Glimpses Of The Next State.Pdf - Spiritualists' National Union

80make his message the most important feature of the account he knew I was about to write. Ofthis I am sure : that he desired his readers to know that he was able to communicate with the earthplane, and thus eliminate from their minds the errors he had infused into his otherwise admirablebooks. Let us leave it at that. I was grateful to him for giving me the opportunity of becominghis mouthpiece, and of learning first-hand the fact of his continued existence. I do not profess tounderstand fully all that he impelled the psychic to write, nor do I claim that he made no mistakes.All knowledge is built upon error. Astronomy rose upon the ashes of the astrology of the MiddleAges ; chemistry was evolved out of alchemy. We know little, even the wisest of our day. Whocan tell when a Darwin may arise to construct a definite belief out of the records of our struggles inthe dark labyrinth of modern psychical research ?——————————LETTER FROM MRS. GEORGIA TO ADMIRAL USBORNE MOORERochester, N. Y.,September 16, 1910.My Dear Admiral,I have much pleasure in giving you a brief account of myself, and answeringyour questions.I am not a spiritualist in the accepted sense of the word ; neither had I, at the time ofmeeting you, ever inclined my faith in that direction. I believe that the knowledge of spiritualisticfacts and phenomena does not in any way conflict with the religion I was born and bred in.My father, Colonel H——, passed away in April, 1902 ; his death was sudden andunexpected, as he was in robust health until he suffered a stroke of paralysis. Our grief was thegreater as we were so utterly unprepared for it.My thoughts were directed towards spiritualism by a dream. I plainly heard my fathersvoice saying to me : “If you take the receiver off the telephone I will talk to you.” The vibrantquality in his voice woke me, and I instantly went to the phone, fully expecting to find the dreampromisefulfilled. Needles to say, there was no message, and my disappointment was keen. Thedream, however, decided me to seek out the only avenue I knew—the spiritualist medium.Unbelieving , yet hopeful, I attended a lecture. The speaker, who was a professionalpsychic, made his way towards me and said : “You have the gift of writing.” (I was dabbling inliterary pursuits, and thought little of this.) “Come to me and I will develop this gift.”The following day I sought out another medium, who told me the same thing ; and that nightI sat with a friend, who had been brought up in the belief of the spiritualists in a darkened room.We sat with our faces towards the north, and chanted in unison : “We want our guides, the highestand the best.”In less than an hour my hands trembled and I could not control myself ; in a few moments Iwas in hysterics, and sobbing violently. My friend Miss W——, put a pencil in my hand andsoothed me by saying, “Its all right.” I was, However, in a panic of fear ; and when the pencilmoved without my directing it I screamed, and refused to sit any longer in the dark.The lights were then lit. Though I was still very nervous and hysterical, Miss W——insisted that I should hold the pencil and not further disturb the conditions. I yielded to herwishes, and found, when the pencil was in my hand, that it began slowly to move and wrote somesentences in the usual manner ; then, changing, wrote from right to left in what we thought was aforeign language. A few weeks later, when I was putting on my hat before the mirror, I sawwriting in the glass : the name “Jennie Rentlinger” (a name no one in this house had ever heard of).Looking round I saw it was the reflection of one of the papers I had written. Taking up the sheets,I held them to the glass, and discovered that what I had thought was foreign writing was a long,personal