From a letter dated Wednesday evening, March 6th:
Your letter and wire both came after four, though the letters usually arrive with the first mail in the morning. I was getting a little anxious. Went to planchette and asked Mary Kendal whether she knew anything about you. She said you were better to-day and that a letter was coming, but that I must go to Atlantic City.[6]
Frederick also came, seeming very anxious lest the meeting with his mother fail. Wrote “message” several times, and by dint of some questioning I found it was not a message he wished to send, but one he wished me to send to her about coming at once. Wrote of her “mental anguish,” an expression I never should have used myself, and wanted her to join me at Atlantic City. Knew nothing about you, but was keen to meet her.
Later, he seemed to go, and Mary Kendal wrote a little. Then came something very hard to get. Over and over we tried. “Com ... come ... comf ... comp....” I suggested various words. Always the answer was “No.” Finally, very clearly and slowly, “Comfort dear Mother.” After the M of the last word I expected Manse, as I thought Mary was still writing. When it proved to be “Mother,” I said, “Is this Frederick?” “Yes.” I promised again to do all I could. He wrote, “Thank you,” and went.
It is an amazing experience!... To sit all alone here and have that foolish toy move firmly and definitely under my hands, write things I have to puzzle out, sign names of persons who are what we call “dead,” and beg me to send messages to those they love—all this is startling and deeply impressive. Deeply moving.
The next day I joined Cass at Atlantic City. He had never seen a planchette used, and was much interested in the whole matter. In the evening we experimented, and “Mary Kendal” was written at once.
He exclaimed, “God bless you, Mary Kendal!”
“God bless you, too. Tell Manse I love him. Don’t fail to tell him that.” During all the preceding days this had been her constant plea. Repeatedly I assured her that I had told him, and as often she urged, “Tell him again.”
Then came a strong, brisk movement, to and fro, for a space of about five inches. I asked if this were Frederick, and received an affirmative answer, after which planchette ran about, as if in uncontrollable excitement, presently pausing to write: