In the following case the correspondent is a foreign lady, doing some work for the Review, but whom Mr. Stead had only met once in his life. On the occasion now referred to he was to meet her at Redcar Station at about three o'clock in the afternoon. He was stopping at a house ten minutes' walk from the station, and it occurred to him that "about three o'clock," as mentioned in her letter, might mean before three; and it was now only twenty minutes of three. No timetable was at hand: he simply asked her to use his hand to tell him what time the train was due. This was done without ever having had any communication with her upon the subject of automatic writing. She (by Mr. Stead's hand) immediately wrote her name, and said the train was due at Redcar Station at ten minutes of three. Accordingly he had to leave at once - but before starting he said, "Where are you at this moment?" The answer came, "I am in the train at Middlesborough railway station, on my way from Hartpool to Redcar."

On arriving at the station he consulted the timetable and found the train was due at 2 : 52. The train, however, was late. At three o'clock it had not arrived; at five minutes past three, getting uneasy at the delay, he took paper and pencil in his hand and asked where she was.

Her name was at once written and there was added: "I am in the train rounding the curve before you come to Redcar Station - I will be with you in a minute."

"Why the mischief have you been so late?" he mentally asked. His hand wrote, "We were detained at Middlesborough so long - I don't know why."

He put the paper in his pocket and walked to the end of the platform just as the train came in.

He immediately went to his friend and exclaimed: - "How late you are! What on earth has been the matter?" To which she replied: "I do not know; the train stopped so long at Middlesborough - it seemed as if it never would start."

This narrative was fully corroborated by the lady who was the passenger referred to. 13

In all these cases it should be noticed the so-called correspondent took no active part in the experiment, was not conscious of communicating anything, nor of trying to do so; nor is there any evidence of a third party or any intervening intelligence or personality; but the subliminal self of the writer went forth and acquired the needed information and transferred it automatically to the primary self, as was the case in the Planchette-writing of Mrs. Newnham and the Wedgwood cases.

During the years 1874 and 1875 I had under my care Mrs. Juliette T. Burton, the wife of a physician who came to New York from the South at the close of the war. She was a woman of refinement, education, and excellent literary ability. She wrote with unusual facility, and her articles were accepted by newspapers and magazines, and brought her a considerable income. I knew her well, and her honesty, good faith, and strong common-sense were conspicuous. She died of phthisis in 1875. It is to her varied automatic powers as illustrating our subject that I would call attention.

Many of her best articles were prepared without conscious effort of her own, either physical or mental; she simply prepared pencils and paper, became passive, and her hand wrote. Sometimes she had a plan to write up a certain subject, and sometimes the subject as well as the matter came automatically.

She knew that she was writing, but of what was written she had no knowledge until she read her own manuscript.

She had no talent for drawing nor for painting; she could not, in her ordinary condition, draw a face, nor even a leaf, which could be recognized. Soon after coming to New York she began to see faces and other pictures before her on the blank paper and to sketch them with marvellous rapidity and exactness, all in the same automatic manner as that in which she did her writing. These drawings were not crude, but were strongly characteristic and were delicately done with ordinary lead pencils, several of which were prepared beforehand with sharp delicate points. I remember one drawing in particular - a man's head about half life-size, with full flowing beard. At first glance there was nothing peculiar about the picture, except that one would say that it was a strong and characteristic face; but on close examination in a strong light, and especially through a reading-glass, the beard was seen to be made up entirely of exceedingly minute faces of sheep; every face was perfectly formed and characteristic, and there were thousands of them. It was done with the same wonderful rapidity which characterized all her automatic work.

Later she was impelled to procure colors, brushes, and all the materials for painting in oil; and although she had never even seen that kind of work done, and had not the slightest idea how to mix the colors to produce desired tints, nor how to apply them to produce desired effects, yet at a single sitting in a darkened room she produced a head of singular strength and character and possessing at least some artistic merit. Certainly no one could imagine it to be the first attempt of a person entirely without natural talent for either drawing or painting. It was done on common brown cardboard, and it has been in my possession for the past twenty-two years. The reproduction which appears as frontispiece to the present volume gives some idea of its character.

The impression received by the painter was that it was the portrait of an Englishman named Nathan Early.* No date was assigned.

Nathan Early

Nathan Early

Phototype from an Automatic Painting. (See page 196.)

As a further illustration of her automatic power, it may be mentioned that another uncultivated faculty developed itself, namely, the power of referring to past events in the lives of those who were in her presence. The knowledge of past events so conveyed was frequently most remarkable and was circumstantially correct, even rivalling in this respect the reports which we have of Jung-Stilling and Zschokke.