One day in July, 1895, I was perplexed by the receipt of a cable
dispatch from Paris in the following terms:--
Will you act? Consult Gould. Furber.
The dispatch was accompanied by the statement that an immediate answer
was requested and prepaid. Dr. Gould being in Cambridge, and I in
Washington, it was not possible to consult him immediately as to what
was meant. After consultation with an official of the Coast Survey,
I reached the conclusion that the request had something to do with
the International Metric Commission, of which Dr. Gould was a member,
and that I was desired to act on some committee. As there could be no
doubt of my willingness to do this, I returned an affirmative answer,
and wrote to Dr. Gould to know exactly what was required. Great was
my surprise to receive an answer stating that he knew nothing of
the subject, and could not imagine what was meant. The mystery
was dispelled a few days later by a visit from Dr. E. R. L. Gould,
the well-known professor of economics, who soon after extended his
activities into the more practical line of the presidency of the
Suburban Homes and Improvement Company of New York. He had just
arrived from Paris, where a movement was on foot to induce the French
government to make such modifications in the regulations governing
the instruction and the degrees at the French universities as would
make them more attractive to American students, who had hitherto
frequented the German universities to the almost entire exclusion
of those of France. It was desired by the movers in the affair to
organize an American committee to act with one already formed at
Paris; and it was desired that I should undertake this work.
I at first demurred on two grounds. I could not see how, with
propriety, Americans could appear as petitioners to the French
government to modify its educational system for their benefit.
Moreover, I did not want to take any position which would involve me
in an effort to draw American students from the German universities.
He replied that neither objection could be urged in the case.
The American committee would act only as an adviser to the French
committee, and its sole purpose was to make known to the latter
what arrangements as regarded studies, examinations, and degrees
would be best adapted to meet the views and satisfy the needs of
American students. There was, moreover, no desire to draw American
students from the German universities; it was only desired to give
them greater facilities in Paris.
The case was fortified by a letter from M. Michel Breal, member of
the Institute of France, and head of the Franco-American committee,
as it was called in Paris, expressing a very flattering desire that
I should act.
I soon gave my consent, and wrote to the presidents of eight or
ten of our leading universities and several Washington officials
interested in education, to secure their adhesion. With a single
exception, the responses were unanimous in the affirmative, and
I think the exception was due to a misapprehension of the objects
of the movement. The views of all the adhering Americans were then
requested, and a formal meeting was held, at which they were put into
shape. It is quite foreign to my present object to go into details,
as everything of interest in connection with the matter will be
found in educational journals. One point may, however, be mentioned.
The French committee was assured that whatever system of instruction
and of degrees was offered, it must be one in which no distinction
was made between French and foreigners. American students would
not strive for a degree which was especially arranged for them alone.
I soon found that the movement was a much more complex one than it
appeared at first sight, and that all the parties interested in Paris
did not belong to one and the same committee. Not long after we had
put our suggestions into shape, I was gratified by a visit from Dom
de la Tremblay, prior of the Benedictine Convent of Santa Maria, in
Paris, a most philanthropic and attractive gentleman, who desired to
promote the object by establishing a home for the American students
when they should come. Knowing the temptations to which visiting
youth would be exposed, he was desirous of founding an establishment
where they could live in the best and most attractive surroundings.
He confidently hoped to receive the active support of men of wealth
in this country in carrying out his object.
It was a somewhat difficult and delicate matter to explain to the
philanthropic gentleman that American students were not likely to
collect in a home specially provided for them, but would prefer
to find their own home in their own way. I tried to do it with
as little throwing of cold water as was possible, but, I fear,
succeeded only gradually. But after two or three visits to New York
and Washington, it became evident to him that the funds necessary
for his plan could not be raised.
The inception of the affair was still not clear to me. I learned
it in Paris the year following. Then I found that the movement
was started by Mr. Furber, the sender of the telegram, a citizen of
Chicago, who had scarcely attained the prime of life, but was gifted
with that indomitable spirit of enterprise which characterizes
the metropolis of the West. What he saw of the educational
institutions of Paris imbued him with a high sense of their value,
and he was desirous that his fellow-countrymen should share in the
advantages which they offered. To induce them to do this, it was only
necessary that some changes should be made in the degrees and in the
examinations, the latter being too numerous and the degrees bearing no
resemblance to those of Germany and the United States. He therefore
addressed a memorial to the Minister of Public Instruction, who was
much impressed by the view of the case presented to him, and actively
favored the formation of a Franco-American committee to carry out
the object. Everything was gotten ready for action, and it only
remained that the prime mover should submit evidence that educators in
America desired the proposed change, and make known what was wanted.
Why I should have been selected to do this I do not know, but suppose
it may have been because I had just been elected a foreign associate
of the Institute, and was free from trammels which might have hindered
the action of men who held official positions in the government or
at the heads of universities. The final outcome of the affair was
the establishment in the universities of France of the degree of
Doctor of the University, which might be given either in letters
or in science, and which was expected to correspond as nearly as
possible to the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Germany and America.
One feature of the case was brought out which may be worthy of
attention from educators. In a general way it may be said that our
Bachelor's degree does not correspond to any well-defined stage of
education, implying, as it does, something more than that foundation
of a general liberal education which the degree implies in Europe, and
not quite so much as the Doctor's degree. I found it very difficult,
if not impossible, to make our French friends understand that our
American Bachelor's degree was something materially higher than the
Baccalaureate of the French Lycee, which is conferred at the end of
a course midway between our high school and our college.
From education at the Sorbonne I pass to the other extreme.
During a stay in Harper's Ferry in the autumn of 1887, I had an
object lesson in the state of primary education in the mountain
regions of the South. Accompanied by a lady friend, who, like
myself, was fond of climbing the hills, I walked over the Loudon
heights into a sequestered valley, out of direct communication with
the great world. After visiting one or two of the farmhouses, we
came across a school by the roadside. It was the hour of recess,
and the teacher was taking an active part in promoting the games
in which the children were engaged. It was suggested by one of us
that it would be of interest to see the methods of this school; so
we approached the teacher on the subject, who very kindly offered
to call his pupils together and show us his teaching.
First, however, we began to question him as to the subjects of
instruction. The curriculum seemed rather meagre, as he went over it.
I do not think it went beyond the three R's.
"But do you not teach grammar as well as reading?" I asked.
"No, I am sorry to say, I do not. I did want to teach grammar,
but the people all said that they had not been taught grammar, and
had got along very well without it, and did not see why the time of
the children should be taken up by it."
"If you do not teach grammar from the book, you could at least teach
it by practice in composition. Do you not exercise them in writing
compositions?"
"I did try that once, and let me tell you how it turned out. They got
up a story that I was teaching the children to write love letters,
and made such a clamor about it that I had to stop."
He then kindly offered to show us what he did teach. The school was
called together and words to spell were given out from a dictionary.
They had got as far as "patrimony," and went on from that word to a
dozen or so that followed it. The words were spelled by the children
in turn, but nothing was said about the definition or meaning of
the word. He did not explain whether, in the opinion of the parents,
it was feared that disastrous events might follow if the children
knew what a "patrimony" was, but it seems that no objections were
raised to their knowing how to spell it.
We thanked him and took our leave, feeling that we were well repaid
for our visit, however it might have been with the teacher and
his school.
I have never been able to confine my attention to astronomy with
that exclusiveness which is commonly considered necessary to the
highest success in any profession. The lawyer finds almost every
branch of human knowledge to be not only of interest, but of actual
professional value, but one can hardly imagine why an astronomer
should concern himself with things mundane, and especially with
sociological subjects. But there is very high precedent for such
a practice. Quite recently the fact has been brought to light that
the great founder of modern astronomy once prepared for the government
of his native land a very remarkable paper on the habit of debasing
the currency, which was so prevalent during the Middle Ages. [1] The
paper of Copernicus is, I believe, one of the strongest expositions
of the evil of a debased currency that had ever appeared. Its tenor
may be judged by the opening sentence, of which the following is a
free translation:--
Innumerable though the evils are with which kingdoms,
principalities, and republics are troubled, there are four
which in my opinion outweigh all others,--war, death, famine,
and debasement of money. The three first are so evident that
no one denies them, but it is not thus with the fourth.
A certain interest in political economy dates with me from the age of
nineteen, when I read Say's work on the subject, which was at that
time in very wide circulation. The question of protection and free
trade was then, as always, an attractive one. I inclined towards
the free trade view, but still felt that there might be another
side to the question which I found myself unable fully to grasp.
I remember thinking it quite possible that Smith's "Wealth of Nations"
might be supplemented by a similar work on the strength of nations,
in which not merely wealth, but everything that conduces to national
power should be considered, and that the result of the inquiry
might lead to practical conclusions different from those of Smith.
Very able writers, among them Henry C. Carey, had espoused the side
of protection, but for some years I had not time to read their works,
and therefore reserved my judgment until more light should appear.
Thus the matter stood until an accident impelled me to look into
the subject. About 1862 or 1863 President Thomas Hill, of Harvard
University, paid a visit to Washington. I held him in very high
esteem. He was a mathematician, and had been the favorite student of
Professor Benjamin Peirce; but I did not know that he had interested
himself in political economy until, on the occasion in question, I
passed an evening with him at the house where he was a guest. Here he
told me that in a public lecture at Philadelphia, a few evenings
before, he had informed his hearers that they had amongst them one
of the greatest philosophers of the time, Henry C. Carey. He spoke
of his works in such enthusiastic terms, describing especially his
law of the tendency of mankind to be attracted towards the great
capitals or other centres of population, that I lost no time in
carefully reading Carey's "Principles of Social Science."
The result was much like a slap in the face. With every possible
predisposition to look favorably on its teachings, I was unable to
find anything in them but the prejudiced judgments of a one-sided
thinker, fond of brilliant general propositions which really had
nothing serious to rest upon either in fact or reason. The following
parody on his method occurred to me:--
The physicians say that quinine tends to cure intermittent fever.
If this be the case, then where people use most quinine, they
will have least intermittent fever. But the facts are exactly
the opposite. Along the borders of the lower Mississippi, where
people take most quinine, they suffer most from fever; therefore
the effect of quinine is the opposite of that alleged.
I earnestly wished for an opportunity to discuss the matter further
with Mr. Hill, but it was never offered.
During the early years of the civil war, when the country was flooded
with an irredeemable currency, I was so much disturbed by what
seemed to me the unwisdom of our financial policy, that I positively
envied the people who thought it all right, and therefore were free
from mental perturbation on the subject. I at length felt that I
could keep silent no longer, and as the civil war was closing, I
devoted much time to writing a little book, "Critical Examination
of Our Financial Policy during the Southern Rebellion." I got
this published by the Appletons, but had to pay for the production.
It never yielded enough to pay the cost of printing, as is very apt
to be the case with such a hook when it is on the unpopular side
and by an unknown author. It had, however, the pleasant result of
bringing me into friendly relations with two of the most eminent
financiers of the country, Mr. Hugh McCulloch and Mr. George S. Coe,
the latter president of one of the principal banks of New York.
The compliments which these men paid to the book were the only
compensation I got for the time and money expended upon it.
In 1876 the "North American Review" published a centennial number
devoted to articles upon our national progress during the first
century of our existence. I contributed the discussion of our
work in exact science. Natural science had been cultivated among
us with great success, but I was obliged to point out our backward
condition in every branch of exact science, which was more marked
the more mathematical the character of the scientific work. In pure
mathematics we seemed hopelessly behind in the race.
I suppose that every writer who discusses a subject with a view
of influencing the thought of the public, must be more or less
discouraged by the small amount of attention the best he can say is
likely to receive from his fellow-men. No matter what his own opinion
of the importance of the matters he discusses, and the results that
might grow out of them if men would only give them due attention,
they are lost in the cataract of utterances poured forth from the
daily, weekly, and monthly press. I was therefore much pleased,
soon after the article appeared, to be honored with a visit from
President Gilman, who had been impressed with my views, and wished
to discuss the practicability of the Johns Hopkins University, which
was now being organized, doing something to promote the higher forms
of investigation among us.
One of the most remarkable mathematicians of the age, Professor
J. J. Sylvester, had recently severed his connection with the Royal
Military Academy at Woolich, and it had been decided to invite him
to the chair of mathematics at the new university. It was considered
desirable to have men of similar world-wide eminence in charge of the
other departments in science. But this was found to be impracticable,
and the policy adopted was to find young men whose reputation was
yet to be made, and who would be the leading men of the future,
instead of belonging to the past.
All my experience would lead me to say that the selection of the
coming man in science is almost as difficult as the selection of
youth who are to become senators of the United States. The success
of the university in finding the young men it wanted, has been one
of the most remarkable features in the history of the Johns Hopkins
University. Of this the lamented Rowland affords the most striking,
but by no means the only instance. Few could have anticipated
that the modest and scarcely known youth selected for the chair of
physics would not only become the leading man of his profession in
our country, but one of the chief promoters of scientific research
among us. Mathematical study and research of the highest order
now commenced, not only at Baltimore, but at Harvard, Columbia,
and other centres of learning, until, to-day, we are scarcely behind
any nation in our contributions to the subject.
The development of economic study in our country during the last
quarter of the last century is hardly less remarkable than that of
mathematical science. A great impulse in this direction was given
by Professor R. T. Ely, who, when the Johns Hopkins University was
organized, became its leading teacher in economics. He had recently
come from Germany, where he had imbibed what was supposed to be
a new gospel in economics, and he now appeared as the evangelist
of what was termed the historical school. My own studies were of
course too far removed from this school to be a factor in it. But,
so far as I was able, I fought the idea of there being two schools,
or of any necessary antagonism between the results of the two methods.
It was true that there was a marked difference in form between them.
Some men preferred to reach conclusions by careful analysis of human
nature and study of the acts to which men were led in seeking to
carry out their own ends. This was called the old-school method.
Others preferred to study the problem on a large scale, especially
as shown in the economic development of the country. But there
could be no necessary difference between the conclusions thus reached.
One curious fact, which has always been overlooked in the history
of economics in our country, shows how purely partisan was the idea
of a separation of the two schools. The fact is that the founder of
the historic school among us, the man who first introduced the idea,
was not Ely, but David A. Wells. Up to the outbreak of the civil
war, Mr. Wells had been a writer on scientific subjects without any
special known leaning toward economies; but after it broke out he
published a most noteworthy pamphlet, setting forth the resources of
our country for carrying on war and paying a debt, in terms so strong
as to command more attention than any similar utterance at the time.
This led to his appointment as Special Commissioner of Revenue,
with the duty of collecting information devising the best methods of
raising revenue. His studies in this line were very exhaustive, and
were carried on by the methods of the historic school of economics.
I was almost annoyed to find that, if any economic question was
presented to him, he rushed off to the experience of some particular
people or nation--it might be Sweden or Australia--instead of going
down to fundamental principles. But I could never get him interested
in this kind of analysis.
One of Professor Ely's early movements resulted in the organization of
the American Economic Association. His original plan was that this
society should have something like a creed to which its members were
expected to subscribe. A discussion of the whole subject appeared
in the pages of "Science," a number of the leading economists of
the country being contributors to it. The outcome of the whole
matter has been a triumph for what most men will now consider reason
and good sense. The Economic Association was scarcely more than
organized when it broke loose from all creeds and admitted into
its ranks investigators of the subject belonging to every class.
I think the last discussion on the question of two schools occurred
at the New York meeting, about 1895, after which the whole matter
was dropped and the association worked together as a unit.
As Professor Ely is still a leader on the stage, I desire to do him
justice in one point. I am able to do so because of what I have
always regarded as one of the best features of the Johns Hopkins
University--the unity of action which pervaded its work. There is
a tendency in such institutions to be divided up into departments,
not only independent of each other, but with little mutual help
or sympathy. Of course every department has the best wishes of
every other, and its cooperation when necessary, but the tendency
is to have nothing more than this. In 1884, after the resignation
of Professor Sylvester, I was invited by President Gilman to act as
head of the department of mathematics. I could not figure as the
successor of Sylvester, and therefore suggested that my title should
be professor of mathematics and astronomy. The examinations of
students for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy were then, as now,
all conducted by a single "Board of University Studies," in which
all had equal powers, although of course no member of the board took
an active part in cases which lay entirely outside of his field.
But the general idea was that of mutual cooperation and criticism
all through. Each professor was a factor in the department of
another in a helpful and not an antagonistic way, and all held
counsel on subjects where the knowledge of all was helpful to each.
I cannot but think that the wonderful success of the Johns Hopkins
University is largely due to this feature of its activity, which
tended to broaden both professors and students alike.
In pursuance of this system I for several years took part in the
examinations of students of economics for their degrees. I found that
Professor Ely's men were always well grounded in those principles
of economic theory which seemed to me essential to a comprehension
of the subject on its scientific side.
Being sometimes looked upon as an economist, I deem it not improper
to disclaim any part in the economic research of to-day. What I have
done has been prompted by the conviction that the greatest social want
of the age is the introduction of sound thinking on economic subjects
among the masses, not only of our own, but of every other country.
This kind of thinking I have tried to promote in our own country
by such books as "A Plain Man's Talk on the Labor Question," and
"Principles of Political Economy."
My talks with Professor Henry used to cover a wide field in scientific
philosophy. Adherence to the Presbyterian church did not prevent his
being as uncompromising an upholder of modern scientific views of the
universe as I ever knew. He was especially severe on the delusions
of spiritualism. To a friend who once told him that he had seen a
"medium" waft himself through a window, he replied, "Judge, you never
saw that; and if you think you did, you are in a dangerous mental
condition and need the utmost care of your family and your physician."
Among the experiences which I heard him relate more than once,
I think, was one with a noted medium. Henry was quite intimate
with President Lincoln, who, though not a believer in spiritualism,
was from time to time deeply impressed by the extraordinary feats
of spiritualistic performers, and naturally looked to Professor
Henry for his views and advice on the subject. Quite early in his
administration one of these men showed his wonderful powers to the
President, who asked him to show Professor Henry his feats.
Although the latter generally avoided all contact with such men,
he consented to receive him at the Smithsonian Institution.
Among the acts proposed was that of making sounds in various
quarters of the room. This was something which the keen senses
and ready experimental faculty of the professor were well qualified
to investigate. He turned his head in various positions while the
sounds were being emitted. He then turned toward the man with the
utmost firmness and said, "I do not know how you make the sounds,
but this I perceive very clearly: they do not come from the room but
from your person." It was in vain that the operator protested that
they did not, and that he had no knowledge how they were produced.
The keen ear of his examiner could not be deceived.
Sometime afterward the professor was traveling in the east, and
took a seat in a railway car beside a young man who, finding who
his companion was, entered into conversation with him, and informed
him that he was a maker of telegraph and electrical instruments.
His advances were received in so friendly a manner that he went
further yet, and confided to Henry that his ingenuity had been called
into requisition by spiritual mediums, to whom he furnished the
apparatus necessary for the manifestations. Henry asked him by what
mediums he had been engaged, and was surprised to find that among
them was the very man he had met at the Smithsonian. The sounds
which the medium had emitted were then described to the young man,
who in reply explained the structure of the apparatus by which they
were produced, which apparatus had been constructed by himself.
It was fastened around the muscular part of the upper arm, and was
so arranged that clicks would be produced by a simple contraction
of the muscle, unaccompanied by any motion of the joints of the arm,
and entirely invisible to a bystander.
During the Philadelphia meeting of the American Association for the
Advancement of Science, held in 1884, a few members were invited by
one of the foreign visitors, Professor Fitzgerald of Dublin, I think,
to a conference on the subject of psychical research. The English
society on this subject had been organized a few years before, and the
question now was whether there was interest enough among us to lead
to the organization of an American Society for Psychical Research.
This was decided in the affirmative; the society was soon after
formed, with headquarters in Boston, and I was elected its first
president, a choice which Powell, of Washington, declared to be
ridiculous in the highest degree.
On accepting this position, my first duty was to make a careful study
of the publications of the parent society in England, with a view
of learning their discoveries. The result was far from hopeful.
I found that the phenomena brought out lacked that coherence
and definiteness which is characteristic of scientific truths.
Remarkable effects had been witnessed; but it was impossible to say,
Do so and so, and you will get such an effect. The best that could
be said was, perhaps you will get an effect, but more likely you
will not. I could not feel any assurance that the society, with
all its diligence, had done more than add to the mass of mistakes,
misapprehensions of fact, exaggerations, illusions, tricks, and
coincidences, of which human experience is full. In the course of a
year or two I delivered a presidential address, in which I pointed
out the difficulties of the case and the inconclusiveness of the
supposed facts gathered. I suggested further experimentation, and
called upon the English society to learn, by trials, whether the
mental influences which they had observed to pass from mind to mind
under specially arranged conditions, would still pass when a curtain
or a door separated the parties. Fifteen years have since elapsed,
and neither they nor any one else has settled this most elementary
of all the questions involved. The only conclusion seems to be that
only in exceptional cases does any effect pass at all; and when it
does, it is just as likely to be felt halfway round the world as
behind a curtain in the same room.
Shortly after the conference in Philadelphia I had a long wished-for
opportunity to witness and investigate what, from the descriptions,
was a wonder as great as anything recorded in the history of psychic
research or spiritualism. Early in 1885 a tall and well-built young
woman named Lulu Hurst, also known as the "Georgia magnetic girl,"
gave exhibitions in the eastern cities which equaled or exceeded the
greatest feats of the Spiritualists. On her arrival in Washington
invitations were sent to a number of our prominent scientific men to
witness a private exhibition which she gave in advance of her public
appearance. I was not present, but some who attended were so struck
by her performance that they arranged to have another exhibition
in Dr. Graham Bell's laboratory. I can give the best idea of the
case if I begin with an account of the performance as given by the
eye-witnesses at the first trial. We must remember that this was not
the account of mere wonder-seekers, but of trained scientific men.
Their account was in substance this:--
A light rod was firmly held in the hands of the tallest and most
muscular of the spectators. Miss Lulu had only to touch the
rod with her fingers when it would begin to go through the most
extraordinary manoeuvres. It jerked the holder around the room with
a power he was unable to resist, and finally threw him down into a
corner completely discomfited. Another spectator was then asked to
take hold of the rod, and Miss Lulu extended her arms and touched
each end with the tip of her finger. Immediately the rod began to
whirl around on its central axis with such force that the skin was
nearly taken off the holder's hands in his efforts to stop it.
A heavy man being seated in a chair, man and chair were lifted
up by the fair performer placing her hands against the sides.
To substantiate the claim that she herself exerted no force, chair and
man were lifted without her touching the chair at all. The sitter
was asked to put his hands under the chair; the performer put her
hands around and under his in such a way that it was impossible
for her to exert any force on the chair except through his hands.
The chair at once lifted him up without her exerting any pressure
other than the touch upon his hands.
Several men were then invited to hold the chair still. The performer
then began to deftly touch it with her finger, when the chair again
began to jump about in spite of the efforts of three or four men to
hold it down.
A straw hat being laid upon a table crown downwards, she laid her
extended hands over it. It was lifted up by what seemed an attractive
force similar to that of a magnet upon an armature, and was in danger
of being torn to pieces in the effort of any one holding it to keep it
down, though she could not possibly have had any hold upon the object.
Among the spectators were physicians, one or more of whom grasped
Miss Lulu's arms while the motions were going on, without finding
any symptoms of strong muscular action. Her pulse remained normal
throughout. The objects which she touched seemed endowed with a
force which was wholly new to science.
So much for the story. Now for the reality. The party appeared at
the Volta Laboratory, according to arrangement. Those having the
matter in charge were not professional mystifiers of the public,
and showed no desire to conceal anything. There was no darkening of
rooms, no putting of hands under tables, no fear that spirits would
refuse to act because of the presence of some skeptic, no trickery
of any sort.
We got up such arrangements as we could for a scientific investigation
of the movements. One of these was a rolling platform on which
Miss Lulu was requested to stand while the forces were exerted.
Another device was to seat her on a platform scale while the chair
was lifting itself.
These several experiments were tried in the order in which I have
mentioned them. I took the wonderful staff in my hands, and Miss Lulu
placed the palms of her hands and extended them against the staff near
the ends, while I firmly grasped it with my two hands in the middle.
Of course this gave her a great advantage in the leverage. I was then
asked to resist the staff with all my force, with the added assurance
from Mrs. Hurst, the mother, that the resistance would be in vain.
Although the performer began with a delicate touch of the staff,
I noticed that she changed the position of her hands every moment,
sometimes seizing the staff with a firm grip, and that it never
moved in any direction unless her hands pressed it in that direction.
As nearly as I could estimate, the force which she exerted might have
been equal to forty pounds, and this exerted first in one way and
then in another was enough to upset the equilibrium of any ordinary
man, especially when the jerks were so sudden and unexpected that
it was impossible for one to brace himself against them. After a
scene of rather undignified contortion I was finally compelled to
retire in defeat, but without the slightest evidence of any other
force than that exerted by a strong, muscular young woman. I asked
that the rod might be made to whirl in my hands in the manner which
has been described, but there was clearly some mistake in this whirl,
for Miss Lulu knew nothing on the subject.
Then we proceeded to the chair performance, which was repeated a
number of times. I noticed that although, at the beginning, the
sitter held his fingers between the chair and the fingers of the
performer, the chair would not move until Miss Lulu had the ball
of her hand firmly in connection with it. Even then it did not
actually lift the sitter from the ground, but was merely raised up
behind, the front legs resting on the ground, whereupon the sitter
was compelled to get out. This performance was repeated a number
of times without anything but what was commonplace.
In order to see whether, as claimed, no force was exerted on the
chair, the performer was invited to stand on the platform of the
scales while making the chair move. The weights had been so adjusted
as to balance a weight of forty pounds above her own. The result was
that after some general attempts to make the chair move the lever
clicked, showing that a lifting force exceeding forty pounds was
being exerted by the young woman on the platform. The click seemed
to demoralize the operator, who became unable to continue her efforts.
The experiment of raising a hat turned out equally simple, and the
result of all the trials was only to increase my skepticism as to the
whole doctrine of unknown forces and media of communication between
one mind and another. I am now likely to remain a skeptic as to
every branch of "occult science" until I find some manifestation of
its reality more conclusive than any I have yet been able to find.
[1] Prowe: Nicolaus Copernicus, Bd. ii. (Berlin, 1884), p. 33.