"But can't you account for it at all?" asked my friend, who had been with me through all the depressing influences of the former weeks and was astounded, as well as delighted, by the inexplicable change in my spirits. "Well, it is the day after the shortest day," I said, laughing. "But it has never had such an extraordinary effect upon me before." All day long this exuberant feeling of delight and happiness remained. I had no specially spiritual or religious experience in connection with it, but rather the happy feeling of confidence that a child might have, who, after wandering about in unknown lanes and thorny paths, suddenly found himself transported, with no effort of his own, to the dear, familiar house and loving home faces. Five days later, in a private letter, I read the first allusion to the death of Dr Richard Hodgson. It came to me in a letter from Mrs Forbes, not as a fact, but as an uncorroborated report, which would probably be found incorrect. "_There is nothing about it in The Times this morning, so I don't suppose it is true._" These were her exact words. I don't think I ever really doubted the truth of it, although it came as a bolt out of the blue. Only a few days previously, a letter from an intimate friend of Dr Hodgson in America (he had brought us together) mentioned her having seen him lately and thinking he was really much depressed over his work and other matters, "_though, doubtless, if I taxed him with this he would say it was quite untrue; but I feel quite convinced that it is true_." These words had not at the time given me any clue to my own curious depression, but when the first _rumour_ of his death reached me, I felt convinced that it was true, and that I must have taken on his joyful conditions when he first found himself on the other side of the veil. I can only surmise, therefore, that the weeks of my depression _may_ have corresponded with feelings alluded to by his intimate friend; although less intuitive, if not less valued associates, may have noticed nothing but his usual cheery and genial spirits. A telegram sent to Mr Stead showed me clearly that my inquiry had been _his_ first intimation of anything wrong. Then, in despair of getting accurate information, I wrote to Sir Oliver Lodge, who kindly responded at once, confirming my worst fears. He was good enough to send me later the particulars of the event, supplied by Professor William James. It was a bitter blow for _us_, but for _him_ how joyous an awakening! I am grateful for having had, through personal experience, even a dim reflection of that wonderful New Life, so overwhelming and so exuberant, that its rays could reach to the hearts of some of those who had been honoured by his friendship. On comparing notes I found that, allowing for difference of time, forty-eight hours must have elapsed between his physical departure and my experience of his awakening to new conditions.