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Timeless Tuesday – March 2014

Tuesday March 25, 2014

Chicago Tribune 08/01/1909

It is interesting to learn that the term “ghost” wasn’t a PC term in the early 1900’s amongst theosophical persons.  When you read this article, do let me know if you got the same impression that the disembodied omnibus man must have been a randy embodied man before death.  There is something sublimely creepy to me about his  reported behavior on the omnibus after “shedding his flesh” and taking his last ride to the cemetery.  I have to say, the article switched gears rather quickly and the end really has nothing to do with the beginning (at least to me it doesn’t).  But when did a search for information on Annie Besant, I understood a little better about the gear switch to the “intolerable industrial system”.Annie Besant

 

Chicago Tribune edition 8/1/1909 pg 2

PLEASE DON’T SIT ON GHOST 

You’ll Hurt Him and May Shatter Incorporeal Romance 

HE FEELS, EVEN AS YOU AND I 

Annie Besant Encourages Report Who Would Interview Spook 

New York, July 31 – (special) – Mrs. Annie Besant, president of the Theosophical society, in the gown of pearl gray spook color recognized by those who talk with ghosts, arrived today by the Philadelphia from Southampton.

She was a bit fatigued by the voyage, which was impeded by fog, and did not talk to reporters on the pier. At her hotel, however, she told all about what theosophy is going to do toward solving social, economic, spiritual, and other problems that heretofore have obfuscated the scientists and most other folks.

She saw no specters even in the mists off Newfoundland banks; in fact, she said she did not see why ghosts – and she remarked that she does not use the term herself, as she regards it as impolite, but merely repeated it because the reports had used it – should stay on the ocean even though when in the flesh they met physical death there. For “ghosts” she would prefer to use “disembodied man or woman,” and she had seen them. O, dear, yes, hundreds of them!

Chance for Ghostly Interview 

“I should like to be able to see a ghost and interview him,: remarked a wistful young reporter. “That would be a great scoop!”

“I expect you may,” the priestess said with a confident smile. “I met one in a casual sort of way in London before I left. He was abrupt, which indicated that he had not been long on the other side.”

Mrs. Besant intimated that the ghosts of experience are much cleverer than the new made spirits accustomed to ghosting around the material world and getting into all sorts of trouble.  The ghost she met in London had had a passion for riding in omnibuses which he was unable to get rid of after he had taken what a large part of the world believe as a man’s last ride – that to the cemetery. This ghost came back to London to enjoy the omnibus.

It takes a high class ghost to long for the pleasures of temporal life when he slips away from his skin and bones. The omnibus ghost recognized Mrs. Besant the moment he saw her, and thought she might be able to help him out of his troubles. He is so new to his invisibility that he has not reached the condition of appreciating it.  When she sits in the omnibus he does not keep in mind that persons with all their clothes and flesh on are unable to note that he is occupying a seat, so they sit right down on him.

Spoiled a Nice Flirtation 

Although The ghost has not paid his fare, being a mere deadhead, so to speak, he has feelings. To be sat on when you have fixed yourself comfortably in a seat next to a sweet young creature you may wink at and admire to the limit without being called down is pretty rough on a ghost. You not only rumple his disposition but you muss up his incorporeal being.

The ghost explained to Mrs. Besant that persons who sat on him went “right through” his diaphanousness, as it were. There has been an impression that a ghost might receive a sword clear through the body and smile, but the latest report from the fraternity shows that material things may hurt the immaterial. Mrs. Besant did not tell what advice she gave the rumpled shade of the omnibus man.

Mrs. Besant said she did not think there were any distinctively sea ghosts. The disembodied spirits wandered where they pleased, invisible except to the clairvoyant eye. Children are the best ghost seers, because their nervous systems are more delicate than those of grown people.  The reason so many children are frightened at night is that they actually see ghosts. Mothers should not scold or laugh at a child that sees ghosts. More and more children are becoming endowed with clairvoyant power, and eventually the race will evolve a breed that can see things that the grosser minds are unable to take in.

Great Light from California

 Mrs. Besant said it was not true that she had said her soul was under control of the spirit of Mme. Blavatsky. Mrs. Besant is frequently in communication with her former teacher, who approves her pupil’s methods. There would be a new leader, a great teacher, born into the world to lead the people to the idealism that would save society, said Mrs. Besant. Everything is tending to the ideal rather than the material. A great light will come out of California, which has had a larger number of clairvoyants that any other place in the world.

The clairvoyance of the Californians, Mrs. Besant said, is due in part to climatic conditions – showing that  the disembodied may be affected by locations – and in part to a mixture of the races.  The theosophical movement is the herald of the change to the new order from the old.  Believers of all creeds are welcome in the cult, which embraces Christians, Mohammedans, Buddhists, Christian Scientists, and sectarians of all sorts.

Industrial System “Intolerable” 

Mrs. Besant characterized the present industrial system as “intolerable.” The change to a better system would come through the “self sacrifice of the wealthy and cultured.” Unless they set to work to create a change which would be evolutionary, the system might be changed by force from below. This would be disastrous. The profit sharing plan is working toward a betterment of systems. When suffering is abolished, revolution will cease.

 

Tuesday March 18, 2014

Medmenham Abbey aka Hell Fire ClubEvery week, when I write up the Timeless Tuesday post, some witty (or what I hope is witty) commentary comes to mind as I’m reading and doing the transcription, and I just go with it. This week’s article was no different, or so I thought.  Given the subject, as I started typing, all I could hear in my head was “Thank goodness they saved Candleshoe!” (People my age and older will totally get that reference).  You have to understand,  Candleshoe is one of my ALL time favorite Disney movies and I pretty much know it by heart.  Imagine my great surprise, delight, AND dismay when I got the the section of the article talking about Stoke Park being sold. Stoke Park was where the monument of Thomas Gray was erected.  Why is this significant to my thoughts of Candleshoe?  If you remember, in the film one of the clues to finding Captain St. Edmund’s pirate treasure was a reference to the poem “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”  written by none other than Thomas Gray.  For those non Candleshoe fans, this article talks about Hell Fire Club, which any fan of any of the ghost hunting shows knows about. See? Something for everyone on Timeless Tuesday!!

San Francisco Chronicle edition 11/21/1920 pg. 3

 Where Will These Poor Ghosts Live Now?

 Going! Going! Gone! Cries the Heartless Auctioneer Selling off England’s AncientHauntedCastles and Mansions Which are Being Demolished to Make Way for Modern Improvements

 By Joseph H. Appelgate

The attention of the British Society for Psychical Research has been directed toward the ruthless demolition of various ancient manor houses in England and Scotland where, for many years, the nocturnal wanderings of old established family ghosts have been the subject of close scientific investigations and report.

The immediate problem confronting the society, and regarding which various members are considerably perturbed; is: “What is going to happen to the ghosts when their abiding places are no more?” Family ghosts, it is declared, are by no means of a wandering disposition. Having established a reputation by haunting one particular house, they stay there.  Some ghosts, as ancient family legends inform us, have haunted one house for centuries, never appearing anywhere else.

And now that many such haunted houses are being auctioned, sold and torn down, what will the poor ghosts do? They may find new homes to haunt, modern skyscrapers, apartment houses, for instance; but there will not be any secret passages in which to clank chains, nor ivy-clad turrets to parade around, and no mysterious windows to flit across in the moonlight. If they are going to have new homes to haunt some of the ghosts may come to America. It is an interesting subject from beginning to end, and the British Society for Psychical Research is considerably wrought up over it.

Sherrard House, in Eltham, ancestral residence of the famous botanist, gave up its secret when workmen, now employed in razing it, came upon a stairway, the existence of which was unknown. Entrance could be made to this stairway by swinging back a doorway, successfully concealed in a wall, which was operated by a button. Superstitious ones say that when the last board of the staircase had been taken away, there came a rustling breath, a sigh of ineffable satisfaction, as if the spirit, constrained for centuries, at last had found its freedom.

 A Curse of Drowning

Similar tales are told of Drayton Manor, home of the great Sir Robert Peel, just sold to a man who intends to demolish it, it is reported. Famous for its Gainsboroughs and its Lawrences and its magnificent jasper mantelpiece, gift of Russian royalty, it attracted thousands of tourists each year, to whom natives of the countryside, with many waggings of heads and in hushed voices, told of an “old lady in black” who, always on the eve of a death in that section of the country, was seen to stalk, with wringing of hands, along a little lane not far from the manor. Will she be gathered back into the cerements she burst if modern buildings cover the very spot her ghostly feet have been reported to have trod?

Could a ghost be drowned out, be driven away by inundation of the place it haunts? Members of the Psychical Society have had this puzzling question put up to them as an aspect of the situation which may result from the razing of Derwent Hal, in Derwent Valley, Derbyshire, which must be sacrificed to make room in the valley for a reservoir to supply the growing population. Since 1672 this famous house has reared its gabled peaks. It was built by the Balguys. Will what ghosts there may be here be drowned in the submersion of the valley?

Medmenham Abbey, which has just been sold, will best be remembered as having been the home of the infamous 18th century Hell Fire club “the Monks of Medmenham.” These “monks” were under the leadership of Sir Francis Dashwood, and included in their number Lord Sandwich, John Wilkes, the great Radical and patriot, and Thomas Potter, the son of an Archbishop of Canterbury.  Their riotous behavior and scandalous orgies were condemned throughout the whole country. The abbey in which they met received its charter from King John over 700 hears ago, but the old building was pulled down at the dissolution of the monasteries, and only one archway and a pillar remain of the original edifice. The present Medmenham Abbey, which has for years been owned and occupied by Sir Douglas Dawson, stands on a beautiful stretch of the Thames, near Marlow. From the abbey beautiful views of the surrounding country may be obtained.

Then there is Battle Abbey, Hastings, said to be under a curse of drowning. It, too, has just been sold. Many a weird tale has been told about the strange malediction, an utterance of the last abbot, which called down death by drowning on all those who dwelt within its walls after it passed into the possession of the Brownes upon order of the uxoricidal Henry VIII. Strangely enough, death by drowning has been the fate of many who lived there.  The most recent was Mrs. Hubert Beaumont, eldest daughter of Michael Grace, brother of W.R. Grace, former mayor of New York City, lessee of the abbey. Her death followed that of Lady Webster, from whose husband Michael Grace rented it.

What augurs the reappearance reported at WindsorCastle of the phantom of queen Elizabeth, may are asking. Twenty years ago there was said to have been a similar visitation. Carr Glynn, an officer of the Grenadier Guards, saw it and declared it vanished through a certain part of the wall of the room in which he beheld it. Investigation showed that three centuries before there had been a door, since sealed, at that very spot. That is the structure where the ghosts of the quarrelsome but beautiful Duchess of Cleveland, the saucy-tongued Duchess de Masarin, and the unhappy Catherine Howard, slain by Henry VIII., are said to have been seen. The last named woman, it was reported by alleged witnesses, ran through the corridor, hair streaming behind, as she did one day when she escaped from her guards and rushed in to beg for her life from her royal husband.

The early history of England was practically written around events which happened in castles and manors recently sold.  In addition to those named above, many others have changed hands. Among them are: Pembroke: the “cradle of the Tudors,” where the first Tudor was born; Fineshade Abbey in Northamptonshire, built partly of stone taken from the hall where Mary Queen of Scots was executed; St. Osyth’s priory in Essex, erected in the early part of the 12th century; Abbey House, Abingdon, and the Sutton Courtenay Manor, where the first “rent kick” against profiteering landlords was voiced by tenants; Quenby House in Leicestershire, where Stilton cheese was first made; the Stoke Park estate, home of John Penn, where the monument to the Poet Gray was erected; the Great House in the town of Buford in the Cotswolds, of literary memories, with Samuel Crisp and Fanny Burney as one-time residents; Snowre Hall, where Charles I. found asylum for the few days, probably the place described by Dumas in his D’Artagnan romances dealing with that unfortunate King; Oldham Castle, where David Bruce was taken prisoner in 1346, and the old Castle of Skenfrith. All have changed owners. Many may have been razed. Most legends about them involve apparitions. What will become of these ghosts when the places they haunt will have been destroyed?

Violet Tweedale, the English writer whose recently published book “Ghosts I have Seen,” tells of her many exciting experiences with ghosts in haunted houses, has this to say of a visit she paid with her father to Broughton Hall, a fine old manor house on the outskirts of Edinburgh, Scotland, bearing the reputation of being badly haunted:

“It was in November,” recites Mrs. Tweedale, “dry, but wild and bitterly cold. Billowy white snow clouds scudding before a brisk north wind threw us alternately into light and darkness, as they covered and uncovered the face of the full moon. Father and I emerged from our house about half-past nine, and had reached the back of Broughton Hall. The house was shrouded in darkness and dead silence, every blind was close drawn, and the suggestion was one of utter emptiness.

‘My father and I were walking apart, I being right under the shadow of the walls, whilst he was in the middle of the paved court, which had neither hedge nor walls, but met the edge of the field running up to it.

“Suddenly I heard him whisper, “Hush!” though we never did utter a word whilst close to the house. His arm was pointing in front of him. I stared ahead and then I saw, clearly lit by the moon, a woman who had apparently just rounded the corner of the house. She was running hard, straight toward us, and her feet made no sound on the round cobble stones.

“Terror suddenly seized me, and I darted across to my father, and got well behind him, seizing him firmly around the waist. The woman came on, rushing wildly.

Pursuit of a Ghost

“She had nearly reached us, and I was almost thrown over as my father faced her, and backed to allow her to pass. I peeped round him and saw a woman, ghastly pale, and distraught-looking, clad in a white nightdress. Two strands of black hair streamed out behind her, and her bare arms were outstretched in front.

“In a flash she had passed, an absolutely silently, and I found myself lying on the ground,, alone, and my father vanishing in hot pursuit.

“Needless to say, I very quickly picked myself up and joined the chase. Terror lent me wings, and in a minute or two I came up with him, standing breathless by the gate.

“ ‘Vanished into thin air just as I reached her. That’s always the way. You can’t catch them,’ he said.”

Dr. Paule Joire, professor of the Psycho-Physiological Institute of France, in his book,, “Psychical and Supernormal Phenomena,” describes doings in a haunted wine and spirit shop at No. 6 Via Bava, Turin, as follows:

“. . . First of all, a vessel containing some liquor, which was on the kitchen table, overturned of its own accord; then other vessels were thrown down and broken, and then began a mad dance, in which the furniture, saucepans and all kinds of things took part.

“Fumero’s wife (Fumero was the proprietor) fainted away “through fright”. . . . In the presence of several people tables, chairs and utensils danced. Some garments were thrown down from the upper to the lower chamber and damaged. They were taken back . . . and thrown down again with greater violence by an invisible hand. . . .”

Prof. Joire adds that the objects were free of wires or strings.

 

 

Tuesday March 11, 2014

Washington Post 6/11/1916

This weeks article features one of our favorite things, gun toting spook hunters!! One of the interviewees unknowingly decided that spooks would be more comfortable on Gilligan’s Island (which begs the question were there other people marooned there before The Professor, and also makes me wonder if they would be scared of his “man’s game” of a coconut radio). It also made me interested in just what “patch pockets” on a holster were.  Surely this is the reason they failed to perform at a house that has been deemed “old” and “reliable” and “giving of satisfaction”

Washington Post edition 06/11/1916 pg. 2

 

Ghosts Failed To Perform

 Party with Searchlights and Automatics Waited in Vain for the Spook to Appear

 (Kansas City Star)

 The Haunted House of Dade County, Missouri, is one of the best known institutions in the Ozarks. It has competitors, of course, as every thriving concern has, but somehow the rivals never make much of a showing.  The DadeCounty house is old and reliable. It has been haunted since 1861, and for more than 50 years has been giving satisfaction.

Among the natives it is regarded with the highest respect. Ask them about it and they will shy. If the question is put at night they will shiver. They have heard too much to treat the subject lightly.

Said one native son when pressed for information:

“Well, stranger, I hearn of a lot of people who tried to stay in that house all night, but I never hearn of any that ever done it.  There was 14 that went in automobiles last week, and they got run out. Everybody that goes out there just naturally gits up and leaves, and they don’t stop to pick no daisies along the road, nuther.”

The house is on the old Guy Clopton homestead, which was settled in 1834. There are three possible ghosts that may be responsible for the evil reputation of the place, but it is generally suspected that it is the spirit of a blind man who lived in the house and who was murdered near by in 1861 that causes all the commotion. Fifteen or twenty years ago a woman living in the neighborhood lost her reason, ran to the house one night and from there scrambled down the bluff to the Sac River, which is within a hundred feet of the house, and plunged in. she was drowned. Another story is that a pack peddler stopped at the house one night years ago, and that he was never seen afterward, although his pack was found.

Within the last few months a number of the country papers have been printing stories about the house and the terrible experiences of persons who have dared the ghost in his lair. A Springfield paper gives a first hand interview with one man from Ash Grove, who, with five others, attempted to spend the night there.

“Of course, we were unbelievers in ghosts before we went,” the narrator said. “We changed our minds before we got back. The performance started a bout midnight and we stayed until 12:20. Strange noises could be heard upstairs as if people were walking and talking. We went up to investigate and our light went out from some unknown cause. Finally we got it started again, but could find no trace of spooks.

“We went downstairs, but had no more than reached the floor below when the performance set up again. This time the footsteps were heard coming down the stirs. We watched closely, but no one could be seen, although the footstep had apparently passed on down and out toward the river.  Within a very few minutes we heard cries of a woman screaming down there. That was when we left. We do not pretend to explain this, but ask the nonbelieving to come and see for themselves whether there is anything in it or not.”

When night falls the fear of ghosts seems to be in the air. Outside of the town the hills are dark and silent. Perhaps the average Ozark man has plenty of physical courage. But he is afraid of anything that verges on the supernatural.

There is another class, however, in those hills, and they spring from a sturdy stock. They may have lived in the hills all their lives and they may be deficient in some branches of learning, but they have gentility, and a look into their eyes reveals their steady nerves.

In Everton a driver was found who would make the night trip. The hotel proprietor there arranged it, telling the driver that the car was bound for a fox hunt. Otherwise, he said, he wasn’t sure about getting the car. Then the proprietor and his son decided to go along, too. It happened the father was an authority on the place.

He had lived in the neighborhood all his life. The house had been haunted ever since he could remember. Years ago it was so bad, but for 20 years past no one had been able to live in the house. Only last week six pale-faced men came to his place for breakfast. They said they had tried to stay all night in the mystic structure, but they had seen the ghost.

It seems, according to the story he told – as they told him – that the six of them and a ferocious bulldog sat in the house until midnight, when their lantern went out. They sat for a moment in silence and darkness and then a human head came up through the floor, the shoulders and body following until it was waist high. At that moment the six had left, some going through the windows. That was the story they told him.

The hotel man, however, attributed it all to their overwrought nerves. He said he supposed they thought they saw a ghost, but for his part he didn’t believe anything of the kind.

On the way out the car stopped at a farmhouse two miles from the haunted place and picked up the hotel man’s brother, who lived there for 40 years. He knew all about the place, but he didn’t take much stock in ghost stories, although he admitted he knew personally of some strange things that had happened.

On the right of the road a quarter of a mile from the house is a cemetery. The house sits in a cornfield about 500 yards from the road. It is a frame structure, almost to pieces, with two large rooms, one upstairs and one downstairs. The doors and windows have long been removed. Years ago a log house adjoined it, but it was torn down. The ground is plowed up all around, but there are thick bushes growing up against the building.

The Sac River curls around it at the foot of a bluff.   In the darkness the house is a grayish white. There is nothing inside except litter and the strange, unpleasant odor that marks an abandoned house.

The farmer brother of the hotel keeper was a great entertainer with ghost stories, as he sat on a stone near the door.

“I remember that a negro and his wife tried to live in this house about 15 years ago,” he drawled. “They didn’t stay long and they told that they could hear an old-fashioned spinning wheel running all night long.

“Now, I know myself that there was an old stair door that you never could keep latched. I oiled the latch and fixed it, and it looked good as any latch you ever saw in your life. In about ten minutes you could hear it click back and the door would open, day or night. I’ll swear to that.

“Another time my wife and I drove by here at noon and we saw a light burning in the house, just as bright as any lamp you ever saw in your life. I went in and there wasn’t any light or anything.

“Many’s the time I’ve seen smoke coming out of the chimney here when I knew the house was empty, and I’ve come over and there wouldn’t be a bit of fire in the house or anyone here. I’ve seen those things with my own eyes and I can’t explain ‘em. If you ask me if I believe in ghosts I’ll say no, but if you ask me to explain some things that happen I can’t do it.”

So we sat and talked about dead people and murders, omens and warning for hours. A nighthawk screamed down at the river bank and the farmer said that if a nervous man was at the house alone at night the sound of the nighthawk would give him a ticklish sensation. The crickets made their noises and the frogs rumbled. The nighthawk screamed again, and some one threw a clod of dirt up into the house, where it struck with a crash.

Every little sound – and there were myriads of them around the house – brought everyone upright with expectancy. The night and the place and the stories that had been told tightened up the nerves. Still, no ghost.

If ever a ghost missed an opportunity it was then. We wanted a ghost. We invited some form of psychic activity that would send a thrill tingling up our spines and draw up our scalps. If a wraith had appeared he would have been greeted as a brother and asked to join in the talk.

Conditions were not right. The ghost was up against modern improvements. There was a motor car in the road, two electric searchlights and several automatic revolvers with neat patch pockets on the holsters for cartridges. From his viewpoint he must have decided he would be going up against another man’s game.

Maybe there are ghosts and maybe they are merely imaginative figures stirred into being by auto-suggestion. Perhaps one has to believe in them. We were unable to tempt one in anyway. It wasn’t the fault of the house. It is a haunted house, on the world of half the people in the countryside. It has been in business for years and has always made good. Still, without desiring to detract from its prestige, it failed miserably last week.

We waited past midnight, stuck through the “witching hour” of 2 until the air was damp and chilly and we were too tired to give any more time to the project. Nothing happened. Then we piled into the car and left, looking back and listening for, at least, a mocking laugh, but the phantom of the Ozarks was too mean a host to bestow even that parting courtesy.

 

Tuesday March 4, 2014

Washington Post

 

 

 

 

 

 

Talk about investigation contamination!! Can you imagine showing up at a location and seeing 150 people outside and at least 20 people inside? No wonder the spook finder wanted to weep!! This article will probably make a lot of us envision our grandmothers when you read it, at least it did me. “Bangety-bang-bang-bang” has now been added (along with ghost broken) to my ever growing list of “spook hunters” vocabulary.

 

 

Washington Post edition 12/18/1913 pg.4

GHOST HUNTERS FIND A SPOOK WHOSE REVELS DISTURB HOME

Spiritualists Corral Riotous Specter of “Dear Little Lady” Despite
Scoffing Crowd Gathered Outside Passaic, N.J., Residence.
Will Arrange System of Knocks to Translate Her Messages.

New York, Dec. 17. – Moaning and groaning and hooting and howling are not methods that can properly be used for ghost hunting. So Dr. Schlelssner, of the Spiritualist Temple of this city, and his group of expert specter finders, who had gathered last night at the home of Jacob Vanderpile, Passaic, N.J., to trap an astral body, were in despair.

For a crowd of 150 persons, who had heard of the proposed ghost hunt, got outside the Vanderpile house, and made all the above-mentioned noises, in the hop that the ghost would come out on the port and make a speech, or at least float around and wag its white robes.

Mr. Vanderpile, well-to-do, says this ghost is certainly about as true a ghost as ever was. He never believed in ghosts before, but now he does – hard. And so do his wife and all the little Vanderpiles, and the servants.

Was a Rowdy Spook

Never was there such a knocker as this ghost. He had no favorite spots on the premises for knocking. Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Vanderpile would be sunk in slumber when bangety-bang-bang-bang! Arrival of thost. Or out into the night would go the shrieks of the younger Vanderpiles. The ghost would be up there, walloping the wall, or the floor, or a window pane for all it was worth.

It got into the kitchen and rattled the pans; it ran around in the cellar and threw the winder supply of coal all over the premises.

Dr. Schleissner heard of the rampant ghost of Passaic, and wrote to Mr. Vanderpile asking him to keep the affair as quiet as possible, so as not to frighten the ghost away, and he, the doctor, would come down with some of the best ghost finders available to capture the spirit.

Nearly Weeps Because of Noise

But when Dr. Schleissner got there last night and found a mob outside and a score or more of neighbors and spiritualists within he tossed up his hands. When the crowd outside got noisy he nearly wept. He asked how in the world you could talk to a person from the other shore with all that racket going on. He got most of those in the house to depart by telling them that it was certainly the ghost’s night off earth. And when all this had been done, he and five other ghost specialists went up to a little room in a garret, and, after half an hour, they returned below and all were triumphant.

They had seen the ghost.

Appeared in Gauzy Form
It was the spirit of a dear, .little gentle lady that had done all that furious banging, knocking, rattling, and ripping around the Vanderpile home. She did not show herself plainly. In a sort of gauzy form she sat on a bed and mistily smiled at them.

“She couldn’t make herself very well understood by us, but we are arranging a code of knocking and then she’ll make all clear,” said Dr. Schleissner. “Meanwhile, she was able to give us her promise that she would do her very best at her next materialization, within a night or two, to make herself so plain that we’ll be able to make a flashlight photograph of her.”

Shannon

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