He says he thinks he was lucky when he passed on, because he had so many to meet him. That came, he knows now, through your having been in with this thing for so long. He wants to impress this on those that you will be writing for: that it makes it so much easier for them if they and their friends know about it beforehand. It's awful when they have passed over and won't believe it for weeks,--they just think they're dreaming. And they won't realise things at all sometimes. He doesn't mind telling you now that, just at first, when he woke up, he felt a little depression. But it didn't last long. He cast his eyes round, and soon he didn't mind. But it was like finding yourself in a strange place, like a strange city; with people you hadn't seen, or not seen for a long time, round you. Grandfather was with me straight away; and presently Robert. I got mixed up between two Roberts. And there's some one called Jane comes to him, who calls herself an aunt, he says. Jane. He's uncertain about her. Jane--Jennie. She calls herself an aunt; he is told to call her 'Aunt Jennie.' Is she my Aunt Jennie? he says. O. J. L.--No, but your mother used to call her that. [And so on, simple talk about family and friends.] He has brought that doggie again, nice doggie. A doggie that goes like this, and twists about (Feda indicating a wriggle). He has got a nice tail, not a little stumpy tail, nice tail with nice hair on it. He sits up like that sometimes, and comes down again, and puts his tongue out of his mouth. He's got a cat too, plenty of animals, he says. He hasn't seen any lions and tigers, but he sees horses, cats, dogs, and birds. He says you know this doggie; he has nice hair, a little wavy, which sticks up all over him, and has twists at the end. Now he's jumping round. He hasn't got a very pointed face, but it isn't like a little pug-dog either; it's rather a long shape. And he has nice ears what flaps, not standing up; nice long hairs on them too. A darkish colour he looks, darkish, as near as Feda can see him. [See photograph, p. 278.] O. J. L.--Does he call him by any name? He says, 'Not him.' (_Sotto voce._--What you mean 'not him'? It is a 'him'; you don't call him 'it.') No, he won't explain. No, he didn't give it a name. It can jump. [All this about a she-dog called Curly, whose death had been specially mentioned by 'Myers' through another medium some years ago,--an incident reported privately to the S.P.R. at the time,--is quite good as far as it goes.] He has met a spirit here, he says, who knows you--G. Nothing to do with the other G. Some one that's a very fine sort indeed. His name begins with G--Gal, Gals, Got, Got,--he doesn't know him very well, but it sounds like that. It isn't who you feel, though it might have been, nothing to do with that at all. Some one called Golt--he didn't know him, but he is interested in you, and had met you.