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... | The following letter has appeared in the ''Globe. ''We recognise the writer and are pleased to see his story in print. We believe that what he states may be implicitly relied upon—but still, after the experience which he has had, we are a little puzzled by his declaration that he is “not a Spiritualist” Except on the Spiritualist theory how does he account for the phenomena which he has witnessed, and which seem to have come to him unsought? The ''Globe ''introduces the letter with the heading “Among the Spirits,” having, apparently, more faith in “Spirits” than its correspondent himself has. | ||
<center>TO THE EDITOR OF THE “GLOBE.”</center> | |||
{{Style S-Small capitals|Sir}},—There is always a difficulty in recounting a marvellous tale, especially if it describe phenomena relating to or allied with what is known as Spiritualism. The difficulty the narrator has to contend with is this—he is either totally disbelieved, or else silently put down as a lunatic—probably both. In spite of this anticipated doom I ask for a little space in your paper that I may tell the following story:—Last Sunday evening my sister and her husband, sitting alone in the drawing room, were attracted by a multitude of little hammerings on wall and wainscot Unable to divine their cause my sister came to me in another part of the house to tell me and ask me to return with her. After being in the room (which was brilliantly lighted) a minute or two I heard what appeared to be muffled blows on the mantelshelf. It was then I remarked, “Perhaps they are Spirits, I’ll ask them to tap on the violoncello”—which was leaning up against the mantelpiece. A few seconds after my request was made a blow was struck on the ’cello. I asked a second time, and again it was repeated with a louder rap. Intending to follow this mystery as far as possible, we agreed to conform to the conditions usual on Buch occasions, and so closed doors and windows, extinguished the lights, and sat in the dark close together, with a small table between us. The raps began to increase in number and volume, leaving the vicinity of the mantelshelf for the table. One or two flitting lights—exactly like small electric lights in shape and colour—showed themselves at the further end of the room, moved restlessly about, then disappeared. Presently we were aware that there was something in the room flying round, a “something” that sounded like a huge moth trailing against the ceiling with wiry wings; something that flew about emitting sharp little crackles of sound; a noise altogether peculiar and distinct, perhaps best described by saying it was something like the crumpling of tissue paper and the metallic little beats made by an electrical machine. After five minutes or so this ceased, and then the table began to sway backwards and forwards; we put questions to it which it answered with energetic thumps. The table, upon being asked to go off the ground, suddenly altered its movements, and apparently tried to rise off its four legs, but failed in every attempt it made, never getting more than three legs up at the same time. We noticed how persistently the table leaned in one direction, how repeatedly it touched the ’cello and scraped gently on the strings, which suggested to me the remark that “perhaps it wanted the ’cello;” on the table,” a quick confirmation of which was given by the volley of raps that followed the suggestion. The violoncello was lifted on, and placed in the centre; then after one preparatory attempt the table and ’cello simply sailed away as lightly as if they had been feathers. This remarkable action was twice indulged in, the table returning as lightly to the ground each time. During the swaying movement my sister had exclaimed, “I wish the table would play the piano instead of the ’cello and, as if remembering this, the table, after its second flight, at once dragged itself across the room, and, with the aid of the “finger end” of the ’cello, struck several notes on the piano, then returned to its original place as we resumed our seats. As we sat there, I holding both my sister’s hands in mine, her husband, sitting apart, suddenly said, “Don’t push the table on to me.” We replied that we were not touching it, or even near it. My sister then asked the table to come to her, which it did at once, jerking itself afterwards on to me, and then going away of its own accord. We sat two hours, the whole of which time, from the first minute to the last, these strange occurrences were taking place. Afterwards, at supper, in another room, the taps continued faintly on the table. The next evening we sat again, but in another place— the house of my brother-in-law, a couple of miles away from the scene of the previous evening. Here also the muffled blows were repeated, and upon our asking “if the object that flew about would return,” a faint shadowy light appeared on the edge of a picture frame near, flickered, and then grew stronger, condensed itself apparently, and then to our astonishment, a brilliant purple white light appeared of a circular form, with a centre of light brighter still, looking and glistening like a beautiful jewel. Tins lasted for ten minutes, and though we sat for some time afterwards, neither the light nor the raps returned. It is a year ago this month since I made some charcoal drawings of two unknown faces that appeared to myself and some friends sitting in a darkened dining-room, an account of which I forwarded to you, and which you were kind enough to insert. I then stated, as I do now, that I not a Spiritualist, and cannot by any possible means account for these phenomena, which I have here truthfully described I am, sir, yours faithfully, | |||
{{Style P-Signature in capitals|C. J. L.}} | |||
3, Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, | |||
Marylebone-road, W., Sept. 22. | |||
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