Mrs. Bruce came the next day to talk to him, and Mary K. told me, before her arrival, to give her no details about the previous messages, adding: “He will tell her.” And while his opening message to her merely summarizes similar assertions previously received, it is interesting as the first consecutive personal statement of the survival of individuality in the eternal pursuance of constructive purpose. “I am here with you, darling Bess, as I have been with you from the start,” he began at once. “You have known it all the time, and I have been able to reach you in a way that I can only describe to you as spiritual.” Here was the first veiled allusion, at first rather puzzling, to that unknown force afterward mentioned by William James and others. “We so long to tell you whom we love not to grieve. We are of you, as you are of us. Even more closely than we were when I was visibly with you. Perfect union is only possible to pure spirit. That will come. Meanwhile, one of us is pure spirit, and both of us so much the richer thereby. Once, in the beginning of things, you and I were the same purpose. Purposes are eternal. They may be temporarily divided, temporarily overcome by the forces of disintegration, which are forever seeking to destroy, but forever each divided purpose answers to the call of its own. You and I were one purpose in the first, and we shall be perfectly reunited when you have joined me here. But while we were one in the beginning, one with many others of our great purpose, we are now eternally definite and separate individuals, but united as perfectly, after the first life there, as if we had returned to one unit.... The first message any of us send must be this one. That is the reason we can come so freely now and tell so much.” A little later, speaking of their children, he said: “All young people have battles to fight and problems to solve. Don’t try to spare them that. It is thus they learn life’s lessons, and the more they learn there the readier they will be to do the fine and glorious work here.” He had spoken before of being very busy, and now she commented: “He seems so interested in the work!” “Interested is not the word. It’s more like inspiration.” “Was the passing difficult?” she asked. “Not difficult at all. The pain ended with unconsciousness.” “But you had no pain!” “Yes, I had some—not expressed, nor quite definite. Difficult to explain until experienced. Words do not convey the sensation. Not quite fear, not quite pain, but a strange moment of suffering. Then consciousness again, beauty, force, perfectly clear perceptions, but a period of something approaching incredulity.” I mentioned Frederick’s statement that he had been “dazed by the bigness of it,” and Mr. Bruce went on. “That’s it. The bigness of it is indescribable, and so extraordinarily lovely and high that it is not readily realized or grasped.” She said she had dreaded to have him go alone, and asked whether some one met him.