1933
Nov 16 - Dec 29
November 16, 1933
[Typed letter from Wm. Lyon MacKenzie King:]
"Between recent absences from Ottawa, and a slight indisposition, my correspondence has fallen much into arrears. This accounts for my not having immediately acknowledged your welcome and kind letter of October 31st, and the publication which accompanied it.
"I am glad you like my brother's book "Nerves and Personal Power". One has always to remember, in reading its pages, that my brother had not access to any library while he was writing the book, but that it was practically all written while he was confined to his bed and, in some parts, at the rate of only a paragraph or two a day. Had my brother been spared, he would, I believe, have made a considerable contribution to his profession. His two boys, who are now nearing twenty-one years of age, are prosecuting their studies - the one in medicine, and the other in electrical engineering - at Toronto University. I believe they will carry on their father's work in a very real way.
"I had not assumed that you had meant me to keep the copies of "The Daily Sketch". Indeed, you have been so generous that I feel I must be robbing you of a substantial portion of your records. I enjoyed exceedingly The Sketch articles. They gave me just the additional bits of information on the incident to which they relate, that I wished to have.
"Let me thank you warmly for sending on to me the copies of LIGHT of October 6th and 13th. I have read with exceptional interest your two articles on Spurgeon, and am glad to have them to add to my "Hamilton file".
"I wish to thank you, as well, for sending me Dr. Rennie Swan's presidential address, delivered at Manitoba Medical College a little over three years ago. I was glad to see that it contained the recognition it did of your research work. I have much enjoyed the address in its entirety. It does seem to me all-important that the work of psychical research should be given the kind of setting which Dr. Sawn has given it in his address; in other words, that those interested in promoting psychical research should never fail to emphasize that its results are evidencing the reality and truth of much that has hitherto been most baffling to human understanding, and accepted only on faith.
"Dr. Swan's address, of itself, is very significant, but I agree with you that its publication and free distribution to the medical profession, and to the public at large through Knox and Westminster Church, is not only an interesting but a significant sign of the times.
"Mr. MacDonald gave me some account of the developments of which you speak in your letter. I do hope that you have found it possible to complete the equipment, and that you are obtaining additional results. I have seen nothing which seems to me to be more interesting and in every way more worth while than the research work to which you and Mrs. Hamilton have given yourselves, not only so unselfishly and unreservedly, but with such exceptional qualifications and skill.
"With highest remembrance and personal regards to you both, and to Miss Hamilton and the boys. Believe me, dear Doctor,
Yours very sincerely,
W. L. MacKenzie King."
Dr. T. Glen Hamilton,
Kelvin and McIntosh Streets,
Winnipeg, Manitoba
November 17, 1933
J. MacDonald (medium); Lillian Hamilton; James Hamilton; Margaret Hamilton (recorder).
7:35 p.m. sitting commenced.
8:15 p.m. approximately sitting ended.
Sterge comes first, speaks briefly, greeting us, then is silent for two or three minutes. Medium gives a little cough.
L. H.: "Here's Stevie. I can tell by his cough."
Robert: "I ... I'm here now ... my cough is a sort of discrete thing, ye ken, just to let ye now I'm here. Ye ken I'm so much of a pussy-foot going around silently that I've got to let people know I'm here, else ye might lay me open. I've got to protect my friends, and so I've got to cough. Many have a step to know, but I've got a cough. I'm a real chronic."
L. H.: "It's not a real cough, it's just a hark back."
Robert: "It's a sort of bark back, ye might say ...(pauses) ... Now I'm better! (Speaks loudly and strongly and happily). There's more force in my tongue and sparkle in my speech. It's better ... but ye ken its just a touch of myself ...?
"Ye ken I'm very poor now, seeing I canna buy postage stamps, so I might as well keep on with the letter. That's the reason the letter's growing and growing, because I canna save money. And the more I write the more it will cost to send it. Ye'll have to lend me some money. I've been saving hard but things are against me.
"The truly intellectual writer of fiction is apt to take himself a little bit too seriously intellectually; he is also prone to criticize his work, to measure it out into so many neatly piled and rhythmical lines and sentences piled and re-piled again according to the best-known laws of story technique. In this, the curious observer will find, even though his examination be little more than superficial, that intellectualism, placed on the scales against imagination, is certainly on the lighter side of the pan. By intellectualism I mean perhaps the type of writer, scholarly beyond the normal and attempting to make a living in the field of fiction written for normal people. He tends from his scholarly training to put his technique on a pedestal, and he is forgetful of his imaginative faculties. Let us try to remember this rule: if your fiction, on second reading sometime after your final draft, seems to lose strength; if the story seemed to lose strength after a certain point of it has been passed, we may conclude that there has been a technical error; and by taking the skein of our yarn in our hands, going back along the thread, we find out where our material has become twisted, and at which point it lost strength, and where our interest began to subside or had a severe letdown. Technique is valuable to locate weakness but imagination very definitely is required to secure again that upward and exhilarating flow which we at first felt on reading the story. It is well to be critical. If we excel as a critic it seems to me we lose our power as a writer. Arnold so felt this that finally, when he attained the serene and lofty summits of the most frigid and rigid criticism he felt that life had gone from his pen, and truly it had ..."
Robert pauses and chats with us a moment or two, then resumes his dictation.
"Often we find a scene, or rather, I should say, curiously enough a writer, on rereading a scene he has written and which within his own mind he is thoroughly familiar with from every point of view, finds that he has made glaring omissions. Writing as he had and knowing the scene full well, he has felt his mind flow in character with the minds of his story-folk and he has thought out many of the things as they think them out and has put down their ultimate conclusions, so to speak, in their words, but such has been the feeling in the writer's own mind, so strongly has he felt and thought with his characters, that he has failed from the reader's point of view, and has omitted such material that, when it is read, the individual reading it fails to follow the facts, to feel and to see the same thoughts and the same sensations that undoubtedly were in the mind of the author as he penned the ultimate words.
"I am revolving about in my own mind, just like feeling in a dark clothes closet for a familiar but elusive coat, for an example to illustrate the point I have tried to make; and as I do that, I find that as I grope, my words here elude me, and rather than have you lead astray by words that might have likewise failed to put across their meaning, I shall hold my illustration in abeyance until such time as we, you and I too, may both seek, grope for and locate the elusive suit or the coat.
"Eh, that's fine! I'm feeling good about that! That's pretty good; I'm in better twist than I was before! ... I'm just patting myself around the shoulders ..."
"As he ( the instrument) gets more rested I can also do finer, more clear-cut work. I want more shading, more personality. I can see now that with practice I can soon write as I wrote, and I have no doubt I can do it continuously."
L. H.: "How did you happen to think of 'Fifteen men on a dead man's chest?"
Robert: "Leave it with me and I'll tell ye. I'll come to that for ye. I canna mix that with this kind of work. I'll be going now. Good night to ye, lass."
Sterge returns to close the sitting.
November 17, 1933.
Arthur: "He said it was a rare opportunity. You see, you and I are bound so closely together. Perhaps it is fortunate that I came over when I did. Not only do I wipe out the channel, but I remove the traces from his (medium's) mind, so that even in the subconscious mind of the medium, it is forgotten. Not only in the main channel but in the tributaries is my work. There, I am going. Goodbye."
Sterge: "And here I am back again! We are interested in bringing the man whose initials are H. H., but it might endanger conditions in the sitting because, oh, there are so many factors in it. It will be such a hard struggle, and your conditions are so fine. We would like to bring him except that we do not wish to bring the highly spiritual men into contact with the highly practical man. I thought perhaps you were wondering why we have not brought him before."
A new personality makes itself known: "I speak from the other side coming through your instrument in the séance room I visited. I congratulate you on your enterprise, your constant devotion, and your clear outstanding manifestation of your work in the written word. (L. H. asks if it is Myers). No, I cannot claim to be Myers. I regret, my hostess of the past, but he is beyond. I hail him as a scholar and a gentleman. I doubt you had the privilege of meeting him. I have had the privilege of meeting you. To know you is a sincere pleasure and gratification. It is gratifying to see the reward you reap as the result of genuine painstaking labor. Constant scrutiny of your work must be tiring, yet do not despair. Constant scrutiny is annoying, yet it is something we cannot dodge. Once we take an irrevocable stand we must face it. We face it with you. God bless you and keep you and aid you. May add my small contribution? Doyle is the name."
Arthur: "I am back; but I won't take long to clear up after this man. There are others waiting, but I think Sterge will not allow them to come tonight. I can see him with that look in his eye which betokens "enough"."
"We must allow always for the subconscious of the medium. It is in all of these messages you get - at least 30%. It is perhaps lower in this medium, but it is there. Yes, a good percentage of the message is from the subconscious. The ideas are ours, but the deliverance is from the medium's subconscious. That is why a good vocabulary is a help. The design is ours, but the brick is the medium's. And naturally, we have to submit to an un-shapely brick or an off-sized one. Sometimes the subconscious word-order is what we have to combat. I wanted to tell you this, for I am often closer than the rest. Now I must go. Good night."
Sterge: "I think we had better close now, so we will say 'Au revoir".
November 22, 1933.
Ada Turner; Ewan; L. H.; Mr. Reed; Mercedes; Dawn; W. Barrie; T. G. H.; J. A. Hamilton; Margaret L. Hamilton, Secretary.
Very bright lights appear.
November 23, 1933
[Letter from the MacMillan Company of Canada - mentions a representative by name of Loepky - business card of B. H. Loepky is attached to the page - he is in the Medical Department of MacMillan - the letter is from a Colin E. Henderson - offers to look at a manuscript of Dr. Hamilton's book.]
November 24, 1933.
Present: J. MacDonald (medium); Lillian Hamilton; James Hamilton; Margaret Hamilton (recorder); T. G. Hamilton comes late.
Mrs. V. Saunders guest.
8:00 p.m. sitting commenced.
Sterge now speaks after the gramophone record has played through once. He greets us all and is introduced to Mrs. Saunders. He speaks about gaining control of his instrument:
"I am inoculating the medium with non-interference serum. It works well. We would like to inoculate Dawn, but there is only one treatment for her - isolation from other controls. If you could get away from other controls, and readings, and such things, we could give her this inoculation, this anti-serum."
"And now, my young friend, story writing can be likened unto bridge-building, and I think we can follow a comparison all the way through and with great profit, especially if, as we construct a story, do we apply the principles, the knowledge, the vision and the care that is applied in the mechanical construction of this feat of engineering.
"As an engineer, first of all they must have a stream. There would be no practical purpose served to build a bridge across a non-existent stream; and so we, before determining upon writing our story, must have something definite, some unfavorable object or obstacle to cross. We cannot build a story across nothing; we must rear a structure which rises over obstacles. It must also be something that is in the public way and in the public mind. One would never consider, even for the span of a breath, the remote idea or possibility of building a bridge someplace over a stream where the public did not travel. It's got to be some place on our route, on the roads of life, to be useful, worthy and satisfactory.
"Now, we must visualize our structure complete, not in detail; but we must first of all have in our mind's eye a grand, glorious vision of the completed bridge, similarly, of the completed story. And having that photographed indelibly in our mind, we settle down with pen and paper to draw up our plans. And in our plan we must leave nothing to chance: we must plan and plot accurately every inch of material that is going into our bridge; every incident of the actual story must be in the story plan. We must, as an engineer does, compute the strength of our materials, weigh up the strength of this against that, test them for strength and reject the weaker; for, if our structure will stand, it be built for permanence, none but the best material can be used in it.
"We must decide where we will sink our piers - the solid facts - in which a story and our bridge is based. If we build for permanence, we sink to bedrock. As we view the facts on the surface they seem muddy, unsubstantial. As we dig lower we are in sand and clay, firmer; but if we wish strength and permanence we must go deeper and plumb the facts until our pier is sunk on the ultimate.
"Just as our bridge is built with raised cantilevers for strength, so at certain distances in our story we raise up a balancing structure to keep the story balanced evenly on its piers, to distribute the weight, to raise it to higher strength. These high cantilevers are the moments of great dramatic tension just as a cantilever in the bridge is the portion under stress and strain.
"So then we turn to the very girders themselves: they are the paragraphs in our story. Each has its section of the bridge and each is joined to the other sections and yet is separate. Each girder clasps the other, is joined to it firmly, and each does its part in holding the bridge. So each paragraph, though separate, links with each other one, and they combine for strength and cohesion. Each stanchion, each plate, is a sentence. And then, with red-hot rivets - words - we drive them home and make our structure secure. Only so do we get the complete and permanent structure; for, (and I draw to your mind again that we are building for permanence), many people will walk over our bridge, day in, day out, year after year, decade after decade, century after century, we hope, different classes of the human family, different types will walk across, and as they go through the story some perhaps will cross our bridge without a thought; others will pause a little, think, perhaps of the structure, perhaps gaze down on the river below. But as our bridge becomes older and older, people coming will pause, will examine critically, seek for weaknesses. Others will examine our bridge with delight, as one does old things that have endured. And both the severe critic and the admiring friend will find joy in our bridge because it has been well and truly planned, has been sunk to rock-permanence, has been brought to its finest points in strength and in beauty, too. It has withstood, or has to withstand (if it will remain a bridge of the centuries), the erosion of time, the frosts and winds of criticism, the hot summer sun of undue enthusiasm, and the countless wearing feet of the throng marching tediously on it. If it will stand up to all this it will be a timeless Bridge.
"So in like manner,(and I have tried for your benefit to interject explanatory sentences perhaps quite unnecessary), as I went along; I have tried to liken the building, or the creation of a story, to the building of a bridge; and this we know, that only the planned story, designed by the skillful designer and executed by careful and competent workmanship, with the best of tools and the finest material, stands the test of time ..."
"I think I can stand a rest now ... I'll try to talk now. I'm sorry I dictated so fast, but I was afraid of losing it. I carried through my ideas, but I want to go over it again several times, and remove several of the explanatory sentences, for they will not be necessary. I inserted them to make it more easy and clear. But I will revise it and remove any unnecessary explanatory sentences, but I will retain my ideas. I doubt if we'll retain the monkey story, but that's for a later decision. The wee ape-tale is only for yourselves, unless you want to use it otherwise."
T. G. H., who has just come in, is greeted by Robert, and we chat informally for two or three minutes. Robert then resumes dictation"
"Actually, though, writing a story is like any other fine feat of engineering, and it is the writer's business to treat it as such and to follow exactly the same common-sense rules that have been found invaluable to the workmen throughout the ages. It seems a reflection on the creative arts that they must be mechanized, but there is another way to look at it. Actually, only by mechanizing them to a degree, of course, are ideas translated into their fullest (?) power. Poetry, to be strong, to be beautiful, must have form, music must have form, and they are highly creative arts. So, too, must writing have form; and form in writing is a product of perfect planning and careful execution. One perhaps often hears it said "He dashed off a story." Generally speaking, if you read it, you'll dash through it, and you'll be dashed if you'll read it again! There is only one supreme commandment in writing and that is, write, and then, rewrite. If you want to learn to write, write. You may perhaps face ruin (?) though you strive, write, and as I have said re-write. But if you have tried earnestly, sincerely, to the best of your ability, striving always, without being obviously moral, to leave something inspiring in your work, so that he who searches may find; if you fail to gain literary immortality, you at least have achieved something in your ... ah, dearie me! ... ah, well, we'll leave it. I just went down like that ... and I couldna get back on it ... Ah well, it'll keep. I've at least giving you the enough to show my idea. It boils down to this, that earnest endeavor is the greatest part of fine achievement."
James Hamilton strokes the back of the mediums neck.
Robert: "Your wee laddie's helping me. That's brought me back. I was slipping ... Can I have the little lady's hand? (Mrs. Shand is taken into the circle). I think, however, I will have to go, because I can see there are others waiting to come, and I have given the major part of what I have prepared. You know, of course, I plan everything and prepare it before I come. I try to live out my own rules. That'll be all. I'll be saying goodnight, and I'm glad the wee lady came, and I'll be happy to see her again. Good night."
Medium is silent for about 15 seconds. Then Sterge speaks, and we chat, Sterge teasing T. G. H.. We carry on for almost 5 minutes, when another familiar control manifests. The medium becomes very restless, moves about, puts his hand on my left shoulder, and begins to speak in a loud boisterous voice.
Walter: "That was a damn good show we put up! Do you hear me playing? (Slaps table). I am your patron. I have taught her from childhood. She is beyond reproach now ... I am her inspiration!"
T. G. H.: "You just played on a steam whistle."
Walter: "I am a perfectly wonderful inspiration. I give lessons on the caliope. It blows with steam, and sometimes, when they haven't got enough steam, it's too bad. I wanted to tell you that I did that on purpose. I don't claim to be any inspiration but the way was there and it served my purpose and I used it. I screeched to high heaven! It's too bad I did it, but I sure upset him. (He is rather touchy, you know). It's all a dirty plan. (Medium stands). I can talk better when I stand up. Then I'm like a minister."
Medium now begins to whisper very forcibly; this whisper is strikingly similar to the Walter-whisper heard through dawn, and like the direct voice.
T. G. H.: "That's some voice you've got now, Walter."
Walter: "This is me before my voice broke and I was broke long before my voice broke ..."
"You know, I was what ruin I was leading Ham to, and so I saved him by making lights for him. I've invented the Stinson Safety Lamp and it's going to be a new thing in photography!
It will throw any kind of rays you like, up-and-down, backwards and forwards, right and left. One feature of my lamp is that it's not big enough for use (at present), but it'll grow. But if I can get it long enough, and you can get a plate good enough, you can take a picture of my lamp in the dark. But your photo plates aren't quick enough to get it yet."
T. G. H.: "How about getting Steinmetz to help you?"
Walter: "Steinmetz is working on a species of light now. I just thought of this the other night, and I could save you money on it ..."
"You know, Ham, I'm getting them all. I'm getting into my stride and if nothing happens to trip me up, watch me go! I'm getting two of them just like that! My progress has been better than before. You've got some good sitters now; but I just want to say that you're going to find a person from the old land that has not done you much good."
T. G. H.: "I think I know who you mean. One that's been here?"
Walter: "Yes. But I think Walter will help that. He thinks he's got an idea. Oh, I think I can do a lot there, but it'll take time. I think I've done well enough, but I'm going to get that woman! She's got good power! And I'm trying to develop that man so he can see things, like that other man you had before. You need a man to see. And I'm going to make that woman give power. And we are soon going to make you start checking up. I will tell you when I desire scrutineers once more and severe scrutiny at that!"
T. G. H.: "Do you want the same scrutineer?"
Walter: "I don't know; we will see. It is easier to work with one who knows but it is better from the point of value to change from time to time. Well, that's all, all, all! (Medium is seated). So long!"
Sterge: "Here I am back again ... we have concentrated on two or three controls lately and we only let them through. We find that we get better work done that way. In your larger group you may have more ... perhaps sometime soon we will let Arthur speak. He draws aside in deference. He sends his love and says he is aware of Jim's attempts to communicate with him, and he says to keep it up and he will talk to you. I must go now. I am happy to meet the little lady and hope she will come again soon. Au revoir."
Medium's visions concurrent with trance:
"As Stevenson spoke I saw him first sitting down and laughing. Then a monkey came along galloping. The monkey sat down and twisted his tail into a long curve. The monkey stole something and ran and jumped from tree to tree. It had bananas under its arm. Finally it came to a stream, and a chattering was behind it. It came to a tree, slipped, caught a vine and swung to the other side of the stream. Then I saw Stevenson sitting, laughing.
"Then Stevenson took me to a deep valley, not very wide. First we lay prone on our faces, spying down on the stream. People came to the stream, taking stuff across in barges. Then he began to sketch rough sketches and next I knew we were drawing plans for a bridge. Then we went down through the water and mud into the bowels of the earth, to bedrock. It seemed like a great cross-section of the earth. When the bridge was completed we walked across the top of it and it swayed in the wind. Then we went over the bridge years later when it was worn. I can recall people stopping to examine the bridge and many people admiring it. That seemed to be about all.
"It was like a moving picture screen cut in half. Stevenson was sitting on one side and on the other side these things were going on. There was depth to Stevenson as though he appeared as a normal man in three dimensions. But the monkey was a picture on a plane surface.
"The vision of the bridge was three-dimensional. Taking me to the bridge I was with him, but in the first picture we never seemed to leave where we were; he just showed me the picture."
9:40 p.m. sitting ended.
November 25, 1933
[Letter from Wm. Lyon MacKenzie King - Prime Minister:]
"Dear Dr. Hamilton:
"Let me thank you warmly for sending me the copies of LIGHT of the 27th and November 3rd, containing your concluding articles on the C. H. Spurgeon case. I have read them with an interest only second to what I experienced at the time you were so kind as to give me at first hand much of the information which they contain. I only wish that the readers of LIGHT might have the privilege of knowing you personally, as well as of reading of your marvelous researchers.
"I was glad to learn, in a letter from Miss Kathryn Ross, that she, too, is a friend of yours, and is so immediately interested in the research work that you are carrying on.
"I was in New York a few weeks ago and met, while there, Mr. and Mrs. Hereward Carrington, and also Mrs. H.C. Lambert. They were all much interested in the account I was able to give them of your work. Mrs. Lambert is about to bring out a new book, containing an account of much that she has received from Dr. Hislop (Hyslop?) She showed me the manuscript of it. I think it will be an important addition to existing literature.
"I hope you and Mrs. Hamilton are both well; also your daughter, and the boys. As always, I send my best of wishes to you all. With renewed thanks and kind regards,
Believe me,
Yours very sincerely,
W. L. MacKenzie King."
Dr. T. Glen Hamilton
Kelvin and McIntosh Streets,
Winnipeg, Manitoba
December 1, 1933.
Present: Jack MacDonald (medium) ; Lillian Hamilton; T. G. Hamilton; M. Hamilton (recorder).
7:45 p.m. séance commenced.
8:50 p.m. sitting ended.
Gramophone record is playing. Sterge speaks when it is finished, says "Thank you, that will be quite enough of the music. Good evening Madame, good evening mademoiselle, good evening, my doctor ... we will not keep you long tonight. The Scottish man has his bit prepared again for you. He asked me to talk first on controlling.
"He and I had the discussion about how we should try to picture it ... Supposing you were lying on your bed: you were desirous of solving an intricate problem in calculus. You are distracted from this problem by an infinite variety of things about you - family life, bird calls, house noises. It is difficult for you to settle down and lie on your bed and concentrate solely on this problem. This is a little how we work, since our difficulties are almost identical as those are to you, and intrude equally as frequently. Imagine yourself lying on your back, trying to train your mind along a coherent line of thought-action, perhaps moment after moment, hour after hour, without any distraction; that is what we must do if we would control. Perhaps you are interrupted by a knock at the door; this is an interruption to your line of thought. So too with us. An extraneous question asked us hinders our efforts at control. This shows why we discourage questions extraneous to our work.
It throws our work out of action; since only by concerted thought-action can we get the most out of our medium for the thought-power we are exercising. In order to reach the highest efficiency we must concentrate along the one line.
"Telepathy is a well known fact. Imagine yourself recumbent, concentrating on impressing the mind of some individual, sleeping or awake, in another room. Then perhaps you will catch a vision of the efforts we must make and of the possible chances of success we have. Very frequently, and especially with the control of the developed intellect, it is extremely difficult to communicate ... We prepare ahead of time, at least we who rate ourselves among the intellectuals, and we have had almost to go through a preparation on this subject, even of this evening, similar to the study of the mind, just as difficult as obtaining philosophical quiet. We have made it part of us, and extraneous things make it more or less difficult for us to carry on with our plan. Once the plan gets out of shape it is like a wagon with one wheel off - it runs, but most badly ..."
"Control changes. Medium coughs a little. Robert speaks:
"I'm there now ... I'm surging through to speak. I'll be speaking to you in a minute ... I'm better now, and I'm coming forward ... Did ye get my wee bittie last time?"
L. H.: "Yes, indeed. It was splendid, too."
Robert: "Well, I'm going to take ye on another similar jaunt. Ye ken, when I was a lad I was very fond of flying kites. I learned a lot about them, and I was thinking about them the other day. It was grand fun to fly them, especially in March when the wind was high ... It minded me of the days when knights had hooded falcons and sent them up after the birds ... I had my horse, quite imaginary, of course, and I kept a wee kite at my wrist, and when I saw a bird, I'd send my falcon up after it as they did in days gone by. It was really a cruel sport, but for me a purely romantic one ..."
"And now, it seems to me as though we might shift our schoolroom from the bridge and observe the kite, in our minds eye. Now -
"Stories are like kites: some of them, when you make them, are lop-sided. Try them out and they dive down to earth. But I think the particular comparison I want is a comparison we can learn by viewing our character, and characters, from the aspect of the kite.
"Suppose we give our central character of our story an extremely pleasant time. He is meeting with no particular difficulty and there is no resistance, he just simply goes on, and the story is pretty much at a level. Just think now what it would be like, if we took our kite and ran with it with all our might, down along with the wind. The kite would chase along after us like some gaily colored tail, but it would probably never rise above our head, if it rose at all; and if we stopped it would stop. The reason, even to the youngest child, is a perfectly obvious reason, inasmuch as the kite, being trailed down the wind, met up with no resistance from it and had no pressure on its surface which gave it the impulse to rise upward and to fly.
"Hence it would seem, if our kite is to rise at all, it must meet up with some resistance, upon which it can raise itself. This resistance can be obtained by running, trailing your kite in the teeth of the wind. Immediately the kite's surface is brought into contact with the resisting current of air, it begins to rise. It has strength to soar and it tends to pull upwards and to fly. Now, if we take our central character in a story, and instead of pulling him down the wind, turn him roundabout at the outset in a situation and then put a current of events blowing directly on him, and it is the writer's object to pull him against this current of events which are opposing him, what happens to our story now? No longer is our character weak, our story quite devoid of strength and interest: we have placed our central character in the struggle; and by presenting these struggles and by their presence, the drama, interest, and whole tone of the story rises, just as the kite did. It would seem then, that a story must begin to rise from the initial paragraph, or very close to it, that the characters must be facing some battle, moral, physical, spiritual; and the strength of a story is gained by the rise in the drama resulting from this struggle.
"These events come in gusts, like the wind. It is the author's business to guide his character or characters, as the boy guides his kite, running when the wind slackens, holding off a little more when it pulls, and all the while, step-by-step, having his story mount as one mounts steps, not perhaps in quite such a regular fashion, more perhaps with a jaggedness of the leaping lightning fork, always upward. Only so will you hold your reader.
"A story pretty well can be defined as an individual or character placed in combat or a struggle which they may or may not succeed in winning.
"That's all for the now ... I want to revise it also. While it is perhaps not as interesting as some of the others, it is perhaps one of the most fundamental pieces I have attempted in as much as I've tried to make bare what I believe to be the basic definition of a story. I'm trying to get at the real brainwork of this business of writing - what is back of it. I can present it in better form than I have, but I am happy to have presented this little bit tonight. You will find all of these pieces will gather up very well in the letter. I dash here one night, there the next, but we will present these pieces, not in their chronological order but in their natural order.
"I might be able to answer questions tonight."
L. H.: "When you control, do you feel yourself to be here in this room, or in your own condition?"
Robert: "At different times I am conscious of both situations, strangely enough. It is hard to define where I am at the present time. I am myself away from him, I am controlling somewhat remotely. At other times, especially when in prayer, lyrically, I am here in the flesh ... oh ... I'm tired..."
T. G. H.: "Do you know when you get through successfully?"
Robert: "Aye, I ken. When one pours oil into a hole one kens it spills over. This is true of most controls, especially those who plan their work as I do. I know every word that comes through. I do not even read it, but have it in my mind, as part of myself. I must impress everything so forcibly that I cannot read it. I must have it in my mind."
T. G. H.: "Then a mind lacking concentration could not be a good control?"
Robert: "The non-intellectual control has a much easier time as far as speaking is concerned. He does not have to watch so carefully. What we speak is what we have found previously, and that we have made part of ourselves."
T. G. H.: "Would it be difficult then to give the signal for firing the flash?"
Robert: "A thing like the flashing of a picture is something that is timed and planned. I know so little about the technical work that I would not care to be quoted, but from what I know, work of that type is as carefully planned, and depends upon the driving force of the control who may not have memorized his speeches as we do, but must have his work just as carefully planned. I'm afraid I must go ..."
Medium ceases speaking, but breathes heavily, as though exhausted. Then Walter speaks:
"It's Breezy Bill, the wind man. I can make breezes all over this room and blow out these damn lights! (He chats nonsense for two or three minutes, speaking in a hoarse whisper). I'm going to put some things through here, and put them through at the other circle, but under no circumstance must it be mentioned to him or anyone, because I don't want any miscarriage. I'll put it through in some little time, in two weeks or so. I know I can tell you, and you will be silent; but in the big group they talk. I'll put it through here first and then through there, and be-damned to them! Then, mind you, I may reverse the process sometime because it's good scientifically ..." (talks for a few seconds longer, then says 'So long')
Sterge returns to close the sitting.
[Note: The medium saw Stevenson, as a small boy, flying a kite. He also saw him looking out of the window at other boys flying kites.]
December 3, 1933
Results of Psychical Investigation
Augustine Couple Club
Introductory:
To cover the subject impossible.
To present it dissociated from our estimate of creation is to fai1 in its understanding
To present it partially in its relation to creation and life is perhaps to have it appreciated and understood.
Otherwise the facts in the case are likely to create incredulity and cause confusion.
The phenomena seem to stand apart from nature - often to be at variance with our ideas of things and our estimates of what is possible.
The limitations of man's knowledge very great.
We know now but an infinitely small fraction of what is to be known.
Our limitations are according to our senses - largely for the physical world
These limitations we have enhanced by the many applications of our knowledge of science.
Telescope
Microscope
Chemistry
Physics
Biology
Psychology
To man there is an ever widening of the field of knowledge. But it costs great effort and patience and frequently much ridicule by the sophisticated and the ignorant.
This subject is one of which the masses at large have had pronounced opinions which they express rather freely both for and against, - too often without any real basis for opinion.
Once facts are established we should at least have respect for them as being a part of creation which was said to be 'good'.
Who established the facts
Schrenk-Notzing
Geley
Osty
Crookes
Varley - Cable man.
Hyslop
F.W.H. Myers
Richet
James
How established
Experimental Methods
Accumulation of evidence
Generalizations
Difficulties encountered
Unwilling to face facts
Insist upon faith
Materialism
Emotions antagonistic
Telepathy accounts for all
Life's philosophy fixed for many
Dogmatism in religion
Our vision:
Clairaudient
Clairvoyant
Cryptesthesia
How do some persons know things in an uncanny way?
Is such a sin?
To some the appearance of the unseen ones are claimed to be an actual fact.
Mediums.
Notes Envelope
[In folder labeled General Psychic Notes]
Photography
Ordinary Plates
Exposures by Flash light
High Speed Plates
Infra Red Plates
Light a damaging factor
Red Light - tolerated
Infra red tolerated
Ultra Violet - Quartz lens
Movie Pictures
Multiple Cameras
Stereo Cameras
Photo Metric Measurements of Stereo Photos
Physical Phenomena
Table moving
Contact Table Levitation
Non contact Table Levitation
Bell Box Ringing
Various Other Forms of Telekinesis
Materialization
Amorphous Masses
Definite Mass Forms
Cords
Struts
Hands
Talking Machines
Fingers
Faces
Hand Writing
Mechanical Structures
Ships, etc.
Lights
The Mysteries of Teleplasm.
A rare faculty of mediumship.
Trance essential to teleplasm
Collateral contributors to teleplasmic production
What is teleplasm?
Foundation in the medium
Collateral energy from others.
Its consistency
Its material features or characteristics; temperature, weight, color, luminosity, morphology, duration, destructibility
Intimacy of contact with the medium
Personality back of its production
Purpose of morphology
Displayed in:
Cords
Knots
Strings,
Anatomical semblances
Functioning terminal
Fingers
Hands
Faces, etc.
[A handwritten note on Trance]
"A sleep-like state which comes on spontaneously, apart from any gross lesion of the brain or toxic cause - and from which the sleeper cannot be roused."
(Quoted from Lippincott's Dictionary)
An ecstacy; a state in which the soul seems to have passed out of the body into Celestial Regions - in medicine - catalepsy - a total suspension of mental power and voluntary motion - pulsation and breathing continuing; muscles flexible, body yielding to and remaining an any given position not incompatible with the laws of gravitation.
(Quoted from Collins New Dictionary)
December 6, 1933
[Letter from Rome - from a Mr. or Mrs. Barrett - handwritten - mentions a small circle - and an interest in psychic photography.]
December 8, 1933.
Jack MacDonald; Lillian Hamilton; T. G. Hamilton; J. Bach; Margaret Hamilton.
Sterge and Robert speak:
Robert: "Ye were a wee bit later in starting and curiously enough I suppose I'm of a temperamental cast that pounds the table if the dinner is no' ready, and so he let come first. I just was afraid I'd lose my thought if I'd have to stay waiting. They are so rarefied that they go stale if they are no' quickly used ... Well, I'll be continuing with my letter.
"Before we set down any more rules and regulations about the technique of writing a short story and the story of a longer type, let's take our hat in our hand and our walking stick hanging in the crook of our arm, and for a saunter. I want to take ye, as I took ye before, a long, long way back, this time not quite as far as the gorilla days of the Stevenson family, but a little bit this side of it, when men learned to speak. We'll roll back the curtains of time until we find men speaking, however it be, by a series of picturizations ... or a form of speech ... a regular and recognized method of conveying the thoughts and desires of one individual to another individual, or series of individuals. At that time there was one grave difficulty besetting the person speaking. Anything that he said endured only while he was speaking it, or while it was in bond in the memory of a listener. Then it passed away completely and was forgotten. So actually, word of mouth was the only common means of transferring thoughts which had been transferred into speech from one given set of time or circumstances, to another. Then I suppose (and I say suppose because we must allow our imagination full sway in this respect; since, as I have already indicated, there is no means of recording any such condition or happening) men came to use certain symbols for words or sentences. Perhaps if I had this lad here and wanted him to go and tell my wife that the youngest bairn had been eaten by a tiger, and that the tiger was beginning on the second and third, I would probably say: "Here is message one", and give him a stone, and so on. So some symbol or another came to act as a reminder to some other individual, of a spoken message. Gradually the symbols came to represent a certain given message to more than one individual, or a whole tribe, so that perhaps a whole tribe came to represent 'big man' by a big stone shaped like an 'O', and then they began to use those symbols, however crude they were, until man was able to present his ideas for the first time, from the present into the future. Thought, through speech, had another dimension, the added dimension of time, and from that message of men's thoughts their actions and their lives have been set down for us. Much has been lost, certainly ... But to hearken back to my actual letter, for that was just a little ramble for our interest ...
"I want to point out to you, my young writer friend to whom I have indicted this letter containing doughty and doubtful advice pertaining to the art of writing and the craftsmanship that underlies all authorship, that when one is choosing a story, a situation or a theme which one hopes, by the application of both imagination, tempered by intellect and judgment, to transfigure into a work of art that ...
"( Oh, I got my wires crossed! I'll be all right in a minute ... We'll just start as though we hadn't been following that far-flung sentence, and we'll correct it later.)
"One must remember that if one chooses a theme that deals particularly and only with a present-day problem, one's story, however well written, is likely to go whistling down the wind. The reason is obvious. Although the present generation may find a great appeal in it, the generations unborn will be untouched by it, since it is not of their time ... it appears to them as a dull and utterly useless piece of work. Since the actual art of writing itself, as we have found previously, is the transference of one's thoughts in both time and space in(to) the future, and into circumstances other than our present situation, we must choose them as if our story be a thematic story, which deals with fundamental human emotions. They are things which remain unchanged under any given conditions or circumstances. Fundamentally, human emotions remain the same. Stories of Negro slavery, debtor's prisons, explorations, etc., are not themes that are limitless, unless they are thrown upon the far-flung canvas of actual history, and that canvas relies so much upon the reader's imagination. We use the reader's knowledge of history and show him scenes like the flashing of the lighthouse, and his imagination fills in the gaps and gives a story power ...
"I think I'd better rest ... I was twisted ... I want to make my work as good as I can."
December 18, 1933.
J. MacDonald; Lillian Hamilton; Margaret Hamilton; Jim Hamilton.
Sterge speaks first; then Robert comes, coughing a little. Medium's head is bowed and he mutters something about "Pieces of Eight." Medium's head is raised and Robert says: "I'll be better when I get my breath. I had to run a long way. I was a wee bit late - I had an appointment ... I was forming some plans with Sydney ... and I want to warn ye ... the end's in sight. You can look up your teapot and see if ye've got pennies enough to send a letter. It's about time, for the teapot to come out of the window corner. The letter is about finished, at least the first sketchy writing is, and then we'll get down with the pumice stone and the chamois cloth and grind it down and polish it up. Now! (firmer voice). That's more like it! I can sit up straight and talk like a man in a man's world, and no' like a fool unable to be colorful, or wholly colorless individual. Do not be afraid of either the depths or the heights, for they are great arms which catch up your material and lift it to the heights. Write, write, write and revise. Polish your material and drain the last vital drop from it. Above all, never suffer discouragement to come between you and your art. Rebuffs you will find in plenty; you will have to cast many pleasures, many things from your life; but let us always keep in our minds the unalterable fact that relinquishment of extraneous material in our lives, however interesting it may be, is the only manner in which we may approach truly great art ... That's all for tonight."
December 18, 1933.
"... I've planned my work, as I indicated before, as one plans lectures at the University. I have divided it into different pre-holiday and post-holiday sections as ye have in your college lectures, and ye'll find there will be a change after the holidays. We will go on to another variation of the work here. I am telling you this so you will know I have planned it and if you look in your records you will find it was planned so in the beginning."
"There is only one road to great and creative writing, that is, by writing itself. There is actually no royal road to any ability in the art of letters without continual application to the practice thereof. Moreover, one must learn to write better as one writes, for no matter how much application one gives to the craft, no matter how many words he sets down on paper, he is not a whit better off if he does not learn anything from this practice and this continuous and continual practicing. That is, the writer, while writing, and while re-writing and revising, must analyze his errors, take mental note of them, and learn from his error, or errors, so that for all future time that incompetent or erroneous piece of work or material will never be woven into the pattern of his story at any time. The grammatical errors, errors in characterization, the use of impossible words and the improper usage of words and terms, once noted, should become as a warning signal to the ever-vigilant writer, whose mind, continually analyzing, sifting and examining his material, sees to it that these remain once and then for all, without the bounds of his written pages. One must see that to give an individual certain definite traits of character, one must always and invariably have that individual act, talk and think in accordance with the given traits nominated to him prior to any of his speeches, actions or words ..."
"Oh, dear me ... the far-flung sentence is slipping away from me ..." Becomes silent.
Sterge: "I just came for a minute. I think he will be back. I have come to sustain him, since he apparently needs it ..."
Robert: "Any advice which the writer who has achieved even the smallest manner of success would pass unhesitatingly on to a fellow - or would-be fellow scribe who is as yet not fully fledged in the craft would be to learn and write and write and learn. Write, write, and learn from and by your writing. Seek out your errors, learn by them and avoid them as you would any intemperate and dangerous habit. Put your best thoughts in your best words forward in every story. Choose your material from life and weave your stories out of primary human emotions. Do not be afraid of the romantic. Have no hesitation in writing of the fantastic, for be ye always sure that life in the human mind and the human drama has ever been more romantic and more fantastic than the most lurid ink that has flowed from the writer's quill. Make certain that your material moves, that it moves progressively from one point to another; centralize your interest on a strong character or a weak character, or characters, but make them strong in interest, if not the moral strength - a crop stronger, finer, more and more free from impure streams, from weeds, from infertile seeds and from malformed plants. Thus it seems to me that the writer who sifts his ideas, who goes carefully over them, sees that they are all of the one family in that particular field or story (comparing it that way) as the others, he sees that there is uniformity in the presentment of these ideas; he sees that all words foreign to the material being grown and developed under his supervision are deleted therefrom; and, moreover, as a good planter sows, the writer, the successful writer, sows his seed correctly to the acreage he has, and once he sees his ideas formulated and set down and developed, and noticing that certain ideas are too thickly bound up, that they hide and stunt his main ideas, like the good and cautious planter, he weeds out the weaker ideas, leaving room for the development of the stronger and more worthwhile. So then, as the ideas which so often clog up a story are removed, while one feels saddened and perhaps, as one drags them out by the roots, yet the resultant effect is stronger and more beautiful. Only by the absence of many of their weaker and clinging brothers do the stronger and greater plants have a chance.
"Now we'll stop for a rest. No, I'm no' tired the night; but I'll stop and have a crack wi' ye. And I want to give my apprentice a chance to rest. I'm no' such a slave driver as ye think.
We chat about various topics, and come around to a discussion of Christmas, about which Robert gives the following:
"It seems to me that when all other seasons of the religious calendar pass on one, Christmas holds a message for everyone. Easter has a grand message, but Christmas touches one more. Perhaps it is on account of childhood memories. Things that are sweet in childhood are still more sweet in later years, and bring tears to our eyes. Easter is more a thing of the Spirit; Christmas is a homey and family time and deals particularly with our feelings and those doings that touch us with a most familiar touch and a most lasting memory. Looking back, we can't recall what we were doing at Easter, but though we have passed our three score and ten, most of us can recall our Christmases. Christmas represents milestones in our lives, even more than the calendar milestones. The Scotsman celebrates Christmas religiously, but the New Year riotously. Christmas is like a hand on the brow, but New Year is like a pat on the back."
"I think I'll go now; I can't keep them down much more for good conversation. I've really done all the work I planned for the night. I'm going to do new work after the New Year. It will follow at the same literary lines as I have followed here with an attempt at something more serious and some attempt at verse."
Robert makes plans for revising the letter at the next séance, and after wishing us all a Happy New Year, goes quietly. Arthur comes and speaks quite formally for two or three minutes after which Sterge returns to close the sitting.
December 20, 1933.
Mercedes; T. G. H.; L. H.; Harold Turner; Dawn; Ada Turner; Ethel Muir; J. Hamilton; Mr. Reed; G. Snyder, Secretary. Notes by G. Snyder, given in part.
Statement:
Lucy/Florence
There is a picture (phenomenon) in the cabinet. (before the flash)
Statement:
Lucy/Mercedes
That there is a face in the teleplasm. (after the flash)
Intimates that the identity of the face will astonish.)
(Teleplasm in cabinet - and in it the face of a Chinaman.)
Important - signal for flash given by "Norman", a new medium. The "T'zan" teleplasm.
Mass and face. Norman (Harold Turner) get signal. Florence states face is in cabinet some time before flash. She adds that she sees the face. T. G. H. thinks he sees the face when the flash is exploded.
Florence: "There is a picture in the cabinet."
Walter: "That's the message. Wake her up now. (Red light used for three minutes, L. H.) "Did you see anything? You should all have seen. That's what I gave the light three times for. I would like to have some one in Ewan's place, as I want to try some new experiments." (Shouting). Bring some one! I don't care who, but put him in. I'm not going to have half a person! They must give themselves to me! I want a physical medium. I won't come! I do not keep tabs on all who sit in your circle. You've asked for a photo. I said he'd get that picture tonight! It's up to you, Lucy, all three of you!"
Then Norman gave the signal, "Fire!"
Mercedes control: "You'll be sorry when you see the picture! You'll curse Walter!"
Lucy/Mercedes: "There should be a face in the picture."
Cameras: Miss Turner's, Mr. Reed's; wide angle.
[Two photos of a mass with what appears to be a face in it. Caption: "Teleplasmic face of December 30, 1933. Said to be a likeness of T'zan, long known to the Hamiltons as a control of great power, manifesting through the mediumship of Mrs. J. Young, now deceased.]
December 23, 1933.
J. MacDonald; Glen Hamilton; Jim Hamilton; Alex Kent; Lillian Hamilton (recorder).
Sterge comes, banters with the boys.
Robert follows, tells the boys a pirate story about Irish pirateers off the Barbary Coast; scene later moves to Jamaica. Hero of the story is one Grenada Glen, lesser characters are Jamaica Jim and Alex of Alexandria. He suggests a story entitled "Sawbones becomes Crossbones".
Dictates:
"I might mention at some length a paragraph which I purpose to insert earlier in my letter. It is directed, or its thought is directed, more particularly toward that evil genius of young writers, redundancy. The inexperienced young writer, not knowing how to put his material in the best possible form, finds that in order to secure an effect he brings his forces to show two or more avenues which lead to this effect. This may or may not be a good thing, depending entirely on the story and the author's method of presentation. However, there is one unforgivable species of redundancy which, if the writer desire smoothness, clearness, and terseness, you must avoid as he would avoid wearing too many clothes. Let me give an example, a very simple one, perhaps, which may serve to illustrate my purpose: "The man climbed up the stairs of the lighthouse; he closed the door shut behind him." Now, in that rather juvenile sentence we have double redundancy: "The man climbed up". Now what do we do when we climb stairs generally? "Up" is unnecessary. To say an unimportant thing twice is to lengthen your story and publish its poverty to the world.
"And now for a final paragraph.
"I feel, in penning this letter to you, in which I have strictly avoided many controversial points of the journalistic and story-telling craft, I have indicated where many literary pitfalls lie, and shown you paths by which you may go more directly on. Work and learn, and learn as you work, is, and always will ..."
December 27, 1933.
Mercedes; L. H.; Dawn; Ethel Muir; J. A. Hamilton; Mr. Reed; T. G. H.; W. Barrie; G. Snyder, Secretary.
9:15 p.m. Sitting commenced.
9:32 p.m. Dawn: "Don't you know who I am. I am Rory O'More. I don't need permission to come. I will not stay; I don't like the people."
Florence: "There's somebody in the cabinet. There are lights inside and outside, all-around."
Mercedes (to someone who is trying to build up a picture): "You must try, friend. You have done well to come so far. It is true that you are seen by one of the sitters; but no one else sees you."
Florence: "There is a shape forming."
Mercedes: "Take power from all of the mediums."
Florence: "That's better."
Mercedes (Voice, said not Lucy's): "Bring your recorder into the circle for a little. Give me a little time and I'll say where he is to be placed."
Florence: "It is coming. It is cold. It is here."
Dawn: "I saw a cat run across your floor. That was good; do it again."
Mercedes: "That was very good for a beginning."
Walter/Dawn: "Good evening every body ... Light ... could you do it again ... light ... light (to the doctor). Do not count out loud."
Walter: "What did you see?"
T. G. H.: "Something light in front of Dawn."
Florence: "On the floor."
Walter: "Dawn has too many clothes on. Persuade her to wear just sufficient garments to be modest. Leave her chest and front part of her body almost bare. I can remove it if it is just over her shoulders. Give her an eiderdown around her shoulders, but let the front be lightly covered. This applies to all the mediums as well. Sun Yen, how did you like Tu Zang?"
Answer: "I have never seen him. I hear he is a good guide."
Walter: "Fine. You say you have never seen him?"
Answer: "I am not clairvoyant."
Walter: "You are. You have funny ideas. We will have to see if we can't let you see what you want to see. You have four eyes, and yet you can't see me. Two windows. Where is Sterge?" He will turn me into a fish, put scales over me, and let you see the phosphorous. I can't speak any louder. There are too many clothes on this medium. Now Lucy, you just wait. You want to talk, but have patience. She is very impatient and doesn't like to be told she has to wait. She is still bristling like a porcupine. I will let Lucy say four words."
Lucy: "Good evening, how are you?"
Walter: "I'll give her a chance to speak for herself. You can have the floor for three minutes."
Lucy: "I went to France to teach English, not French. I would teach you when you come here. You must remember who you are speaking to."
Norrie: "She's had three minutes."
Lucy: "How did you like your picture. It is not Walter. It is someone who is well known to you. It is a control that is known to the mediums in this room. Walter knows him, and knows who brings him here."
Mrs. H.: "We are very glad that the signal was given by a new medium.
Lucy: "Yes, that was wonderful. It was not the one that we intended to give you. Just one we pushed in at the time. He happened to be near the medium. The structure is still standing. It was a daring experiment. The time was so short. We were not prepared to give the picture. Florence was let into the secret. But this was not the picture intended. Our friend asked that your recorder be put in tonight because they are going to try him out. If you just get Walter in the proper mood he can do anything. Sometimes you come here and your conditions are detrimental to his work. You get discouraged, and the mediums get discouraged. Then there is a detrimental atmosphere. But no time is wasted here. The energy is stored. At some time or other you will get a result. Much energy was taken from the mediums around the cabinet; but you all supplied the necessary vibration. Before you leave, Walter may tell you who the picture was."
Walter: "I won't."
T. G. H.: "You will, Lucy."
Lucy: "I am not under any man's control. I am not subject to you. I will not allow him to talk to me as he does at times. The face is the face of Tu Zang, the guide who comes with Toki. Or rather, Toki is the messenger, Tu Zang is a powerful guide; and Toki comes along with him. They were with the medium Mercedes at the time of the picture, and we put them in. Toki was controlling Mercedes, while Tu Zang was in the picture. Toki is anxious that Sun Yen make a connection with the other medium that used to come here, because he is anxious to make a connection and do cross-correspondence. He won't come to disturb your work ... we were very pleased we were able to give you the signal to our boy here, and also a warning through Florence."
Walter: "So that the others may gain confidence in themselves. They are very self-conscious. I told you Ewan would come back of his own accord.
T. G. H.: "Could you influence a piece of wood that I could send in black paper to a man in the States?"
Walter: "Send a piece of the cabinet, but there is no value in the experiment. If there were any value you who are here would come in contact with the force. Send the wood, but there is no material value whatever.
T. G. H.: "In a few days we will have an infra-red light put up. Will you try it out?"
Walter: "Try anything once. Will it be continuous?"
T. G. H.: "Three seconds and then off."
Walter: "I know they are using it away from here, but they have not yet had anything of value. I don't know anything about it. But there are a great many here who do; and I will step aside. I have not worked with it; and I do not know whether it is possible to build a substance upright enough. I would have to make it denser. Could you take two pictures quickly with your new apparatus?"
T. G. H.: "Yes."
Walter: "Don't be impatient. I think you had better close your circle now. Many have gathered around, with the talk of some strange apparatus."
December 29, 1933.
Jack MacDonald (medium); Lillian Hamilton; Miss Edith Lawrence; Margaret Hamilton (recorder).
8:35 p.m. sitting commences.
9:45 p.m. sitting closes.
Sterge speaks first, greets Miss Lawrence and us all, and reminds us of his promise to bring the fairies. He says:
"Fairies are real beings, true live beings as you and I. They have many of the characteristics given to them in fairy tales, but they are really not human beings. I feel I would like to demonstrate you that they are real ..."
[ Photo - text - alleged to be of T'zan ]
[ Photo - alleged to be of T'zan ]
[ Photo ]
