There Is a River

by Thomas Sugrue

  “Maybe,” Edgar said. “Records don’t mean much to these fellows if they don’t want to believe what the records say.”

  He took the book and read the pages from which Hugh Lynn had been quoting.

  “It says that after the eighteen-twenties the fad died out,” he said. “Looks as if it might die out after the nineteen-twenties, too.”

  Hugh Lynn shook his head. “Not a chance,” he said. “Say, I wonder where this Victor is now? If he’s on earth he’d be useful. We could use him as your assistant.”

  His father smiled. He remembered when his son did not believe in reincarnation.

  —

  Christmas was a tragedy for Atlantic University. Students and professors, knowing the school could not go on, shook hands like soldiers who had come to the end of a lost cause. Dr. Brown, who had housed and fed some of the teachers and given all his personal assets to the school, admitted defeat. The university closed its doors.

  Hugh Lynn, freed of his duties as librarian, decided to start a monthly bulletin, as a means of keeping in touch with the members of the Association. He bought a secondhand mimeograph machine and got to work. For material he briefed readings on subjects of general interest, summarized interesting cases, wrote reviews of books on psychic subjects, quoted health hints from readings, and reported news of psychic phenomena in other fields.

  A study group was formed in Norfolk to meet once a week. It chose for its subject, “How to Develop Psychic Powers,” but the first reading pointed out that psychic powers are attributes of the soul and in the normal development of an individuality blossom as a result of an ascending consciousness, moving toward the subconscious and superconscious—away from time and space. There was black magic, it said, but white magic was only virtue and wisdom, the two weapons of faith.

  The reading pointed out that there was little to be gained by a series of dissertations on soul development, if nothing was done actively by the group. It suggested that an outline be given, and with this as a basis for discussion, the group create a set of lessons, each working on a certain aspect, and one or two doing the synthesizing and writing. The information would then criticize the work. A new lesson was not to be undertaken until the one in hand was completed to the satisfaction of the information.

  The wisdom of the suggestion was apparent when the group attempted to write its first lesson on prayer. It took months and months of labor before the information accepted it. “Now,” said the reading, “practice it.” One of the lessons that followed—the one on spirit—took more than a year. The definition of patience which the group worked out reflected the things it was learning.

  “Through patience we learn to know ourselves; we learn to measure and test our ideals, to use faith, to seek understanding through virtue. All spiritual attributes are embraced in patience. In patience possess ye your soul.”

  It was patience that Edgar fell back on during those days. The ocean-front house was drafty, expensive, and too close to the water in time of storm. In March the family moved to a secluded spot at the south end of the beach, on a small freshwater lake that lay within two hundred yards of the sea. In April the house was sold and they were asked to leave. In May they took a house on the opposite shore of the lake, on the bend of road joining Arctic Avenue and Fourteenth Street. There were no houses on either side of it, the lake was at its back, and across the street was the Star of the Sea Catholic Church.

  Edgar liked the place. It was central to town, yet secluded; the lake was stocked with fish, and there was plenty of room for a garden. With the help of friends he bought the place, on a long-term, small-payment plan. It was here, in June, 1932, that the first annual congress of the Association was held.

  The congress was a result of the success of the bulletin. During the year Hugh Lynn had been able, by the enthusiastic response to his publication, to clear the mailing list of all but those who were genuinely interested in the work and in psychic phenomena. With some three hundred members as a basis, he decided to test the practicality of a forum on psychic subjects. He chose the latter part of June, when the beach was naturally an attractive spot, but the hotels were not filled and summer rates—those in existence from July 4th to Labor Day—were not in effect. He procured speakers on various subjects: symbology, auras, numerology, modern trends in metaphysics, etc. He arranged for a series of public readings by Edgar. The result was gratifying. Attendance was large, and all were intelligently interested in what went on.

  The congress was fertile soil for the study group idea. Members went away with copies of the first lessons and organized clubs in their towns and cities to study them.

  Hugh Lynn’s program expanded during the second year. He published some case studies—detailed reports of illnesses, including excerpts from the readings, letters from the patients, and statements from those administering the treatments. He also published papers on reincarnation, sources of psychic phenomena, and historical periods as described in the Life Readings.

  A record was kept of everything untoward which happened during the readings. Edgar’s attitude was noted, his remarks immediately before and after the reading were taken down, and the attitude of the person getting the reading—so far as it could be ascertained—was noted.

  The time of the readings had always been the same: 10:30 in the morning and 3:30 in the afternoon. The suggestions had long been standard. For a physical reading Gertrude said, as Edgar’s eyes closed:

  “Now the body is assuming its normal forces, and will be able, and will give, such information as is desired of it at the present time. The body physically will be perfectly normal, and will give that information now.

  “Now you have before you the body of——who is located at——. You will go over this body carefully, examine it thoroughly, and tell me the conditions you find at the present time; giving the cause of the existing conditions, also suggestions for help and relief for this body. You will speak distinctly, at a normal rate of speech. You will answer the questions I will ask.”

  If check readings were to be taken, she would say, “You will give more than one reading at this time.” For a Life Reading she said:

  “You will have before you [name and place of individual at birth], and you will give the relation of this entity and the Universe, and the Universal Forces, giving the conditions that are as personalities, latent and exhibited, in the present life. Also the former appearances in the earth’s plane, giving time, place, and the name, and that in that life which built or retarded the development for the entity, giving the abilities of the present entity and that to which it may attain, and how.

  “You will answer the questions which I will ask regarding this entity. You will speak distinctly, at a normal rate of speech.” When Edgar said, “We are through for the present,” she said: “Now the body will be so equalized as to overcome all those things that might hinder or prevent it from being and giving its best mental, spiritual and physical self.

  “The body physical will create within the system those properties necessary to cause the eliminations to be so increased as to bring the best normal physical conditions for the body.

  “The mental will so give that impression to the system as to build the best moral, mental and physical forces for this body.

  “The circulation will be so equalized as to remove strain from all centers of the nerve system, as to allow the organs of the system to assimilate and secrete properly those conditions necessary for normal conditions of this body.

  “The nerve supplies of the whole body will assume their normal forces; the vitality will be stored in them, through the application of the physical being, as well as of the spiritual elements in the physical forces of the body.

  “Now, perfectly normal, and perfectly balanced, you will wake up.”

  This was the pattern, and there was seldom any change in it. Edgar loosened his collar, cuffs, shoes and belt, lay down,
and in a few minutes was asleep. On waking he ordinarily felt well, but craved something to eat: not much, but a cracker, or glass of milk, to take away the empty feeling in his stomach.

  Sometimes, in going over the name and address of the subject of the reading, he contributed side remarks: “Pretty place here”; “that’s a tall tree”; “he’s not here now, but he’s on his way—we’ll wait”; “just finished reading a letter, he’s looking at the clock”; “this is the same address we just had—there are two Jordans here—which do we want?” “She’s here, on the porch—almost an invalid.” In Life Readings he always went back over the years to the birth year. In doing this he sometimes offered comment: “’29, ’28, ’27, ’26—changes here, ’25, ’24, ’23—accident, badly hurt, ’22, ’21 . . .”

  These things were checked with the subjects of the readings (most of whom were not present) and eventually Hugh Lynn was able to present the data in a study entitled, “100 Cases of Clairvoyance.”

  Also noted were the attitudes of the others concerned—Gertrude and Gladys and the guests, if any—and the comparative clarity and excellence of the reading itself. From this it became obvious that the two most important factors for a good reading were a genuine desire to get help on the part of the subject and an equally genuine desire to give help on Edgar’s part. Gertrude’s ideal attitude was passive, sympathetic, and receptive.

  A second study group of local people took a series of readings on the glands, from a philosophical and metaphysical standpoint. They discovered, among other things, the existence of a gland unknown to science—the lyden—located above the gonads, and the point of entrance of the life force into the body.

  At least the information said so. That was the catch. The results of the research were worthless outside the Association. They had no credence with any but those who believed in the readings.

  This cry Hugh Lynn heard from doctors, professors, psychologists, and scientists: “All your records are your own. They were not made under test conditions.” Hugh Lynn realized that the records of most doctors, professors, psychologists and scientists were their own, but there was a difference. Psychic phenomena were suspect. Mediums were considered to be no more honest than jailbirds. They had to be watched.

  A reading was taken to discover the best method of scientifically observing the phenomenon. The information said that if a student would come to the beach and watch the readings day by day, examine the mail, both incoming and outgoing, and check up with the patients and their physicians, the work would be proved.

  “But only,” it said, “to that one man. He cannot convince others. For, what is wrong with the world today? Man has forgotten his God. He remembers only himself.

  “So, if you would prove anything, first so live that your own life is an example, a testimony, that God is the God of truth, and the law is One.”

  Hugh Lynn was perplexed. He wanted to approach the scientists, especially the psychologists, but it was obvious that they were going to be hard nuts to crack.

  “Better leave them alone,” Edgar advised. “The more I sit out on my pier and catch fish from the lake, the more I think we’d be just like those fish if we went to the scientists. We’d be grabbing at their bait—the chance to be considered respectable—and we’d be hooked. There’s enough food for us in our home waters. We’d better stay in them.”

  One day Hugh Lynn came out to visit him on the pier. He was carrying a large book, battered and obviously very old.

  “This may help us with the scientists,” he said. “It’s a book I’ve been trying to get for a long time. Someone told me about it. It’s the story of a man who lived in this country and did exactly the thing you do, less than a hundred years ago.”

  Edgar put down his fishing pole and grabbed the book. He read its title: “The Principles of Nature, Her Divine Revelations, and A Voice to Mankind. By and Through Andrew Jackson Davis, The Poughkeepsie Seer and Clairvoyant. Published by S. S. Lyon, and Wm. Fishbough. New York: For Sale, Wholesale and Retail, by J. S. Redfield, Clinton Hall. 1847.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Andrew Jackson Davis was born in Bloominggrove, Orange County, New York, on August 11, 1826. His father was a shoemaker; his mother, who died when he was young, was “one of those gentle beings whose supreme delight it is to mingle in scenes of sickness and sorrow, and to administer to the relief of suffering humanity.” The family was poor, and the parents were not inclined to consider education a necessity for their son; his formal schooling was limited to five months. He worked at various jobs from early boyhood, being employed for several summers as a cattle tender by a Mr. W. W. Woodworth of Hyde Park. At the time the family was living in Hyde Park.

  In September of 1838 father and son—the mother was then dead—moved to Poughkeepsie, where Mr. Davis set up a shoemaking shop and was assisted by Andrew. In 1841 Andrew went to work for Mr. Ira Armstrong, who reported to William Fishbough, the transcriber of the Davis book, as follows:

  I had occasion for the services of a boy somewhat acquainted with the shoe trade, and employed him for a fortnight to assist me. During this time, I was so much pleased with his good sense and industry, that, upon his own solicitation and the wish of his father, I took him as an apprentice. His education barely amounted to a knowledge of reading, writing, and the rudiments of arithmetic. His reading was exceedingly limited, and confined to that of a light and juvenile description. During his two years of apprenticeship, he established a character for faithfulness and integrity not to be surpassed, and which is seldom equaled.

  While Andrew was serving Mr. Armstrong, a lecturer on mesmerism came to town. He demonstrated on various members of the audience, but failed to have any success with Andrew. After the lecturer, a Mr. Grimes, had left, several local men began experimenting with the phenomenon. One, a tailor named William Levingston, had some success. One day Andrew wandered into Levingston’s shop, and the tailor, remembering the lecturer’s failure, asked for permission to try his luck at magnetizing the boy. Andrew consented.

  The experiment was quite as successful as that of de Puysegur with Victor, the shepherd boy. Andrew fell into a deep trance and showed remarkable powers of clairvoyance. The experiment was repeated, the boy became a center of interest in Poughkeepsie, and “Mr. Levingston’s house was for months the common resort of the curious who were indiscriminately invited to come and witness the experiments.” The boy was put to all sorts of tests, which he passed, but finally he said, while in a trance, that his powers were to be used to help the sick.

  Thereafter Mr. Levingston took him about the countryside and built up a medical practice. Eventually the pair reached Danbury, Connecticut, and Bridgeport, in the same state. There they met Dr. S. S. Lyon, who “had previously been an unbeliever in clairvoyance, but the evidence of its truth, as presented in the case of young Davis, proved too powerful for him to resist; and under a deep conviction of its importance, he did not hesitate to render it his open encouragement, and to avail himself of the clairvoyant’s advice in treatment of some difficult cases of disease then under his charge.”

  That was in February, 1845. During the following May, Davis and Levingston met, in Bridgeport, William Fishbough. About the first of the following August the clairvoyant, having previously announced that he was to begin a series of readings on the cosmos and the destiny of man, chose Dr. Lyon as the conductor and Mr. Fishbough as the scribe. The readings were given in New York, and there were one hundred and fifty-seven of them in all, given between November 28, 1845, and January 25, 1847, a period of fourteen months. In the same year the results were published by Dr. Lyon and Mr. Fishbough.

  Thus went the story of Andrew Jackson Davis, as told in Mr. Fishbough’s introduction to The Principles of Nature, Her Divine Revelations, and A Voice to Mankind.

  Edgar, reading the small type, with Hugh Lynn peering over his shoulder, had a queer feeling.

  “This sounds so much like me it
gives me the creeps,” he said.

  They looked at the steel engraving of Andrew which occupied the frontispiece and read Mr. Fishbough’s description of his appearance.

  “He is of ordinary stature, with a well-proportioned physical frame, possessing a bilious-sanguine temperament. His features are prominent, and his head is of the medium size, and very smoothly developed, especially in the frontal and coronal regions. The base of the brain is small, except in the region of the perceptives, which are prominent. The head is covered with a profusion of jet-black hair. The expression of his countenance is mild, placid, and indicative of a peculiar degree of frankness and benevolence; and from his eyes beam forth a peculiar radiance which we have never witnessed in any other person.”

  Edgar stared at the steel engraving again. Andrew was dressed in the style of the period, with a bow tie and a satin-lapeled jacket. “He’s a nice-looking lad,” he said. “Whatever became of him?”

  “His career is remarkable,” Hugh Lynn said. “He continued to give readings for thirty-five years after the appearance of this 782-page book. Then he decided to study medicine. When he was sixty years old he received his degree and began to practice.”

  Edgar was browsing through the book.

  “How did he diagnose his patient’s trouble after he became a doctor?” he asked.

  “He made the usual inquiries,” Hugh Lynn said, “but he got most of his information by placing the tips of his fingers against the palm of the patient’s hand. Apparently the mechanism of his clairvoyance had changed. He no longer had to go to sleep to become sensitive.”

  “He touched the patient,” Edgar said. “That is psychometry.”