Great reception at Sydney.--Importance of Sydney.--Journalistic
luncheon.--A psychic epidemic.--Gregory.--Barracking.--Town Hall
reception.--Regulation of Spiritualism.--An ether apport.--Surfing
at Manly.--A challenge.--Bigoted opponents.--A disgruntled
photographer.--Outing in the Harbour.--Dr. Mildred Creed.--Leon
Gellert.--Norman Lindsay.--Bishop Leadbeater.--Our relations with
Theosophy.--Incongruities of H.P.B.--Of D.D. Home.
We had a wonderful reception at Sydney. I have a great shrinking from
such deputations as they catch you at the moment when you are exhausted
and unkempt after a long journey, and when you need all your energies to
collect your baggage and belongings so as to make your way to your
hotel. But on this occasion it was so hearty, and the crowd of faces
beamed such good wishes upon us that it was quite a pick-me-up to all of
us. "God bless you!" and "Thank God you have come!" reached us from all
sides. My wife, covered with flowers, was hustled off in one direction,
while I was borne away in another, and each of the children was the
centre of a separate group. Major Wood had gone off to see to the
luggage, and Jakeman was herself embedded somewhere in the crowd, so at
last I had to shout, "Where's that little girl? Where's that little
boy?" until we reassembled and were able, laden with bouquets, to reach
our carriage. The evening paper spread itself over the scene.
"When Sir Conan Doyle, his wife and their three children arrived from
Melbourne by the express this morning, an assembly of Spiritualists
accorded them a splendid greeting. Men swung their hats high and
cheered, women danced in their excitement, and many of their number
rushed the party with rare bouquets. The excitement was at its highest,
and Sir Conan being literally carried along the platform by the pressing
crowds, when a digger arrived on the outskirts. 'Who's that?' he asked
of nobody in particular. Almost immediately an urchin replied, 'The
bloke that wrote "Sherlock Holmes."' When asked if the latter gentleman
was really and irretrievably dead the author of his being remarked,
'Well, you can say that a coroner has never sat upon him.'"
It was a grand start, and we felt at once in a larger and more vigorous
world, where, if we had fiercer foes, we at least had warm and
well-organised friends. Better friends than those of Melbourne do not
exist, but there was a method and cohesion about Sydney which impressed
us from the first day to the last. There seemed, also, to be fewer of
those schisms which are the bane of our movement. If Wells' dictum that
organisation is death has truth in it, then we are very much alive.
We had rooms in Petty's Hotel, which is an old-world hostel with a very
quiet, soothing atmosphere. There I was at once engaged with the usual
succession of journalists with a long list of questions which ranged
from the destiny of the human soul to the chances of the test match.
What with the constant visitors, the unpacking of our trunks, and the
settling down of the children, we were a very weary band before evening.
I had no idea that Sydney was so great a place. The population is now
very nearly a million, which represents more than one-sixth of the whole
vast Continent. It seems a weak point of the Australian system that 41
per cent. of the whole population dwell in the six capital cities. The
vital statistics of Sydney are extraordinarily good, for the death rate
is now only twelve per thousand per annum. Our standard in such matters
is continually rising, for I can remember the days when twenty per
thousand was reckoned to be a very good result. In every civic amenity
Sydney stands very high. Her Botanical Gardens are not so supremely good
as those of Melbourne, but her Zoo is among the very best in the world.
The animals seem to be confined by trenches rather than by bars, so that
they have the appearance of being at large. It was only after Jakeman
had done a level hundred with a child under each arm that she realised
that a bear, which she saw approaching, was not really in a state of
freedom.
As to the natural situation of Sydney, especially its harbour, it is so
world-renowned that it is hardly necessary to allude to it. I can well
imagine that a Sydney man would grow homesick elsewhere, for he could
never find the same surroundings. The splendid landlocked bay with its
numerous side estuaries and its narrow entrance is a grand playground
for a sea-loving race. On a Saturday it is covered with every kind of
craft, from canoe to hundred-tonner. The fact that the water swarms with
sharks seems to present no fears to these strong-nerved people, and I
have found myself horrified as I watched little craft, manned by boys,
heeling over in a fresh breeze until the water was up to their gunwales.
At very long intervals some one gets eaten, but the fun goes on all the
same.
The people of Sydney have their residences (bungalows with verandahs)
all round this beautiful bay, forming dozens of little townlets. The
system of ferry steamers becomes as important as the trams, and is
extraordinarily cheap and convenient. To Manly, for example, which lies
some eight miles out, and is a favourite watering place, the fare is
fivepence for adults and twopence for children. So frequent are the
boats that you never worry about catching them, for if one is gone
another will presently start. Thus, the whole life of Sydney seems to
converge into the Circular Quay, from which as many as half a dozen of
these busy little steamers may be seen casting off simultaneously for
one or another of the oversea suburbs. Now and then, in a real cyclone,
the service gets suspended, but it is a rare event, and there is a
supplementary, but roundabout, service of trams.
The journalists of New South Wales gave a lunch to my wife and myself,
which was a very pleasant function. One leading journalist announced,
amid laughter, that he had actually consulted me professionally in my
doctoring days, and had lived to tell the tale, which contradicts the
base insinuation of some orator who remarked once that though I was
known to have practised, no _living_ patient of mine had ever yet been
seen.
Nothing could have been more successful than my first lecture, which
filled the Town Hall. There were evidently a few people who had come
with intent to make a scene, but I had my audience so entirely with me,
that it was impossible to cause real trouble. One fanatic near the door
cried out, "Anti-Christ!" several times, and was then bundled out.
Another, when I described how my son had come back to me, cried out that
it was the devil, but on my saying with a laugh that such a remark
showed the queer workings of some people's minds, the people cheered
loudly in assent. Altogether it was a great success, which was repeated
in the second, and culminated in the third, when, with a hot summer day,
and the English cricketers making their debut, I still broke the record
for a Town Hall matinee. The rush was more than the officials could cope
with, and I had to stand for ten long minutes looking at the audience
before it was settled enough for me to begin. Some spiritualists in the
audience struck up "Lead, Kindly Light!" which gave the right note to
the assemblage. Mr. Smythe, with all his experience, was amazed at our
results. "This is no longer a mere success," he cried. "It is a triumph.
It is an epidemic!" Surely, it will leave some permanent good behind it
and turn the public mind from religious shadows to realities.
We spent one restful day seeing our cricketers play New South Wales.
After a promising start they were beaten owing to a phenomenal
first-wicket stand in the second innings by Macartney and Collins, both
batsmen topping the hundred. Gregory seemed a dangerous bowler, making
the ball rise shoulder high even on that Bulli wicket, where midstump is
as much as an ordinary bowler can attain. He is a tiger of a man,
putting every ounce of his strength and inch of his great height into
every ball, with none of the artistic finesse of a Spofforth, but very
effective all the same. We have no one of the same class; and that will
win Australia the rubber unless I am--as I hope I am--a false prophet. I
was not much impressed either by the manners or by the knowledge of the
game shown by the barrackers. Every now and then, out of the mass of
people who darken the grass slopes round the ground, you hear a raucous
voice giving advice to the captain, or, perhaps, conjuring a fast bowler
to bowl at the wicket when the man is keeping a perfect length outside
the off stump and trying to serve his three slips. When Mailey went on,
because he was slow and seemed easy, they began to jeer, and, yet, you
had only to watch the batsman to see that the ball was doing a lot and
kept him guessing. One wonders why the neighbours of these bawlers
tolerate it. In England such men would soon be made to feel that they
were ill-mannered nuisances, I am bound to testify, however, that they
seem quite impartial, and that the English team had no special cause for
complaint. I may also add that, apart from this cricketing peculiarity,
which is common to all the States, the Sydney crowd is said to be one of
the most good-humoured and orderly in the world. My own observation
confirms this, and I should say that there was a good deal less
drunkenness than in Melbourne, but, perhaps the races gave me an
exaggerated impression of the latter.
On Sunday, 28th, the spiritualists gave the pilgrims (as they called us)
a reception at the Town Hall. There was not a seat vacant, and the sight
of these 3,500 well-dressed, intelligent people must have taught the
press that the movement is not to be despised. There are at least 10,000
professed spiritualists in Sydney, and even as a political force they
demand consideration. The seven of us were placed in the front of the
platform, and the service was very dignified and impressive. When the
great audience sang, "God hold you safely till we meet once more," it
was almost overpowering, for it is a beautiful tune, and was sung with
real feeling. In my remarks I covered a good deal of ground, but very
particularly I warned them against all worldly use of this great
knowledge, whether it be fortune telling, prophecies about races and
stocks, or any other prostitution of our subject. I also exhorted them
when they found fraud to expose it at once, as their British brethren
do, and never to trifle with truth. When I had finished, the whole
3,500 people stood up, and everyone waved a handkerchief, producing a
really wonderful scene. We can never forget it.
Once more I must take refuge behind the local Observer. "The scene as
Sir Arthur rose will be long remembered by those who were privileged to
witness it. A sea of waving handkerchiefs confronted the speaker,
acclaiming silently and reverently the deep esteem in which he was held
by all present. Never has Sir Arthur's earnestness in his mission been
more apparent than on this occasion as he proceeded with a heart to
heart talk with the spiritualists present, offering friendly criticisms,
sound advice, and encouragement to the adherents of the great movement.
"'He had got,' he said, 'so much into the habit of lecturing that he was
going to lecture the spiritualists.' With a flash of humour Sir Arthur
added: 'It does none of us any harm to be lectured occasionally. I am a
married man myself' (laughter). 'I would say to the spiritualists', "For
Heaven's sake keep this thing high and unspotted. Don't let it drop into
the regions of fortune telling and other things which leave such an ugly
impression on the public mind, and which we find it so difficult to
justify. Keep it in its most religious and purest aspect." At the same
time, I expressed my view that there was no reason at all why a medium
should not receive moderate payment for work done, since it is
impossible, otherwise, that he can live.
Every solid spiritualist would, I am sure, agree with me that our whole
subject needs regulating, and is in an unsatisfactory condition. We
cannot approve of the sensation mongers who run from medium to medium
(or possibly pretended medium) with no object but excitement or
curiosity. The trouble is that you have to recognise a thing before you
can regulate it, and the public has not properly recognised us. Let them
frankly do so, and take us into counsel, and then we shall get things on
a solid basis. Personally, I would be ready to go so far as to agree
that an inquirer should take out a formal permit to consult a medium,
showing that it was done for some definite object, if in return we could
get State recognition for those mediums who were recommended as genuine
by valid spiritual authorities. My friends will think this a reactionary
proposition, but none the less I feel the need of regulation almost as
much as I do that of recognition.
One event which occurred to me at Sydney I shall always regard as an
instance of that fostering care of which I have been conscious ever
since we set forth upon our journey. I had been over-tired, had slept
badly and had a large meeting in the evening, so that it was imperative
that I should have a nap in the afternoon. My brain was racing, however,
and I could get no rest or prospect of any. The second floor window was
slightly open behind me, and outside was a broad open space, shimmering
in the heat of a summer day. Suddenly, as I lay there, I was aware of a
very distinct pungent smell of ether, coming in waves from outside. With
each fresh wave I felt my over-excited nerves calming down as the sea
does when oil is poured upon it. Within a few minutes I was in a deep
sleep, and woke all ready for my evening's work. I looked out of the
window and tried to picture where the ether could have come from; then I
returned thanks for one more benefit received. I do not suppose that I
am alone in such interpositions, but I think that our minds are so
centred on this tiny mud patch, that we are deaf and blind to all that
impinges on us from beyond.
Having finished in Sydney, and my New Zealand date having not yet
arrived, we shifted our quarters to Manly, upon the sea coast, about
eight miles from the town. Here we all devoted ourselves to
surf-bathing, spending a good deal of our day in the water, as is the
custom of the place. It is a real romp with Nature, for the great
Pacific rollers come sweeping in and break over you, rolling you over on
the sand if they catch you unawares. It was a golden patch in our
restless lives. There were surf boards, and I am told that there were
men competent to ride them, but I saw none of Jack London's Sun Gods
riding in erect upon the crest of the great rollers. Alas, poor Jack
London! What right had such a man to die, he who had more vim and
passion, and knowledge of varied life than the very best of us? Apart
from all his splendid exuberance and exaggeration he had very real roots
of grand literature within him. I remember, particularly, the little
episodes of bygone days in "The Jacket." The man who wrote those could
do anything. Those whom the American public love die young. Frank
Norris, Harold Frederic, Stephen Crane, the author of "David Harum," and
now Jack London--but the greatest of these was Jack London.
There is a grand beach at Manly, and the thundering rollers carry in
some flotsam from the great ocean. One morning the place was covered
with beautiful blue jelly-fish, like little Roman lamps with tendrils
hanging down. I picked up one of these pretty things, and was just
marvelling at its complete construction when I discovered that it was
even more complete than I supposed, for it gave me a violent sting. For
a day or two I had reason to remember my little blue castaway, with his
up-to-date fittings for keeping the stranger at a distance.
I was baited at Sydney by a person of the name of Simpson, representing
Christianity, though I was never clear what particular branch of
religion he represented, and he was disowned by some leaders of
Christian Thought. I believe he was president of the Christian Evidence
Society. His opposition, though vigorous, and occasionally personal, was
perfectly legitimate, but his well-advertised meeting at the Town Hall
(though no charge was made for admission) was not a success. His
constant demand was that I should meet him in debate, which was, of
course, out of the question, since no debate is possible between a man
who considers a text to be final, and one who cannot take this view. My
whole energies, so much needed for my obvious work, would have been
frittered away in barren controversies had I allowed my hand to be
forced. I had learned my lesson, however, at the M'Cabe debate in
London, when I saw clearly that nothing could come from such
proceedings. On the other hand, I conceived the idea of what would be a
real test, and I issued it as a challenge in the public press. "It is
clear," I said, "that one single case of spirit return proves our whole
contention. Therefore, let the question be concentrated upon one, or, if
necessary, upon three cases. These I would undertake to prove, producing
my witnesses in the usual way. My opponent would act the part of hostile
counsel, cross-examining and criticising my facts. The case would be
decided by a majority vote of a jury of twelve, chosen from men of
standing, who pledged themselves as open-minded on the question. Such a
test could obviously only take place in a room of limited dimensions, so
that no money would be involved and truth only be at stake. That is all
that I seek. If such a test can be arranged I am ready for it, either
before I leave, or after I return from New Zealand." This challenge was
not taken up by my opponents.
Mr. Simpson had a long tirade in the Sydney papers about the evil
religious effects of my mission, which caused me to write a reply in
which I defined our position in a way which may be instructive to
others. I said:--
"The tenets which we spiritualists preach and which I uphold upon the
platform are that any man who is deriving spirituality from his creed,
be that creed what it may, is learning the lesson of life. For this
reason we would not attack your creed, however repulsive it might seem
to us, so long as you and your colleagues might be getting any benefit
from it. We desire to go our own way, saying what we know to be true,
and claiming from others the same liberty of conscience and of
expression which we freely grant to them.
"You, on the other hand, go out of your way to attack us, to call us
evil names, and to pretend that those loved ones who return to us are in
truth devils, and that our phenomena, though they are obviously of the
same sort as those which are associated with early Christianity, are
diabolical in their nature. This absurd view is put forward without a
shadow of proof, and entirely upon the supposed meaning of certain
ancient texts which refer in reality to a very different matter, but
which are strained and twisted to suit your purpose.
"It is men like you and your colleagues who, by your parody of
Christianity and your constant exhibition of those very qualities which
Christ denounced in the Pharisees, have driven many reasonable people
away from religion and left the churches half empty. Your predecessors,
who took the same narrow view of the literal interpretation of the
Bible, were guilty of the murder of many thousands of defenceless old
women who were burned in deference to the text, 'Suffer no witch to
live.' Undeterred by this terrible result of the literal reading, you
still advocate it, although you must be well aware that polygamy,
slavery and murder can all be justified by such a course.
"In conclusion, let me give you the advice to reconsider your position,
to be more charitable to your neighbours, and to devote your redundant
energies to combating the utter materialism which is all round you,
instead of railing so bitterly at those who are proving immortality and
the need for good living in a way which meets their spiritual wants,
even though it is foreign to yours."
A photographer, named Mark Blow, also caused me annoyance by announcing
that my photographs were fakes, and that he was prepared to give L25 to
any charity if he could not reproduce them. I at once offered the same
sum if he could do so, and I met him by appointment at the office of the
evening paper, the editor being present to see fair play. I placed my
money on the table, but Mr. Blow did not cover it. I then produced a
packet of plates from my pocket and suggested that we go straight across
to Mr. Blow's studio and produce the photographs. He replied by asking
me a long string of questions as to the conditions under which the Crewe
photographs were produced, noting down all my answers. I then renewed my
proposition. He answered that it was absurd to expect him to produce a
spirit photograph since he did not believe in such foolish things. I
answered that I did not ask him to produce a spirit photograph, but to
fulfil his promise which was to produce a similar result upon the plate
under similar conditions. He held out that they should be his own
conditions. I pointed out that any school boy could make a half-exposed
impression upon a plate, and that the whole test lay in the conditions.
As he refused to submit to test conditions the matter fell through, as
all such foolish challenges fall through. It was equally foolish on my
part to have taken any notice of it.
I had a conversation with Mr. Maskell, the capable Secretary of the
Sydney spiritualists, in which he described how he came out originally
from Leicester to Australia. He had at that time developed some power of
clairvoyance, but it was very intermittent. He had hesitated in his mind
whether he should emigrate to Australia, and sat one night debating it
within himself, while his little son sat at the table cutting patterns
out of paper. Maskell said to his spirit guides, mentally, "If it is
good that I go abroad give me the vision of a star. If not, let it be a
circle." He waited for half an hour or so, but no vision came, and he
was rising in disappointment when the little boy turned round and said,
"Daddy, here is a star for you," handing over one which he had just cut.
He has had no reason to regret the subsequent decision.
We had a very quiet, comfortable, and healthy ten days at the Pacific
Hotel at Manly, which was broken only by an excursion which the Sydney
spiritualists had organised for us in a special steamer, with the
intention of showing us the glories of the harbour. Our party assembled
on Manly Pier, and the steamer was still far away when we saw the
fluttering handkerchiefs which announced that they had sighted us. It
was a long programme, including a picnic lunch, but it all went off with
great success and good feeling. It was fairly rough within the harbour,
and some of the party were sea sick, but the general good spirits rose
above such trifles, and we spent the day in goodly fellowship. On Sunday
I was asked to speak to his congregation by Mr. Sanders, a very
intelligent young Congregational Minister of Manly, far above the level
of Australasian or, indeed, British clerics. It was a novel experience
for me to be in a Nonconformist pulpit, but I found an excellent
audience, and I hope that they in turn found something comforting and
new.
One of the most interesting men whom I met in Australia was Dr. Creed,
of the New South Wales Parliament, an elderly medical man who has held
high posts in the Government. He is blessed with that supreme gift, a
mind which takes a keen interest in everything which he meets in life.
His researches vary from the cure of diabetes and of alcoholism (both of
which he thinks that he has attained) down to the study of Australian
Aborigines and of the palaeontology of his country. I was interested to
find the very high opinion which he has of the brains of the black
fellows, and he asserts that their results at the school which is
devoted to their education are as high as with the white Australians.
They train into excellent telegraphic operators and other employments
needing quick intelligence. The increasing brain power of the human race
seems to be in the direction of originating rather than of merely
accomplishing. Many can do the latter, but only the very highest can do
the former. Dr. Creed is clear upon the fact that no very ancient
remains of any sort are to be found anywhere in Australia, which would
seem to be against the view of a Lemurian civilisation, unless the main
seat of it lay to the north where the scattered islands represent the
mountain tops of the ancient continent. Dr. Creed was one of the very
few public men who had the intelligence or the courage to admit the
strength of the spiritual position, and he assured me that he would help
in any way.
Another man whom I was fortunate to meet was Leon Gellert, a very young
poet, who promises to be the rising man in Australia in this, the
supreme branch of literature. He served in the war, and his verses from
the front attain a very high level. His volume of war poems represents
the most notable literary achievement of recent years, and its value is
enhanced by being illustrated by Norman Lindsay, whom I look upon as one
of the greatest artists of our time. I have seen three pictures of his,
"The Goths," "Who Comes?" and "The Crucifixion of Venus," each of which,
in widely different ways, seemed very remarkable. Indeed, it is the
versatility of the man that is his charm, and now that he is turning
more and more from the material to the spiritual it is impossible to say
how high a level he may attain. Another Australian whose works I have
greatly admired is Henry Lawson, whose sketches of bush life in "Joe
Wilson" and other of his studies, remind one of a subdued Bret Harte. He
is a considerable poet also, and his war poem, "England Yet," could
hardly be matched.
Yet another interesting figure whom I met in Sydney was Bishop
Leadbeater, formerly a close colleague of Mrs. Besant in the
Theosophical movement, and now a prelate of the so-called Liberal
Catholic Church, which aims at preserving the traditions and forms of
the old Roman Church, but supplementing them with all modern spiritual
knowledge. I fear I am utterly out of sympathy with elaborate forms,
which always in the end seem to me to take the place of facts, and to
become a husk without a kernel, but none the less I can see a definite
mission for such a church as appealing to a certain class of mind.
Leadbeater, who has suffered from unjust aspersion in the past, is a
venerable and striking figure. His claims to clairvoyant and other
occult powers are very definite, and so far as I had the opportunity of
observing him, he certainly lives the ascetic life, which the
maintenance of such power demands. His books, especially the little one
upon the Astral Plane, seem to me among the best of the sort.
But the whole subject of Theosophy is to me a perpetual puzzle. I asked
for proofs and spiritualism has given them to me. But why should I
abandon one faith in order to embrace another one? I have done with
faith. It is a golden mist in which human beings wander in devious
tracks with many a collision. I need the white clear light of knowledge.
For that we build from below, brick upon brick, never getting beyond
the provable fact. There is the building which will last. But these
others seem to build from above downwards, beginning by the assumption
that there is supreme human wisdom at the apex. It may be so. But it is
a dangerous habit of thought which has led the race astray before, and
may again. Yet, I am struck by the fact that this ancient wisdom does
describe the etheric body, the astral world, and the general scheme
which we have proved for ourselves. But when the high priestess of the
cult wrote of this she said so much that was against all our own
spiritual experience, that we feel she was in touch with something very
different from our angels of light. Her followers appreciate that now,
and are more charitable than she, but what is the worth of her occult
knowledge if she so completely misread that which lies nearest to us,
and how can we hope that she is more correct when she speaks of that
which is at a distance?
I was deeply attracted by the subject once, but Madame Blavatsky's
personality and record repelled me. I have read the defence, and yet
Hodgson and the Coulombs seem to me to hold the field. Could any
conspiracy be so broad that it included numerous forged letters, trap
doors cut in floors, and actually corroborative accounts in the books of
a flower seller in the bazaar? On the other hand, there is ample
evidence of real psychic powers, and of the permanent esteem of men like
Sinnett and Olcott, whom none could fail to respect. It is the attitude
of these honourable men which commends and upholds her, but sometimes
it seems hard to justify it. As an example, in the latter years of her
life she wrote a book, "The Caves and Jungles of Hindustan," in which
she describes the fearsome adventures which she and Olcott had in
certain expeditions, falling down precipices and other such escapes.
Olcott, like the honest gentleman he was, writes in his diary that there
is not a word of truth in this, and that it is pure fiction. And yet,
after this very damaging admission, in the same page he winds up, "Ah,
if the world ever comes to know who was the mighty entity, who laboured
sixty years under that quivering mask of flesh, it will repent its cruel
treatment of H. P. B., and be amazed at the depth of its ignorance."
These are the things which make it so difficult to understand either her
or the cult with which she was associated. Had she never lived these men
and women would, as it seems to me, have been the natural leaders of the
spiritualist movement, and instead of living in the intellectual
enjoyment of far-off systems they would have concentrated upon the
all-important work of teaching poor suffering humanity what is the
meaning of the dark shadow which looms upon their path. Even now I see
no reason why they should not come back to those who need them, and help
them forward upon their rocky road.
Of course, we spiritualists are ourselves vulnerable upon the subject of
the lives of some of our mediums, but we carefully dissociate those
lives from the powers which use the physical frame of the medium for
their own purposes, just as the religious and inspired poetry of a
Verlaine may be held separate from his dissipated life. Whilst upon this
subject I may say that whilst in Australia I had some interesting
letters from a solicitor named Rymer. All students of spiritualism will
remember that when Daniel Home first came to England in the early
fifties he received great kindness from the Rymer family, who then lived
at Ealing. Old Rymer treated him entirely as one of the family. This
Bendigo Rymer was the grandson of Home's benefactor, and he had no love
for the great medium because he considered that he had acted with
ingratitude towards his people. The actual letters of his father, which
he permitted me to read, bore out this statement, and I put it on record
because I have said much in praise of Home, and the balance should be
held true. These letters, dating from about '57, show that one of the
sons of old Rymer was sent to travel upon the Continent to study art,
and that Home was his companion. They were as close as brothers, but
when they reached Florence, and Home became a personage in society
there, he drifted away from Rymer, whose letters are those of a splendid
young man. Home's health was already indifferent, and while he was laid
up in his hotel he seems to have been fairly kidnapped by a
strong-minded society lady of title, an Englishwoman living apart from
her husband. For weeks he lived at her villa, though the state of his
health would suggest that it was rather as patient than lover. What was
more culpable was that he answered the letters of his comrade very
rudely and showed no sense of gratitude for all that the family had done
for him. I have read the actual letters and confess that I was chilled
and disappointed. Home was an artist as well as a medium, the most
unstable combination possible, full of emotions, flying quickly to
extremes, capable of heroisms and self-denials, but also of vanities and
ill-humour. On this occasion the latter side of his character was too
apparent. To counteract the effect produced upon one's mind one should
read in Home's Life the letter of the Bavarian captain whom he rescued
upon the field of battle, or of the many unfortunates whom he aided with
unobtrusive charity. It cannot, however, be too often repeated--since it
is never grasped by our critics--that the actual character of a man is
as much separate from his mediumistic powers, as it would be from his
musical powers. Both are inborn gifts beyond the control of their
possessor. The medium is the telegraph instrument and the telegraph boy
united in one, but the real power is that which transmits the message,
which he only receives and delivers. The remark applies to the Fox
sisters as much as it does to Home.
Talking about Home, it is astonishing how the adverse judgment of the
Vice-Chancellor Gifford, a materialist, absolutely ignorant of psychic
matters, has influenced the minds of men. The very materialists who
quote it, would not attach the slightest importance to the opinion of an
orthodox judge upon the views of Hume, Payne, or any free-thinker. It is
like quoting a Roman tribune against a Christian. The real facts of the
case are perfectly clear to anyone who reads the documents with care.
The best proof of how blameless Home was in the matter is that of all
the men of honour with whom he was on intimate terms--men like Robert
Chambers, Carter Hall, Lord Seaton, Lord Adare and others--not one
relaxed in their friendship after the trial. This was in 1866, but in
1868 we find these young noblemen on Christian-name terms with the man
who would have been outside the pale of society had the accusations of
his enemies been true.
Whilst we were in Sydney, a peculiar ship, now called the "Marella," was
brought into the harbour as part of the German ship surrender. It is
commonly reported that this vessel, of very grandiose construction, was
built to conduct the Kaiser upon a triumphal progress round the world
after he had won his war. It is, however, only of 8,000 tons, and,
personally, I cannot believe that this would have had room for his
swollen head, had he indeed been the victor. All the fittings, even to
the carpet holders, are of German silver. The saloon is of pure marble,
eighty by fifty, with beautiful hand-painted landscapes. The smoke-room
is the reproduction of one in Potsdam Palace. There is a great swimming
bath which can be warmed. Altogether a very notable ship, and an index,
not only of the danger escaped, but of the danger to come, in the form
of the super-excellence of German design and manufacture.
Our post-bag is very full, and it takes Major Wood and myself all our
time to keep up with the letters. Many of them are so wonderful that I
wish I had preserved them all, but it would have meant adding another
trunk to our baggage. There are a few samples which have been rescued.
Many people seemed to think that I was myself a wandering medium, and I
got this sort of missive:
"DEAR SIR,--_I am very anxious to ask you a question, trusting you
will answer me. What I wish to know I have been corresponding with
a gentleman for nearly three years. From this letter can you tell
me if I will marry him. I want you to answer this as I am keeping
it strictly private and would dearly love you to answer this
message if possible, and if I will do quite right if I marry him.
Trusting to hear from you soon. Yours faithfully----._
_P.S.--I thoroughly believe in Spirit-ualism._"
Here is another.
"HONORED SIR,--_Just a few lines in limited time to ask you if you
tell the future. If so, what is your charges? Please excuse no
stamped and ad. envelope--out of stamps and in haste to catch mail.
Please excuse._"
On the other hand, I had many which were splendidly instructive and
helpful. I was particularly struck by one series of spirit messages
which were received in automatic writing by a man living in the Bush in
North Queensland and thrown upon his own resources. They were
descriptive of life in the beyond, and were in parts extremely
corroborative of the Vale Owen messages, though they had been taken long
prior to that date. Some of the points of resemblance were so marked and
so unusual that they seem clearly to come from a common inspiration. As
an example, this script spoke of the creative power of thought in the
beyond, but added the detail that when the object to be created was
large and important a band of thinkers was required, just as a band of
workers would be here. This exactly corresponds to the teaching of Vale
Owen's guide.