COMPLEX, DETAILED, tedious to read, and yet interspersed with highly significant material, the recorded sittings of the two ladies who have gone down in Psychical history under the joint name of Troubridge Hall constitute a major part of the Leonard literature.

As previously related, A. V. B. was eventually able to speak directly through the medium; before that time came, much information was received from her through Feda. It is with some of the most evidential of this that this chapter will deal. G. N. M. Tyrrell used "The A. V. B. Case" as a chapter in his book Science and Psychical Phenomena' because "as an example of ostensible communication from the dead through the mediumistic trance . . . the sittings comprising it form a clear and connected whole, free from complications and confined for the most part to the two sitters concerned; also because these two sitters and investigators conducted the whole research with admirable care and scientific caution.

It has been stated that the description, through Feda, of the White Cottage at Malvern Wells was so accurate it aroused suspicion. Detectives had been employed to see if the medium could have learned about this house by normal means. It was found that no inquiries had been made in the area about either the house or its occupants. It was also learned from the detectives that questioning the townspeople might have revealed different information from that supplied by Feda. The investigators ascertained that there was an almost universal impression that A. V. B. disliked the White Cottage, Malvern Wells, and the neighborhood intensely. Several people thought it was A.V. B.'s fault that the house had been sold; in reality A.V. B. had loved the White Cottage and the surrounding countryside, and deeply regretted the necessity of selling it during the war. Feda, speaking of this, said: "She loved that place, and loved to think of it. She says, 'Happy times.' "

Of their first sitting, held August 16, 1916, Miss Radclyffe-Hall writes:

FEDA. There's a lady about sixty years old, perhaps.

M. R. H. Please describe her, she interests me ...

FEDA. The lady is of medium height, has rather a good figure but is inclined to be too fat, Feda thinks; she has a straight nose, a well-shaped face.... The eyebrows are slightly arched, her hair is not done fashionably.

M. R. H. Is it worn on the neck?

FEDA. No, it's done on the crown of her head. She has passed over quite recently. She had not been well for some time prior to passing; she was sometimes conscious of this, but put it behind her. Feda thinks she didn't know how ill she really was. She went about doing things just as usual. You were much with her in her earth life, you gave her vitality, you kept her up with your vitality. . . . The lady's eyes look to Feda to be dark, perhaps grey.

Regarding this description: A. V. B. was fifty-seven when she died, had had a fine figure, but latterly became too stout; she had a straight nose, which was very slightly tip-tilted, she wore her hair dressed high on her head, and, at the time of this sitting, she had only been dead two months, three weeks, and a day. For some time prior to her death she had not been strong, partly owing to the effects of a bad motor accident. She must often have put her ailments behind her, however, and we do not think for a moment that she had any idea of how ill she was; I can only say that I had none. She went about doing things as usual up to the very day of her last illness, which came on without the slightest warning. A. V. B. and I were the closest friends for eight years, and lived together for a great part of that time. She would sometimes say to me that she believed that my vitality kept her up and helped her; we used to discuss this together. A. V. B.'s eyes were of a dark blue, some people might have called them of a dark bluish grey color.

After a few words of greeting the sitting opened by Feda recognizing the communicator as the lady whom she had seen at my first sitting. I asked Feda to describe her again, and she did so accurately and much more fully than on the first occasion. There are a few points of interest that we must quote from this second description; they are as follows:

FEDA. She has a nice-shaped face and a very humorous look, as if she'd smile over things and have jokes with you that other people didn't come into. She looks elderly but has a young soul; she is laughing; she was about sixteen sometimes, she never grew old in soul, her body was a nuisance to her. She was always wanting to do things that she could not do.

A little later on Feda says:

She has regular features, with character, a firm chin, not prominent, round, she has lost the shape of her face a bit, it's a little flabby under the chin-mouth medium size, not very red, which makes the lips not look full. Eyes deep-set, she doesn't open them very wide, that's why Feda can't tell their color. She looks sideways at people sometimes, without moving her head, she's looking at you like that now.

As Feda says in the present sitting, A. V. B. had a very humorous look, and it was certainly her custom to have many jokes with me, in which other people were not always included. A. V. B. had a very strong sense of humor. She also had what may be called a young soul, retaining up to the last an almost childish enjoyment of things; that her body became a nuisance to her is perfectly true, and Feda is right in saying that she always wanted to do things that she was unable to do owing to her failing health she was prevented from enjoying exercise, such as walking, or swimming, a sport to which she was devoted.

A. V. B. had rather deep-set eyes, and often kept her lids lowered. She never in fact opened her eyes very wide. But the striking part of the description, to me who knew her so well, comes when Feda remarks that she was in the habit of looking at people sideways, without moving her head. This sidelong glance was extraordinarily characteristic of A. V. B. I had often remarked on it to her during her lifetime.

Later, even better descriptions of A. V. B. were received, very accurate as to the way she looked when she was younger. In the records of the sitting of June 6, 1917 is one paragraph which seemed especially evidential to M. R.H. because it revealed information about which she had a misconception:

FEDA. ... Before she passed on her cheeks fell in a little bit, and do you know her mouth had got drawn down a little in the left corner, like this. (Feda draws down one side of her mouth a little.)

Now this slight drawing down of the mouth on one side was a consequence of A. V. B.'s stroke; it was the only visible blemish caused by the stroke. Only those few people who were with her during her last illness can have seen this blemish, as it disappeared a short time after her death. Our impression had been that this drawing down of the mouth was on the right side, not the left, and we accordingly contradicted Feda on this point. It appears, however, that she was right, and we were wrong; for the paralysis was right-sided and we now learn from our medical friends that right-sided paralysis affecting the face would cause the mouth to be drawn down on the left side.

* *

*[We propose next to deal with a series of references to a particular place occurring four different times during a two-year period.] There appears to us to be something very natural in this repeated recurrence of one topic. At all events it would seem to suggest that the memory of past events is not limited to a flash during an isolated sitting, but is very much a part of the intelligence purporting to communicate.

FEDA. She says she used to do climbing. Feda can't imagine her climbing. Feda doesn't think she'd like it. (To A. V. B.) Where did you climb? It seems to Feda as though this place were far away from here; it looks almost like precipices, and Feda sees a small horse-no, it's not a horse, it's more like a mule-and someone is leading it along the ledge. Oh, they are nasty places.

M. R. H. I think I recognize the place, but not your climbing.

FEDA. It is a funny place, and doesn't seem as though you would take a horse there, but they do lead horses up those ledges, and this horse has a saddle across, with something hanging on either side.

M.R. H. What country is this in?

FEDA. Not this country. There looks to Feda to be a kind of valley with something steep rising up on each side. She seems to think a lot of that place; she's very much interested in it.

M. R. H. I know the place.

FEDA. She takes Feda along, and there seems to be a kind of opening out of the valley, and then you go along a kind of winding road. As you look around you, you can see the ground rising all round, and it must be sunrise or sunset, because

Feda sees half of a great big sun sticking up over one of the banks, it's either setting or rising.

M. R. H. What color is that road?

FEDA. It's dusty-looking and funny-looking; it's not an ordinary road. Feda didn't feel sure it was a road.

M. R. H. (to A. V. B.) Try and give Feda an idea of the color of it.

FEDA. It looks white, rather, to Feda, but it isn't very smooth either, it's like as though-oh, it's not white at all, it's greyish color, it's awful funny! Feda wouldn't like to walk along it with bare feet, it's not exactly powdery, it's like in bits, it feels to Feda like walking on cinders. As you walk it crushes under your feet, it's a kind of grey color, but not quite like any ordinary grey color you see. Funny, it's very uneven too, people walking along it lift up their feet, it's what you would call here very heavy walking. It seems to Feda as though you have to prepare for a good walk, this road goes a long way.

Now the whole of this description is in my opinion absolutely applicable to Tenerife, in the Canary Islands, a place to which A. V. B. and I were much devoted. I could not at first make out the reference to her climbing, as she was not an active woman; but the stupidity of the sitter is often quite remarkable. On returning home, I quickly remembered that A. V. B. had developed an abnormal activity when at Tenerife, owing no doubt to the beneficial effects of the climate, and that on several occasions she had taken long walks and climbs, and, moreover, that we had often discussed with surprise her being able to do so. Tenerife is extremely mountainous, the mountain paths are mere ledges, and there certainly are precipices. It is interesting that A. V. B., through Feda, manages to convey the impression of sunrise or sunset, since when A. V. B. and I started on our homeward journey after our visit to the Baranco, the sun was setting, making a fine red glow across the lava road. This made a deep impression on us both at the time. Fcda describes this lava river very well indeed--, it is, as she says, not exactly powdery-but "like in bits, 11 its color is a curious and rather forbidding grey. It is excessively rough and uneven, and I have no doubt that if Feda was made to sense walking on this road, it did feel to her like walking on cinders, since that is precisely what the road is composed of.

Later Feda was able to give the actual name of the Island:

FEDA. Do you know anything about an island, that is not far from there?

M. R. H. Yes, I do know something about an island.

FEDA. She suddenly said: "Island, island, island," she keeps on showing Feda a piece of land standing in the middle of water, and she says: "It's a piece of land standing in water."

M. R. H. Yes, it is an island.

FEDA. She says that place is called Ter-ter-terra-Oh! Feda can't quite get it, but she wants to say that it's a place called Ter-Te-no, Feda can't get it, but it starts Tc. It's Tener-Tener-Ten-Ten-What, Ladye? Tenet

M. R. H. Tener is right.

FEDA. Teneri - Tencri - ee - ee - ff - ffe - ife - Tencri - fer. She says she doesn't agree with the "fer" she says Tenet is right, she says cut off the last "er" and it's right.

FEDA.(Sotto voce: Tenerife, it's Tenerife!) She keeps on saying an island, it's an island she says, and she says it's a nice place, she says: "Tenerife!" Do you know, she pushed that through suddenly? She pretended that she was exasperated at your not understanding. She thought that Feda would get hold of it if she pretended to be cross. Now, she's saying there's that place called M. again,-Masagarmasagar-Madaga-Maza.

M. R. H. Maza is right, Feda.

FEDA. Mazaga-Mazager-Mazagi-Mazagon(We here omit several other efforts on Feda's part to pronounce the name, which efforts end with Mazagal).

M. R. H. No, not quite Mazagal, Feda.

FEDA. Mazagan!

M. R. H. That's right, Feda.

Mazagan was a city in French Morocco visited by A. V. B. and M. R. H. on their trip to the Canary Islands.

* *

*We may briefly mention two cases in which the material produced was known to the sitter, but which illustrate Feda's efforts and difficulties in getting words through.

M.R.H. writes:

One of my questions was as follows: "Does she remember a musical instrument she was very fond of?" In reply to this question I got a statement to the effect that it was not like a piano; which statement Feda elaborated by describing some instrument which suggested an organ. She even went so far as giving an imitation of air going in and out of pipes. When I asked what kind of music A. V. B. used to play Feda declared that it sounded to her like rather grand music, "like a grand kind of march." I was quite bewildered and said so, asking whether A. V. B. thought that she had played this thing herself. To which Feda replied: "No, she doesn't say she did it herself, she says it is hard to get anything through." Now, this was an unaccountable mistake, seeing that the instrument played by A. V. B. was a guitar, and during a personal A. V. B. control which occurred some time after this sitting, I told A. V. B. that Feda had never succeeded in describing to me the instrument she played. I laughed and said: "She told me that you played the organ." Whereupon A. V. B. remarked: "How absurd, what kind of an organ?" Nothing else was mentioned regarding this instrument by us, as we did not wish to give any clues, and I had practically forgotten the incident, when, on April 25th, 1917, at a sitting at which I alone was present, acting as my own recorder, the following occurred:

FEDA. (Beginning to hum a tune) She's singing, she's singing, something pretty too, do you know, Mrs. Twonnie, it sounds as though she could sing. She's not singing loudly, rather softly, she's telling Feda that she does sing in the spirit world. Mrs. Twonnie, she likes singing awful much.

M. R. H. Yes.

FEDA. Do you know she likes all these kind of things. She likes the talking that is like singing.

M. R. H. What do you mean by that, Feda?

FEDA. Well, like people that say poetry really well, she is very interested in all that. And now she's showing Feda something that you can pull strings to, she's going turn, turn, turn. (Here Feda gives an exact imitation of the sound of notes picked on a guitar, imitating with her hand the plucking of strings.) Mrs. Twonnie, she's plucking them.

M. R. H. That's splendid, you are making the exact noise.

FEDA. She's making the noise, and Feda can always imitate what she can do, she says it does make your fingers sore too, she says she might as well tell you that she is not trying to imitate a cornet or a trombone! (Here Feda again makes the exact noise of notes picked on a guitar.)

Now, Mrs. Twonnic, she's showing Feda the thing itself, and she's showing Feda that some part of it is rounded towards the bottom of that mother-of-pearl, she says that she has this thing leaning up in a corner of her room, there is only a little bit of mother-of-pearl which is set into it, and is rounded at one end and then goes in a bit, making it have a little bit of a waist. (Here Fcda draws in the air the exact shape of a guitar.) She's showing Feda that there arc some strings which go over that mother-ofpearl.

M. R. H. Quite right.

FEDA. Oh! and now she's trying to make Feda understand that she used to screw something up, she is showing Feda something that looks like little screws. (Here Feda gives an imitation of tuning a stringed instrument.) She says that she used to turn one of those pegs, screw it up, and then go: "turn," and that then she used to screw up another one and go: "turn," again. (Here Feda makes the sound of a lower note on the guitar.)

. . . it's browny colored, it's light brown in one place, and much darker in another, and . . . she says that she had one like this on the earth plane.

M. R. H. That's right.

FEDA. She says that she hadn't got any ribbons on this instrument, she's laughing over that, Mrs. Twonnic, and she says that she doesn't intend to have any on it either; she says: "I haven't got ribbons on it;" funny, Mrs. Twonnic, do you know she doesn't seem to like ribbons; Feda likes ribbons, lots of ribbons.

As we have already stated, the instrument played by A. V. B. was a guitar; she was an expert player, and used to sing Spanish folk music to the guitar. As will have been noticed Feda prefaces her description of this instrument by remarking that A. V. B. is singing. A. V. B. was considered a very fine amateur singer. Feda tells us that she is not singing loudly, but rather softly; this was characteristic of A. V. B., who had a small voice which she never forced. Feda appears to gather that A. V. B. liked singing very much, and also poetry, -which she most certainly did. The noise made by Feda to imitate the notes of a guitar was very realistic. . . .

We now come to the most evidential point in the description, and that occurs when A. V. B. states with emphasis, through Feda, that she did not have any ribbons on her guitar, has not got any now, and does not intend to have any: and Feda says that A. V. B. is laughing over this. Now we think it will be admitted that nearly all English women, if they play the guitar at all, have streamers of bright-colored ribbons from the instrument. This always amused A. V. B. immensely, because she, knowing Spain, was aware of the fact that Spanish ladies do not usually indulge in this particular foible. It was a great joke between us, that the less expert the English player the more magnificent the ribbons. A. V. B. never had ribbons on her guitars.

As Tyrrell comments, "It is very curious that, although Feda imitates the guitar-notes exactly; describes an instrument with a rounded end and a waist; says that A. V. B. used to turn a peg, screw it up and then go 'turn'; tells the sitter that she is not trying to imitate a cornet or a trombone, yet throughout the whole performance she is not able to say the word 'guitar'!"

In the second example of the emergence of memories known to A. V. B. and also to the sitters, Miss RadclyffeHall writes:

One of my questions on November 15, 1916 was as follows: "Ask her does she remember a funny word she invented with Adela for people they didn't like?" Feda replied that A. V. B. would try to remember it, would put it in a mental note-book, but that it made it extremely difficult when I asked things pointblank. ..

On January 17, 1917, 1 suddenly put the following question:

"Does she remember the word, 'Poon?'; perhaps she will laugh, but I'd like to know whether she remembers what that word meant?"

FEDA. Yes, she is laughing, she says that word meant a state. It was a word used to express a state or condition.

M. R. H. It was a word she used.

FEDA. Feda can't understand, but she says it was a word that she used to you. Feda does hope it's not a nasty word, because she says that she would use it in connection with thinking of you. "Poon, Poon," she calls you that. Poon isn't a name! But she calls you that in her mind now, she thinks of you as "Poon", she likes to think of you as that, and she says that she hopes you think of her as that too.

M. R. H. Of course, I think of her as that. (To A. V. B.) There was a word that was the opposite word to "Poon." Do you remember? You and I had two words.

FEDA. Yes, she says it was the antithesis, but that she can't remember the word itself. No, Feda mustn't say that she can't remember, it is that she can't get it through.

M. R. H. Oh! Ask her to try and get the first letter through.

FEDA. Oh dear! Feda can't get it. But it is only a short word. (Here Feda begins drawing violently in the air and distinctly forms an "S.") It's a curly letter like a snake, look, Feda will do it on your hand.

M. R. H. Yes, that's right, it's an "S."

FEDA. It isn't a long word, it's a short one, and she did manage to give it quick to Feda once, but Feda couldn't get it, she'll give it one day though.

Between this sitting and that of May 2, with which we are about to deal, an attempt was made during an A. V. B. control, to pronounce this word beginning with an "S." The word was not articulated, however, and A. V. B. did not get beyond making the opening sibilant consonant, and when I asked A. V. B. what she was doing, she said she was trying to get the word which was the antithesis of "Poon." I remarked that I did not intend to give her the word, as I wished it kept as a test; to which A. V. B. cordially agreed.

On May 2 A. V. B. had been conversing with us through Feda regarding a certain person, some of whose ways A. V. B. rather disapproved of, when suddenly, Feda broke out as follows:

FEDA. She says that's senseless and reasonless too. (Sotto voce: It's what, Ladye? What are you trying to say S-ss-SssS-ss.) What is the word, Ladye? It's Spor-Spor-Spor! She's trying to get a word through that Feda can't make out, Feda doesn't believe it's a proper word at all; it's a very funny word, but it must mean something, because she is trying so hard to get it through, it means . . . it means ... Oh! Feda doesn't know. It seems to be some sort of more expressive word for senseless. (Sotto voce.- Spot . . . Spor . . . Spot . . . Spot . . . ) Well, it's Spot, anyhow.

U. V. T. What's the letter after "Spot" do you think, Feda?

FEDA. It's a long letter. After the "R" comes a long letter.

U. V. T. When you say a long letter, Feda, do you mean long above the line, or long below the line?

FEDA. It seems to Feda to be long at the bottom. (Feda has for some moments been making perpendicular strokes in the air.) It isn't an ordinary word at all; it's a funny word that Feda has never heard before. Oh! Mrs. Una, Feda sees that it isn't long under the line, it's long above the line; well, there's that letter, then comes a small letter (sotto voce: Sporti . . . Sporbi). This little letter sounds something like "I"; (Feda pronounces the I as in the word "fish"). And after this small letter there comes a curved letter, and then it seems to Feda there's another long letter. (Here Feda whispers quite inarticulate things.)

U. V. T. Well, Feda, perhaps it will be easier if you try to draw the first long letter on my hand. (Feda begins drawing vigorously.)

FEDA. It's S . . . P . . . O, Mrs. Una, then a little letter, and then a letter like this;, (she draws a "K" on U. V. T.'s hand). It's a down stroke like this, with a little bit like this sticking on to it; Sporki . . . Sporkif?

U. V. T. Well, Feda, try to draw the letter which you said was curved, on my hand; the letter that you said came after the long one.

FEDA. That letter goes like this, Mrs. Una (here Feda draws an "S" on U. V. T.'s hand). And then there's another letter like this (here Feda draws an "H").

U. V. T. Is that the last letter of the word, Feda, or are there others?

FEDA. Well, Feda can't see any more, (suddenly and very loud) SPORKISH! SPORKISH! But that isn't a word at all! Ladye says: "Yes, it is," and that it applies to people who take things up. "Not Poon," she says, she says it's the antithesis to "Poon."

M. R. H. At last you've got it.

FEDA. "Sporkish," she says it in such a funny way, Mrs. Twonnie, she says that you and she used to call people that sometimes, you used to say: "So-and-so is sporkish," Feda knows that it isn't a proper English word though.

Now, the word "Poon" was A. V. B.'s own invention. It was meant to express all the pleasant, indefinable qualities in people whom she liked. When A. V. B. said that a person was a "Poon," or that they were "Poony," she meant it as a summing up of all those attributes which most appealed to her. I do not lay any claim to the attributes with which her affection endowed me, but in spite of that she did apply this term to me. "Spork" and "Sporkish" were words also invented by A. V. B. Their meaning embraced all tiresome and unpleasant people and their characteristics. These words were semi-humorously applied by A. V. B. to all people and things that bored her, irritated her, or otherwise incurred her disapproval. It is interesting to note that the word "Sporkish" was finally obtained at the sitting of May 2 as a comment upon circumstances that were precisely such as would have evoked it from A. V. B. during her earth life.

* *

*We will bring this paper to a close by giving extracts from sittings which we consider in one respect, at all events, to be the most remarkable which we have had with Mrs. Leonard. We feel that the extracts with which we are about to deal have a right to stand alone, since they treat principally of matters which were entirely unknown either to myself or to Lady Troubridge at the time of the sittings.
 

We will begin with an extract from the sitting of Dec. 6, 1916. The following occurred:
 

FEDA. Billy, she says: "Billy." Do you know who that is?

M. R. H. No.

FEDA. She says: "Billy."

U. V. T. Who is it? Someone she knew on the earth plane?

FEDA. When Fcda asks her she is rather confusing. She says: "I do know him, but in rather a peculiar sense." You've got to go into the country for this, right into the proper country, and Billy doesn't seem to belong to the house, but to just outside the house. She says Billy is a well-known character. She thinks it will come to you.

U. V. T. I think I understand.

FEDA. It seems funny, very funny to Feda. She says it's rather difficult to explain her acquaintance with this Billy. She says it's not quite on the usual lines.

U. V. T. Is Billy nice to look at?

FEDA. She says: "Not very pretty."

U. V. T. That's true.

FEDA. She says Billy takes quite an uncanny interest in her. (Here Feda gives an excellent imitation of a dog sniffing.) She's doing like this. She says it's quite embarrassing sometimes. She says: "I can't say more, but do you understand?"

U. V. T. Yes, will she give my love to Billy?

FEDA. Yes, she says do you want her to kiss Billy?

U. V. T. Yes, please.

FEDA. (Touches her forehead) She says she will kiss him just here, not on his mouth. She says she won't kiss him on his mouth and she can't very well kiss him on his cheek, she would rather kiss him here. (Feda again indicates her forehead, and begins making sniffing noises like a dog.) Feda would like to know why she does that. She's very happy today, and she's enjoying herself.

Now this Billy was recognized quite soon by Lady Troubridge as being a wire-haired terrier of hers, who had died about fifteen months prior to this sitting, and about eight months prior to A. V. B.'s death. The dog had been pensioned by Lady Troubridge's mother with some ladies at Boscombe, owing to Lady Troubridge being much abroad, and Lady Troubridge had not seen him for eleven years. All his life Billy had been considered to be quite a character, being not only remarkably intelligent, but very original. In the present sitting, Feda does not appear to grasp the fact that Billy is a dog, although her description of him is pretty unmistakable as such. In any case, if she has grasped that he is a dog, she either cannot say so, or wishes to keep up the pretense of not understanding. Elaborate description, allied with apparent inability to recognize and name the simplest object, does sometimes occur in the Leonard phenomena, as in that of most trance mediums, and suggests forcibly that we are very far from understanding in what manner the impressions described reach the so-called "control."

The next reference to Billy occurred spontaneously on December 13, when Feda said, "She says she's seen Billy and kissed him." Then she went on to give a description of the dog and his main personality traits, all of which Lady Troubridge identified as correct. Then the following was received:

FEDA. Did you know that when he first passed over he was not in good condition? Because he was not, and there was something the matter with his hind leg, or his foot. He was not in an unhealthy state for very long; she says he went over rather suddenly. There was something wrong with his foot, or the lower part of his leg. Oh! Now she says there was something wrong once underneath his arm. (Here Feda indicates the arm-pit.) Only he hasn't got any arms, but it was under there.

U. V. T. I remember that.

FEDA. But she says that had nothing to do with his passing on, but that he certainly had something wrong with his foot or his back leg.

U. V. T. That I can find out, perhaps.

FEDA. She says that they used to turn his feet up, and look at them between the toes.

U. V. T. Yes?

FEDA. She says he didn't like it. She says he once had a knobbly thing, sticking out on one of his legs, it was a little peculiarity, she says.

U. V. T. I don't remember that.

FEDA. She says that all these trifling things might appear to some people like rubbish, but that these intimate things are important.

This second reference to Billy included statements of facts about the dog that were quite unknown to Lady Troubridge or myself at the time of the sitting.

M. R. H. then adds:

Firstly, Feda is correct when she states that Billy died suddenly. Billy was destroyed at the request of Lady Troubridge's mother, who, hearing that he was both blind and deaf from old age, took the most merciful course open to her. Some time afterwards, when Lady Troubridge happened to mention Billy, she was told that he had been destroyed. Secondly, and thirdly, Feda is correct in stating that, at one time, Billy had an injury under what she calls his arm, but that this particular condition had nothing to do with his death. During Billy's life with Lady Troubridge, he had a very bad fight. He was attacked by a large bulldog and severely bitten under the foreleg, nearly into the lung; the wound very nearly proved fatal, and was the only serious disaster that ever befell him, so far as Lady Troubridge knew at the time of the sitting. We feel practically certain that A. V. B., during her lifetime, had heard an account of this battle, and we fancy, also, that she knew that Billy had been destroyed, though we cannot be sure of either of these points. Regarding the other four points mentioned, Lady Troubridge and I were in entire ignorance. It must be borne in mind that Lady Troubridge had not seen the dog for many years, and I never. It was necessary, therefore, to write to Miss Collis, at Boscombe, the lady with whom Billy had been boarded, and when doing so, it appeared inadvisable to mention the alarming word medium. Lady Troubridge therefore wrote to the effect that she had had a very vivid dream about her old dog, and proceeded to enumerate the points regarding his health which she said she had dreamed of. She asked Miss Collis whether any of these symptoms had ever existed in Billy's case.

In reply Miss Collis said:

We do not remember dear little Billy hurting his foot specially at any time, but for years he used often to cry out if his leg was touched. We used to think it was rheumatism. And latterly he did have a wart, my sister thinks it was on the top of his left leg, also during the last part of the time he got little lumps or warts all over. The veterinarian said it was from old age. He was very old, I think Mrs. Taylor said seventeen years, and very blind, and it made one anxious, and we thought it better he should be put to sleep. Also, a few weeks before the end, he had a hire from another dog on his back, which we were afraid would not heal.

Another letter to her elicited the response that it was a back leg he did not like touched, and that Miss Collis and her sister had never looked between his toes. She supplied the name and address of the veterinary surgeon who had attended Billy prior to his death. When contacted, the veterinarian wrote regarding Billy as follows:

I found the terrier, after examining and treating same, suffering from as follows:

Pustules between toes caused from old age.

Lump on top of right front leg caused from acute rheumatism.

Bite on back, shortly before death, the which was mortifying and in a very bad state.

(Signed) (Miss) G. C. DUTTON,

Canine and Feline Specialist.

April 13, 1917.

Thus it will be seen that four points regarding Billy's condition prior to his death were given by A. V. B. through Feda, which were entirely unknown to either U. V. T. or to M. R. H. at the time they were given.

* *

We have now arrived at the last of those incidents selected by us as being worthy of special notice. The extracts that we are about to give concern a lady whom Lady Troubridge did not know personally, and although this lady has been a friend of mine for many years, I have seen very little of her, she having been out of England for long periods together. At her request her name, and those of other individuals mentioned, are disguised.
 

Daisy Armstrong lost her husband in the War; she was, and still is, almost entirely unacquainted with Psychical research.

During the early weeks of 1917, Daisy wrote to me from the Near East asking me if I would try and obtain through Mrs. Leonard some evidence with regard to her husband. I happened to have a sitting with Mrs. Leonard on February 14, 1917, and I inquired of Feda whether A. V. B. remembered an old friend of mine called Daisy, who had stayed with us in the country when A. V. B. was ill. The following is the record of my questions and of the ensuing dialogue:

FEDA. She can remember Daisy, but she says Daisy's not with her.

M. R. H. No, that's right.

FEDA. Wait a minute; she's got some word she's trying to get through. It isn't an ordinary kind of name at all (here Feda gave a sotto voce rehearsal of attempts at Daisy's surname, which she gave quite correctly twice).

M. R. H.(To A. V. B.) All right, what Feda has said is quite correct, and you understand which Daisy it is.

FEDA. Yes, she does, certainly.

M. R. H. I want to know if she's met anyone on her side who is connected with Daisy. And I want to be very careful not to say anything myself that may spoil any proofs that come through for Daisy. Daisy is very anxious to obtain a message, and it would be most charitable if Ladye would help.

FEDA. She says: "I will try, because someone else is just as anxious to get a message through to Daisy as Daisy to him, and I'll try and push something through about him." And she knows which Daisy it is.

M. R. H. Yes, because she gave me a name.

FEDA. Yes, she's cleverer at names than anyone.

Having got thus far we did not write to Daisy, as we were desirous of keeping her mind off the subject as much as possible, and were most anxious that she should not know the dates on which sittings which concerned her were taking place. A week later, on February 21, I took a sitting alone, acting as my own recorder. I was scarcely expecting to obtain any reference to Daisy's affairs, yet the sitting had not progressed very far before a spontaneous allusion to Daisy was made by Feda.

FEDA. She says, did you see Daisy?

M. R. H. No, I can't see Daisy.

FEDA. But she says won't you be able to see her?

M. R. H. No, I'm afraid I won't; has she got a message for Daisy?

FEDA. You won't be able to see her?

M. R. H. I can't see her because she isn't here.

FEDA. Your Ladye thought somehow that she was going to be here; are you sure she has no intention of coming here?

M. R. H. As far as I know she has none.

FEDA. Your Ladye doesn't know why, but she gets the impression,

the sort of feeling, that you will have a chance of seeing

Daisy.

M. R. H. Do I understand her to mean in England?

FEDA. She doesn't mention any particular country in connection with it, but she does seem to feel that things are tending towards your seeing Daisy.

Now,at the time of this sitting, the Daisy in question was nursing the wounded in the Near East. I had not the slightest idea that it would be possible for her to break her contract, even in the event of her wishing to do so, as I had always understood that one was obliged to sign on for a definite period of time when undertaking such work. I was not expecting to see Daisy for at least a year, if then. I wrote to Daisy, sending her out a series of questions, among which I asked her whether she had any intention of returning to England. She replied in the following words: "Yes, it is possible that I may return to England next month, in which case I should of course see you. I have given in my resignation here." This reply was written from the Near East on March 10, and I saw Daisy shortly after her return to England, which she reached on April 20. She has since consulted her diary at our request, and finds that her resignation was given in on February 18; she says that she had been meaning to resign for some time prior to that date.

FEDA. Wait a minute, now she says something about Daisy lost someone. She says did Daisy lost two people-one of them rather lately, and one of them two or three years ago? Because your Ladye says she's been looking about since you were here last time, and she's got into touch with them. But all this is very difficult to get through, she says, because she is so anxious to do it.

M. R. H. Tell her to take her time.

FEDA.(To A. V. B.: Are they both men?) She says they are both men, and that one of them is a man who is not young, a man in the prime of life. Feda can see him.

M. R. H. Is he here then?

FEDA. Yes.

M. R. H. Well, tell him I am ready to give up the morning to anything he wishes to say.

FEDA. Feda sees a man in the prime of life, he is about medium height, perhaps on the tall side; but this is difficult to judge because Feda can't see his legs. He seems to be broad across the chest and shoulders. He has rather a habit of throwing his shoulders back and sticking his stomach out. He used to put his hand in his pocket. He has rather a good-shaped face, broad across the cheekbones, and the lower part of the face looks rounded. He's got a brownish moustache.

Feda gives a description of a man M. R. H. recognized as Daisy's father, Mr. Benson, who had been dead over ten years. M. R. H. says:

I had [met him] about fifteen years ago; he was then living in a small country town, in which I had been lent a hunting-box. We met on several occasions, though I never saw very much of him; his daughters became friends of mine, but he was seldom present when I visited them, nor did he, to the best of my memory, visit me more than once, if at all. But his appearance has remained in my memory, and I recognized several details in the descriptions of himself, etc., which he gave through Feda during the sitting under discussion. There were certain important points, however, given by this communicator of which I had absolutely no knowledge until they were verified by Daisy and her sister many weeks later.

FEDA. He is making Feda feel that he has traveled a good dealnot always stuck in one place. [Very characteristic of him. His daughters were both struck by this remark, for he had a passion for moving.]

FEDA. He seems to be trying to tell her about something to do with the sea in connection with him. It has to do with going over water, and there's some particular thing to do with a certain place. He is showing Feda a place with very high buildings; it's curious, because the buildings are so high that they make the street look like an alley almost. The buildings rise up very straight on each side of the street. [He had been to New York City but I didn't know it.]

FEDA. Now he is speaking of a wide street, a street that has a building in the very middle of it, and streets that branch on each side from that building that is in the middle of the wide street. It goes like this: (here Feda draws with her finger on M. R. H.'s knee, and indicates a straight street with a building apparently in the middle of the road, and two streets branching left and right backwards from the building). These streets have got houses in them, no, Feda's not sure that they are only houses, she thinks there are shops as well.

M. R. H. He's getting on very nicely.

FEDA. You see, he says that he remembers this place that he has just described, this street with the building in the middle of it, very well indeed; he remembers it so well because he nearly always came up that broad street and the building would face him, and he says it nearly always struck his attention.

The streets and the building in question were immediately recognized by me as being unmistakably characteristic of the country town in which Mr. Benson was living at the time when I met him.

FEDA. Now he's telling Feda that he used sometimes to sit at a table and write in jerks. He must be trying to show a house; there seem to have been two rooms, one opening out of the other, and he would sit in the second room. Oh, they're trying to show Feda something which is very difficult, it looks as though in one of those rooms there was something almost like a machine, it seems to be on a table; it's nearly all made of some dark-colored metal. Now Feda sees that it looks like rather a big thing on a stand; perhaps it is a stand that it was on and not a table. There's like a rolly thing or rod running through the middle of this machine, and there are two other narrower rods as well, and above the rods something seems to rise up, something that looks curved. He says that Daisy ought to know, as it was something that he used, and that even if she has not seen it he must have spoken to her about it.

M. R. H. I think I recognize him.

FEDA. He's awfully pleased.

M. R. H. But of course I should like to have it clearly defined what relation he was to Daisy, but I don't want you to force it.

FEDA. He won't give it unless he can be sure of it. Feda doesn't know what this means, but he says: "There were two of us that stood in the same relation to Daisy, but in a slightly different way." He says that means something, and he hopes it won't be misunderstood.

M. R. H. If he can't get it clear, leave it.

FEDA. But he says those words are quite clear, you can take them absolutely literally. He says: "Two of us did stand in the same relation to Daisy, with a slight difference." He's so afraid she won't understand his putting it in that way. He says: "Do you follow me?"

[I did not recognize] the rooms at the time of the sitting, but thought nevertheless that they might have been correctly described, and that I had forgotten the construction of Mr. Benson's house. Just here in the sitting it seemed advisable to endeavor to get from the communicator some statement to the effect that he was Daisy's father. Accordingly I asked what relation he was to Daisy, and to my question I obtained a reply which completely bewildered me.

I sent the extract to Daisy together with the question papers previously referred to, and received them back from her in due course with a letter, from which we will give an extract; the names and addresses have been changed, otherwise it is unaltered:

There is one point I would like to consult you about. A very, very dear friend of mine passed over some time between February 18 and February 24 of this present year. He was my father's great friend, and devoted to my sister Norah and me. After Father died he told me he wished to stand in my father's place, and I always called him "Daddy," and we were more to each other than many fathers and daughters are. Now I only heard of his death yesterday, and I do not know the date, but when my father said "there were two of us that stood in the same relation to Daisy but in a slightly different way" this came into my mind. Also Mr. Wilson had a sitting-room which led into another room, and from that to his carpenter's shop and photography room. In the first of these rooms stood a lathe at which he frequently worked, and I would help him at it; also a printing press, which he used a great deal. He wrote nearly all day at a table; and a good deal of the description of the house suggested this "second father's" home rather than my own father's. Look up his death, will you? His name is the Reverend Bertram Wilson, The Pines, Wickham, Nr. York.

She added on one of my question papers, the fact that this "second father" was a musical composer. We think that in that fact may perhaps be found the explanation of what Feda calls "writing in "jerks," as the writing of MS. music can fairly be described as jerky, in comparison to ordinary script. This point did not strike Daisy, and we merely put it forward as a suggestion. In addition to this, an inspection of the Excelsior and Model hand printing machines has revealed that Feda's description of the "machine nearly all made of some dark colored metal, etc.," was very near the mark indeed.

Now comes the problem. Before the words in answer to my question re what relation the communicator is to Daisy, Feda describes some rooms communicating, and a machine, as belonging to Mr. Benson; which rooms it would seem were not his at all, but belonged apparently to his old friend, Daisy's "second father." How does a mistake of this kind arise? There appear to us to be two just possible explanations, for either of which, however, it would be necessary to assume the hypothesis of genuine communication with a discarnate spirit. It is conceivable then that Mr. Benson may have wished to show a man other than himself as the occupant of those rooms, but have failed to tell Feda that the mental picture, or whatever modus operandi he may have been employing, did not apply to him personally. In other words, he may have jumped suddenly from one subject to another; a failing often ascribed by Feda to novice communicators. Another explanation might be that the second father himself was somewhere in the offing, crossing the line for a moment or two, or flinging, as it were, his own mental pictures on to the screen, and that Feda thought they emanated from Mr. Benson, who lacked the skill to clear up the mistake. Such explanations are merely hypothetical of course, and do not lead us much further towards solving the riddle.

The importance of this mistake, whatever its cause may have been, is, we think, eclipsed by the interest attaching to Mr. Benson's words "there were two of us, etc.," and "two of us did stand, etc.," which we must now analyze.

At the time of the sitting we had no idea that Daisy had ever possessed a second father, in fact we did not know that such a person as the Reverend Bertram Wilson had existed, much less that he had stood in a paternal relation to Daisy. We were, therefore, much interested on receipt of her letter, the more so as she states therein that she has heard, on March 9, 1917, namely, not until two weeks and two days after the sitting of Fehruary 21, that this second father had died upon some date between February 18 and February 24; and begs me to ascertain the exact day. Accordingly I wrote to the vicar of Wickham, saying that Mrs. Armstrong was desirous of knowing the date of the Reverend Bertram Wilson's death. His reply was as follows:

The Rev. Bertram Wilson died on February 18, at 9.15 p.m. He had been failing for some months and latterly suffered great pain, etc.

From the above extract we see that Daisy's second father was actually dead at the time of my sitting of February 21, a fact entirely unknown to Daisy at the time of the sitting. She did not know the date of his death, even when she heard of his decease two weeks and two days later. Now neither Lady Troubridge nor I can have known of the Reverend Bertram Wilson's death, seeing that we did not know of his existence. Hence it appears to us that a considerable significance attaches to the use of the past tense by Mr. Benson, when he speaks of this second father in the words: "there were two of us that stood in the same relation to Daisy, etc." And later: "two of us did stand, etc." Mr. Benson might reasonably be supposed to have met his old friend on the other side, and to have wished, in answer to my question, to kill two birds with one stone; namely, to convey to his daughter Daisy his relationship to her, in a manner calculated to do away with the hypothesis of mind-reading from the sitter, and at the same time to give Feda no cluc as to his relationship to Daisy; and thus forestall any attempt on her part to elaborate statements off her own bat, a temptation to which controls occasionally succumb.

There remained, however, yet one more point to consider; namely, whether Daisy was actually in fear of her second father's imminent death at the date of the sitting in question. I wrote to her regarding this, and [according to her reply] it appears clear that although Daisy had a presentiment that all was not well, and that although she knew that Mr. Wilson was not in good health, she was, according to her own statement, under the impression that he might live for some years to come; and that although she was worried about him at about the time of the sitting in question, she was not feeling any apprehension regarding his imminent decease.

It may be added that both Mr. Benson's daughters were much struck by the phrase: "Do you follow me?" This phrase, they tell us, was frequently used by Mr. Benson during his lifetime, just as were the words:"Do you understand?" which occurred earlier in the sitting.

* *

Dr. Gardner Murphy, president of the American Society for Psychical Research, mentions this case as one which meets the objection that the trance consciousness may telepathically obtain information from the sitters. He paraphrases the more interesting portions as follows:

After describing the house, A.V.B., through Feda, refers to some things hanging on the walls of a room, "which things are long in shape; they are, however, nothing to do with pictures, and one of them is said to have been dried." Feda then speaks of one or two portfolios containing designs and drawings, and of a collection of books pertaining to semi-civilized peoples, and of a"very old chest. " Through correspondence with the owner of the home, the investigators learned that he had hanging on the walls of his vestibule "weapons and stuffs from the Sudan and elsewhere, many of them long in shape; also a dried crocodile from the Nilc." He had also a portfolio containing drawings and sketches for the alteration and decoration of the vestibule where the dried crocodile hung. In his library he had a collection of books on Central Africa, the Sudan, etc. Finally, he had "a very old chest"-an old Italian Cassone. Further inquiry elicited the fact that A.V.B. in her lifetime had been interested in all the items referred to; she had, for example, seen the sketches for remodeling the vestibule and had discussed them with her friend.

Tyrrell affirms that such cases:

show that the theory that the information given by trance personalities is necessarily obtained telepathically from the unconscious minds of the sitters needs, at least, considerable expansion; for items of information appeared in these cases which were only known to complete strangers . . . A good deal of the recent evidence obtained in trance sittings confirms the fact that the information given in the trance does not, or does not necessarily, emanate from the minds of the sitters.