Dangerous fog.--The six photographers.--Comic
advertisements.--Beauties of Auckland.--A Christian
clergyman.--Shadows in our American relations.--The Gallipoli
Stone.--Stevenson and the Germans.--Position of De Rougemont.--Mr.
Clement Wragge.--Atlantean theories.--A strange
psychic.--Wellington the windy.--A literary Oasis.--A Maori
Seance.--Presentation.
My voyage to New Zealand in the _Maheno_ was pleasant and uneventful,
giving me four days in which to arrange my papers and look over the many
manuscripts which mediums, or, more often, would-be mediums, had
discharged at me as I passed. Dr. Bean, my Theosophic friend, who had
been somewhat perturbed by my view that his people were really the
officers of our movement who had deserted their army, formed an
officers' corps, and so taken the money and brains and leadership away
from the struggling masses, was waiting on the Sydney Quay, and gave me
twelve books upon his subject to mend my wicked ways, so that I was
equipped for a voyage round the world. I needed something, since I had
left my wife and family behind me in Manly, feeling that the rapid
journey through New Zealand would be too severe for them. In Mr. Carlyle
Smythe, however, I had an admirable "cobber," to use the pal phrase of
the Australian soldier.
Mr. Smythe had only one defect as a comrade, and that was his
conversation in a fog. It was of a distinctly depressing character, as I
had occasion to learn when we ran into very thick weather among the
rocky islands which make navigation so difficult to the north of
Auckland. Between the screams of the siren I would hear a still small
voice in the bunk above me.
"We are now somewhere near the Three Kings. It is an isolated group of
rocks celebrated for the wreck of the _Elingamite_, which went ashore on
just such a morning as this." (Whoo-ee! remarked the foghorn). "They
were nearly starved, but kept themselves alive by fish which were caught
by improvised lines made from the ladies' stay-laces. Many of them
died."
I lay digesting this and staring at the fog which crawled all round the
port hole. Presently he was off again.
"You can't anchor here, and there is no use stopping her, for the
currents run hard and she would drift on to one of the ledges which
would rip the side out of her." (Whoo-ee! repeated the foghorn). "The
islands are perpendicular with deep water up to the rocks, so you never
know they are there until you hit them, and then, of course, there is no
reef to hold you up." (Whoo-ee!) "Close by here is the place where the
_Wairarapa_ went down with all hands a few years ago. It was just such a
day as this when she struck the Great Barrier----"
It was about this time that I decided to go on deck. Captain Brown had
made me free of the bridge, so I climbed up and joined him there,
peering out into the slow-drifting scud.
I spent the morning there, and learned something of the anxieties of a
sailor's life. Captain Brown had in his keeping, not only his own career
and reputation, but what was far more to him, the lives of more than
three hundred people. We had lost all our bearings, for we had drifted
in the fog during those hours when it was too thick to move. Now the
scud was coming in clouds, the horizon lifting to a couple of miles, and
then sinking to a few hundred yards. On each side of us and ahead were
known to be rocky islands or promontories. Yet we must push on to our
destination. It was fine to see this typical British sailor working his
ship as a huntsman might take his horse over difficult country, now
speeding ahead when he saw an opening, now waiting for a fogbank to get
ahead, now pushing in between two clouds. For hours we worked along with
the circle of oily lead-coloured sea around us, and then the grey veil,
rising and falling, drifting and waving, with danger lurking always in
its shadow. There are strange results when one stares intently over such
a sea, for after a time one feels that it all slopes upwards, and that
one is standing deep in a saucer with the rim far above one. Once in the
rifts we saw a great ship feeling her way southwards, in the same
difficulties as ourselves. She was the _Niagara_, from Vancouver to
Auckland. Then, as suddenly as the raising of a drop-curtain, up came
the fog, and there ahead of us was the narrow path which led to safety.
The _Niagara_ was into it first, which seemed to matter little, but
really mattered a good deal, for her big business occupied the Port
Authorities all the evening, while our little business was not even
allowed to come alongside until such an hour that we could not get
ashore, to the disappointment of all, and very especially of me, for I
knew that some of our faithful had been waiting for twelve hours upon
the quay to give me a welcoming hand. It was breakfast time on the very
morning that I was advertised to lecture before we at last reached our
hotel.
Here I received that counter-demonstration which always helped to keep
my head within the limits of my hat. This was a peremptory demand from
six gentlemen, who modestly described themselves as the leading
photographers of the city, to see the negatives of the photographs which
I was to throw upon the screen. I was assured at the same time by other
photographers that they had no sympathy with such a demand, and that the
others were self-advertising busybodies who had no mandate at all for
such a request. My experience at Sydney had shown me that such
challenges came from people who had no knowledge of psychic conditions,
and who did not realise that it is the circumstances under which a
photograph is taken, and the witnesses who guarantee such circumstances,
which are the real factors that matter, and not the negative which may
be so easily misunderstood by those who have not studied the processes
by which such things are produced. I therefore refused to allow my
photographs to pass into ignorant hands, explaining at the same time
that I had no negatives, since the photographs in most cases were not
mine at all, so that the negatives would, naturally, be with Dr.
Crawford, Dr. Geley, Lady Glenconnor, the representatives of Sir William
Crookes, or whoever else had originally taken the photograph. Their
challenge thereupon appeared in the Press with a long tirade of abuse
attached to it, founded upon the absurd theory that all the photos had
been taken by me, and that there was no proof of their truth save in my
word. One gets used to being indirectly called a liar, and I can answer
arguments with self-restraint which once I would have met with the toe
of my boot. However, a little breeze of this sort does no harm, but
rather puts ginger into one's work, and my audience were very soon
convinced of the absurdity of the position of the six dissenting
photographers who had judged that which they had not seen.
Auckland is the port of call of the American steamers, and had some of
that air of activity and progress which America brings with her. The
spirit of enterprise, however, took curious shapes, as in the case of
one man who was a local miller, and pushed his trade by long
advertisements at the head of the newspapers, which began with abuse of
me and my ways, and ended by a recommendation to eat dessicated corn, or
whatever his particular commodity may have been. The result was a comic
jumble which was too funny to be offensive, though Auckland should
discourage such pleasantries, as they naturally mar the beautiful
impression which her fair city and surroundings make upon the visitor. I
hope I was the only victim, and that every stranger within her gates is
not held up to ridicule for the purpose of calling attention to Mr.
Blank's dessicated corn.
I seemed destined to have strange people mixed up with my affairs in
Auckland, for there was a conjuror in the town, who, after the fashion
of that rather blatant fraternity, was offering L1,000 that he could do
anything I could do. As I could do nothing, it seemed easy money. In any
case, the argument that because you can imitate a thing therefore the
thing does not exist, is one which it takes the ingenuity of Mr.
Maskelyne to explain. There was also an ex-spiritualist medium
(so-called) who covered the papers with his advertisements, so that my
little announcement was quite overshadowed. He was to lecture the night
after me in the Town Hall, with most terrifying revelations. I was
fascinated by his paragraphs, and should have liked greatly to be
present, but that was the date of my exodus. Among other remarkable
advertisements was one "What has become of 'Pelorus Jack'? Was he a lost
soul?" Now, "Pelorus Jack" was a white dolphin, who at one time used to
pilot vessels into a New Zealand harbour, gambolling under the bows, so
that the question really did raise curiosity. However, I learned
afterwards that my successor did not reap the harvest which his
ingenuity deserved, and that the audience was scanty and derisive. What
the real psychic meaning of "Pelorus Jack" may have been was not
recorded by the press.
From the hour I landed upon the quay at Auckland until I waved my last
farewell my visit was made pleasant, and every wish anticipated by the
Rev. Jasper Calder, a clergyman who has a future before him, though
whether it will be in the Church of England or not, time and the Bishop
will decide. Whatever he may do, he will remain to me and to many more
the nearest approach we are likely to see to the ideal Christian--much
as he will dislike my saying so. After all, if enemies are given full
play, why should not friends redress the balance? I will always carry
away the remembrance of him, alert as a boy, rushing about to serve
anyone, mixing on equal terms with scallywags on the pier, reclaiming
criminals whom he called his brothers, winning a prize for breaking-in a
buckjumper, which he did in order that he might gain the respect of the
stockmen; a fiery man of God in the pulpit, but with a mind too broad
for special dispensations, he was like one of those wonderfully virile
creatures of Charles Reade. The clergy of Australasia are stagnant and
narrow, but on the other hand, I have found men like the Dean of Sydney,
Strong of Melbourne, Sanders of Manly, Calder of Auckland, and others
whom it is worth crossing this world to meet.
Of my psychic work at Auckland there is little to be said, save that I
began my New Zealand tour under the most splendid auspices. Even Sydney
had not furnished greater or more sympathetic audiences than those
which crowded the great Town Hall upon two successive nights. I could
not possibly have had a better reception, or got my message across more
successfully. All the newspaper ragging and offensive advertisements had
produced (as is natural among a generous people) a more kindly feeling
for the stranger, and I had a reception I can never forget.
This town is very wonderfully situated, and I have never seen a more
magnificent view than that from Mount Eden, an extinct volcano about 900
feet high, at the back of it. The only one which I could class with it
is that from Arthur's Seat, also an extinct volcano about 900 feet high,
as one looks on Edinburgh and its environs. Edinburgh, however, is for
ever shrouded in smoke, while here the air is crystal clear, and I could
clearly see Great Barrier Island, which is a good eighty miles to the
north. Below lay the most marvellous medley of light blue water and
light green land mottled with darker foliage. We could see not only the
whole vista of the wonderful winding harbour, and the seas upon the east
of the island, but we could look across and see the firths which
connected with the seas of the west. Only a seven-mile canal is needed
to link the two up, and to save at least two hundred miles of dangerous
navigation amid those rock-strewn waters from which we had so happily
emerged. Of course it will be done, and when it is done it should easily
pay its way, for what ship coming from Australia--or going to it--but
would gladly pay the fees? The real difficulty lies not in cutting the
canal, but in dredging the western opening, where shifting sandbanks
and ocean currents combine to make a dangerous approach. I see in my
mind's eye two great breakwaters, stretching like nippers into the
Pacific at that point, while, between the points of the nippers, the
dredgers will for ever be at work. It will be difficult, but it is
needed and it will be done.
The Australian Davis Cup quartette--Norman Brooks, Patterson, O'Hara
Wood and another--had come across in the _Maheno_ with us and were now
at the Grand Hotel. There also was the American team, including the
formidable Tilden, now world's champion. The general feeling of
Australasia is not as cordial as one would wish to the United States for
the moment. I have met several men back from that country who rather
bitterly resent the anti-British agitation which plays such a prominent
part in the American press. This continual nagging is, I am sorry to
say, wearing down the stolid patience of the Britisher more than I can
ever remember, and it is a subject on which I have always been sensitive
as I have been a life-long advocate of Anglo-American friendship,
leading in the fullness of time to some loose form of Anglo-American
Union. At present it almost looks as if these racial traitors who make
the artificial dissensions were succeeding for a time in their work of
driving a wedge between the two great sections of the English-speaking
peoples. My fear is that when some world crisis comes, and everything
depends upon us all pulling together, the English-speakers may
neutralise each other. There lies the deadly danger. It is for us on
both sides to endeavour to avoid it.
Everyone who is in touch with the sentiment of the British officers in
Flanders knows that they found men of their own heart in the brave,
unassuming American officers who were their comrades, and often their
pupils. It is some of the stay-at-home Americans who appear to have such
a false perspective, and who fail to realise that even British
Dominions, such as Canada and Australia, lost nearly as many men as the
United States in the war, while Britain herself laid down ten lives for
every one spent by America. This is not America's fault, but when we see
apparent forgetfulness of it on the part of a section of the American
people when our wounds are still fresh, it cannot be wondered at that we
feel sore. We do not advertise, and as a result there are few who know
that we lost more men and made larger captures during the last two years
of the war than our gallant ally of France. When we hear that others won
the war we smile--but it is a bitter smile.
Strange, indeed, are some of the episodes of psychic experience. There
came to me at my hotel in Auckland two middle-aged hard-working women,
who had come down a hundred miles from the back country to my lecture.
One had lost her boy at Gallipoli. She gave me a long post-mortem
account from him as to the circumstances of his own death, including the
military operations which led up to it. I read it afterwards, and it
was certainly a very coherent account of the events both before and
after the shell struck him. Having handed me the pamphlet the country
woman then, with quivering fingers, produced from her bosom a little
silver box. Out of this she took an object, wrapped in white silk. It
was a small cube of what looked to me like sandstone, about an inch each
way. She told me it was an apport, that it had been thrown down on her
table while she and her family, including, as I understood, the friend
then present, were holding a seance. A message came with it to say that
it was from the boy's grave at Gallipoli. What are we to say to that?
Was it fraud? Then why were they playing tricks upon themselves? If it
was, indeed, an apport, it is surely one of the most remarkable for
distance and for purpose recorded of any private circle.
A gentleman named Moors was staying at the same hotel in Auckland, and
we formed an acquaintance. I find that he was closely connected with
Stevenson, and had actually written a very excellent book upon his
comradeship with him at Samoa. Stevenson dabbled in the politics of
Samoa, and always with the best motives and on the right side, but he
was of so frank and impetuous a nature that he was not trusted with any
inside knowledge. Of the German rule Mr. Moors says that for the first
twelve years Dr. Solf was as good as he could be, and did fair justice
to all. Then he went on a visit to Berlin, and returned "bitten by the
military bug," with his whole nature changed, and began to "imponieren"
in true Prussian fashion. It is surely extraordinary how all the
scattered atoms of a race can share the diseases of the central organism
from which they sprang. I verily believe that if a German had been alone
on a desert island in 1914 he would have begun to dance and brandish a
club. How many cases are on record of the strange changes and wild deeds
of individuals?
Mr. Moors told me that he dropped into a developing circle of
spiritualists at Sydney, none of whom could have known him. One of them
said, "Above your head I see a man, an artist, long hair, brown eyes,
and I get the name of Stephens." If he was indeed unknown, this would
seem fairly evidential.
I was struck by one remark of Mr. Moors, which was that he had not only
seen the natives ride turtles in the South Sea lagoons, but that he had
actually done so himself, and that it was by no means difficult. This
was the feat which was supposed to be so absurd when De Rougemont
claimed to have done it. There are, of course, some gross errors which
are probably pure misuse of words in that writer's narrative, but he
places the critic in a dilemma which has never been fairly faced. Either
he is a liar, in which case he is, beyond all doubt, the most realistic
writer of adventure since Defoe, or else he speaks the truth, in which
case he is a great explorer. I see no possible avoidance of this
dilemma, so that which ever way you look at it the man deserves credit
which he has never received.
We set off, four of us, to visit Mr. Clement Wragge, who is the most
remarkable personality in Auckland--dreamer, mystic, and yet very
practical adviser on all matters of ocean and of air.
On arriving at the charming bungalow, buried among all sorts of
broad-leaved shrubs and trees, I was confronted by a tall, thin figure,
clad in black, with a face like a sadder and thinner Bernard Shaw, dim,
dreamy eyes, heavily pouched, with a blue turban surmounting all. On
repeating my desire he led me apart into his study. I had been warned
that with his active brain and copious knowledge I would never be able
to hold him to the point, so, in the dialogue which followed, I
perpetually headed him off as he turned down bye paths, until the
conversation almost took the form of a game.
"Mr. Wragge, you are, I know, one of the greatest authorities upon winds
and currents."
"Well, that is one of my pursuits. When I was young I ran the Ben Nevis
Observatory in Scotland and----"
"It was only a small matter I wished to ask you. You'll excuse my
directness as I have so little time."
"Certainly. What is it?"
"If the Maoris came, originally, from Hawaii, what prevailing winds
would their canoes meet in the 2,000 miles which they crossed to reach
New Zealand?"
The dim eyes lit up with the joy of the problem, and the nervous fingers
unrolled a chart of the Pacific. He flourished a pair of compasses.
"Here is Hawaii. They would start with a north-westerly trade wind. That
would be a fair wind. I may say that the whole affair took place far
further back than is usually supposed. We have to get back to astronomy
for our fixed date. Don't imagine that the obliquity of the ecliptic was
always 23 degrees."
"The Maoris had a fair wind then?"
The compasses stabbed at the map.
"Only down to this point. Then they would come on the Doldrums--the calm
patch of the equator. They could paddle their canoes across that. Of
course, the remains at Easter Island prove----"
"But they could not paddle all the way."
"No; they would run into the south-easterly trades. Then they made their
way to Rarotonga in Tahiti. It was from here that they made for New
Zealand."
"But how could they know New Zealand was there?"
"Ah, yes, how did they know?"
"Had they compasses?"
"They steered by the stars. We have a poem of theirs which numbers the
star-gazer as one of the crew. We have a chart, also, cut in the rocks
at Hawaii, which seems to be the plot of a voyage. Here is a slide of
it." He fished out a photo of lines and scratches upon a rock.
"Of course," said he, "the root of the matter is that missionaries from
Atlantis permeated the Pacific, coming across Central America, and left
their traces everywhere."
Ah, Atlantis! I am a bit of an Atlantean myself, so off we went at
scratch and both enjoyed ourselves greatly until time had come to rejoin
the party and meet Mr. Wragge's wife, a charming Brahmin lady from
India, who was one of the most gracious personalities I have met in my
wanderings. The blue-turbaned, eager man, half western science, half
eastern mystic, and his dark-eyed wife amid their profusion of flowers
will linger in my memory. Mrs. Wragge was eager that I go and lecture in
India. Well, who knows?
I was so busy listening to Mr. Wragge's Atlantean theories that I had no
chance of laying before him my own contribution to the subject, which
is, I think, both original and valid. If the huge bulk of Atlantis sank
beneath the ocean, then, assuredly, it raised such a tidal wave as has
never been known in the world's history. This tidal wave, since all sea
water connects, would be felt equally all over the world, as the wave of
Krakatoa was in 1883 felt in Europe. The wave must have rushed over all
flat coasts and drowned every living thing, as narrated in the biblical
narrative. Therefore, since this catastrophe was, according to Plato's
account, not very much more than 10,000 years ago there should exist
ample evidence of a wholesale destruction of life, especially in the
flatter lands of the globe. Is there such evidence? Think of Darwin's
account of how the pampas of South America are in places one huge
grave-yard. Think, also, of the mammoth remains which strew the Tundras
of Siberia, and which are so numerous that some of the Arctic islands
are really covered with bones. There is ample evidence of some great
flood which would exactly correspond with the effect produced by the
sinking of Atlantis. The tragedy broadens as one thinks of it. Everyone
everywhere must have been drowned save only the hill-dwellers. The
object of the catastrophe was, according to some occult information, to
remove the Atlantean race and make room for the Aryan, even as the
Lemurian had been removed to make room for the Atlantean. How long has
the Aryan race to run? The answer may depend upon themselves. The great
war is a warning bell perhaps.
I had a talk with a curious type of psychic while I was in Auckland. He
claimed to be a psychologist who did not need to be put _en rapport_
with his object by any material starting point. A piece of clothing is,
as a rule, to a psychometrist what it would be to a bloodhound, the
starting point of a chase which runs down the victim. Thus Van Bourg,
when he discovered by crystal gazing the body of Mr. Foxhall (I quote
the name from memory) floating in the Thames, began by covering the
table with the missing man's garments. This is the usual procedure which
will become more familiar as the public learn the full utility of a
psychic.
This gentlemen, Mr. Pearman, was a builder by trade, a heavy, rather
uneducated man with the misty eye of a seer. He told me that if he
desired to turn his powers upon anything he had only to sit in a dim
room and concentrate his thought upon the matter, without any material
nexus. For example, a murder had been done in Western Australia. The
police asked his help. Using his power, he saw the man, a stranger, and
yet he _knew_ that it was the man, descending the Swan River in a boat.
He saw him mix with the dockmen of Fremantle. Then he saw him return to
Perth. Finally, he saw him take train on the Transcontinental Railway.
The police at once acted, and intercepted the man, who was duly
convicted and hanged. This was one of several cases which this man told
me, and his stories carried conviction with them. All this, although
psychic, has, of course, nothing to do with spiritualism, but is an
extension of the normal, though undefined, powers of the human mind and
soul.
The reader will be relieved to hear that I did not visit Rotorua. An
itinerant lecturer upon an unpopular cause has enough hot water without
seeking out a geyser. My travels would make but an indifferent guide
book, but I am bound to put it upon record that Wellington is a very
singular city plastered upon the side of a very steep hill. It is said
that the plan of the city was entirely drawn up in England under the
impression that the site was a flat one, and that it was duly carried
out on the perpendicular instead of the horizontal. It is a town of fine
buildings, however, in a splendid winding estuary ringed with hills. It
is, of course, the capital, and the centre of all officialdom in New
Zealand, but Auckland, in the north, is already the greater city.
I had the opportunity of spending the day after my arrival with Dr.
Morrice, who married the daughter of the late Premier, Sir R. Seddon,
whom I had known in years gone by. Their summer house was down the Bay,
and so I had a long drive which gave me an admirable chance of seeing
the wonderful panorama. It was blowing a full gale, and the road is so
exposed that even motors are sometimes upset by the force of the wind.
On this occasion nothing more serious befell us than the loss of Mr.
Smythe's hat, which disappeared with such velocity that no one was able
to say what had become of it. It simply was, and then it was not. The
yellow of the foreshore, the green of the shallows, the blue mottled
with purple of the deep, all fretted with lines of foam, made an
exhilarating sight. The whole excursion was a brief but very pleasant
break in our round of work. Another pleasant experience was that I met
Dr. Purdey, who had once played cricket with me, when we were very
young, at Edinburgh University. _Eheu fugaces!_ I had also the pleasure
of meeting Mr. Massey, the Premier, a bluff, strong, downright man who
impresses one with his force and sincerity.
I had the privilege when I was at Wellington of seeing the first edition
of "Robinson Crusoe," which came out originally in three volumes. I had
no idea that the three-decker dated back to 1719. It had a delightful
map of the island which would charm any boy, and must have been drawn up
under the personal guidance of Defoe himself. I wonder that map has not
been taken as an integral part of the book, and reproduced in every
edition, for it is a fascinating and a helpful document.
I saw this rare book in the Turnbull Library, which, under the loving
care of Mr. Anderson (himself no mean poet), is a fine little collection
of books got together by a Wellington man of business. In a raw young
land such a literary oasis is like a Gothic Cathedral in the midst of a
suburb of modern villas. Anyone can come in to consult the books, and if
I were a Wellingtonian I would certainly spend a good deal of time
there. I handled with fitting reverence a first edition of "Lyrical
Ballads," where, in 1798, Coleridge and Wordsworth made their entry hand
in hand into poetical literature. I saw an original Hakluyt, the book
which has sent so many brave hearts a-roving. There, too, was a precious
Kelmscott "Chaucer," a Plutarch and Montaigne, out of which Shakespeare
might have done his cribbing; Capt. Cook's manuscript "Diary," written
in the stiff hand of a very methodical man; a copy of Swinburne's "Poems
and Ballads," which is one of twenty from a recalled edition, and many
other very rare and worthy volumes carefully housed and clad. I spent a
mellow hour among them.
I have been looking up all the old books upon the Maoris which I could
find, with the special intent of clearing up their history, but while
doing so I found in one rather rare volume "Old New Zealand," an account
of a Maori seance, which seems to have been in the early forties, and,
therefore, older than the Hydesville knockings. I only wish every honest
materialist could read it and compare it with the experiences which we
have, ourselves, independently reported. Surely they cannot persist in
holding that such identical results are obtained by coincidence, or that
fraud would work in exactly the same fashion in two different
hemispheres.
A popular young chief had been killed in battle. The white man was
invited to join the solemn circle who hoped to regain touch with him.
The seance was in the dark of a large hut, lit only by the ruddy glow of
a low fire. The white man, a complete unbeliever, gives his evidence in
grudging fashion, but cannot get past the facts. The voice came, a
strange melancholy sound, like the wind blowing into a hollow vessel.
"Salutation! Salutation to you all! To you, my tribe! Family, I salute
you! Friends, I salute you!" When the power waned the voice cried,
"Speak to me, the family! Speak to me!" In the published dialogue
between Dr. Hodgson after his death and Professor Hyslop, Hodgson cries,
"Speak, Hyslop!" when the power seemed to wane. For some reason it would
appear either by vibrations or by concentrating attention to help the
communicator. "It is well with me," said the chief. "This place is a
good place." He was with the dead of the tribe and described them, and
offered to take messages to them. The incredulous white man asked where
a book had been concealed which only the dead man knew about. The place
was named and the book found. The white man himself did not know, so
there was no telepathy. Finally, with a "Farewell!" which came from high
in the air, the spirit passed back to immaterial conditions.
This is, I think, a very remarkable narrative. If you take it as
literally true, which I most certainly do, since our experience
corroborates it, it gives us some points for reflection. One is that the
process is one known in all the ages, as our Biblical reading has
already told us. A second is that a young barbarian chief with no
advantages of religion finds the next world a very pleasant place, just
as our dead do, and that they love to come back and salute those whom
they have left, showing a keen memory of their earth life. Finally, we
must face the conclusion that the mere power of communication has no
elevating effect in itself, otherwise these tribes could not have
continued to be ferocious savages. It has to be united with the Christ
message from beyond before it will really help us upon the upward path.
Before I left Wellington the spiritualists made me a graceful
presentation of a travelling rug, and I was able to assure them that if
they found the rug I would find the travelling. It is made of the
beautiful woollen material in which New Zealand is supreme. The
presentation was made by Mrs. Stables, the President of the New Zealand
Association, an energetic lady to whom the cause owes much. A greenstone
penholder was given to me for my wife, and a little charm for my small
daughter, the whole proceedings being marked with great cordiality and
good feeling. The faithful are strong in Wellington, but are much
divided among themselves, which, I hope, may be alleviated as a
consequence of my visit. Nothing could have been more successful than my
two meetings. The Press was splendidly sympathetic, and I left by a
night boat in high heart for my campaign in the South Island.