Temple University - Templar Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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Glass Qropljerg It was one of those glorious days in summer on the coast of Maine when the sun of half-a-morning-gonc made a golden path of light across tumbling, frolicking white-caps of the Atlantic Ocean. The mad things carpeted with snowy froth, the blue of the peeping depths, the bosom of the sea up to the horizon line and the gentle waters, too, that usually lay almost affectionately among the cliffs just beneath my study-windows. This morning-ocean had been a daily treat and inspiration for nearly five years. In all seasons I had lived here with the three vast glories of creation: mountains in the rear, billowing sea over all my east, and the heavens above. And this forenoon 1 was especially thankful when that mighty longing,—the spell of the splendor and freedom of the sea (stole) o’er my soul. I had gone down to New York the afternoon before, in our new compressed-air system that now stretched —with about eight parallel tubes—along the whole coast. The publisher, Macmillan, had accepted my Prolegomena of Aesthetics and all my worrying and grind of the past year were over. Still, my nerves were somewhat of a frazzle for a fellow of my persistent, bachelor mood, and I felt as though I were in a living presence of solace and good cheer as I lounged in the cushions of my eastern windows. Nothing, except the usual crash” in New York, had been disturbing on the trip. It was during the passage in the Tube.—although taking up only half an hour,—that I experienced a decided alteration in a usually comfortable nervous condition. Habitually when resting in complete physical ease, the stream of consciousness. I am aware of, seems to range in another position of mind than that I can fully call myself. So here I was seeing and hearing all that this other jx-rson within me had to say and show. There were passing, successively, happenings of and about the Prelgomena I had attempted to write; scenes at the Battery elevated railroad I had just witnessed; some feeble effort to realize the speed at which I knew the car was moving in the air-passage, concluding it was impossible to comprehend a rate of a thousand miles an hour,—while feeling nothing; I saw plainly, some of the the names of the great modern philosophers moving mysteriously and confidently across the path of perception, and seeming to expound their'pet dogmas of pragmatism, subjective idealism, or pure reason. A game of chess at which I had been beaten played itself over again, ami I could see the smile of my opponent as he reinstated at one point his knight to its position, formerly at king’s bishop three. The line of consciousness never appeared to weary. The brilliant play of the lights of some gems I had seen in a shop on Fifth Avenue, crossed the mental sight; some pictures of Rubens and Whistler; one of Ruskin’s descriptions of a storm at sea: a particularly fine (juardruple expansion marine engine I had been shown about a month before, and so 31

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30 Oymnasii’m

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on—until finally there was a gentle, but, utter stop. I thought for several minutes that 1 was going to sleep. Then I felt as though everything that had just gone by might return. Horrible cogitatu! 1 made an effort of will to control the mental apparatus of my being, but I failed. All imagery had died away. All motion had ceased. I seemed again to be about dozing. Then very insinuatingly and very distinctly I was fully aware of the following conversation: How old are you? I?” “Yes; I say, how old are you? What? You are joking!” Well, all right; what have you been doing?” “Scribbling on paper, chipping marble, and hammering at a piano. How did 1 come to say this? Who are you? Where are you?” I seemed to ask, further and further interested. I’m an old college chum of yours. The reply came further, “1 am an old friend of yours down in Jamaica.” What? “Sure! We have bought in all the available land, and are about to raise Havana leaf-tobacco! This communication was very clear and there was no mistaking it. I thought of several friends but could find none so engaged. Who are you?” I was aware of asking as I passed my hand questioningly across my eyes. Willis? Yes. We have cornered the market in leaf-tobacco all over the country, and I'm coming up to New York to knock the spots out of the Trust. Just been thinking about you.” (EVIDENTLY!) “Want to see you on the first of October at the Waldorf-Astoria.”------ My car came to a stop in the Portland Station, and closed off all Telepathic communications, for no other catagory could I place them in. I had never before experienced a fully marked conversation. 1 was especially astounded at being called up by Willis, who, had never shown any interest in Psychical research. Then I came home as I said, somewhat in amazement, and lay pondering over what had happened. It was especially confounding to hear of Willis in the tobacco business, and smashing trusts. The last communication regarding him had been of his success as a New Jersey lawyer. He must have expanded more than ever in this step of life! But all corporation lawyers, I said to myself, sooner or later become involved in other people’s business and sooner or later become controlling factors in organization. 32