obelisk carved with figures, in a wood—a gray indistinct marsh, with
mist rising from it, and by the edge a white bird, egret or something
similar, of dazzling whiteness—a green lane, with cows in it. I
could go on for ever enumerating them. They pass in a fraction of a
second, three or four succeeding one another. My eyes are not shut,
nor do I look different. I have always seen them. I was alarmed about
them once, and went to a doctor; but he said he could not explain
it—it was probably a nervous idiosyncrasy: and I felt all the better
for my habit having a name."

One more thing I must mention about him, which I have discovered
since his death. I must add _that I never had the least suspicion of
it in his life_.

He was the victim during this time of a depression of mind; not
constant, but from which he never felt secure. I subjoin a few
entries from his diaries.

"Very troubled and gloomy: a strange heart-sinking—a blank misgiving
without any adequate cause upon me all day. One can not help feeling
during such times—and, alas! they are becoming very familiar to
me—that some mysterious warfare may be being fought out somewhere
over one's only half-conscious soul: that some strange decision may
be pending." And again: "For the last week, my mind—though I have
reiterated again and again to myself that it is purely physical—has
steadily refused to take any view of life, to have any outlook,
except the most dismal. I am a little better to-day—well enough to
see the humour of it, though God knows it is black enough while it
lasts."