

  Wordsworth, vi

  Workers, 291

  Wriedt, Mrs., 118

  Wyatt, Lieut., 19, 42

  Yacht, 251, 266

  Yogi, 177

  Ypres, 12, 31, 44, 47, 58, 74, 78, 92

  Zeppelins, 228

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Raymond, or Life and Death - With examples of the evidence for survival of memory and - affection after death." ***

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