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246 than he that his comfort for the day depended largely on some unknown reporter whom he had never met. If this unseen individual had done his work properly and as befitted the importance of his subject, Mrs. McCall's mood for the next twelve hours would be as uniformly sunny as it was possible for it to be. But sometimes the fellows scamped their job disgracefully; and once, on a day which lived in Mr. McCall's memory, they had failed to make a report at all.

To-day, he noted with relief, all seemed to be well. The report actually was on the front page, an honour rarely accorded to his wife's utterances. Moreover, judging from the time it took her to read the thing, she had evidently been reported at length.

"Good, my dear?" he ventured. "Satisfactory?"

"Eh?" Mrs. McCall smiled meditatively. "Oh, yes,, excellent. They have used my photograph, too. Not at all badly reproduced."

"Splendid!" said Mr. McCall.

Mrs. McCall gave a sharp shriek, and the paper fluttered from her hand.

"My dear!" said Mr. McCall, with concern.

His wife had recovered the paper, and was reading with burning eyes. A bright wave of colour had flowed over her masterful features. She was breathing as stertorously as ever her son Washington had done on the previous night.

"Washington!"

A basilisk glare shot across the table and turned the long boy to stone—all except his mouth, which opened feebly.

"Washington! Is this true?"

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Rh Washy closed his mouth, then let it slowly open again.

"My dear!" Mr. McCall's voice was alarmed. "What is it?" His eyes had climbed up over his glasses and remained there. "What is the matter? Is anything wrong?"

"Wrong! Read for yourself!"

Mr. McCall was completely mystified. He could not even formulate a guess at the cause of the trouble. That it appeared to concern his son Washington seemed to be the one solid fact at his disposal, and that only made the matter still more puzzling. Where, Mr. McCall asked himself, did Washington come in?

He looked at the paper, and received immediate enlightenment. Headlines met his eyes:

There followed a lyrical outburst. So uplifted had the reporter evidently felt by the importance of his news that he had been unable to confine himself to prose:—

My children, if you fail to shine or triumph in your special line; if, let us say, your hopes are bent on some day being President, and folks ignore your proper worth, and say you've not a chance on earth—Cheer up! for in these stirring days Fame may be won in many ways. Consider, when your spirits fall, the case of Washington McCall.

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248 Yes, cast your eye on Washy, please! He looks just like a piece of cheese: he's not a brilliant sort of chap: he has a dull and vacant map: his eyes are blank, his face is red, his ears stick out beside his head. In fact, to end these compliments, he would be dear at thirty cents. Yet Fame has welcomed to her Hall this self-same Washington McCall.

His mother (née Miss Cora Bates) is one who frequently orates upon the proper kind of food which every menu should include. With eloquence the world she weans from chops and steaks and pork and beans. Such horrid things she'd like to crush, and make us live on milk and mush. But oh! the thing that makes her sigh is when she sees us eating pie. (We heard her lecture last July upon "The Nation's Menace—Pie.") Alas, the hit it made was small with Master Washington McCall.

For yesterday we took a trip to see the great Pie Championship, where men with bulging cheeks and eyes consume vast quantities of pies. A fashionable West Side crowd beheld the champion, Spike O'Dowd, endeavour to defend his throne against an upstart, Blake's Unknown. He wasn't an Unknown at all. He was young Washington McCall.

We freely own we'd give a leg if we could borrow, steal, or beg the skill old Homer used to show. (He wrote the Iliad, you know.) Old Homer swung a wicked pen, but we are ordinary men, and cannot even start to dream of doing justice to our theme. The subject of that great repast is too magnificent and vast. We can't describe (or even try) the way those rivals wolfed their pie. Enough to say that, when for hours each had extended all his pow'rs, toward the quiet evenfall O'Dowd succumbed to young McCall.

The champion was a willing lad. He gave the public all he had. His was a genuine fighting soul. He'd lots of speed and much control. No yellow streak did he evince. He tackled apple-pie and mince. This was the motto on

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The Devachanic Plane/General Characteristics

GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS

Perhaps the least unsatisfactory method of approaching this exceedingly difficult subject will be to plunge in medias res and make the attempt (foredoomed to failure though it be) to depict what a pupil or trained student sees when first the heaven-world opens before him. I use the word pupil advisedly, for unless a man stand in that relation to one of the Masters of Wisdom, there is but little likelihood of his being able to pass in full consciousness into that glorious land off bliss, and return to earth with clear remembrance of that which he has seen there. Thence no accommodating "spirit" ever comes to utter cheap platitudes through the mouth of the professional medium; thither no ordinary clairvoyant ever rises, though sometimes the best and purest have entered it when in deepest trance they slipped from the control of their mesmerizers — yet even then they have rarely brought back more than a faint recollection of an intense but indescribable bliss, generally deeply coloured by their personal religious convictions.

When once the departed soul, withdrawing into himself after what we call death, has reached that plane, neither the yearning thoughts of his sorrowing friends nor the allurements of the spiritualistic circle can ever draw him back into communion with the physical earth until all the spiritual forces which he has set in motion in his recent life have worked themselves out to the full, and he once more stands ready to take upon himself new robes of flesh. Nor, even if he could so return, would his account of his experiences give any true idea of the plane, for, as will presently be seen, it is only those who can enter it in full waking consciousness who are able to move about freely and drink in all the wondrous glory and beauty which the heaven-world has to show. But all this will be more fully explained later, when we come to deal with the inhabitants of this celestial realm.

A beautiful description
In an early letter from an eminent occultist the following beautiful passage was given as a quotation from memory. I have never been able to discover whence it was taken, though what seems to be another version of it, considerably expanded, appears in Beal's Catena of Buddhist Scriptures, page 378.

"Our Lord Buddha says: Many thousand myriads of systems of worlds beyond this is a region of bliss called Sukhavatî. This region is encircled within seven rows of railings, seven rows of vast curtains, seven rows of waving trees. This holy abode of the Arhats is governed by the Tathagatas and is possessed by the Bodhisattvas. It has seven precious lakes, in the midst of which flow crystalline waters having seven and yet one distinctive properties and qualities. This, O Shariputra, is the Devachan. Its divine udambara flower casts a root in the shadow of every earth, and blossoms for all those who reach it. Those born in this blessed region — who have crossed the golden bridge and reached the seven golden mountains — they are truly felicitous; there is no more grief or sorrow in that cycle for them."

Veiled though they be under the gorgeous imagery of the Orient, we may easily trace in this passage some of the leading characteristics which have appeared most prominently in the accounts of our own modern investigators. The "seven golden mountains" can be but the seven subdivisions of the mental plane, separated from one another by barriers impalpable, yet real and effective there as "seven rows of railings, seven rows of vast curtains, seven rows of waving trees" might be here: the seven kinds of crystalline water, having each its distinctive properties and qualities, represent the different powers and conditions of mind belonging to them respectively, while the one quality which they all have in common is that of ensuring to those residing upon them the utmost intensity of bliss which they are capable of experiencing. Its flower indeed "casts a root in the shadow of every earth," for from every world man enters the corresponding heaven, and happiness such as no tongue may tell is the blossom which burgeons forth for all who so live as to fit themselves to attain it. For they have "crossed the golden bridge" over the stream which divides this realm from the world of desire; for them the struggle between the higher and the lower is over, and for them, therefore, is "no more grief or sorrow in that cycle," until once more the man puts himself forth into, incarnation, and the celestial world is again left for a time behind.

The Bliss of the Heaven-World
This intensity of bliss is the first great idea which must form a background to all our conceptions of the heaven-life. It is not only that we are dealing with a world in which, by its very constitution, evil and sorrow are impossible; it is not only a world in which every creature is happy; the facts of the case go far beyond all that. It is a world in which every being must, from the very fact of his presence there, be enjoying the highest spiritual bliss of which he is capable — a world whose power of response to his aspirations is limited only by his capacity to aspire.

Here for the first time we begin to grasp something of the true nature of the great Source of Life; here for the first time we catch a far-away glimpse of what the Logos must be, and of what He means us to be. And when the stupendous reality of it all bursts upon our astonished vision, we cannot but feel that, with this knowledge of the truth, life can never again look to us as it did before. We cannot but marvel at the hopeless inadequacy of all the worldly man's ideas of happiness; indeed, we cannot avoid seeing that most of them are absurdly inverted and impossible of realization, and that for the most part he has actually turned his back upon the very goal which he is seeking. But here at last is truth and beauty, far transcending all that every poet dreamed; and in the light of its surpassing glory all other joy seems dim and faint, unreal and unsatisfying.

Some detail of all this we must endeavour to make clear later on; the point to be emphasized for the moment is that this radiant sense, not only of the welcome absence of all evil and discord, but of the insistent, overwhelming presence of universal joy, is the first and most striking sensation experienced by him who enters upon the heaven-world. And it never leaves him so long as he remains there; whatever work he may be doing, whatever still higher possibilities of spiritual exaltation may arise before him as he learns more of the capabilities of this new world in which he finds himself, the strange indescribable feeling of inexpressible delight in mere existence in such at realm underlies all else — this enjoyment of the abounding joy of others is ever present with him. Nothing on earth is like it, nothing can image it; if one could suppose the bounding life of childhood carried up into our spiritual experience and then intensified many thousand-fold, perhaps some faint shadow of an idea of it might be suggested; yet even such a simile falls miserably short of that which lies beyond all words — the tremendous spiritual vitality of this celestial world.

One way in which this intense vitality manifests itself is the extreme rapidity of vibration of all particles and atoms of this mental matter. As a theoretical proposition we are all aware that even here on the physical plane no particle of matter, though forming part of the densest of solid bodies, is ever for a moment at rest; nevertheless when by the opening of astral vision this becomes for us no longer a mere theory of the scientists, but an actual and ever-present fact, we realize the universality of life in a manner and to an extent that was quite impossible before; our mental horizon widens out, and we begin even already to have glimpses of possibilities in nature which to those who cannot yet see must appear the wildest of dreams.

If this be the effect of acquiring the mere astral vision, and applying it to dense physical matter, try to imagine the result produced on the mind of the observer when, having left this physical plane behind and thoroughly studied the far more vivid life and infinitely more rapid vibrations of the astral, he finds a new and transcendent sense opening within him, which unfolds to his enraptured gaze yet another and a higher world, whose vibrations are as much quicker than those of our physical plane as vibrations of light are than those of sound — a world where the omnipresent life which pulsates ceaselessly around and within him is of a different order altogether, is as it were raised to an enormously higher power.

A New Method of Cognition
The very sense itself, by which he is enabled to cognize all this, is not the least of the marvels of this celestial world; no longer does he hear and see and feel by separate and limited organs, as he does down here, nor has he even the immensely extended capacity of sight and hearing which he possessed on the astral plane; instead of these he feels within him a strange new power which is not any of them, and yet includes them all and much more — a power which enables him the moment any person or thing comes before him not only to see it and feel it and hear it, but to know all about it instantly inside and out — its causes, its effects, and its possibilities, so far at least as that plane and all below it are concerned. He finds that for him to think is to realize; there is never any doubt, hesitation, or delay about this direct action of the higher sense. If he thinks of a place, he is there; if of a friend, that friend is before him. No longer can misunderstandings arise, no longer can he be deceived or misled by any outward appearances, for every thought and feeling of his friend lies open as a book before him on that plane.

And if he is fortunate enough to have among his friends another whose higher sense is opened, their intercourse is perfect beyond all earthly conception. For them distance and separation do not exist; their feelings are no longer hidden or at best but half expressed by clumsy words; question and answer are unnecessary, for the thought-pictures are read as they are formed, and the interchange of ideas is rapid as is their flashing into existence in the mind.

All knowledge is theirs for the searching — all, that is, which does not transcend even this lofty plane; the past of the world is as open to them as the present; the indelible records of the memory of nature are ever at their disposal, and history, whether ancient or modern, unfolds itself before their eyes at their will. No longer are they at the mercy of the historian, who may be ill-informed, and must be more or less partial; they can study for themselves any incident in which they are interested, with the absolute certainty of seeing "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." If they are able to stand upon the higher levels of the plane, the long line of their past lives unrolls itself before them like a scroll; they see the kârmic causes which have made them what they are; they see what karma still lies in front to be worked out before "the long sad count is closed," and thus they realize with unerring certainty their exact place in evolution. If it be asked whether they can see the future clearly as the past, the answer must be in the negative, for that faculty belongs to a still higher plane, and though in this mental plane prevision is to a great extent possible to them, yet it is not perfect, because wherever in the web of destiny the hand of the developed man comes in, his powerful will may introduce new threads, and change the pattern of the life to come. The course of the ordinary undeveloped man, who has practically no will of his own worth speaking of, may often be foreseen clearly enough, but when the ego boldly takes his future into his own hands, exact prevision becomes impossible.

Surroundings
The first impressions, then, of the pupil who enters this mental plane in full consciousness will probably be those of intense bliss, indescribable vitality, enormously increased power, and the perfect confidence which flows from these; and when he makes use of his new sense to examine his surroundings, what does he see? He finds himself in the midst of what seems to him a whole universe of ever-changing light and colour and sound, such as it has never entered into his loftiest dreams to imagine. Verily it is true that down here "eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive" the glories of the heaven-world: and the man who has once experienced them in full consciousness will regard the world with widely different eyes for ever after. Yet this experience is so utterly unlike anything we know on the physical plane that in trying to put it into words one is troubled by a curious sense of helplessness — of absolute incapacity, not only to do it justice, for of that one resigns all hope from the very outset, but even to give any idea at all of it to those who have not themselves seen it.

Let a man imagine himself, with the feelings of intense bliss and enormously increased power already described, floating in a sea of living light, surrounded by every conceivable variety of loveliness in colour and form — the whole changing with every wave of thought that he sends out from his mind, and being indeed, as he presently discovers, only the expression of his thought in the matter of the plane and in its elemental essence. For that matter is of the very same order as that of which the mind-body is itself composed, and therefore when that vibration of the particles of the mind-body which we call a thought occurs, it immediately extends itself to this surrounding mental matter, and sets up corresponding vibrations in it, while in the elemental essence it images itself with absolute exactitude. Concrete thought naturally takes .the shape of its objects, while abstract ideas usually represent themselves by all kinds of perfect and most beautiful, geometrical forms; though in this connection it should be remembered that many thoughts which are little more than the merest abstractions to us down here become concrete facts on this loftier plane. It will thus be seen that in this higher world anyone who wishes to devote himself for a time to quiet thought, and to abstract himself from his surroundings, may actually live in a world of his own without possibility of interruption, and with the additional advantage of seeing all his ideas (and their consequences, fully worked out) passing in a sort of panorama before his eyes. If, however, he wishes instead to observe the plane upon which he finds himself, it will be necessary for him very carefully to suspend his thought for the time, so that its creations may not influence the readily impressible matter around him, and thus alter the entire conditions so far as he is concerned.

This holding of the mind in suspense must not be confounded with the blankness of mind towards the attainment of which so many of the Hatha Yoga practices are directed: in the latter case the mind is dulled down into absolute passivity in order that it may not by any thought of its own offer resistance to the entry of any external influence that may happen to approach it — a condition closely approximating to mediumship; while in the former the mind is as keenly alert and positive as it can be, holding its thought in suspense for the moment merely to prevent the intrusion of a personal equation into the observation which it wishes to make. When the visitor to the mental plane succeeds in putting himself in this position he finds that although he is no longer himself a centre of radiation of all that marvellous wealth of light and colour, form and sound, which I have so vainly endeavoured to picture, it has not therefore ceased to exist; on the contrary, its harmonies and its coruscations are but grander and fuller than ever. Casting about for an explanation of this phenomenon, he begins to realize that all this magnificence is not a mere idle or fortuitous display — a kind of devachanic aurora borealis; he finds that it all has a meaning — a meaning which he himself can understand ; and presently he grasps the fact that what he is watching with such ecstasy of delight is simply the glorious colour-language of the Devas — the expression of the thought or the conversation of beings far higher than himself in the scale of evolution. By experiment and practice he discovers that he also can use this new and beautiful mode of expression, and by this very discovery he enters into possession of another great tract of his heritage in this celestial realm — the power to hold converse with, and to learn from, its loftier non-human inhabitants, with whom we shall deal more fully when we come to treat of that part of our subject.

By this time it will have become apparent why it was impossible to devote a section of this paper to the scenery of the mental plane, as was done in the case of the astral; for in point of fact the mental world has no scenery except such as each individual chooses to make for himself by his thought — unless indeed we take into account the fact that the vast numbers of entities who are continually passing before him are themselves objects in many cases of the most transcendent beauty. Yet so difficult is it to express in words the conditions of this higher life that it would be a still better statement of the facts to say that all possible scenery exists there — that there is nothing conceivable of loveliness in earth or sky or sea which is not there with a fulness and intensity beyond all power of imagination; but that out of all this splendour-of living reality each man sees only that which he has within himself the power to see — that to which his development during the earth-life and the astral-life enables him to respond.

The Great Waves
If the visitor wishes to carry his analysis of the plane still further, and discover what it would be when entirely undisturbed by the thought or conversation of any of its inhabitants, he can do so by forming round himself a huge shell through which none of these influences can penetrate, and then (of course holding his own mind perfectly still as before) examining the conditions which exist inside his shell.

If he performs this experiment with sufficient care, he will find that the sea of light has become — not still, for its particles continue their intense and rapid vibrations, but — as it were homogeneous; that those wonderful coruscations of colour and constant changes of form are no longer taking place, but that he is now able to perceive another and entirely different series of regular pulsations which the other more artificial phenomena had previously obscured. These are evidently universal, and no shell which human power can make will check them or turn them aside. They cause no change of colour, no assumption of form, but flow with resistless regularity through all the matter of the plane, outwards and in again, like the exhalations and inhalations of some great breath beyond our ken.

There are several sets of these, clearly distinguishable from one another by volume, by period of vibration, and by the tone of the harmony which they bring, and grander than them all sweeps one great wave which seems the very heartbeat of the system — a wave which, welling up from unknown centres on far higher planes, pours out its life through all our world, and then draws back in its tremendous tide to That from which it came. In one long undulating curve it comes, and the sound of it is like the murmur of the sea ; and yet in it and through it all the while there echoes a mighty ringing chant of triumph — the very music of the spheres. The man who once has heard that glorious song of nature never quite loses it again; even here on this dreary physical plane of illusion he hears it always as a kind of undertone, keeping ever before his mind the strength and light and splendour of the real life above.

If the visitor be pure in heart and mind, and has reached a certain degree of spiritual development, it is possible for him to identify his consciousness with the sweep of that wondrous wave — to merge his spirit in it, as it were, and let it bear him upward to its source. It is possible, I say; but it is not wise — unless, indeed, his Master stands beside him to draw him back at the right moment from its mighty embrace; for otherwise its irresistible force will carry him away onward and upward into still higher planes, whose far greater glories his ego is as yet unable to sustain; he will lose consciousness, and with no certainty as to when and where and how he will regain it. It is true that the ultimate object of man's evolution is the attainment of unity, but he must reach that final goal in full and perfect consciousness as a victorious king entering triumphantly upon his heritage, not drift into absorption in a state of blank unconsciousness but little removed from annihilation.

The Lower and the Higher Heaven-Worlds
All that we have hitherto attempted to indicate in this description may be taken as applying to the lowest subdivision of the mental plane; for this realm of nature, exactly like the astral, or the physical, has its seven subdivisions. Of these the four lower are called in the books the rûpa or form planes, and these constitute the Lower Heaven-World, in which the average man spends his long life of bliss between one incarnation and the next. The other three are spoken of as arûpa or formless, and they constitute the Higher Heaven-World, where functions the reincarnating ego — the true home of the soul of man. These Sanskrit names have been given because on the rûpa planes every thought takes to itself a certain definite form, while on the arûpa subdivisions it expresses itself in an entirely different manner, as will presently be explained. The distinction between these two great divisions of the plane — the rûpa and the arûpa — is very marked; indeed, it even extends so far as to necessitate the use of different vehicles of consciousness.

The vehicle appropriate to the lower heaven-world is the mind-body, while that of the higher heaven-world is the causal body — the vehicle of the reincarnating ego, in which he passes from life to life throughout the whole evolutionary period. Another enormous distinction is that on those four lower subdivisions some degree of illusion is still possible — not indeed for the entity who stands upon them in full consciousness during life, but for the undeveloped person who passes there after the change which men call death. The higher thoughts and aspirations which he has poured forth during earth-life then cluster round him, and make a sort of shell about him — a kind of subjective world of his own; and in that he lives his heaven-life, perceiving but very faintly or not at all the real glories of the plane which lie outside, and, indeed, usually supposing that what he sees is all there is to see.

Yet we should be wrong in thinking of that thought-cloud as a limitation. Its function is to enable the man to respond to certain vibrations — not to shut him off from the others. The truth is, that these thoughts which surround the man are the powers by which he draws upon the wealth of the heaven-world. This mental plane itself is a reflection of the Divine Mind — a storehouse of infinite extent from which the person enjoying heaven is able to draw just according to the power of his own thoughts and aspirations generated during the physical and astral life.

But in the higher heaven-world this limitation no longer exists ; it is true that even there many egos are only slightly and dreamily conscious of their surroundings, but in so far as they see, they see truly, for thought no longer assumes the same limited forms which it took upon itself lower down.

The Action of Thought
The exact condition of mind of the human inhabitants of these various sub-planes will naturally be much more fully dealt with under its own appropriate heading; but a comprehension of the manner in which thought acts in the lower and higher levels respectively, is so necessary to an accurate understanding of these great divisions that it will perhaps be worth while to recount in detail some of the experiments made by our explorers in the endeavour to throw light upon this subject.

At an early period of the investigation it became evident that on the mental as on the astral plane there was present an elemental essence quite distinct from the mere matter of the plane, and that it was, if possible, even more instantaneously sensitive to the action of thought here than it had been in that lower world. But here in the heaven-world all was thought-substance, and therefore not only the elemental essence, but the very matter of the plane was directly affected by the action of the mind; and hence it became necessary to make an attempt to discriminate between these two effects.

After various less conclusive experiments a method was adopted which gave a fairly clear idea of the different results produced, one investigator remaining on the lowest subdivision to send out the thought-forms, while others rose to the next higher level, so as to be able to observe what took place from above, and thus avoid many possibilities of confusion. Under these circumstances the experiment was tried of sending an affectionate and helpful thought to an absent friend in a far-distant country.

The result was very remarkable: a sort of vibrating shell, formed in the matter of the plane, issued in all directions round the operator, corresponding exactly to the circle which spreads out in still water from the spot where a stone has been thrown into it, except that this was a sphere of vibration extending itself in many dimensions instead of merely over a flat surface. These vibrations, like those on the physical plane, though very much more gradually, lost in intensity as they passed further away from their source, till at last at an enormous distance they seemed to be exhausted, or at least became so faint as to be imperceptible.

Thus every one on the mental plane is a centre of radiant thought, and yet all the rays thrown out cross in all directions without interfering with one another in the slightest degree, just as rays of light do down here. This expanding sphere of vibrations was many coloured and opalescent, but its colours also grew gradually fainter and fainter as it spread away.

The effect on the elemental essence of the plane was, however, entirely different. In this the thought immediately called into existence a distinct form resembling the human, of one colour only, though exhibiting many shades of that colour. This form flashed instantaneously across the ocean to the friend to whom the good wish had been directed, and there took to itself elemental essence of the astral plane, and thus became an ordinary artificial elemental of that plane, waiting, as explained in Manual No. V, for an opportunity to pour out upon him its store of helpful influence. In taking on that astral form the mental elemental lost much of its brilliancy, though its glowing rose-colour was still plainly visible inside the shell of lower matter which it had assumed, showing that just as the original thought ensouled the elemental essence of its own plane, so that same thought, plus its form as a mental elemental, acted as soul to the astral elemental — thus following closely the method in which the ultimate spirit itself takes on sheath after sheath in its descent through the various planes and sub-planes of matter.

Further experiments along similar lines revealed the fact that the colour of the projected elemental varied with the character of the thought. As above stated, the thought of strong affection produced a creature of glowing rose-colour; an intense wish of healing, projected towards a sick friend, called into existence a most lovely silvery-white elemental; while an earnest mental effort to steady and strengthen the mind of a depressed and despairing person resulted in the production of a beautiful flashing golden-yellow messenger.

In all these cases it will be perceived that, besides the effect of radiating colours and vibrations produced in the matter of the plane, a definite force in the shape of an elemental was sent forth towards the person to whom the thought was directed; and this invariably happened, with one notable exception. One of the operators, while on the lower division of the plane, directed a thought of intense love and devotion towards the Adept who is his spiritual teacher, and it was at once noticed by the observers above that the result was in some sense a reversal of what had happened in the previous cases.

It should be premised that a pupil of any one of the great Adepts is always connected with his Master by a constant current of thought and influence, which expresses itself on the mental plane as a great ray or stream of dazzling light of all colours — violet and gold and blue; and it might perhaps have been expected that the pupil's earnest, loving thought would send a special vibration along this line. Instead of this, however, the result was a sudden intensification of the colours of this bar of light, and a very distinct flow of spiritual influence, towards the pupil; so that it is evident that when a student turns his thought to his Master, what he really does is to vivify his connection with that Master, and thus to open a way for an additional outpouring of strength and help to himself from higher planes. It would seem that the Adept is, as it were, so highly charged with the influences which sustain and strengthen, that any thought which brings into increased activity a channel of communication with him sends no current towards him, as it ordinarily would, but simply gives a wider opening through which the great ocean of his love finds vent.

On the arûpa levels the difference in the effect of thought is very marked, especially as regards the elemental essence. The disturbance set up in the mere matter of the plane is similar, though greatly intensified in this much more refined form of matter; but in the essence no form at all is now created, and the method of action is entirely changed. In all the experiments on lower planes it was found that the elemental hovered about the person thought of, and awaited a favourable opportunity of expending his energy either upon his mind-body, his astral, or even his physical body; here the result is a kind of lightning-flash of the essence from the causal body of the thinker direct to the causal body of the object of his thought; so that while the thought on those lower divisions is always directed to the mere personality, here we influence the reincarnating ego, the real man himself, and if our message has any reference to the personality it will reach it only from above, through the instrumentality of his causal vehicle.

Thought-Forms
Naturally the thoughts to be seen on this plane are not all definitely directed at some other person; many are simply thrown off to float vaguely about, and the diversity of form and colour shown among these is practically infinite, so that the study of them is a science in itself, and a very fascinating one. Anything like a detailed description even of the main classes among them would occupy far more space than we have to spare; but an idea of the principles upon which such classes might be formed may be gained from the following extract from a most illuminative paper on the subject written by Mrs. Besant in Lucifer (the earlier form of The Theosophical Review) for September 1896. She there enunciates the three great principles underlying the production of the thought-forms which are thrown off by the action of the mind — that (a) the quality of a thought determines its colour, (b) the nature of a thought determines its form, (c) the definiteness of a thought determines the clearness of its outline. Giving instances of the way in which the colour is affected, she continues:

"If the astral and mental bodies are vibrating under the influence of devotion, the aura will be suffused with blue, more or less intense, beautiful and pure according to the depth, elevation, and purity of the feeling. In a church such thought-forms may be seen rising, for the most part not very definitely outlined, but rolling masses of blue clouds. Too often the colour is dulled by the intermixture of selfish feelings, when the blue is mixed with browns and thus loses its pure brilliancy. But the devotional thought of an unselfish heart is very lovely in colour, like the deep blue of a summer sky. Through such clouds of blue will often shine out golden stars of great brilliancy, starting upwards like a shower of sparks.

"Anger gives rise to red, of all shades from brick-red to brilliant scarlet; brutal anger will show as flashes of lurid dull red from dark brown clouds, while the anger of noble indignation is a vivid scarlet, by no means unbeautiful to look at, though it gives an unpleasant thrill.

"Affection sends out clouds of rosy hue, varying from dull crimson, where the love is animal in its nature rose-red mingled with brown when selfish, or with dull green when jealous, to the most exquisite shades of delicate rose like the early flushes of the dawning, as the love becomes purified from all selfish elements, and flows out in wider, and wider circles of generous impersonal tenderness and compassion to all who are in need.

"Intellect produces yellow thought-forms, the pure reason directed to spiritual ends giving rise to a very delicate, beautiful yellow, while used for-more selfish ends or mingled with ambition it yields deeper shades of orange, clear and intense." (Lucifer, Volume XIX, page 71.)

It must of course be borne in mind that astral as well as mental thought-forms are described in the above quotation, some of the feelings mentioned needing matter of the lower plane as well as of the higher before they can find expression. Some examples are then given of the beautiful flower-like and shell-like forms sometimes taken by our nobler thoughts; and especial reference is made to the not infrequent case in which the thought, taking human form, is liable to be confounded with an apparition:

"A thought-form may assume the shape of its projector; if a person wills strongly to be present at a particular place, to visit a particular person, and be seen, such a thought-form may take his own shape, and a clairvoyant present at the desired spot would see what he would probably mistake for his friend in the astral body. Such a thought-form might convey a message, if that formed part of its content, setting up in the astral body of the person reached vibrations like its own, and these being passed on by that astral body to the brain, where they would be translated into a thought or a sentence. Such a thought-form, again, might convey to its projector, by the magnetic relation between them, vibrations impressed on itself." (page 73.) The whole of the article from which these extracts are taken should be very carefully studied by those who wish to grasp this very complex branch of our subject, for, with the aid of the beautifully-executed coloured illustrations which accompany it, it enables, those who cannot yet see for themselves to approach much more nearly to a realization of what thought-forms actually are than anything previously written.

The Sub-Planes
If it be asked what is the real difference between the matter of the various sub-planes of the mental plane, it is not easy to answer in other than very general terms, for the unfortunate scribe bankrupts himself of adjectives in an unsuccessful endeavour to describe the lowest plane, and then has nothing left to say about the others. What, indeed, can be said, except that ever as we ascend the material becomes finer, the harmonies fuller, the light more living and transparent? There are more overtones in the sound, more delicate intershades in the colours as we rise, more and more new colours appear — hues entirely unknown to the physical sight; and it has been poetically yet truly said that the light of the lower plane is darkness on the one above it. Perhaps this idea is simpler if we start in thought from .the top instead of the bottom, and try to realize that on that highest sub-plane we shall find its appropriate matter ensouled and vivified by an energy which still flows down like light from above — from a plane which lies away beyond the mental altogether. Then if we descend to the second subdivision we shall find that the matter of our first sub-plane has become the energy of this — or, to put the thing more accurately, that the original energy, plus the garment of matter of the first sub-plane with which it has endued itself, is still the energy ensouling the matter of this second sub-plane. In the same way, in the third division we shall find that the original energy has twice veiled itself in the matter of these first and second sub-planes through which it has passed; so that by the time we get to our seventh sub-division we shall have our original energy six times enclosed or veiled, and therefore by so much the weaker and less active. This process is exactly analogous to the veiling of Âtma, the primordial Spirit, in its descent as monadic essence in order to energize the matter of the planes of the cosmos, and as it is one which frequently takes place in nature, it will save the student much trouble if he will try to familiarize himself with the idea (see Mrs. Besant's Ancient Wisdom, page 54, and footnote).

The Records of the Past
In speaking of the general characteristics of the plane we must not omit to mention the ever-present background formed by the records of the past — the memory of nature, the only really reliable history of the world. While what we have on this plane is not yet the absolute record itself, but merely a reflection of something higher still, it is at any rate clear, accurate, and continuous, differing therein from the disconnected and spasmodic manifestation which is all that represents it in the astral world. It is, therefore, only when a clairvoyant possesses the vision of this mental plane that his pictures of the past can be relied upon; and even then, unless he has the power of passing in full consciousness from that plane to the physical, we have to allow for the possibility of errors in bringing back the recollection of what he has seen.

But the student who has succeeded in developing the powers latent within himself so far as to enable him to use the sense belonging to this mental plane while he is still in the physical body, has before him a field of historical research of most entrancing interest. Not only can he review at his leisure all history with which we are acquainted, correcting as he examines it the many errors and misconceptions which have crept into the accounts handed down to us; he can also range at will over the whole story of the world from its very beginning, watching the slow development of intellect in man, the descent of the Lords of the Flame, and the growth of the mighty civilizations which they founded.

Nor is his study confined to the progress of humanity alone; he has before him, as in a museum, all the strange animal and vegetable forms which occupied the stage in days when the world was young; he can follow all the wonderful geological changes which have taken place, and watch the course of the great cataclysms which have altered the whole face of the earth again and again.

Many and varied are the possibilities opened up by access to these records — so many and so varied indeed that even if this were the only advantage of the mental plane, it would still transcend in interest all the lower worlds. But when to this we add the remarkable increase in the opportunities for the acquisition of knowledge given by its new and wider faculty — the privilege of direct untrammelled intercourse not only with the great Deva kingdom, but with the very Masters of Wisdom themselves — the rest and relief from the weary strain of physical life that is brought by the enjoyment of its deep unchanging bliss, and above all, the enormously enhanced capability of the developed student for the service of his fellow-men — then we shall begin to have some faint conception of what a pupil gains when he wins the right to enter at will and in perfect consciousness upon his heritage in this bright realm of the heaven-world.


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Rh his shield—"O'Dowds may burst. They never yield." His eyes began to start and roll. He eased his belt another hole. Poor fellow! With a single glance one saw that he had not a chance. A python would have had to crawl and own defeat from young McCall.

At last, long last, the finish came. His features overcast with shame, O'Dowd, who'd faltered once or twice, declined to eat another slice. He tottered off, and kindly men rallied around with oxygen. But Washy, Cora Bates's son, seemed disappointed it was done. He somehow made those present feel he'd barely started on his meal. We ask him, "Aren't you feeling bad?" "Me!" said the lion-hearted lad. "Lead me"—he started for the street—"where I can get a bite to eat!" Oh, what a lesson does it teach to all of us, that splendid speech! How better can the curtain fall on Master Washington McCall!

Mr. McCall read this epic through, then he looked at his son. He first looked at him over his glasses, then through his glasses, then over his glasses again, then through his glasses once more. A curious expression was in his eyes. If such a thing had not been so impossible, one would have said that his gaze had in it something of respect, of admiration, even of reverence.

"But how did they find our your name?" he asked, at length.

Mrs. McCall exclaimed impatiently.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"No, no, my dear, of course not, quite so. But the point struck me as curious."

"Wretched boy," cried Mrs. McCall, "were you insane enough to reveal your name?"

Washington wriggled uneasily. Unable to endure the piercing stare of his mother, he had withdrawn to the

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 window, and was looking out with his back turned. But even there he could feel her eyes on the back of his neck.

"I didn't think it 'ud matter," he mumbled. "A fellow with tortoiseshell-rimmed specs asked me, so I told him. How was I to know"

His stumbling defence was cut short by the opening of the door.

"Hallo-allo-allo! What ho! What ho!"

Archie was standing in the doorway, beaming ingratiatingly on the family.

The apparition of an entire stranger served to divert the lightning of Mrs. McCall's gaze from the unfortunate Washy. Archie, catching it between the eyes, blinked and held on to the wall. He had begun to regret that he had yielded so weakly to Lucille's entreaty that he should look in on the McCalls and use the magnetism of his personality upon them in the hope of inducing them to settle the lawsuit. He wished, too, if the visit had to be paid that he had postponed it till after lunch, for he was never at his strongest in the morning. But Lucille had urged him to go now and get it over, and here he was.

"I think," said Mrs. McCall, icily, "that you must have mistaken your room."

Archie rallied his shaken forces.

"Oh, no. Rather not. Better introduce myself, what? My name's Moffam, you know. I'm old Brewster's son-in-law, and all that sort of rot, if you know what I mean." He gulped and continued. "I've come about this jolly old lawsuit, don't you know."

Mr. McCall seemed about to speak, but his wife anticipated him.

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 "Mr. Brewster's attorneys are in communication with ours. We do not wish to discuss the matter."

Archie took an uninvited seat, eyed the Health Bread on the breakfast table for a moment with frank curiosity, and resumed his discourse.

"No, but I say, you know! I'll tell you what happened. I hate to totter in where I'm not wanted and all that, but my wife made such a point of it. Rightly or wrongly she regards me as a bit of a hound in the diplomacy line, and she begged me to look you up and see whether we couldn't do something about settling the jolly old thing. I mean to say, you know, the old bird—old Brewster, you know—is considerably perturbed about the affair—hates the thought of being in a posish where he has either got to bite his old pal McCall in the neck or be bitten by him—and—well, and so forth, don't you know! How about it?" He broke off. "Great Scot! I say, what!"

So engrossed had he been in his appeal that he had not observed the presence of the pie-eating champion, between whom and himself a large potted plant intervened. But now Washington, hearing the familiar voice, had moved from the window and was confronting him with an accusing stare.

"He made me do it!" said Washy, with the stern joy a sixteen-year-old boy feels when he sees somebody on to whose shoulders he can shift trouble from his own. "That's the fellow who took me to the place!"

"What are you talking about, Washington?"

"I'm telling you! He got me into the thing."

"Do you mean this—this" Mrs. McCall shuddered. "Are you referring to this pie-eating contest?"

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 "You bet I am!"

"Is this true?" Mrs. McCall glared stonily at Archie. "Was it you who lured my poor boy into that—that"

"Oh, absolutely. The fact is, don't you know, a dear old pal of mine who runs a tobacco shop on Sixth Avenue was rather in the soup. He had backed a chappie against the champion, and the chappie was converted by one of your lectures and swore off pie at the eleventh hour. Dashed hard luck on the poor chap, don't you know! And then I got the idea that our little friend here was the one to step in and save the situash, so I broached the matter to him. And I'll tell you one thing," said Archie, handsomely, "I don't know what sort of a capacity the original chappie had, but I'll bet he wasn't in your son's class. Your son has to be seen to be believed! Absolutely! You ought to be proud of him!" He turned in friendly fashion to Washy. "Rummy we should meet again like this! Never dreamed I should find you here. And, by Jove, it's absolutely marvellous how fit you look after yesterday. I had a sort of idea you would be groaning on a bed of sickness and all that."

There was a strange gurgling sound in the background. It resembled something getting up steam. And this, curiously enough, is precisely what it was. The thing that was getting up steam was Mr. Lindsay McCall.

The first effect of the Washy revelations on Mr. McCall had been merely to stun him. It was not until the arrival of Archie that he had had leisure to think; but since Archie's entrance he had been thinking rapidly and deeply.

For many years Mr. McCall had been in a state of

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 THE ABORIGINAL TRIBES OF PORT LINCOLN IN SOUTH AUSTRALIA, THEIR MODE OF LIFE, MANNERS, CUSTOMS, ETC. BY C. W. SCHÜRMANN, OF THE LUTHERAN MISSIONARY SOCIETY, DRESDEN.


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has been remarked, that the numbers and condition of the natives of Australia are in general dependent upon the nature of the country they inhabit; where the latter is of a barren description, the natives will be found to be few in number, and of an inferior external appearance; while in the opposite case, they will be comparatively numerous, well-looking and active. With the truth of this observation anyone will be struck, who has had an opportunity of comparing the natives of this district with the Adelaide, and more particularly the Murray, tribes; the former being, upon the whole, fewer, smaller and thinner, less skilful, and less united, in a social point of view, than the latter.

The height of the Port Lincoln Aborigines is considerably below the European standard; a tall-looking black will seldom be found to exceed the height of a middle-sized white man, and with regard to size, the comparison is still more against them, so that one may safely venture to say that the tallest and strongest of them would present but a poor figure among a regiment of grenadiers. If it were not for their thin arms and legs, deep-set eyes, large ugly mouths and flattened noses, the Port Lincoln natives might be called a well-proportioned, compact race of men. They certainly have good foreheads, fine shoulders, and particularly high chests. The male sex exhibit a great deal of unstudied natural grace in their deportment, their walk is


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Rh suppressed revolution. He had smouldered, but had not dared to blaze. But this startling upheaval of his fellow-sufferer, Washy, had acted upon him like a high explosive. There was a strange gleam in his eye, a gleam of determination. He was breathing hard.

"Washy!"

His voice had lost its deprecating mildness. It rang strong and clear.

"Yes, pop?"

"How many pies did you eat yesterday?"

Washy considered.

"A good few."

"How many? Twenty?"

"More than that. I lost count. A good few."

"And you feel as well as ever?"

"I feel fine."

Mr. McCall dropped his glasses. He glowered for a moment at the breakfast table. His eye took in the Health Bread, the imitation coffee-pot, the cereal, the nut-butter. Then with a swift movement he seized the cloth, jerked it forcibly, and brought the entire contents rattling and crashing to the floor.

"Lindsay!"

Mr. McCall met his wife's eye with quiet determination. It was plain that something had happened in the hinterland of Mr. McCall's soul.

"Cora," he said, resolutely, "I have come to a decision. I've been letting you run things your own way a little too long in this family. I'm going to assert myself. For one thing, I've had all I want of this food-reform foolery. Look at Washy! Yesterday that boy seems to have consumed anything from a couple of hundredweight to a

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 210 THE PORT LINCOLN TRIBE. perfectly erect and free, motions of body easy, and gestures natural under all circumstances, whether speaking, fighting or dancing; and with regard to agility, they throw the white man completely into the shade. Of the women, however, one cannot speak so favourably, their persons being generally disfigured by very thin extremities, protruding abdomen, and dependent breasts, a condition that may perhaps be sufficiently accounted for by their early marrying, inferior food, and long suckling of children, it being by no means uncommon to see a child of three or four years still enjoying its mother’s breast. Although to a passing observer the Aborigines of this district may appear all of the same stamp, yet, upon a longer acquaintance with them, considerable difference will be found to exist, not only with regard to size and make, but also in the colour of their skins; while the northern tribes, who inhabit a scrubby country, generally exhibit very dark and dry-looking skins, one often meets among those from the south and west, with faces that might be almost called copper-coloured. Whether this be owing to the influence of climate or food I will not venture to determine; but I think I have observed that the strongest and best fed natives are always of the lightest colour. DRESS. The dress of the Port Lincoln natives consists simply of one or two kangaroo skins, and but rarely of rugs made of wallaby, opossum, or other furs, the preparation of which is performed in the following simple way: As soon as the skin is taken from the animal it is firmly stretched on a level spot of ground by means of pegs inserted round the edge, the flesh side being upwards; when it is dry all fleshy substances that adhere to the skin are gently pulled or shaved off with a sharp-edged piece of quartz, it is then rubbed with the rough surface of an ironstone, which makes it both soft and pliable. The skins are then sewn together with the sinews from a kangaroo’s tail, holes for this purpose being made with a thin pointed bone. Some of the rugs thus constructed are well enough, but upon the whole they are


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 DRESS. 211 neither so large nor so well made as those worn by the Adelaide tribe. As the skins are not tanned the natives take care not to allow the flesh side of their cloaks to become wet, which would make them hard and stiff; they therefore always turn the hairy side outwards in rainy weather. The best rugs are always worn by the women, especially if they have small children, whom they serve at the same time for a covering, either sitting on the mother’s back while travelling, or in her lap at the camp. Such children as are no longer carried are generally worst off for clothing, being either quite naked, or covered only with a small piece of a worn-out rug. More for ornament than for any apparent comfort, the men wear a quantity of yarn on their heads, woven several times round so as to leave only the crown uncovered. The yarn is usually spun of opossum fur or human hair on a sort of distaff, two feet long and not thicker than a goose quill, having towards one end a short cross piece to wind the ready spun yarn upon. Those who wish to appear very smart embellish this ornament still further by placing a bunch of emu feathers in it, above the forehead. On festive occasions, such as the meeting of two strange tribes, they put into this yarn two green sticks stripped of the bark, and covered with white shavings, that make them appear like plumes, fixing one behind each ear and allowing the upper end to incline forward. This ornament, combined with the white and red paint on the chest and arms, is, in my opinion, very much in character with a savage people, expressing a rude pomp that almost borders on the ferocious. I have observed this ornament only among the north-western tribe, to whom it may perhaps be confined. The tip of the tail of a wild dog or wallaby is often attached to the taper end of the beard, and the whole tail of a wild dog tied round the head, is considered very ornamental, Those natives that live amongst Europeans are fond of substituting for the lastmentioned ornament a white or gay coloured rag, or even a bit of paper. Round the waist the men invariably wear a belt or girdle of some sort, it is generally of human hair spun into yarn, and afterwards twisted into a rope about half an inch


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 212 THE PORT LINCOLN TRIBE. thick, sometimes interwoven with emu feathers; but if they cannot obtain one of this sort they will use any kind of string rather than wear none at all. They draw it tight at all times, but especially when they are hungry, for the purpose, as they say, of staying their stomachs, or of rendering the craving of hunger less painful. PAINTING. The cosmetics used by the Aborigines of this district are of different sorts; the one most esteemed and universally applied by both sexes is grease. If they have an abundance of it, they will anoint the whole body, but in times of scarcity they confine themselves to the face. I have no doubt that they derive considerable comfort from this practice, particularly in hot weather, as I have often seen them beg very earnestly for a piece of fat, and as often heard them compare the custom to the washing of white men. The paints they employ in setting off the beauty of their persons are three, namely, black, white, and red. The first and last of these are obtained from places far to the north, and consist of a soft kind of stone, of which they scrape some powder, and rub it on their previously greased faces, arms, and breasts, when the paint, particularly the black, assumes a shining and metallic hue. As a substitute for the black paint, the cinders of a burnt grass-tree are sometimes used, which produce a. deep black but much duller colour than the metallic paint. The white paint is a soft kind of chalk or pipeclay, and is only applied on particular occasions, such as dancing and mourning. How they ornament themselves with this paint for dancing I shall afterwards have an opportunity to describe; when in mourning, the women paint their foreheads, draw a ring round their eyes, and a. perpendicular stripe on the stomach; while the men only put it on their foreheads, and at other times on their breasts, in different shapes, such as lines or dots, in order to indicate how near a relative the deceased was to them. The black paint is said to indicate mourning also, but I cannot say in what particular cases. It is, however, clear that under the same circumstances the natives do not all paint alike, as the deceased must


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 WEAPONS. 213 of necessity have stood in a different relationship to the several survivors, which the various modes of painting are meant to denote. WEAPONS. The weapons of the Port Lincoln tribes are rather clumsily made, but yet fully as efficacious as those of the Adelaide natives. Their spears are made of thin gum-scrub saplings, seven or more feet long, and are straightened in hot ashes. The root end, which is about as thick as a man’s thumb, is pointed, being previously hardened in the fire, and at the taper end a small hole is bored by means of a sharp kangaroo bone, into which the catch of the wommara is hooked in throwing the spear. To prevent the edge of the hole splitting or breaking away, a thin kangaroo sinew is firmly tied round it. Of the bundle of spears that each man carries about with him, two or three are generally barbed, and for those that are not they have ready-made barbs in their knapsacks, to be fixed to the spears when required. This barb is merely a chip of wood two inches in length, pointed at both ends, and so shaped that when the one end is laid even with the point of the spear, the other projects from it at a sharp angle, thus forming a hook, similar to one side of a harpoon. Although it is fixed to the spear only by a thin thread of sinew, yet it is so secure that it will never slip, and it is impossible to draw a barbed spear out of the body of a man or animal. This weapon is always used in spearing game, but the natives seem to consider it very reprehensible to use a barbed spear in fight. All these spears are thrown with the wooden lever, known by the name of wommara, but here called midla, and the only other kind in use is the winna, which is only five feet long, very strong and clumsy, and only made use of in spearing large fish. The midla is about two feet long and as many inches broad, the upper end is rather pointed, and a small peg is fixed by means of sinews and gum on the inside, to serve as a catch for the hole in the small end of the spear. The handle end has a broad sharp-edged piece of quartz attached to it with gum, which answers the double purpose of pointing the spears, and also of preventing the instrument from


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 214 THE PORT LINCOLN TRIBE. slipping through the hand. The inside, on which the spear rests, is slightly hollowed out, while the outside is round, and both are rudely ornamented with little grooves. The midla is made of a long chip from the smooth and round trunk of a sheoak. The wirris, by the whites incorrectly called waddies, are also made of gum saplings; they are eighteen inches in length, and barely one inch in diameter, the thin end is notched in order to afford a firm hold for the hand, while towards the other end there is a slight gradual bend like that of a sword; they are, however, without knobs, and every way inferior to the wirris of the Adelaide tribes. The natives use this weapon principally for throwing at kangaroo rats or other small animals, and also at the commencemencement of a fight before they take to their spears. The kiatta or grubbing stick is a gum or sheoak sapling, five feet long and two inches in diameter; the thick end of it is hardened in the fire, and by means of a rough stone a broad and sharp edge is given to it. The use of this stick is sufficiently indicated by its name, namely, to dig up roots, and as this is mainly the employment of the women, it is their constant companion. The wadna is the boomerang of other Australian tribes, only that it is longer, thinner, and clumsier; it is used solely for striking fish in the water, and seldom carried about by the natives, but is generally left at the fishing places. The most singular implement in use with the Port Lincoln tribesand peculiar to them, I believe, as I have not met with a notice of it anywhere else is the yuta, a large piece of bark about four feet long, eight to ten inches wide, and presenting the form of an open round waterspout; its use is to clean the grubs of a large species of ant. When an ant-hill is opened it will be found to contain, among a mass of rubbish and innumerable small red insects, here and there a large white grub. These are the only ones fit for eating, but as it would be tedious to pick them out with the hand the natives put as much of the whole mass into the yuta as it will hold, and commence throwing it up and catching it again, holding the yuta all the time in a position slightly deviating from the horizontal. By this process all heavy substances


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 WEAPONS. 215 will gradually separate and fall out of the vessel at its lower end, while the lighter particles seek the raised end, and thus leave, at last, the eatable grubs cleaned in the middle. The grubs are already possessed of life at the time when the natives eat them, and it is on this account probably, that they wrap them up in a clean bit of dry grass, which they chew and suck until they have got all the nutriment out of it, taking enormous mouthsful each time. It requires a great deal of dexterity to handle the yuta properly, so as to lose none of the white grubs, and get them thoroughly clean; while little native children, six or seven years old, understand this business very well, I have never seen a white man succeed in imitating them. The grub is in season about September, and it is therefore only at that time that the yuta is seen among the natives. All the above weapons and implements are with other things packed in the knapsack which is carried under the left arm, being by one or more strings slung over the shoulder. It is either a mere kangaroo skin, drawn together by a string like a purse, or a coarse net, manufactured of the fibres of rushes. The smaller articles contained in the knapsack are: a large flat shell for drinking, a round smooth stone for breaking the bones of animals, one or more kinds of paint, a wooden scoop used in roasting roots, some pieces of quartz, and the whole skin of some animal which answers for a purse to keep minute things in, such as kangaroo sinews and pointed bones of various sizes (serving for needles and thread), sharp-edged thin bones to peel roots with, tufts of feathers, tips for beards, strings, spear-barbs, &c. To prevent these from falling through the meshes of the net, the inside of it is lined with dry grass. Besides the articles mentioned, the natives carry roots and whatever game they pick up during the day in the nurti, as the wallet is called by them, and on the top of all they place their weapons, entwining them in such a manner in the string that closes the knapsack that they cannot slip. The knapsacks of the women differ in no way from those of the men, except that they are larger and, when full and heavy, are carried by them on the back by a breast-band across the chest.


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 216 THE PORT LINCOLN TRIBE. Some men also carry a native knife, called bakki bakkiti, made of a large piece of quartz fixed to one end of a stick with resin. There is one more instrument to he mentioned, of a more sacred and mysterious use: this is the witarna, an oval chip of wood, say eighteen inches long and three or four broad, smooth on both sides and not above half an inch thick. By a long string which passes through a hole at one end, the native swings it round his head through the air, when it gradually, as the string becomes twisted, produces a deep unearthly sound, interrupted at intervals and anon breaking forth again with increased intensity. From the women and children the witarna is carefully concealed; and whenever it is heard, which is only at their mysterious ceremonies, the women know that they must not approach. FOOD. It has been asserted that the Aborigines of this country will eat anything. This opinion has probably arisen from seeing them eat many things which to an European would be very disgusting, such as grubs, foul eggs, intestines of animals, &c. Yet there are articles of food relished by white men that a native would not touch; for instance, some kinds of fish, oysters, or shell-fish of any kind, the common mushroom, &c., although they eat almost all other kinds of fungus. The natives divide their food into two general classes, namely, paru, which denotes animal food of every description, and mai, which comprises all vegetable nutriments. To the latter class belong a variety of roots, such as ngamba, ngarruru, nilai, winnu, and other kinds, which are nearly all of the size and shape of a small carrot or radish. These are all roasted in hot ashes, and peeled before they are eaten, and have more or less a bitter taste. The only root known to me as eaten in a raw state is that of the grass-tree, which grows in great abundance on the barren hills and plains of Port Lincoln, and is consumed by the natives in prodigious quantities at different seasons of the year. It is by no means unpleasant to the palate but contains, probably, very little nourishment. Several kinds of the fungus tribe are also consumed raw. Though this country


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 FOOD. 217 is almost entirely destitute of indigenous fruits of any value to an European, yet there are various kinds which form very valuable and extensive articles of food for the Aborigines; the most abundant and important of these is the fruit of a species of cactus, very elegantly styled pig’s-faces by the white people, but by the natives called karkalla. The size of the fruit is rather less than that of a walnut, and it has a thick skin of a pale reddish clour, by compressing which, the glutinous sweet substance inside slips into the mouth. When it is in season, which is from January to the end of summer, a comparatively glorious life begins for the Aborigines; hunger can never assail them, as this fruit is abundant all over the grassy part of the country, and they never tire of it; the men gather only as much as they want to eat at the time, but the women bring great quantities of it home to the camp, to be eaten at night. The other kinds of fruit that the natives eat grow on small trees or shrubs, in the shape of berries or pods. Some of these are allowed to ripenas the native peach, cherry, wadnirri berry (found on the sea-beach), the karrambi berry (growing on the besom-tree), &c., while others are gathered before they are ripe, and roasted in hot ashes, as, for instance, the myarri and pulbulla, cherries, and the menka and nondo, beans. The last-mentioned fruit, which is much prized by the natives, grows in abundance among the sandhills between Coffin and Sleaford Bays, where it every year attracts a large concourse of tribes, and generally gives occasion for a fight. As a proof how much this bean is valued it may be mentioned that the Kukata tribe, notorious for ferocity and witchcraft, often threaten to burn or otherwise destroy the nondo bushes in order to aggravate their adversaries. As the wattle does not grow in Port Lincoln, at least not to any extent, there is but little eatable gum, which constitutes such an important article of food for the Adelaide tribes. The willow, and another shrub named perrenye, exude, indeed, some gum of the colour and transparency of sugar-candy, but they grow only in certain localities, and the quantity is comparatively limited.


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 218 THE PORT LINCOLN TRIBE. Every description of game, from the kangaroo down to the smallest marsupial species, and all kinds of birds, from the emu to the wren, constitute food for the Aborigines of this district, nor are snakes and other reptiles by any means despised. The commonest method of procuring wild animals is to approach them unseen and spear them unawares. In order to effect this, some artifices are employed to divert the attention of the animal, such as one man stationing himself in an open space at a distance, or hiding himself in a bush and making a slight noise by breaking sticks or otherwise, while the huntsman is creeping nearer and nearer until he has his victim within reach of his spear. This is the usual way of killing kangaroos, emus, and wild dogs; but in winter, when the ground is soft, the kangaroos are pursued till they are tired out, and are then killed with waddies, or if a great number of natives be collected, as is often the case in summer, they surround a district of country known to contain kangaroo, and by shouting, and gradually drawing closer, drive them towards the spot where other men are concealed and prepared to spear the game as it passes them; and if near the sea-coast, they hunt the poor animals upon a point of land, where they are easily speared, or if they take to the sea, as I am told they sometimes will do, their enemies will pursue, even in this element, by swimming after them. The smaller animals, as wallaby and kangaroorats that live in the scrub, are knocked down with waddies while running away. To start them from their lairs, a whole district is set on fire, before which the hunters take their places, or if the bush be not dry enough to burn, they spread out in line, firing here and there a dry patch, and hurling their waddies at the scared animals. Where the scrub is low, each man has a tuft of feathers at the butt end of a spear, which he plants upright near the bush that he knows to contain some animal, and as soon as the others see this signal they come to surround and thus make sure of the game. They have also a great number of manual signs, by which they can indicate the description of game in sight without speaking. Thus, pointing with the forefinger, while the rest are closed, and making a motion that reminds one of the hopping of


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 FOOD. 219 a kangaroo, indicates that animal; three fingers extended, the middle one dropping a little below the other two, denotes an emu; four fingers shut, and the thumb only extended, means an opossum; the whole hand extended and held horizontally on edge shows that fish are seen. They have as many similar signs as there are kinds of game, employing a different one for each. Opossums and native cats are hunted in moonlight nights when the heavens are lightly clouded, for in perfectly clear nights the natives maintain the animals see them at a distance, and run to their holes in the rocks before they come up. In hunting opossums, the tamed native dogs are of great service, as they not only catch the animals when dropping from the trees, but also scent and take the natives to the game. If a kangaroo-rat is found in a hole or under a rock, and they can neither reach it with their hands nor with sticks, a fire is made at the mouth of the opening, until the animal is driven out or overpowered by the smoke. The natives of Port Lincoln are not so expert in procuring fish as those of other parts of the colony, for they neither use nets nor hooks. The larger kinds are speared, while the smaller sorts, particularly those that move about in shoals, are surrounded by a number of natives, each being provided with a branch of teatree, and slowly driven towards the shore, where they are secured by placing the branches round them and throwing them upon the sand. Some kinds of fish are attracted in the night by a light, knowing which, the natives go into the water with lighted torches of long, dry pieces of bark, and procure great quantities of them. Great excitement prevails among the natives when they are successful in hunting or fishing, each one exclaiming on those occasions, Ngaitye paru, ngaitye paru, i e., "my meat, my meat!" patting his stomach all the time vigorously. Many eulogiums are also bestowed on him to whose skill they owe the feast in prospect. All kinds of meat and fish are roasted on the fire; large animals, such as kangaroos, are skinned and cut into joints, but the smaller sorts are thrown on the fire without being skinned, unless the natives want to save the fur for cloaks. When the


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254 ton of pie, and he has thriven on it! Thriven! I don't want to hurt your feelings, Cora, but Washington and I have drunk our last cup of anti-caffeine! If you care to go on with the stuff, that's your look-out. But Washy and I are through."

He silenced his wife with a masterful gesture and turned to Archie. "And there's another thing. I never liked the idea of that lawsuit, but I let you talk me into it. Now I'm going to do things my way. Mr. Moffam, I'm glad you looked in this morning. I'll do just what you want. Take me to Dan Brewster now, and let's call the thing off, and shake hands on it."

"Are you mad, Lindsay?"

It was Cora Bates McCall's last shot. Mr. McCall paid no attention to it. He was shaking hands with Archie.

"I consider you, Mr. Moffam," he said, "the most sensible young man I have ever met!"

Archie blushed modestly.

"Awfully good of you, old bean," he said. "I wonder if you'd mind telling my jolly old father-in-law that? It'll be a bit of news for him!"

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 220 THE PORT LINCOLN TRIBE. hair is well singed off they are taken from the fire again, and the inside is taken out, and is generally handed over to the women and children. The superstitious simplicity of the Aborigines is peculiarly displayed in hunting and distributing game. They have a number of distiches, handed down to them by their ancestors, and known only to the grown-up men, which are rapidly pronounced when they are going to pursue or spear an animal. The literal meaning of these charms, or imprecations, as the natives term them, is probably unknown to themselves, since they are unable to explain it; but the object and confidently believed effect of them is, to throw the animal off its guard, so that it may not observe its enemy, or to weaken it, that it may not be able to escape from its pursuers. Another object in pronouncing these formulas appears to be, to remove the game from common use, or to render imperative the observance of their traditional laws with regard to animal food. The general principle of these laws is this, that the male of any animal should be eaten by grown-up men, the female by women, and the young animal by children only. An exception, however, is made with respect to the common kangaroo-rat, which may be eaten promiscuously. The wallaby, especially that species called by the natives yurridni, and the two species of bandicoot, kurkulla and yartiri, must on no account be eaten by young men and young women, as they are believed to produce premature menses in the latter, and discolour the beards of the former, giving them a brown tinge instead of a shining black. That the last-mentioned laws are strictly adhered to, I have had frequent opportunities of observing; but, as regards the general principle, I am afraid it is often disregarded, to the professed great grief of the men, who thence will sometimes take occasion to reprehend the young generation for their unprincipled conduct, declaring, at the same time, that in their own youth they scrupulously abstained from forbidden meat. Guanas and lizards are proper food for girls, as accelerating maturity, and snakes for women, promoting fecundity. The life of a hunter is necessarily a roving one under any circumstances, but more particularly so in a country which yields


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 FOOD. 221 its scanty natural products in different localities, and at different seasons of the year. On this account the Port Lincoln natives are compelled sometimes to range up and down the sea-coast, looking for fish; sometimes to travel over hill and dale, hunting and digging roots; and, during the driest months of the year, the impervious, scrubby deserts are traversed by them, for the purpose of procuring small game, in spite of excessive heat and want of water. To assuage the burnings of thirst, under such circumstances, they resort to the expedient of covering their bodies with earth, which is said to cool them, and answer the same purpose as drinking water. Fifteen to twenty miles is about the distance they travel in a day, the men often taking circuitous roads, while the women and children, many of whom have to be carried, are taken straight to the intended camping place, under the protection and guidance of one or more men. They seem never in a hurry to start in the morning, and it usually requires a great deal of talking and urging, on the part of the more eager, before a movement is made. When arrived at the camp, which is always some time before sunset, the first thing to be done is to make a fire and roast the small animals that the men may have killed (kangaroo, and other large game, being roasted on the spot where it is killed, and, what is not eaten then, carried piecemeal to the camp. ) After the meat is consumed, the women produce the roots or fruit picked up by them during the day; and this dessert also over, the rest of the evening is spent in talking, singing, or dancing. In summer and fine weather, they only put a few branches on the ground, in a semi-circular shape, to serve as a breakwind; but, in rainy weather, they construct huts of sheoak branches, in the shape of a deep niche, giving them as much pitch as possible to promote the running down of the water. A fire is always kept burning in front of the hut to keep their feet warm during the night; and, in cold weather, each individual has a small heap of burning coals in front, and at the back; as the least shifting will bring them in close contact with these coals, it frequently happens that they burn themselves severely. The length of time that they stay in a camp


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 depends partly on the locality, partly on the quantity of food near it. There are in the Port Lincoln district many isolated wells and holes in rocks containing water; while, for thirty or more miles round, there may not be a drop to be found; so that the natives are compelled to resort to the same camp so long as they remain in the neighbourhood. Again, on favourable fishing grounds, they will sometimes protract their stay in one camp from ten days to a fortnight, but never longer. As they travel much more in summer than in winter, they change their camping places more frequently during that season. Each family occupies a separate hut; and, if there be any young unmarried men, they sleep apart in a hut of their own.

The Aborigines of this portion of the province are divided into two distinct classes, viz., the Mattiri, and Karraru people. This division seems to have remained among them from time immemorial, and has for its object the regulation of marriages; none being allowed within either of these classes, but only between the two; so that if a husband be Mattiri, his wife must be Karraru, and vice versa. The distinction is kept up by the children taking invariably the appellation of that class to which their mother belongs. There is not an instance of two Mattiri or Karraru being married, although they do not seem to consider less virtuous connections between parties of the same class incestuous. There are of course other limitations to marriage between nearly related people besides this general distinction; but it is very difficult to ascertain them, on account of the innumerable grades of consanguinity that arise from polygamy, and from frequent interchanging and repudiating of wives. Besides, friendship among the natives assumes always the forms and names of relationship, which renders it almost impossible to find out the difference between real or merely adopted relatives. The mode of marrying is the most unceremonious in the world. Long before a young girl arrives at maturity, she is affianced by her parents to some friend of theirs, no matter whether young


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 MARRIAGE AND NOMENCLATURE. 223 or old, married or single, and as soon as she shows symptoms of puberty, she is bid to follow him without any further ceremony, and without consulting her own inclinations. Fortunately for the young females, it will not unfrequently happen, that a jealous old matron violently opposes her husband dividing his affections between herself and her young rival, and thus compels him to transfer his claim to some young fellow who will gladly relieve him of his burden. It sometimes occurs that a young man, desperately in love, or fancying that his pretensions are well founded, takes a woman from another man by force; often killing the latter without any compunction, if he cannot otherwise effect his purpose. The loose practices of the Aborigines, with regard to the sanctity of matrimony, form the worst trait in their character; although the men are capable of fierce jealousy, if their wives transgress unknown to them, yet they frequently send them out to other parties, or exchange with a friend for a night; and, as for near relatives, such as brothers, it may almost be said that they have their wives in common. While the sending out of the women for a night seems to be regarded as an impropriety by the natives themselves, the latter practice is a recognised custom, about which not the least shame is felt. A peculiar nomenclature has arisen from these singular connections; a woman honours the brothers of the man to whom she is married with the indiscriminate name of husbands; but the men make a distinction, calling their own individual spouses yungaras, and those to whom they have a secondary claim, by right of brotherhood, kartetis. Notwithstanding the early marriage of females, I have not observed that they have children at an earlier age than is common among Europeans. The number of children reared by each family is of course variable, but, in general, very limited, rarely exceeding four. If a mother have children in rapid succession, which, however, does not appear to be frequently the case, the young infant is killed by some other woman, who accompanies the mother on these occasions to a distance from the other natives. From the greater number of male children reared one may infer that not so many of them


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 224 THE PORT LINCOLN TRIBE. are killed at their birth as of the female sex. In extenuation of this horrible practice the women allege that they cannot suckle and carry two babies at once, while the men wash their hands in innocence by maintaining that they are never present at these murders, and that the women alone are to blame. Although both sexes are very fond of their living offspring, yet the mothers are very careless, often allowing their children to burn themselves so badly that there are few adults who have not a. more or less disfiguring mark about them received during infancy. The Aborigines have a simple method of naming their children, derived from the successive number of births by each mother. For instance: the first-born child, if a male, is named Piri; if a female, Kartanya. The second, if a boy, Warri; if a girl Warruyu, and so on to the number of six or seven names for either sex. Besides these names, which are confined to more familiar use, corresponding exactly with our Christian names, each child receives the name of the place where it was born. Both these names are retained through life, but in addition to them the males receive a third name about the age of puberty, with a great many mysterious and ceremonious observances, a description of which will be given further on. MEDICAL TREATMENT. Although living in a healthy climate and on wholesome food, yet the natives are not entirely free from diseases; those they are most subject to, besides wounds, are colds, diarrhoea, and headaches. They employ various external means with a view either of removing the disease or of affording temporal relief from pain, some of which seem appropriate enough. The principal of them are pressing or manipulating the patient’s body, especially the abdomen, and even gently treading it with the feet; drawing the belt round the waist, and the bandage round the head, very tight; sprinkling with cold water in cases of fever or local inflammation; fomenting the anus with the previously heated green leaves of the currant tree, in cases of diarrhoea; bleeding on the lower arm for the relief of severe headache. The last


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 MEDICAL TREATMENT. 225 mentioned remedy is confined to the male sex, and by them very commonly resorted to during the hot season, even when in good health. None of the blood is allowed to drop on the ground, but it is carefully made to run on another man’s body in such a manner as to form a number of thin transverse lines, representing the appearance of a regular network. The object of this custom is partly to remove disease, as inflammation and headache, partly to promote the growth of young people, and preserve the vigour of older men. The women are on no account allowed to bleed, or even to see the men when bled; and when the latter are exercising this secret privilege of theirs, the witarna is sounded to give the women and uninitiated young people notice not to approach. Independent of these empiricisms, which may be applied by anybody, the Aborigines have doctors among them called Mintapas, who pretend that they can cure disease by sucking it out of the body. If the evil be general they apply their lips to the pit of the stomach, or if local to the part affected, and after sucking a while they take out of their mouths a small piece of wood or bone, which they make the patient and bystanders believe to be the malady, sucked by them out of the body. Such is the superstition of these ignorant people that they not only firmly believe in this mummery, but also vehemently expostulate with you if you express a doubt, or hint that the mintapas have previously put the wood produced by them into their mouths. Among the tribes in the immediate vicinity of Port Lincoln the mintapas are rare, but the famous Kukata tribe, to the north-west, are said to harbour many of such workers of miracles. External wounds are generally left to heal of their own accord, the most that they do to them is to wrap something very tightly round the injured part, to press the adjoining parts occasionally, and sprinkle them with cold water if inflamed. The natives show a deal of sympathy with sick people, especially the women, who vent their feelings by a plentiful effusion of tears and vigorous manipulation of the painful parts, while the patients, even in desperate cases, display very often a degree of stoical fortitude that old Zeno himself might have envied.


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 226 THE PORT LINCOLN TRIBE. CUSTOMS AND CEREMONIES. It is a curious fact, as well as a strong proof of the degraded social condition of the aboriginal inhabitants of this country, that they have no chief, or any persons of acknowledged superior authority among them. All grown-up men are perfectly equal, and this is so well understood that none ever attempt to assume any command over their fellows; but whatever wishes they may entertain with regard to the conduct and actions of others, they must be expressed in the shape of entreaty or persuasion. Considerable deference, however; is shown to the old men by the younger generation, proceeding, perhaps, partly from the respect which superior age and experience inspire, but greatly increased and kept up by the superstitious awe of certain mysterious rites, known only to the grown-up men, and to the knowledge of which the young people are only very gradually admitted. The three degrees of initiation through which the youths must pass form so many periods of their lives, and the appellation of the character which each degree confers on them supersedes their ordinary names during the time that intervenes between the ceremonies or immediately follows them. The first initiation takes place about the age of fifteen, when the boys assume the title of Warrara. I have never witnessed the ceremonies attending it, as the natives hitherto were very jealous of strangers being present, from fear that through them the women and children might become acquainted with the mysteries practised. I have been told, however, that the boy is conducted from the camp blindfolded, by one man styled the Yumbo, whose duty it is to attend the warrara during the whole ceremony at some remote place, which must be screened from the eyes of the women and children, who remain behind. When arrived at the spot chosen he is laid down on the ground and covered over with skins, and the yumbo sits down by his side to keep watch over him. The rest of the company now prepare a number of small whips (pullakalli), to the end of which a small chip of wood about ten inches long and half-an-inch broad is attached; by


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 CUSTOMS AND CEREMONIES. 227 twisting the string of this whip, and swinging it rapidly through the air, a sudden and piercing sound is produced; not unlike the report of an air-gun. Next, two men procure a heap of green boughs, and hide themselves in it, in front of the spot where the boy is lying, and about twenty paces from it; one of the adults then opens a vein in his arm, causing the blood to run on the warrara’s head, face, and shoulders, and a few drops into his mouth. The latter is then told to uncover his eyes, in order to behold a most ludicrous and grotesque spectacle. While one aged man hums a slow and monotonous tune, and three or four others crack the above-described whips (with dire grimaces and furious gesticulations), a slight rustling, which gradually grows louder, is heard among the heap of branches, until at last a veritable black leaps out of them, all fours, biting his beard, wildly rolling his eyes, and assuming altogether an expression and position similar to that of a tiger, just in the act of pouncing upon his prey. At each crack of the whips, the man drops down upon his face, moving neither head nor foot, as if he were dead; but gradually recovering, he raises his head, gives a deep scowl on all around, and throwing now and then some dust about him, slowly moves forward, until another crack is heard, and he drops down again. When arrived at the spot where the warrara is sitting, he leaves the arena, making room for the other man still hidden among the boughs, and who now repeats exactly the same antics: hereupon, all present crowd round the poor warrara, giving him a number of precepts for his future conduct, accompanied by awful threatenings and severe thumps on his chest and sides. Although they assure him that by all this no harm is meant, but that his own good is solely intended, my informant has seen big tears ran down a boy’s cheek. The precepts that a warrara is required to observe are these: Not to associate any longer with his mother, or the other women, and the children, but to keep company with the men; to have no quarrels with the women, especially not to waddy, spear, or otherwise ill-treat them; to abstain from forbidden meats, such as lizards, &c.; and not to betray what he has seen and heard on the present occasion; and that if he did not