THE EQUINOX Vol. I. No. III 3rd part

May 19, 1990 e.v. key entry and July 6, 1990 e.v. first proof reading against the First Edition by Bill Heidrick, T.G. of O.T.O. (further proof reading desirable)

(c) O.T.O. disk 3 of 3

O.T.O.
P.O.Box 430
Fairfax, CA 94930
USA

(415) 454-5176 ____ Messages only.

Pages in the original are marked thus at the bottom: {page number} Comments and descriptions are also set off by curly brackets {} Comments and notes not in the original are identified with the initials of the source: AC note = Crowley note. WEH note = Bill Heidrick note, etc. Descriptions of illustrations are not so identified, but are simply in curly brackets.

(Addresses and invitations below are not current but copied from the original text of the early part of the 20th century)

		      THE COMING OF APOLLO

RED roses, O red Roses,

	    Roses afire, aflame,

	      The glory	of desire ___
	      Hush! all	the heart of fire
	    Is mingled in Thy name,

	      Red roses	of desire.

The golden-shafted sunlight

	    Beats down upon the	sward;

	      Is a flame of red	desire;
	      O	snake from out the mire,
	    I slay thee	with the sword,

	      The sword	of my desire!

The still strong bird of sorrow

	    Keens through the golden blue,

	      Is borne upon his	wings;		      {281}
	      The glory	that he	brings
	    He brings, O King, to you,

	      In the flapping of his wings.

The flaming day grows olden

	    As the youth of glory wanes;

	      And narrower his wings;
	      He swirls	around in rings;
	    He bears the bloody	stains

	      Upon his bright gold wings.

And scarlet-rimmed and splendid,

	    The	wide blue vault	is spanned

	      From the green earth to the skies;
	      The hush of noontide dies,
	    Song rises from the	land ___

	      Glow out the radiant skies.

A cloud of huge hushed laughter

	    Shakes all the listening boughs,

	      Dropped from the silent skies;
	      A	myriad laughing	eyes
	    Flash in a still carouse,

	      The blue vault of	the skies.	   {282}

A breeze ___ a leaf ___ a shadow ___

	    The	falling	of a bud ___

	      A	flash of light ___ a call ___
	      A	patter on the wall ___
	    The	air is bright as blood;

	      A	moment sounds a	call.

Awake! the spell is broken,

	    And	hushed the sense of noon;

	      In answer	to the Call? ...
	      Hush!  See the rose-leaves fall;
	    Ah!	see the	pathway	strewn

	      In answer	to the Call.

How still it lies, the garden,

	    Now	the red	flash is gone;

	      Now the strange spell is fled;
	      And the earth lies cold and dead,
	    And	the hot	hours hurry on.

	      Now that the spell is fled.

But the hour, the hour and the token,

	    Have passed	as a dream away,

	      And the moment's flash is	fled.	       {283}
	      When the secret word was said,
	    Ah!	what remained to say?

	      That the golden God had fled.

And the roses, roses, roses

	    Flame in their red desire,

	      To mark the sign that fled;
	      The wonder-word hath sped
	    To the far Olympian	fire:

	      Has passed from earth and	fled.

But still the old silent garden

	    Remember the golden	flush

	      For a moment that	came and fled;
	      When the whole green earth grew red
	    In a breathless spell and a	hush,

	      And trembled, and	passed,	and fled.

					VICTOR B. NEUBURG

{284}

			  REVIEWS

THE OCCULT REVIEW. Monthly. 7"d."net.
Still, as before, the best and brightest of the periodicals dealing with transcendental subjects. It hears all sides and has no axe to grind. C.

SELECTED POEMS OF FRANCIS THOMPSON. Fifth thousand. Methuen and Co.,

     and Burns and Oates.  No price.

SCIENTIFIC IDEALISM. By W. Kingsland. Rebman, Limited. 7"s." 6"d." net. Science and Idealism have laboured long, and have at last brought forth a book worth reading and rereading, a book worth studying and restudying. Mr. W. Kingsland is to be congratulated; the "Forward" alone is worth the price asked. Here are a few quotations: "The individual must ultimately claim not merely his relationship to the Whole, but his "identity" therewith."
"Thus the individual ... finds that reality ever appearing to evade him ... in proportion as this is realized, he must necessarily revolt against any and every system which would "limit" him." ". . Nothing can be accepted on mere authority." As old as the Vedas is the question "What am I?" Ay! older, for the first man probably asked it, and yet it crouches ever before us with enticing eyes like some evil Sphinx. This question Mr. Kingsland tries to narrow down by a theoretical reconciliation of Science and Idealism. "Where we do not really know we must be content with a working hypothesis." But the following citations are those of a man who is, if still in the twilight, yet no longer in the dark:
"... Evil as well as that which we call good, are part of and essential to that fundamental underlying Unity by and through which alone the Universe can be conceive of as a Cosmos and not a Chaos." "Our apparent failures are necessary lessons. We often learn more by failure than by success. The only real failure is to cease to endeavour." "Could we but realise this Truth in our life and consciousness, it would be to us the end of all doubt and of all strife, for it would be the realisation of our own inherent and inalienable divine nature, the realisation of the Infinite Self, the attainment of which is the end and goal of our evolution."
Drop the conditional tense, Mr. Kingsland. Say no longer "if I could," {285} but "I will!" And then write for the nations yet another book, not one based on "Belief," but on "Knowledge," a book of Realisation, a book of Truth. "Then will the health of the daughter of my people recover"; and "in thy market will be sold the wheat of Minnith, and Pannag, and honey,

and oil, and balm."					   F.

     T.	Werner Laurie.

					      ALEISTER CROWLEY.

{286}

			   THE BRIGHTON	MYSTERY

THE mind of the Wise easily shunts to strange speculations before taking again to the main line of severely controlled thoughts. Associations of ideas ___ your name is Harpy. How you do catch unheralded the mortal uncautious! The Wise knows you; he is aware of your jumpy step; he makes ready; he fights and ... "vae victis!" he yokes you. But the fool ... ! However, we digress and progress not. I ought to be relating a personal experience. One night, one sleepless night, I was allowing my eternal enemies, the harpies to whom I have already referred, the following of their fancy for a while. They were poachy enough for me not to fear them. Earlier in the evening I and a few friends had been discussing affinities and mysteries, among other subjects, and as I lay in bed one of the recent mysteries gave mental food to the harpies. My thoughts were of course utterly passive and need no record. But something which subsequently happened causes me to mention this. Let me recall the main facts of the Brighton murder.
On the night of the crime there had been a dinner-party at the house of Mrs. Ridley. Towards midnight the hostess remained alone with her servants: a butler, two footmen, a {287} cook and two maids. Mrs. Ridley's apartments have a full view of the sea, as has also the room of her maid Jane Fleming. The cook and the other maids, as well as the three men, slept in rooms at the back of the house. At the inquest James Dale, the footman, and the butler deposed that they heard no noise whatever during the night. Now, Harry Carpenter, the other man, had been found murdered in the first-floor bathroom. And it has been ascertained that he could not possibly leave his room without being heard by the others, who slept one on each side of him, as neither of them "did" sleep on that particular night, for some reason or another. But of course this is public knowledge, The police and the papers have received scores of anonymous letters denouncing Jane Fleming, the butler, and Dale as the authors of the crime. They have not been arrested. Why? I am certain that they are entirely innocent; yet the police cannot be aware of the reasons which lead me to this certainty, and in the absence of these proofs they ought to be suspected. Mrs. Ridley's bed stood with the foot towards the fireplace, a door being on either side of the head, the window on her left hand. When her maid entered the room in the morning she found the body of her mistress lying at the foot of the bed, the head towards the window. It was entirely naked. Near the body was a shift, and over the neck a white shawl had been carelessly thrown. It had upon it in various parts as many as sixteen wounds, cuts and bruises of various importance. The most serious and only mortal one was behind the left ear; the great vessels of the neck were destroyed and the skull much injured. The most ugly wound to the sight was under the {288} nose, which had been so entirely damaged that it rendered the whole face almost unrecognisable. Yet there has been, I must say, no doubt as to the identity. The wounds had been inflicted with an instrument edged but blunt, used by a very weak person, possibly a woman. The bedclothes were not disarranged, and there was some strangeness in the fact, for the maid swore to having seen her mistress in bed, while after the discovery of the murder the bed was found made as if no one had either lain in or even sat on it. The police took it as a proof that Mrs. Ridley had some connection with the murderer or murderers, and, after her maid's departure, had been preparing herself to go out. She was known to be a most tidy and cautious lady. Had she obeyed an instinctive need of leaving everything in order?
But let us turn to the bathroom. There also was a murdered body. Carpenter, the footman, had been killed with the same or with a similar instrument. Not without a severe conflict, however. How was it that his left hand held tightly hidden in its grasp a small piece of lace which was recognised as belonging to Mrs. Ridley? It had been torn from a handkerchief belonging to her. The strangeness of the discovery was all the more striking because the handkerchief referred to was found later on by the maid in a drawer between many others, neither on top nor at the bottom. The piece of lace found in the hand of Carpenter corresponded exactly.
So much for the victims. Now for the motive. Mrs. Ridley was a wealthy widow, and possessed many valuable pictures. She had a well-known dislike for cheque-books; and a firm of London bankers came forward at the inquest, having written a private letter to the coroner to the effect that {289} the deceased lady was their client, and deposed that on he morning before the murder she had received the sum of 1200 in banknotes and gold, which sum was to be handed over to Mr. ___, a representative of a well-known firm of art dealers, in payment for a certain picture. Well, the police and the public knew that too; it had leaked out somehow. But beyond this they knew little. That is, they had forgotten. Because there "were" other facts. These facts, however, could not help a detective to realise their importance because they were loose facts ___ events, that is, which were in contradiction with one another. Yet still they afforded a clue. The murderer might be a criminal thief, a temperance reformer, a madman, a clergyman, a novelist, or a devil-worshipper ___ any person, in fact, in the whole world whose hand is weak or unsteady. But the whole world is comparatively too large to allow of any certainty in picking out the murderer of Mrs. Ridley. I say comparatively, because to the Wise the world is small. ... "Passons!" Some time before her sudden death Mrs. Ridley had had a guest in her house whose unaffected manners had much offended the dignity of the male servants. He was said to be a distant relation of the late big-gun maker, James Ridley. But he was "not." The late Ridley had no relations whatever on earth ___ at least among human beings. I happen to know that the socalled relation was a spiritualist. This sounds bad enough. Was Mrs. Ridley in agreement with him or was she not? It is nothing more than a question. Suppress the query, give the mere words another place in the sentence and you have two affirmations: "She was" or "She was not." How {290} infinitely clearer is the point! Any intellectual bloodhound ought to find out which is "the" affirmation. That is, if the so-called relation was the murderer. I say he is, though I have no human proofs whatever to offer. The police ___ that is, my friend Inspector Bennet ___ tell me he is not, but he may know something. One of our great dailies has (alone) come very near the truth on the matter. It was given as an editorial opinion that the widow of the gun-maker was a little out of her mind and had committed suicide, with the help of some one, in spite of her footman, who had been attracted by the noise. Curious blend of truth and imagination! A few hours after I had allowed the furies to play havoc with my brains I received the following letter; and that is why I know so much. For the very reason of its strangeness I felt at once that it could be the work of no practical joker. The mysterious part of the adventure can, I believe, be solved without much difficulty.
"Dear Sir," it ran, ___ "You do not know me; but I know you. I have followed you through the world with the eyes of my spirit. I once saw in the window of a Paris photographer a portrait of yours which arrested my attention, and since that day your personality has been the constant, though not unpleasant, obsession of my life. I am perfectly acquainted with you and your life, your work and moods and ways of living. I came to England a few weeks ago and I saw you. To-day I write. I am aware that you are interested in the strange happenings which are to be studied in this world. My last adventure will cause you to be interested in the Brighton murder. I have been nearer than any one else to be the criminal author of that murder. Only, when I arrived {291} it was too late. Had I not been already a madman during the years 1897 and 1898, and eventually cured, this strange adventure would certainly have sent me into a state of complete insanity. As it is, I am in a certain way vaccinated against madness.
"Monsieur, as true as I am a Frenchman born in America of a German mother by a poor Spanish hidalgo who forgot to give her his address ___ you see, I am French by naturalization (I wanted to make up for their declining birth-rate) ___ the footman of Mrs. Ridley has been murdered by that lady herself because he tried to save her life. I don't know her past, but I am certain that she had been a near relation of mine in some former existence, and that she was much interested in spiritualism. "Voil la clef du" "mystre!"
"Se$or, you will realise that a crime is composed of a great number of circumstances extending over a long or short period of time and different in their importance. If a woman is seen to stick a stiletto into another person's breast, that is a stronger circumstance than if she is seen pulling it out; and this would be stronger than if she were standing over the dead man with a bloody knife. Two of the cases at least are compatible with innocence. Evidence, you understand it also, is nothing more than grounds for reasonable guesses, and crimes are collections of circumstances connected together, the proof of any one of which is a reasonable ground for guessing that the others existed. But, "pocos palabras!" "Sehr geehrter Herr!" Nine times out of ten an innocent man does not know the strength of his own case, and he may, real "Schafskopf," by mere asinism allow suspicious circumstances to pass unexplained which he could explain perfectly {292} well. How much more so, then, when the innocent is no more among the living ___ or when, being alive, he stands in a blessed ignorance of the suspicions to which some unexplained circumstances have given birth!
"To the point, sir! One lives again in order to complete, or improve, an action which in a previous life has been left incomplete or inferior; and also to make a fresh attempt at mastering, in very similar circumstances, some powerful original tendency. It's fierce, but it's true. Had you previously been a packer of canned meat, or a guard on the railroad, or a Wall Street man, there would have been in your life some incidents, causing certain thoughts in your brains, and eventually actions. Yes, it would have been so, and you would to-day probably be doing your best not to improve upon the action which was the resultant of those thoughts. I say '"not to improve,"' because we are human, all of us. "As it is, you were a Redskin in North America, your name was 'Faim de loup,' and you are placed in such circumstances that you must find it difficult not to fall again into your old uncivilised ways. "Now, Mrs. Ridley was a spiritualist. And she was not a widow! Her husband was not dead! He was the great gun-maker whom you know, and whose obsequies you may remember. His coffin contained but another man's remains. ...
"Love, my dear sir, is a much-mistaken phenomenon, which only perhaps the most loutish among us could understand because of its very simplicity. Love belongs to the spiritual world; it is an attraction, based on affinities. There were such affinities between Mrs. Ridley and her husband. {293}
"Of course, you know something about wireless telegraphy. A wireless message can be intercepted by some one for whom it is not meant, even if that some one had no inclination towards that kind of French game. He unwillingly receives the message which is for another, and it may so happen that he obtains a similar knowledge of the answer. Such is the case also in the spiritual world: such was the case of Mrs. Ridley. Her lovethoughts went to her husband; her husband's love-thoughts went to her, but ...
"Have you ever taken into your field of consideration how many 'buts' there come into the field of our actions? I submit to you that every painful, or sinful, or harmful, or simply unpleasant incident of our lives is the outcome of the best intentions ___ relatively best, at all events, "our best" ___ and I am sure that you agree with me. There were two 'buts' in the case of Mrs. Ridley.
"The first was of a personal character. Mrs. Ridley had nothing more than love-thoughts to give to her gun-maker husband. She was deprived of temperament ___ as the French understand the word ___ and her husband was like the candle which has never seen itself aflame, and is in consequence unaware of what it misses through its having had no acquaintance with a lighted match. Their love was not of this world, and the Powers which rule 'here-below' resented what they considered to be a contempt of their Majesty; and no children were sent to the couple. It was an ethereal love which they both knew to be somewhat incomplete. Mr. Ridley had little experience of the world, and still less conversation. Apart from his gunmaking business and his spiritual bride, he cared in his own words, not a shell for anything. Nevertheless, in {294} his semi-conscious anxiety, he attempted to devise some alterations in the appearance of his future widow. Did he see a hat which he thought somewhat suggestive of earthy sentiments, he would at once buy a similar one for Mrs. Ridley. Alas! with as without it his wife looked the ethereal spirituality that she was. He went to Paris on business, and, finding himself in that materialistic city, bought a complete set of befrilled and dainty underlinen; Mrs. Ridley etherealised even the appearance of that "lingerie de cocotte." "We are far from the crime, you think. "Carajo," I guess not! We cannot be any nearer. Who killed Mrs. Ridley? I don't know. I was very near doing it.
"Why was she killed? The murderer did not know. "Who killed the footman? Mrs. Ridley. "Why did she kill him? Because he tried to prevent her from being murdered.
"Here, in a nutshell, my dear sir, you have all the crime and its explanation. When I say that I do not know who killed Mrs. Ridley I mean at the same time that it matters not. "The murderer is innocent."1 Listen to what happened to me.
"I saw a man. He had the most wonderful eyes I ever saw; they could at times brighten one's face by merely looking into it; yet they chilled me, drying my blood and sending a cold shiver all over my bones. They reflected the sky as an ape imitates man, in a way inferior, poorly, servilely. And a certain uncanny look which never quite left him made that man an undesirable neighbour to me. Had I not seen him I would refuse to admit the reality of his existence. {295} "I met him during a journey. Comfortably seated in a corner of the railway compartment, I was reading a book of the sixteenth century in France merely to occupy my mind, so that I should not be tempted to look through the window at the too commonplace scenery. "We had just passed a station, as I knew by the disturbing voice of a porter; and, on resuming my journey, I felt sorry that no companion of travel had entered the lonely carriage. I attempted another perusal of my book, when, without any opening of the door or of the window, I noticed a stranger seated in the opposite corner. His eyes were on me. He left me no time for much thinking, speaking almost immediately. "'May I beg you to forgive a stranger, sir?' he said, 'but I cannot endure this temperature. Will you allow me to open the windows?" 1 Underlined with red ink in the original letter. "I like fresh air myself; but it was so very cold on that day that I had carefully shut both windows. Something in his appearance and his look, intensely heavy on me, led me to refrain from answering. I merely nodded, grunted, gathered my rug higher around me, and resumed my reading. "He thanked me profusely, opened the windows, both of them, as wide as they could be, and, without taking any notice of my evident displeasure, addressed me anew.
"'Your are wondering, no doubt, sir, as to the way by which I came in. Well, I do not mind telling you I came through this hole.' "He pointed at the ceiling with his hand, and I raised my eyes. The only aperture to which he could be referring was a tiny little hole in the glass which protected the imaginary {296} light provided by the railway company. I shrugged my shoulders, grunted again, and plunged back into my book.
"'You do not believe me, I see,' he went on, 'yet I speak the truth. I came through this broken glass to you ___ to you, sir, on purpose to see you, to speak to you. I came from the sky. Now, do not look at the alarm bell. My message is a pleasant one. You are chosen for a mission.' "I thought I had borne enough, and expressed at once the idea that my strong desire was to be left alone. The stranger laughed in a queer manner, and as my eyes met his once more, I felt a peculiar sensation of mixed sympathy and fear. It was then that I noticed how brightening to any one his eyes could be. He spoke in a gentler tone. "'I am going to explain to you the object of my coming. You are going back to Brighton to-morrow night, are you not?' "'Yes, I am; but that is no concern of yours.' "'Be silent. Look at me. All right. Listen now!' "I heard no more his human voice. As I raised my head a feeling of lost consciousness overcame me. I was unable to control my brains, my will, my movements. He spoke again and at great length, but I could neither answer nor interrupt him. I could not say that I was in a subconscious state, but neither would I care to say that I was in a normal one. He took my hands and held them in his own. I could not move. "'It is necessary that a certain person be freed from the material envelope which gives apparent shape to her ethereal spirit. Mrs. Ridley lives at 34 ____ Street, Brighton. By the way, my name is Ridley.' {297} "Here I tried to speak, but found it impossible. He went on: "'You seem to be surprised. I thought you would. But remain in the state of receptivity! I am Ridley, the late Ridley, as they say, though I am very much alive. Some stories have been told of how I died suddenly, 600 miles away from England. But I only disappeared. The wicked spirits tempted me, and I fell into their trap. Time passed, and the love messages which the spirit of my wife sent all over the earth succeeded in reaching me after a period of burning knowledge. She claimed death as a right, though she knew well enough that, dead or alive, I could not help her in that way. We must die both at the same time if we are to enjoy in an after-life the joys of spiritual love, which I found on this earth but too mild for my burning and anxious curiosity. I have chosen you for the deed because you have been at times the recipient of some thought messages which were addressed to her by me. Besides, in a former existence you were kin to my ... to Mrs. Ridley.
"'To-morrow night you will go to _____ Street, and my wife will await you as the promised liberator. Some one else will "do" for me at the same time, but in another part of the world. I shall be far by then. No one is to see you, and Mrs. Ridley will open the door to you. KILL HER, man! Kill her at 9.30 P.M. When you have done, GO! Go away; and when a whole week has passed, REMEMBER! And now, my dear sir, good-bye for the present.'
"As he spoke the last words I was again conscious; but my head felt so heavy that I did not make any motion. I could not. It was as if I had just awakened from a profound sleep. {298} The stranger disappeared, seeming through the hole in the glass.
"When I had collected myself I tried hard to make out whether I had seen or hear any one. But I could not remember what had been said to me, save the few words of preamble about opening the windows and the ironical words of the parting: 'Good-bye for the present.' "I shut the windows, and presently arrived at my destination. The cold air on the platform finished waking me up. I dismissed the conversation as a dream due to the discomfort of the journey; and set out towards the hotel where I usually stay when in Bristol.
"I must here remind you, sir, that I had no other recollection than a few words, which were so absurd, especially those about coming from the sky through a hole, that they must have been dreamt by me. Such were my thoughts; and I went to sleep thinking no more about my supposed nightmare. "On the following morning I attended to my business and started on my journey back to Brighton, though I was asked by a very dear friend to stay another day, and though I had no reason whatever to refuse him and myself such a pleasure as we always derive from our mutual company. "The journey passed without incident. My carriage was never empty; and I could not in a full compartment indulge in such weird dreams as I had on the previous day. On my arrival at Brighton I went to the hotel. At least I thought I did. I am not so sure now. How is it that I remember to-day that part of the stranger's discourse which I could not recollect after his departure? But I anticipate.
"I awoke in the morning with a strong headache; and {299} proceeded to clean my coat; which (I remember) I had soiled on the previous evening during my meal, while waiting for my train in London. I was perfectly certain about that stain; I knew where it was. I COULD NOT FIND IT. This is a trifle, no doubt, and I took it as such, at first. I do not ... now ... now that I REMEMBER. I must have washed my clothes according to the orders.
"Yet I am not the murderer, monsieur. If you could see me you would dismiss all doubts. My eye is a truthful organ. But of course you cannot; and there is an end of the matter.
"Shall we go back to the beginning? Well, suppose we do. Who is that human creature "qui languit sur la paille humide d'un cachot?" A neighbour! The very man who ought not to be suspected. Does ever a neighbour kill a neighbour in that way, for such a vague reason? It is sheer madness ... Madness ... MADNESS!
"And I will tell you something else. The man they have arrested has probably been a witness to the murder. He may have some secret longing for a period of suffering. He may want a cure for his soul; and that may be the reason why he does not do anything against the mountain of evidence which is slowly being heaped against him. .. "I have just had to leave this letter in order to see that a couple of nice crisp cabbages do not during their ebullition throw too much water over the gas-stove. And as I return to you it occurs to me that you may know the great masterpiece of Dostoievsky. I have only read it in the French. 'Crime et Chtiment' they call it. Well, there is a similar case in that terrible story. MIKOLKA confesses to the {300} murder of the old female moneylender and her sister Elizabeth, when the real murderer is Rodion Romanich Raskolnikoff. Mikolka is longing for expiation; he wants to atone for a wasted life; he is neither a madman nor an insane, but a mystic, a fantast. You will object that he is a Slav. ... Quite so, but there might be some Anglo-Saxons with a similar turn of mind. "What of the theft? What if there has been no theft? if Mrs. Ridley had hidden or destroyed the money? if she had burned the banknotes? What are banknotes to a woman who is going to die? "The police have made a great point of the fact that Harry Carpenter could not come out of his room without being heard. Fools! Mayhap he did not enter his room that night. Maybe he was in love with some lady fair. Maybe he went out and was killed by Mrs. Ridley when, returning, he had come to her assistance and struggled with Mr. Ridley's messenger. "The dinner-party! Here we come to the most foolish, silly, ridiculous, absurd, and preposterous example of the preposterousness, absurdity, ridiculousness, silliness, and foolishness latent in the brains of your C.I.D. members. I believe that all the guests who attended that party have been shadowed, that their entire families have been watched and followed about, that their correspondence has been ransacked and their whole past raked into. They have of course no connection whatever with the case. Mrs. Ridley thought of a party as of the thing most likely to "donner le" "change." Of course she did not want people to think of anything else but of an ordinary unforeseen murder. {310}
"All the rubbish talked about with regard to her lace handkerchief and the piece in her footman's hand shows still more the folly of all scientific systems of investigation. She put it there after having killed the footman.
"I have but one incident to mention; and it is once more a personal recollection. But as it is the last you will forgive me. I am sure you appreciate my goodwill and believe in "Wahlverwandschaften." "When, after a week had elapsed and my memory was allowed to resume its work, I became conscious of the deed which had been commanded to me, I entered into a state of mixed feelings. If I would indulge in psychology, I should now retrace step by step the mental journey which I then took. I think I can spare you this; and I now come to the evening which concluded the ninth day after the murder.
"For my personal edification I was murmuring the words of the Clavicula Salomonis; and had just arrived at the invocation, 'Aba, Zarka, Maccaf, Zofar, Holech, Zegolta, Pazergadol,' when a gentle breeze caressed my forehead. I must tell you that I had not placed in my left hand the hexagonal seal, but held instead at intervals a well-dosed 'rainbow.' By the way, have you ever tasted that scientific and picturesque mixture of liqueurs?
"The breeze spoke. At least I heard its voice, which recalled somehow the voice of the late ____ very late now ___ Mr. Ridley. "'"We are here."'
"A buzzing sibilation; "un susurrement." Then the voice again. 'We have come together, man, to set your mind at rest, if indeed it is restless. Your are not the liberator of a longing soul, as you thought. A nearer of kin has been {302} found ___ that is, a man whose spirit was in a previous life the spirit of a dear brother. He was ordered to kill at 9.20. But you came at your own appointed time and went through the ___ er ___ process, unaware that all had been done before. We chose that man because he was a nearer parent. We are now happy ___ happy beyond your actual comprehension. Adieu!'
"That's what I call "laver son linge sale en famille." And the part I played in that affair reminds me of that other expression: "enfoncer une" "porte ouverte."
"That is all, my dear sir. You know as much as I do. And I must return to my cabbages.

					"Your illuminating
			      "PEDRO PIERRE PETER SCAMANDER."

Is there anything to be added? For my part I took the word of Mr. Scamander for the candid expression of real happenings, without trying to explain any theory. More curious still is the fact that I heard from Inspector Bennet. He said that the evidence against the arrested man was built on moving sand, utterly impossible and unexistent; and they will have to release him, in spite of apparent elements of certainty which have for so long misled the public ___ aye, and even the police.

From "to-day's" papers:
"The man arrested in connection with the Brighton murder has confessed. He will be tried at the next assizes."

Well! maybe he is a new Mikolka. But where is the absent relative, the spiritualist?

					     GEORGE RAFFALOVICH	 {303}

				  REVIEWS

     William Rider and Son.

THE BUDDHIST REVIEW. Quarterly. 1"s." Unwilling as I am to sap the foundations of the Buddhist religion by the introduction of Porphyry's terrible catapult, Allegory, I am yet compelled by the more fearful ballista of Aristotle, Dilemma. This is the two-handed engine spoken of by the prophet Milton!1 This is the horn of the prophet Zeruiah, and with this am I, though no Syrian, utterly pushed, till I find myself back against the dead wall of Dogma. Only now realising how dead a wall that is, do I turn and try the effect of a hair of the dog that bit me, till the orthodox "literary"2 school of Buddhists, as grown at Rangoon, exclaim with Lear: "How sharper than a serpent's tooth is it To have an intellect!" How is this? Listen and hear!
I find myself confronted with the crux: that, a Buddhist convinced intellectually and philosophically of the truth of the teaching of Gotama; a man to whom Buddhism is the equivalent of scientific methods of Thought; an expert in dialectic, whose logical faculty is bewildered, whose critical admiration is extorted by the subtle vigour of Buddhist reasoning; I am yet forced to admit that, this being so, the Five Precepts3 are mere nonsense. If the {304} Buddha spoke scientifically, not popularly, not rhetorically, then his precepts are not his. We must reject them or we must interpret them. We must inquire: Are they meant to be obeyed? Or ___ and this is my theory ___ are they sarcastic and biting criticisms on existence, illustrations of the First Noble Truth; "reasons," as it were, for the apotheosis of annihilation? I shall show that this is so.

			    THE	FIRST PRECEPT.

1 "Lycidas," line 130.
2 The school whose Buddhism is derived from the Canon, and who ignore the degradation of the professors of the religion, as seen in practice.
3 The obvious caveat which logicians will enter against these remarks is that Pansil is the Five Virtues rather than Precepts. Etymologically this is so. However, we may regard this as a clause on my side of the argument, not against it; for in my view these are virtues, and the impossibility of attaining them is the cancer of existence. Indeed, I support the etymology as against the futile bigotry of certain senile Buddhists of to-day. And, since it is the current interpretation of Buddhistic thought that I attack, I but show myself the better Buddhist in the act. This forbids the taking of life in any form.4 What we have to note is the impossibility of performing this; if we can prove it to be so, either Buddha was a fool, or his command was rhetorical, like those of Yahweh to Job, or of Tannhuser to himself:

	     "Go! seek the stars and count them	and explore!
	      Go! sift the sands beyond	a starless sea!"

Let us consider what the words can mean. The "Taking of Life" can only mean the reduction of living protoplasm to dead matter: or, in a truer and more psychological sense, the destruction of personality. Now, in the chemical changes involved in Buddha's speaking this command, living protoplasm was changed into dead matter. Or, on the other horn, the fact (insisted upon most strongly by the Buddha himself, the central and cardinal point of his doctrine, the shrine of that Metaphysic which isolates it absolutely from all other religious metaphysic, which allies it with Agnostic Metaphysic) that the Buddha who had spoken this command was not the same as the Buddha before he had spoken it, lies the proof that the Buddha, by speaking this command, violated it. More, not only did he slay himself; he breathed in millions of living organisms and slew them. He could nor eat nor drink nor breathe without murder implicit in each act. Huxley cites the "pitiless microscopist" who showed a drop of water to the Brahmin who boasted himself "Ahimsa" ___ harmless. So among the "rights" of a Bhikkhu is medicine. He who takes quinine does so with the deliberate intention of destroying innumerable living beings; whether this is done by stimulating the phagocytes, or directly, is morally indifferent. How such a fiend incarnate, my dear brother Ananda Metteya, can call {305} him "cruel and cowardly" who only kills a tiger, is a study in the philosophy of the mote and the beam!5
Far be it from me to suggest that this is a defence of breathing, eating, and drinking. By no means; in all these ways we bring suffering and death to others, as to ourselves. But since these are inevitable acts, since suicide would be a still more cruel alternative (especially in case something should subsist below mere Rupa), the command is not to achieve the impossible, the already violated in the act of commanding, but a bitter commentary on the foul evil of this aimless, hopeless universe, this compact of misery, meanness, and cruelty. Let us pass on.

			    THE	SECOND PRECEPT.

The Second Precept is directed against theft. Theft is the appropriation to one's own use of that to which another has a right. Let us see therefore whether or no the Buddha was a thief. The answer of course is in the affirmative. For to issue a command is to attempt to deprive another of his most precious possession ___ the right to do as he will; that is, unless, with the predestinarians, we hold that action is determined absolutely, in which case, of course, to command is as absurd as it is unavoidable. Excluding this folly, therefore, we may conclude that if the command be obeyed ___ and those of Buddha have gained a far larger share of obedience than those of any other teacher ___ the Enlightened One was not only a potential but an actual thief. Further, all voluntary action limits in some degree, however minute, the volition of others. If I 4 Fielding Hall, in "The Soul of a People," has reluctantly to confess that he can find no trace of this idea in Buddha's own work, and calls the superstition the "echo of an older Faith." 5 The argument that "the animals are our brothers" is merely intended to mislead one who has never been in a Buddhist country. The average Buddhist would, of course, kill his brother for five rupees, or less.
breathe, I diminish the stock of oxygen available on the planet. In those far distant ages when Earth shall be as dead as the moon is to-day, my breathing now will have robbed some being then living of the dearest necessity of life.
That the theft is minute, incalculably trifling, is no answer to the moralist, to whom degree is not known; nor to the man of science, who sees the chain of nature miss no link.
If, on the other hand, the store of energy in the universe be indeed constant (whether infinite or no), if personality be indeed delusion, then theft becomes impossible, and to forbid it is absurd. We may argue that even so temporary theft may exist; and that this is so is to my mind no doubt the case. All theft is temporary, since even a millionaire must die; also it is universal, since even a Buddha must breathe. {306}

			    THE	THIRD PRECEPT.

This precept, against adultery, I shall touch but lightly. Not that I consider the subject unpleasant ___ far from it! ___ but since the English section of my readers, having unclean minds, will otherwise find a fulcrum therein for their favourite game of slander. Let it suffice if I say that the Buddha ___ in spite of the ridiculous membrane legend,6 one of those foul follies which idiot devotees invent only too freely ___ was a confirmed and habitual adulterer. It would be easy to argue with HegelHuxley that he who thinks of an act commits it ("cf." Jesus also in this connection, thought he only knows the creative value of desire), and that since A and not-A are mutually limiting, therefore interdependent, therefore identical, therefore identical, he who forbids an act commits it; but I feel that this is no place for metaphysical hair-splitting; let us prove what we have to prove in the plainest way. I would premise in the first place that to commit adultery in the Divorce Court sense is not here in question. It assumes too much proprietary right of a man over a woman, that root of all abomination! ___ the whole machinery of inheritance, property, and all the labyrinth of law.
We may more readily suppose that the Buddha was (apparently at least) condemning incontinence.
We know that Buddha had abandoned his home; true, but Nature has to be reckoned with. Volition is no necessary condition of offence. "I didn't mean to" is a poor excuse for an officer failing to obey an order. Enough of this ___ in any case a minor question; since even on the lowest moral grounds ___ and we, I trust, soar higher! ___ the error in question may be resolved into a mixture of murder, theft, and intoxication. (We consider the last under the Fifth Precept.)

			    THE	FOURTH PRECEPT.

Here we come to what in a way is the fundamental joke of these precepts. A command is not a lie, of course; possibly cannot be; yet surely an allegorical order is one in essence, and I have no longer a shadow of a doubt that these so-called "precepts" are a species of savage practical joke.
Apart from this there can hardly be much doubt, when critical exegesis has done its damnedest on the Logia of our Lord, that Buddha did at some time {307} commit himself to some statement. "(Something called) Consciousness exists" is, said Huxley, the irreducible minimum of the pseudo-syllogism, false even for an enthymeme, "Cogito, ergo Sum!" This 6 Membrum virile illius in membrana inclusum esse aiunt, ne copulare posset.
proposition he bolsters up by stating that whoso should pretend to doubt it would thereby but confirm it. Yet might it not be said "(Something called) Consciousness appears to itself to exist," since Consciousness is itself the only witness to that confirmation? Not that even now we can deny some kind of existence to consciousness, but that it should be a more real existence than that of a reflection is doubtful, incredible, even inconceivable. If by consciousness we mean the normal consciousness, it is definitely untrue, since the Dhyanic consciousness includes it and denies it. No doubt "something called" acts as a kind of caveat to the would-be sceptic, though the phrase is bad, implying a "calling." But we can guess what Huxley means.
No doubt Buddha's scepticism does not openly go quite as far as mine ___ it must be remembered that "scepticism" is merely the indication of a possible attitude, not a belief, as so many good fool-folk think; but Buddha not only denies "Cogito, ergo sum"; but "Cogito, ergo non sum." See "Sabbasava Sutta," par. 10.
At any rate Sakkyaditthi, the delusion of personality, is in the very forefront of his doctrines; and it is this delusion that is constantly and inevitably affirmed in all normal consciousness. That Dhyanic thought avoids it is doubtful; even so, Buddha is here represented as giving precepts to ordinary people. And if personality be delusion, a lie is involved in the command of one to another. In short, we all lie all the time; we are compelled to it by the nature of things themselves ___ paradoxical as that seems ___ and the Buddha knew it!

			    THE	FIFTH PRECEPT.

At last we arrive at the end of our weary journey ___ surely in this weather we may have a drink! East of Suez,7 Trombone-Macaulay (as I may surely say, when Browning writes Banjo-Byron8) tells us, a man may raise a Thirst. No, shrieks the Blessed One, the Perfected One, the Enlightened One, do not drink! It is like the streets of Paris when they were placarded with rival posters: {308}

		     Ne	buvez pas de l'Alcool!
		     L'Alcool est un poison!

and

		     Buvez de l'Alcool!
		     L'Alcool est un aliment!

We know now that alcohol is a food up to a certain amount; the precept, good enough for a rough rule as it stands, will not bear close inspection. What Buddha really commands, with that grim humour of his, is: Avoid Intoxication.
But what is intoxication? unless it be the loss of power to use perfectly a truth-telling set of faculties. If I walk unsteadily it is owing to nervous lies ___ and so for all the phenomena of drunkenness. But a lie involves the assumption of some true standard, and this can nowhere be found. A doctor would tell you, moreover, that all food intoxicates: 7 "Ship me somewhere East of Suez, where a man may raise a thirst."

							     R.	KIPLING.

	    Banjo-Byron	that twangs the	strum-strum there."
				     BROWNING, "Pachiarotto" (said of A.

When I go to take Pansil,9 it is in no spirit of servile morality; it is with keen sorrow gnawing at my heart. These five causes of sorrow are indeed the heads of the serpent of Desire. Four at least of them snap their fangs on me in and by virtue of my very act of receiving the commands, and of promising to obey them; if there is a little difficulty about the fifth, it is an omission easily rectified ___ and I think we should make a point about that; there is a great virtue in completeness. {309}
Yes! Do not believe that the Buddha was a fool; that he asked men to perform the impossible or the unwise.10 Do not believe that the sorrow of existence is so trivial that easy rules easily interpreted (as all Buddhists do interpret the precepts) can avail against them; do not mop up the Ganges with a duster: or stop the revolution of the stars with a lever of lath.
Awake, awake only! let there be ever remembrance that Existence is sorrow, sorrow by the inherent necessity of the way it is made; sorrow not by volition, not by malice, not by carelessness, but by nature, by ineradicable tendency, by the incurable disease of Desire, its Creator, is it so, and the way to destroy it is by the uprooting of Desire; nor is a task so formidable accomplished by any threepenny-bit-in-the-plate-onSunday morality, the "deceive others and self-deception will take care of itself" uprightness, but by the severe roads of austere self-mastery, of arduous scientific research, which constitute the Noble Eightfold Path.

					  O. DHAMMALOYU.

JOHN DEE. BY CHARLOTTE FELL SMITH. Constable and Co. 10"s." 6"d." net. It is only gracious to admit that this book is as good as could possibly have been produced on the subject ___ the publishes are cordially invited to quote the last fourteen words, and now I can finish my sentence ___ by a person totally ignorant of the essence thereof. Dee was an avowed magician; Miss Smith is an avowed intellectual prig. So she can find nothing better to do than to beg the whole question of the 9 To "take Pansil" is to vow obedience to these Precepts. 10 I do not propose to dilate on the moral truth which Ibsen has so long laboured to make clear: that no hard and fast rule of life can be universally applicable. Also, as in the famous case of the lady who saved (successively) the lives of her husband, her father, and her brother, the precepts clash. To allow to die is to kill --- all this is obvious to the most ordinary thinkers. These precepts are of course excellent general guides for the vulgar and ignorant, but you and I, dear reader, are wise and clever, and know better.
validity of Dee's "actions," and that although she admits that the Book of Enoch is unintelligible to her. Worse, she retails the wretched slanders about me current among those who envied me. I was certainly "wanted" for coining. I happened to have found the trick of making gold at a very early age, but had not the sense to exploit it properly; and when I got any sense I got more sense than to waste time in such follies. The slander that I deluded Dee is as baseless. Again and again I tried to break with him, to show him how utterly unreliable it all was. Only his more than paternal {310} kindness for me kept me with him. God rest him; I hear he has been reincarnated as W. T. Stead.
For one thing I do most seriously take blame, that my training was too strong for my power to receive spiritual truth. For when the Holy Angels came to instruct me in the great truths, that there is no sin, that the soul passes from house to house, that Jesus was but man, that the Holy Ghost was not a person, I rejected them as false. Ah! have I not paid bitterly for the error? Still, the incarnation was not all loss; not only did I attain the Grade of Major Adept, but left enough secret knowledge (in an available form) to carry me on for a long while. I am getting it back now; with luck I'll be a Magister Templi soon, if I can only get rid of my giant personality. You may say, by the way, that this is hardly a review of a book on my old master, silly old josser! Exactly; I never cared a dump for him. He was just a text for my sermon then; and so he is now.

					    EDWARD KELLEY.

STRANGE HOUSES OF SLEEP. BY ARTHUR EDWARD WAITE. William Rider

     and Sons, 12"s." 6"d." net.

   Vale, Frater!				      A. C.

THE CLEANSING OF A CITY. Greening and Co. 1"s." net. "Wherefore I say unto thee, her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven,the same loveth little."

						JESUS CHRIST.

					REV. R.	F. HORTON, D.D.

two letters?11			   ANTOINETTE BOUVIGNON.

THE LIFE OF JOHN DEE. Translated from the Latin of DR. THOMAS SMITH

     by	WM. ALEXR. AYTON.  The Theosophical Publishing Society.	 1"s." net.

MATTER, SPIRIT, AND THE COSMOS. By H. STANLEY REDGROVE. William

     Rider and Sons.  2"s." 6"d."

		    Big	fleas have little fleas
		      Upon their backs to bite 'em;
		    Little fleas have smaller fleas,
		      And so "ad infinitum."

This book consists of reprinted articles from the "occult Review," and some of them are quite entrancing, especially chapter i. "On the Doctrine of the Indestructibility of Matter," and chapters v. and vi. "On the Infinite" and "On the Fourth Dimension." In the first chapter Mr. Redgrove tries to prove that though matter "cannot" be destroyed, its form can be so utterly changed that it can no longer be treated as such. He illustrates his theory by quoting Sir Oliver 11 WEH NOTE: pos. "Devil's Disciple"?
Lodge's "knot tied in a bit of string." So long as the knot is, matter is; but when once the knot is untied, though the string remains, the knot vanishes. This, however, is a most fallacious illustration, for, as Gustave le Bon has shown, the destruction of matter implies more than a mere change of "form"; it is an annihilation of gravity itself, and therefore of substance as we understand it. Matter, he shows, goes back unto Equilibrium. But what is Equilibrium? "Nothingness!" this eminent French man of Science declares: "Absolute Nothingness!" In chapter v. the author points out that as there is an infinite series of infinities, to make Space the "absolute infinite" is the merest of assumptions; he follows up this assertion by declaring that each dimension is bounded by a higher. Thus, the Second Dimension is contained in the Third, and so the Third in the Fourth, "ad infinitum;" each dimension being infinite in itself, and yet contained in a higher, which is again infinite. Thus we get infinity contained within infinity, just as .7' is contained in .8', and .8' in .9'; and yet .7' is infinite, and .8' is infinite and .9' is infinite, yet there are not three infinites but one infinite, &c. &c.

					J. F. C. F.	{313}

THE MANIAC. A realistic study of Madness from the Maniac's point of view.

     Reebman Limited.  5"s." net.

						 BATHSHEBAH TINA.

I found "The Maniac" both entertaining and instructive, a very valuable study of psychology. It is so far as I know the only really illuminating book on madness; and I strongly recommend its perusal to all alienists, psychologists, and members of the grade of Neophyte. It throws an admirable light on the true nature of Obsession and Black Magic. Two things impressed me in particular. (1) The statement that the arguments held with a patient never reach his consciousness at all, despite his rational answers. This phenomenon is true of my own sane life. I sometimes chat pleasantly to bores for quite a long time without any consciousness that I am doing so. (2) The statement that medical men have no idea of the real contents of a madman's mind. I remember in the County Asylum at Inverness ("Here are the fools, and there are the knaves!" said an inmate, pointing to the city) a man rolling from side to side with an extraordinary regularity and rhythm of swing, emitting a long continuous howl like a wolf. "Last stage of G.P.I." said the doctor; "he feels absolutely nothing." "How interesting!" said I; and thought "How the deuce do you know?" I shall be very glad when it is finally proved and admitted that the consciousness is independent of the senses and the intellect. Hashish phenomena, madness phenomena, magical and mystical phenomena, all prove it; but old Dr. Cundum and young Professor Cuspidor, who can neither of them cure a cold in {314} the head, say it isn't so! The "Imbecile Theologians of the Middle Ages" are matched by the imbecile cacologians of our own. I repeat, a very valuable book; a very valuable book indeed.

					       FRA: O. M.

SELF SYNTHESIS. A means to Perpetual Life. By CORNWELL ROUND.

     Simpkin, Marshall and Co. 1"s." net.

						      METHUSELAH.

THE CASE FOR ALCOHOL. Or the Actions of Alcohol on Body an Soul. By

     ROBERT PARK, M.D.	Rebman Limited.	 1"s." net.

rights of traders and purveyors	thereof."	      {315}

syrup.							    F.

AN INTERPRETATION OF GENESIS. By THEODORE POWYS. This is a most mystical interpretation of the most beautiful of the books of the Old Testament. It consists of a dialogue between the Lawgiver of Israel and Zetetes, who is not exactly the disciple, but rather the Interpreter of the Master's words. Thus it commences: "The Law-giver of Israel:"
"In the beginning the Truth created the heaven and the earth." "Zetetes:"
"The life that is within and the life that is without, are not these

     the heaven	and the	earth that the Truth created?"

						J. F. C. F.   {316}

EVOLUTION FROM NEBULA TO MAN. By JOSEPH McCABE. Milner and

     Co.  1"s."

THE R. P. A. ANNUAL, 1910. 6"d." net.
From the cover of this review we learn that it contains "A striking Poem" by Eden Phillpotts, whose name evidently tokens his true occupation: it is called "From the Shades," and might well remain there. Phillpotts informs us that it was "inspired (!!!) by the spectacle of Paul's statue which now stands on the triumphal pillar of Marcus Aurelius at Rome." We have read of many crimes attributed to this unfortunate saint by modern freethinkers, but none equal to this.
Poor Faustina! We can imagine any self-respecting girl taking to drink and the street to save herself from such an ethical prig of a husband as the Phillpottian Marcus. Listen. The Emperor is ousted by the Saint, the statue of the latter being reared upon the pedestal of the former; this evidently annoyed the Stoic, for we find his hero worming about in his shroud ___ where Paul evidently could not get at him ___ and saying: "sucks to you," or to quote:

	       "A man named Paul

		  .	   .	    .	     .	      .

just as if Paul could help it!
Outside sudden jars on the ears like "my eyes" and "a euthanasia," and platitudes like "Now Pontifex is Caesar, but no more is Caesar Pontifex"; and esoteric jabs presumably at poor Faustina, such as: "that biting thing is only precious in the tart ..." we find some masterly twaddle, regular Phillpotts:

	       "Two thousand years of fooled humanity,

	       "Some flight of years

		   .	     .		.	 .	  .

What in the name of Narcissus is this all about? And yet Mr. Ford Madox Hueffer takes for one of his recent texts: "We have not got a great Poet." Well here at least is one, who, if he can do nothing else, can Phillpotts!

THE MARTYRDOM OF FERRER. By JOSEPH McCABE, R. P. A. 6"d." One of the most remarkable points about this interesting brochure is, that no sooner was Se$or Ferrer dead than out it came as speedily as if it had been blown from the muzzle of one of his executioner's rifles. It is a true and straightforward account of a man who did not support the blasphemy laws, and who would not have sneaked and shuffled about the Boulter prosecution.
On finishing this book we almost exclaim: "Bravo, Ferrer!" but our enthusiasm was seriously damped when on opening the "Literary Guide," we read that Miss Sasha Kropotkin has stated in the "The Westminster Gazette" that Se$or Ferrer's books on comparative religion "are quite similar in thought and tone to those published in England by the Rationalist Press Association." If so ___ "Viva Alfonso!"

THE HAND OF GOD. By GRANT ALLEN. 6"d." Grant Allan is always exciting, and this posthumous volume of essays quite keeps up his reputation of being the G. A. Henty of Rationalism. We remember reading "The Woman who Did" a dozen and more years ago now, shortly after having closed "A Child of the Age" ___ both in the delightful Keynote Series. And what a difference! Rosy Howlet, a lazy rosebud, a little sweetheart and nothing else, but Herminia Barton ___ Lower Tooting with a dash of Clement's Inn. "As beneath so above."

HISTORY OF CHEMISTRY. By SIR EDWARD THORPE, R.P.A. Vol. I. 1"s." HISTORY OF ASTRONOMY. By GEORGE FORBES, R.P.A. 1"s." Excellent! In every way excellent! After munching through all this heavy pie-crust, we are beginning to feel like little Jack Horner when he pulled out the plum. If only schools would adopt these most interesting little histories, {318} in place of cramming a lot of ridiculous formulae and equations down children's throats, they might become places where time is not altogether wasted.
Twenty years ago I remember learning some two hundred chemical formulae, the only two which I can remember now being H2S, because I emptied a bottle into my tutor's desk, and H2SO4 , because I poured some on his chair to see if it would turn his trousers red, with the result that what lived beneath mine turned very pink shortly after he had discovered who the miscreant was. How I should have learnt to love Chemistry instead of hating it, if I had been taught from Sir Edward Thorpe's little book! There is more elementary education in chapter iv. ___ The Philosopher's Stone ___ than ever I learnt in five years with Newth and Thompson; and after all, should not school teach us to love knowledge instead of hating it? should not school teach us the pretty little fables of great men's lives that we can use them in our conversation afterwards, rather than scores of musty dry-as-dust facts, which can only help us to pass dry-as-dust and useless examinations? Give us more of these, Mr. Watts, dozens more, and we will forgive you "From the Shades." Best wishes to these little volumes, may you sell a million of each, but "in the sunlight," please.

						  A. QUILLER.

THE SURVIVAL OF MAN. By SIR OLIVER LODGE. Methuen. 7"s." 6"d." net. One of the most unfortunate results of the divorce between Science and Religion has been the attempt of each of the partners to set up housekeeping for itself, with the most disastrous results. I shall not run my simile to death, but I shall explain how this train of thought began in my mind.
Sir Oliver's book is mainly a defence of the Society for Psychical Research, and a plea for more scientific investigation of psychic or spiritistic phenomena; and it seems to the reviewer that a scientific society that needs a defence at all, after nearly thirty years' work, has confessed itself to be largely a failure. Sir Oliver Lodge, and indeed Spiritualism generally, suffer enormously from their lack of knowledge, from their being devoid of theory. Phenomena! Phenomena! Phenomena! Until the noumenon behind is obscured and disbelieved in and explained away. This is what makes modern spiritualism so hideous and Qliphothic a thing, and "psychic researchers" such bad mystics. There is nothing in the book under review that is fresh ___ nothing that was not known forty years ago ___ see Emma Hardinge Britten's "Modern American Spiritualism"; nothing that was not commonplace yesterday ___ see the current issue of "Light."
The real Occult knowledge of Plato, of Paracelsus, of Boehme, of Levi, {319} was based upon theories whereby all the phenomena of modern psychism had their place, and were awarded their proper value. The pseudo-occultism and watery mysticism of the modern spiritualistic philosophers ___ we call them by this noble title by courtesy ___ is due to their complete lack of knowledge.
What serious student of religion and occultism cares for the vapourings of Ralph Waldo Trine, the philosophising of the Rev. R. J. Campbell, the poetry of Ella Wheeler Wilcox? The prototypes of these people are utterly, or almost utterly, forgotten. One recalls now with how much difficulty the names of the Rev. H. R. Haweis, of A. H. Davis, of Lizzie Doten! For there is no virtue in those who have strayed from the path to linger among the Shells of the Dead and the demons of Matter. The line of tradition is unbroken, and the way is straight and hard; too hard for "mediums" and New Thoughtists, whose spiritual capital consists of falsehood, and sentimentality, and sham humanitarianism. Sir Oliver Lodge is always careful and painstaking and entirely honest; he is probably as well fitted to carry on his S.P.R. work as any student in England.
And to those who are unacquainted with the phenomena of spiritualism, "The Survival of Man" is as useful a book as could be read. But to the student of religion its value is "nil," because the occult knowledge is "nil." In fairness it should be added that this review is written from the point of view of a mystic; to spiritualists the book will be welcome as yet another "proof" of "spirit-return," "thought-transference," and so on.

					     V.	B. NEUBURG.

This book is a singularly lucid and complete statement of the work of many noble lives. We believe that the S.P.R. has taken up a most admirable position, and wish greater success to their work in the future. If they would only train themselves instead of exercising patience on fraudulent people, whose exploits no sane person would believe if God Himself came down from heaven to attest them, they might get somewhere.

							  A. C.

THE KEY TO THE TAROT. By A. E. WAITE. W. Rider and Sons, Limited. Mr. Waite has written a book on fortune-telling, and we advise servantgirls to keep an eye on their half-crowns. We have little sympathy or pity for the folly of fashionable women; but housemaids need protection ___ hence their affection for policemen and soldiers ___ and we fear that Mr. Waite's apologies will not prevent professional cheats from using his instructions for their frauds and levies of blackmail. {320} As to Mr. Waite's constant pomposities, he seems to think that the obscurer his style and the vaguer his phrases, the greater initiate he will appear.
Nobody but Mr. Waite knows "all" about the Tarot, it appears; and he won't tell. Reminds one of the story about God and Robert Browning, or of the student who slept, and woke when the professor thundered rhetorically, "And what "is" Electricity?" The youth jumped up and cried (from habit), "I know, sir." "Then tell us." "I "knew," sir, but I've forgotten." "Just my luck!" complained the professor, "there was only one man in the world who knew ___ and he has forgotten!"
Why, Mr. Waite, your method is not even original. When Sir Mahatma Agamya Paramahansa Guru Swamiji (late of H. M. Prisons, thanks to the unselfish efforts of myself and a friend) was asked, "And what of the teaching of Confucius?" ___ or any one else that the boisterous old boy had never heard of ___ he would reply contemptuously, "Oh, him? He was my disciple." And seeing the hearer smile would add, "Get out you dog, you a friend of that dirty fellow Crowley. I beat you with my shoe. Go away! Get intellect! Get English!" until an epileptic attack supervened. Mr. Waite, like Marie Corelli, in this as in so many other respects, brags that he cares nothing for criticism, so he won't mind my making these little remarks, and I may as well go on. He has "betrayed" (to use his own words) the attributions of some of the small cards, and Pamela Coleman Smith has done very beautiful and sympathetic designs, though our own austerer taste would have preferred the plain cards with their astrological and other attributions, and occult titles. (These are all published in the book "777," and a pack could be easily constructed by hand. Perhaps we may one day publish one at a shilling a time!) But Mr. Waite has not "betrayed" the true attributions of the Trumps. They are obvious, though, the moment one has the key (see "777"). Still, Pamela Coleman Smith has evidently been hampered; her designs are cramped and forced. I am infinitely sorry for any artist who tries to draw after dipping her hands in the gluey dogma of so insufferable a dolt and prig. Mr. Waite, I believe, is perfectly competent to produce indefinite quantities of Malted Milk to the satisfaction of all parties; but when it comes to getting the pure milk of the Word, Mr. Waite gets hold of a wooden cow.
And do for God's sake, Arthur, drop your eternal hinting, hinting, hinting, "Oh what an exalted grade I have, if you poor dull uninitiated people would only perceive it!"
Here is your criticism, Arthur, straight from the shoulder. Any man that knows Truth and conceals it is a traitor to humanity; any {321} man that doesn't know, and tries to conceal his ignorance by pretending to be the guardian of a secret, is a charlatan. Which is it?
We recommend every one to buy the pack, send Mr. Waite's book to the kitchen so as to warn the maids, throw the Major Arcana out of window, and play bridge with the Minor Arcana, which alone are worth the money asked for the whole caboodle.
The worst of it all is: Mr. Waite really does know a bit in a muddled kind of way; if he would only go out of the swelled-head business he might be some use.
But if you are not going to tell your secrets, it is downright schoolboy brag to strut about proclaiming that you possess them. Au revoir, Arthur.

					    ALEISTER CROWLEY.

It is an awkward situation for any initiate to edit knowledge concerning which he is bound to secrecy. This is the fundamental objection to all vows of this kind. The only possible course for an honest man is to preserve absolute silence.
Thus, to my own knowledge Mr. Waite is an initiate (of a low grade) and well aware of the true attribution of the Tarot. Now, what I want to know is this: is Mr. Waite breaking his obligation and proclaiming himself (to quote the words of his own Oath) "a vile and perjured wretch, void of all moral worth, and unfit for the society of all upright and just persons," and liable in addition to "the awful and just penalty of submitting himself voluntarily to a deadly and hostile current of will ... by which he should fall slain or paralysed as if blasted by the lightning flash" ___ or, is he selling to the public information which he knows to inexact? When this dilemma is solved, we shall feel better able to cope with the question of the Art of Pamela Coleman Smith.

							 Pi .

THE VISION. By MRS. HAMILTON SYNGE. Elkin Mathews. 1"s." 6"d." cloth. It was with no small degree of pleasurable anticipation that we picked up a volume by the distinguished authoress of "A Supreme Moment" and "The Coming of Sonia." The first vision, alas! was an atrocity after Watts, R.A., but we persisted.
Chapter i. is jolly good.
Chapter ii. might have been better with less quotation. {322} Chapter iii. is first rate. Mystics can only conquer the Universe when they can prove themselves better than the rest of the world even in worldly things, and that by virtue of their mystic attainment. We cannot, however, subscribe to her doctrine of the agglutination of the Virttis to the Atman, save only in due order and balance in the case of the adept. Yet we would not deny the possibility of her theory being correct.
In chapter iv. she puts a drop of the Kerosene of Myers into her good wine.
In chapter v. we begin to suspect that the authoress's brain is a mass of ill-digested and imperfectly understood pseudo-science; yet it ends finely ___ our task is to learn "how to love" ___ and we refer the reader to Mrs. Synge's other books.
Chapter vi. is more about James. We love our William dearly, but we hate to see dogs trotting about with his burst waistcoat-buttons in their mouths. But the clouds life. We get Ibsen, and Browning, and Blake; and end on the right note. Oh that Mrs. Synge would come and take up serious occultism seriously; leave vague theorising and loose assertion, and her "larger Whole" for our "narrow Way!"

					 CHRISTOBEL WHARTON.

THE TRAGIC LIFE-HISTORY OF THE MAN WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. By

     FRANK HARRIS.  7"s." 6"d."

						      A. C.

The "English Review" was enlivened in November by a brilliant article on The Law of Divorce from the fascinating pen of Mr. E. S. P. Haynes. While sympathising to a large extent with the writer's learned views so lucidly expressed, we are of opinion that there is no middle course between the extreme position of the Catholic Church, that marriage is so holy a bond that nothing can break it, and to accept and even to encourage fornication rather than tamper with it, and the other extreme of allowing a marriage to determine as soon as the parties desire it, proper provision being of course made for the welfare of any offspring. The problem is really insoluble so long as sexual relations give rise to bitter feeling of any sort. Polygamy is perhaps the most decent and dignified of the systems at present invented. But the present degrading and stupid farce must be ended. As things are in these islands to-day, nine-tenths of all divorces, at least in good society, are the result of cheerful agreement between the parties. Adultery on both sides is so common that a genuine grievance is a rare as a truthful witness.
In a case that recently came under my notice, for example, the nominal defendant was really the plaintiff. He had compelled his wife ___ for sufficient reason ___ to divorce him by the threat that unless she did so he would break off friendly relations with her. Next came a weary struggle to manufacture evidence, the plaintiff's lawyers keeping up the irritating wail: "Lord ____ is so strict. "We must have more adultery." So the" "already overworked defendant was kept busy all the summer faking fresh" "evidence to satisfy the morbid appetite of a Scotch judge, while at the" "same time he was obliged to hold constant and clandestine intercourse with" "his own wife, lest she should lose her temper and withdraw proceedings!"12" " This may have been an exceptional case ___ we hope so. But that any" "such mockery can take place anyhow and anywhere is a scandal and a reproach" "to the nation whose laws and customs make it possible." " We hope to hear much more from Mr. Haynes, and that he will throw" "fearlessly the whole weight of his genius and energy into the cause of" "radical reform of these monstrous and silly iniquities."

"						  ARIEL.   {325}"

"THE QUEST. No. II. J. M. Watkins. 2s." 6"d." This periodical is the dullest and most sodden slosh possible. No one should fail to buy a copy; a perfect bedside book.

						       R. N. W.

12 WEH NOTE: This is Crowley's account of his divorce from Rose. See "CONFESSIONS."

We beg to apologise for having referred in our last number to G.R.S.Mead, Esquire, B.A., M.R.A.S., as Mr. G.R.S.Mead, B.A. B.A. (Baccalaureus Artium) is indeed the proud distinction awarded to our brightest and best intellects. M.R.A.S. does not mean Mr. Ass; but is a mark of merit so high that dizzy imagination swoons at its contemplation.

We grovel.					       A. C.

PARACELSUS. Edited by A. E. WAITE. Two vols. Wm. Rider and Son. 25"s." The only edition of the great mediaeval occultist, the discoverer of opium, hydrogen, and zinc. Mr. A. E. Waite in this as in his other translations is altogether admirable, adding a delightful wit to ripe scholarship, and illuminating comment to rational criticism.

						       A. C.

THE OPEN ROAD (Monthly. C. W. Daniel) is apparently the organ of Mrs.

     Boole.  We	leave it at that.		   A. QUILLER.

THE BLUE BIRD. Translated by ALEXANDER TEXEIRA DE MATTOS.

     Methuen.  1"s." net.

   I did not continue my inquiry.		      A. C.

		      AN APOLOGY FOR PRINTING HONEST

				  REVIEWS

THE Editor of THE EQUINOX is well aware of the tendency of modern journalism to print only favourable reviews of books, and to praise on the recommendation of the Advertisement Manager rather than that of the Literary Adviser. But he believes that this policy defeats its own end, that praise in THE EQUINOX will really sell copies of the book receiving it, and that appreciation of this fact on the part of publishers will result in the enrichment of his advertising columns.

{326}

			  THE SHADOWY DILL-WATERS

				    OR

			   MR. SMUDGE THE MEDIUM

"'Tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon."

						"As You	Like it."

IN our investigation of the trumpery tin Pantheon of Aunt Sallies which our courtesy calls "literary gents," one of the most striking figures is a certain lame duck that suggests a mixed ancestry of Brigand manqu and the Ghost in the Bab Ballads.
Historically, too, the subject has its advantage, for not only does the work of Weary Willie suggest primal Chaos, but himself recalls the Flood. He seems to have desired to emulate Noah, but the modern tendency to specialisation has led him to confine his attentions to the Insect World, and the remarkable jumping qualities of some of his specimens have their correspondence in the metre of those treacly emulsions which it is our present purpose to study.
Come with me! Behold the scene of action. What? You can see nothing? Of course not. It's out of focus, and the limelight is but a farthing dip. Never mind; take the {327} slide, and hold it to the light! Ah! there's a well ___ a druid well; a wood ___ a druid wood; a boat (druid) on a druid sea. Why Druid? Because Willie is not a British workman. The expletive is harmless enough. Look! more wells and woods and boats and appleblossoms. When in doubt, play apple-blossom. Try and scan it as a dactyl. You can't? He can.
Oh! there are some people in the boat. Druid people. A queen with hair like the casting-net of the stars. What's that? Never mind. There's nothing rude or offensive about the casting-net of the stars? Very good, then; let's get on. What are they doing? Drifting. That's dead sure, anyway. Drifting. Drifting. That's the beautiful Celtic glamour of it. Druidically drifting Druids on a druid sea of apple-blossom in the middle distance. Foreground, a well in a wood. Background, a casting-net of the stars. Dotted about, hounds of various colours, usually red. Let's have another slide. Same thing, with a fairy floating about. Tired? Yes. Well, sit down and talk about it. Tut! Tut! ... How on earth does anybody ever deliberately produce this sort of thing? He doesn't. It just happens. All the Gregory Powder in the world won't produce it; it's true Asiatic Cholera, and you can't imitate it. I didn't mean dill-wates; I meant rice-waters.
Now let no one think that we object to an atmosphere in Art. Maeterlinck is doubtless just as misty in his symbolism; equally he uses a leitmotiv; equally he relies on mystery to shroud his figures with fascination, terror, or glamour. {328}
But the images are themselves perfectly clear and precise. In the mistiest of all, "Les Aveugles," one can condense the plot into a single phrase of simplest English. On this clean model, Greek in its simplicity, the master has thrown draperies of cleanly woven fabric, delicate and frail as spiders' webs ___ and as silvery and strong as they. This is a craftsmanship exquisitely subtle and severe, a style of almost superhuman austerity.
In our shadowy choleraic we have the imitation of this, its reflection in a dull and dirty mind.
Smudge.
When Ruskin reproached Whistler for his ability to distinguish between colours less violent than vermilion and emerald, he was no doubt a Philistine. But how much worse is the Bohemian who thinks ___ "Since I cannot see anything but muddiness in these silver-grey quarter-tones, I can easily rival Whistler." Forthwith he mixes up all the colours in his box, daubs a canvas with them and ___ ? Certainly he deceives Ruskin, but he deceives nobody else.
Genius, O weary one, is not an infinite capacity for taking pains; but genius has to take pains to express itself, and expression is at least half the battle. You, I think, have neither genius nor application; neither a healthy skin nor the soap-travail which might reveal it. Still, one can never be sure; you might give a trial to the soap. If we had not a sufficiency of hard work before us in interpreting the masters of old, we might be tempted to waste more time on you; but there is Blake. Blake is more obscure than you are; but we have this guarantee, based on experience, that when we do attain to his meaning, it starts up {329} luminous, Titanic, splendid. With you, we discover only commonplace ___ the commonplace of a maudlin undertaker replying to the toast of the Ladies at the Annual Dinner of the Antique Order of Arch-Druids. Blake fashioned his intricate caskets of symbol to conceal pearls; you pile up dead leaves to cover rotten apples. You are Attis with a barren fig-leaf. It is true that a sort of dreary music runs monotonously through your verses, only jarred by the occasional discords. It is as if an eternal funeral passed along, and the motor-hearse had something wrong with the ignition ___ and the exhaust.
It is as if a man were lost upon a lonely marsh in the flat country and constantly slipped and sat down with a splash in a puddle. These be ignoble images, my masters!
The fact is that you are both myopic and tone-deaf. You peer into the darkly splendid world, the abyss of light ___ for it is light, to the seer ___ and you see but "unintelligible images, unluminous, formless, and void." Then you return and pose as one who has trodden the eternal snows. You are like a man who puts a penny into a mutoscope that is out of order; and, rather than admit that he has been swindled, pretends to have enjoyed it. You are like a parvenu with an ill-cooked chop at a swagger restaurant who eats it rather than incur the frown of the waiter. Better abandon mysticism outright than this. But we suppose it is impossible; you must trim, and compromise, and try to get round the Boyg, O Peer Gynt without his courage and light-heartedness, O onion with many a stinking sheath, and a worm at the heart! {330} Yes, if nothing else were wrong with you ___ and everything else "is" wrong ___ you would still be damned for your toadying to Mrs. Grundy and the Reverend Robert Rats.
We thought to sum you up on a page, and that page a page of but four corners; on mature consideration we think it could be done in a word, and that word a word of but four letters.

					 A. QUILLER, JR.

{331}

			     LIBER DCCCCLXIII

					 "SPECIAL SUPPLEMENT"

		    A.'. A.'. Publication in Class B

		    D.D.S. 7x =	4x Praemonstrator
		    O.S.V. 6x =	5x Imperator
		    N.S.F. 5x =	6x Cancellarius

				   LIBER

     Theta Epsilon Sigma Alpha Upsilon Rho Omicron Upsilon  'Epsilon Iota Delta	Omega Lambda Omega Nu

		   HB:Heh HB:Resh HB:Tet HB:Tzaddi  HB:Taw HB:Resh HB:Tet HB:Tzaddi
			     Corona, Corolla;
			   Sic vocatur Malchuth
			   quando ascendit usque

				      "The Kabbalah."

(The Probationer should learn by heart the chapter

	     corresponding to the Zodiacal Sign	that was rising	at
	     his birth;	or, if this be unknown,	the chapter "The
	     Twelvefold	Unification of God.")

Z___B___B___B___B___B___B___B___B___B___B___B___B___? 3 93310831233138315331683 1 3 163 313 463 613 763 913 C___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___4 310731223137315231673 133 153 303 453 603 753 903 923 C___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___4 31213136315131663 123 143 293 443 593 743 89310431063 C___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___4 3135315031653 113 263 283 433 583 733 883103310531203 C___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___4 314931643 103 253 273 423 573 723 8731023117311931343 C___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___4 31633 9 3 243 393 413 563 713 86310131163118313331483 C___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___4 3 8 3 233 383 403 553 703 853100311531303132314731623 C___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___4 3 223 373 523 543 693 843 99311431293131314631613 7 3 C___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___4 3 363 513 533 683 833 98311331283143314531603 6 3 213 C___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___4 3 503 653 673 823 97311231273142314431593 5 3 203 353 C___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___4 3 643 663 813 96311131263141315631583 4 3 193 343 493 C___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___4 3 783 803 95311031253140315531573 3 3 183 333 483 633 C___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___E___4 3 793 94310931243139315431693 2 3 173 323 473 623 773 @___A___A___A___A___A___A___A___A___A___A___A___A___Y

{Illustration facing page 4 of supplement partly described and partly approximated:

"FIG. 1. The Triangle of the Universe." "Three veils of the Negative ___ not yellow; not red; not blue: but therefore symbolised by the 'flashing' colours of these three; purple (11); emerald (12) and orange (13). Within their triangle of Yonis is the Lingam touching and filling it. Positive, as they are negative; in the Queen Scale of colour, as they are in the King Scale. Ten are the Emanations of Unity, the parts of that Lingam, in Kether, TARO = 78 = 6 x 13, the influence of that Unity in the Macrocosm (Hexagram). The centre of the whole figure is Tiphereth, where is a golden Sun of six rays. Note the reflection of the Yonis to the triad about Malkuth. Also note that the triangle of Yonis is hidden, even as their links are secret. From Malkuth depends the Greek Cross of the Zodiac and their Spiritual Centre (Fig. 2). For Colour Scales see 777."

/\

			       /  \
			      <	11 >
			       \  /

			     Z______?
			     3	Rho    3
			     31Alpha   Omega  3
			     C______4
			     3	    3
			     32	    3
			     C______4
			     3	    3
			     33	    3
			     C______4
			     3	*   3
			     36	    3
			     C______4
			     3	    3
			     39	    3
	       Z______B______E______E______B______?
	       3      3	     3 \  / 3	   3	  3
	       34     38     3 /10\ 37	   35	  3
   _______     @______A______A______A______A______Y	_______
  /	 /						\      \
 /13	/						 \ 12	\
/______/						  \______\

"*" represents a six-fold star, points to top and bottom. The star is formed by a line inside which are six diamond shapes making a pointed petal star to the center.}

			       A.'. A.'.
			  Publication in Class A

		       A NOTE UPON LIBER DCCCCLXIII

1. Let the student recite this book, particularly the 169 Adorations, unto his Star as it ariseth.
   
2. Let him seek out diligently in the sky his Star; let him travel thereunto in his Shell; let him adore it unceasingly from its rising even unto its setting by the right adorations, with chants what shall be harmonious therewith.
   
3. Let him rock himself to and fro in adoration; let him spin around his own axis in adoration; let him leap up and down in adoration.
4. Let him inflame himself in the adoration, speeding from slow to fast, until he can no more.
   
5. This also shall be sung in open places, as heaths, mountains, woods, and by streams and upon islands.
   
6. Moreover, ye shall build you fortified places in great cities; caverns and tombs shall be made glad with your praise.
7. Amen.

   							  {5}
   

   		       THE TREASURE-HOUSE OF IMAGES
   

   Here beginneth the Book of
   

   			  The Meditations on the
   			     Twelvefold	Adora-
   			       tion, and the
   				 Unity of
   				   GOD.
   

   {Symbol of the } The Chapter known as {crescent Moon,} The Perception of God {horns to right} that is revealed unto man for a snare

   			      I
   			    adore
   			  Thee by the
   		       Twelvefold Snare
   		   and by the Unity thereof.
   

   000. In the Beginning there was Naught, and Naught spake unto Naught saying: Let us beget on the Nakedness of Our Nothingness the Limitless, Eternal, Identical, and United: And without will, intention, thought, word, desire, or deed, it was so.

   00. Then in the depths of Nothingness hovered the Limitless, as a raven in the night; seeing naught, hearing naught, and understanding naught: neither was it seen, nor heard, not understood; for as yet Countenance beheld not Countenance.

   • And as the Limitless stretched forth its wings, an unextended unextendable Light became; colourless, formless, conditionless, effluent, naked, and essential, as a crystalline dew of creative effulgence; and fluttering as a dove betwixt Day and Night, it vibrated forth a lustral Crown of Glory.
     1. And out of the blinding whiteness of the Crown grew an Eye, like unto an egg of an humming-bird cherished on a platter of burnished silver.
     2. Thus I beheld Thee, O my God, the lid of whose Eye is as the Night of Chaos, and the pupil thereof as the marshalled order of the spheres. {7}
     3. For, I am but as a blind man, who wandering through the noontide preceiveth not the loveliness of the day; and even as he whose eyes are unenlightened beholdeth not the greatness of this world in the depths of a starless night, so am I who am not able to search the unfathomable depths of Thy Wisdom.
     4. For what am I that I durst look upon Thy Countenance, purblind one of small understanding that I am, blindly groping through the night of mine ignorance like unto a little maggot hid in the dark depths of a corrupted corpse?
     5. Therefore, O my God, fashion me into a five-pointed star of ruby burning beneath the foundations of Thy Unity, that I may mount the pillar of Thy Glory, and be lost in adoration of the triple Unity of Thy Godhead, I beseech Thee, O Thou who art to me as the Finger of Light thrust through the black clouds of Chaos; I beseech Thee, O my God, hearken Thou unto my cry!
     6. Then, O my God, am I not risen as the sun that eateth up ocean as a golden lion that feedeth on a blue-grey wolf? So shall I become one with Thy Beauty, worn upon Thy breast as the Centre of a Sixfold Star of ruby and of sapphire.
     7. Yea, O God, gird Thou me upon Thy thigh as a warrior girdeth his sword! Smite my acuteness into the earth, and as a sower casteth his seed into the furrows of the plough, do Thou beget upon me these adorations of Thy Unity, O My Conqueror!
     8. And Thou shalt carry me upon Thine hip, O Thou flashing God, as a black mother of the South Country carrieth her babe. Whence I shall reach my lips to Thy pap, and sucking out Thy stars, shed them in these adorations upon the Earth. {8}
     9. Moreover, O God my God, Thou who hast cloven me with Thine amethystine Phallus, with Thy Phallus adamantine, with Thy Phallus of Gold and Ivory! thus am I cleft in twain as two halves of a child that is split asunder by the sword of the eunuchs, and mine adorations are divided, and one contendeth against his brother. Unite Thou me even as a split tree that closeth itself again upon the axe, that my song of praise unto Thee may be One Song!
     10. For I am Thy chosen Virgin, O my God! Exalt Thou me unto the throne of the Mother, unto the Garden of Supernal Dew, unto the Unutterable Sea!

   				   Amen,
   			     and Amen of Amen,
   

   and Amen of Amen of Amen,
   

   		     and Amen of Amen of Amen of Amen.
   

   {9}

   		       The Chapter known as
       Aries		   The Twelvefold Affirmation of God
   		       and the Unity thereof
   

   			      I
   			    adore
   			  Thee by the
   		     Twelve Affirmations
   		   and by the Unity thereof.
   

   1. O Thou show-clad volcan of scarlet fire, Thou flame-crested pillar of fury! Yea, as I approach Thee, Thou departest from me like unto a wisp of smoke blown forth from the window of my house.
   2. O Thou summer-land of eternal joy, Thou rapturous garden of flowers! Yea, as I gather Thee, my harvest is but as a drop of due shimmering in the golden cup of the crocus.
   3. O Thou throbbing music of life and death, Thou rhythmic harmony of the world! Yea, as I listen to the echo of Thy voice, my rapture is but as the whisper of the wings of a butterfly.
   4. O Thou burning tempest of blinding sand, Thou whirlwind from the depths of darkness! Yea, as I struggle through Thee, through Thee, my strength is but as a dove's down floating forth on the purple nipples of the storm.
   5. O Thou crownd giant among great giants, Thou crimson-sworded soldier of war! Yea, as I battle with Thee, Thou masterest me as a lion that slayeth a babe that is cradled in lilies. {10}
   6. O Thou shadowy vista of Darkness, Thou cryptic Book of the fir-clad hills! Yea, as I search the key of Thy house I find my hope but as a rushlight sheltered in the hands of a little child.
   7. O Thou great labour of the Firmament, Thou tempest-tossed roaring of the Aires! Yea, as I sink in the depths of Thine affliction, mine anguish is but as the smile on the lips of a sleeping babe.
   8. O Thou depths of the Inconceivable, Thou cryptic, unutterable God! Yea, as I attempt to understand Thee, my wisdom is but as an abacus in the lap of an aged man.
   9. O Thou transfigured dream of blinding light, Thou beatitude of wonderment! Yea, as I behold Thee, mine understanding is but as the glimpse of a rainbow through a storm of blinding snow.
   10. O Thou steel-girdered mountain of mountains, Thou crested summit of Majesty! Yea, as I climb Thy grandeur, I find I have but surmounted one mote of dust floating in a beam of Thy Glory.
   11. O Thou Empress of light and of Darkness, Thou pourer-forth of the stars of night! Yea, as I gaze upon Thy Countenance, mine eyes are as the eyes of a blind man smitten by a torch of burning fire.
   12. O Thou crimson gladness of the midnight, Thou flamingo North of brooding light! Yea, as I rise up before Thee, my joy is but as a raindrop smitten through by an arrow of the Western Sun.
   13. O Thou golden Crown of the Universe, Thou diadem of dazzling brightness! Yea, as I burn up before Thee, my {11} light is but as a falling star between the purple fingers of the Night.

       		   O Glory be unto Thee	through	all Time
       		       and through all Space; Glory
       			   and Glory upon Glory
       			     Everlasting. Amen
       			       and Amen, and
       				   Amen.
       

       {12}

       		       The Chapter known as
           Taurus		    The	Twelvefold Renunciatiion of God
       		       and the Unity thereof
       

       			      I
       			    adore
       			  Thee by the
       		     Twelve Renunciations
       		   and by the Unity thereof.
       

       1. O my God, Thou mighty One, Thou Creator of all things, I renounce unto Thee the kisses of my mistress, and the murmur of her mouth, and all the trembling of her firm young breast; so that I may be rolled a flame in Thy fiery embrace, and be consumed in the unutterable joy of Thine everlasting rapture.
       2. O my God, Thou Mighty One, Thou Creator of all things, I renounce unto Thee the soft-lipp'd joys of life, and the honey-sweets of this world, and all the subtilties of the flesh; so that I may be feasted on the fire of Thy passion, and be consumed in the unutterable joy of Thine everlasting rapture.
       3. O my God, Thou Mighty One, Thou Creator of all things, I renounce unto Thee the ceaseless booming of the waves, and the fury of the storm, and all the turmoil of the wind-swept waters; so that I may drink of the porphyrine foam of Thy lips, and be consumed in the unutterable joy of Thine everlasting rapture.
       4. O my God, Thou Mighty One, Thou Creator of all things, I renounce unto Thee the whispers of the desert, and the moan of the simoom, and all the silence of the sea of {13} dust; so that I may be lost in the atoms of Thy Glory, and be consumed in the unutterable joy of Thine everlasting rapture.
       5. O my God, Thou Mighty One, Thou Creator of all things, I renounce unto Thee the green fields of the valleys, and the satyr roses of the hills, and the nymph lilies of the meer; so that I may wander through the gardens of Thy Splendour, and be consumed in the unutterable joy of Thine everlasting rapture.
       6. O my God, Thou Mighty One, Thou Creator of all things, I renounce unto Thee the sorrow of my mother, and the threshold of my home, and all the labour of my father's hands; so that I may be led unto the Mansion of Thy Light, and be consumed in the unutterable joy of Thine everlasting rapture.
       7. O my God, Thou Mighty One, Thou Creator of all things, I renounce unto Thee the yearning for Paradise, and the dark fear of Hell, and the feast of the corruption of the grave; so that as a child I may be led unto Thy Kingdom, and be consumed in the unutterable joy of Thine everlasting rapture.
       8. O my God, Thou Mighty One, Thou Creator of all things, I renounce unto Thee the moonlit peaks of the mountains, and the arrow-shapen kiss of the firs, and all the travail of the winds; so that I may be lost on the summit of Thy Glory, and be consumed in the unutterable joy of Thine everlasting rapture.
       9. O my God, Thou Mighty One, Thou Creator of all things, I renounce unto Thee the goatish ache of the years, and the cryptic books, and all the majesty of their enshrouded words; so that I may be entangled in Thy wordless Wisdom, and be consumed in the unutterable joy of Thine everlasting rapture. {14}
       10. O my God, Thou Mighty One, Thou Creator of all things, I renounce unto Thee the wine-cups of merriment, and the eyes of the wanton bearers, and all the lure of their soft limbs; so that I may be made drunk on the vine of Thy splendour, and be consumed in the unutterable joy of Thine everlasting rapture.
       11. O my God, Thou Mighty One, Thou Creator of all things, I renounce unto Thee the hissing of mad waters, and the trumpeting of the thunder, and all Thy tongues of dancing flame; so that I may be swept up in the breath of Thy nostrils, and be consumed in the unutterable joy of Thine everlasting rapture.
       12. O my God, Thou Mighty One, Thou Creator of all things, I renounce unto Thee the crimson lust of the chase, and the blast of the brazen warhorns, and all the gleaming of the spears; so that like an hart I may be brought to bay in Thine arms, and be consumed in the unutterable joy of Thine everlasting rapture.
       13. O my God, Thou Mighty One, Thou Creator of all things, I renounce unto Thee all that Self which is myself, that black sun which shineth in Self's day, whose glory blindeth Thy Glory; so that I may become as a rushlight in Thine abode, and be consumed in the unutterable joy of Thine everlasting rapture.

           		   O Glory be unto Thee	through	all Time
           		       and through all Space: Glory,
           			   and Glory upon Glory,
           			   Everlastingly.  Amen,
           			       and Amen, and
           				   Amen.
           

           								 {15}
           

           		       The Chapter known as
               Gemini		    The	Twelvefold Conjuration of God
           		       and the Unity thereof
           

           			      I
           			    adore
           			  Thee by the
           		      Twelve Conjurations
           		   and by the Unity thereof.
           

           1. O Thou Consuming Eye of everlasting light set as a pear betwixt the lids of Night and Day; I swear to Thee by the formless void of the Abyss, to lap the galaxies of night in darkness, and blow the meteors like bubbles into the frothing jaws of the sun.
           2. O Thou ten-footed soldier of blue ocean, whose castle is built upon the sands of life and death; I swear to Thee by the glittering blades of the waters, to cleave my way within Thine armed hermitage, and brood as an eyeless corpse beneath the coffin-lid of the Mighty Sea.
           3. O Thou incandescent Ocean of molten stars, surging above the arch of the Firmament; I swear to Thee by the mane-pennoned lances of light, to stir the lion of Thy darkness from its lair, and lash the sorceress of noontide into fury with serpents of fire.
           4. O Thou intoxicating Vision of Beauty, fair as ten jewelled virgins dancing about the hermit moon; I swear to Thee by the peridot flagons of spring, to quaff to the dregs Thy chalice of Glory, and beget a royal race before the Dawn flees from awakening Day.
           5. O Thou unalterable measure of all things, in whose lap {16} lie the destinies of unborn worlds; I swear to Thee by the balance of Light and Darkness, to spread out the blue vault as a looking-glass, and flash forth therefrom the intolerable lustre of Thy Countenance.
           6. O Thou who settest forth the limitless expanse, spanned by wings of thunder above the cosmic strife; I swear to Thee by the voiceless dust of the desert, to soar above the echoes of shrieking life, and as an eagle to feast for ever upon the silence of the stars.
           7. O Thou flame-tipped arrow of devouring fire that quiverest as a tongue in the dark mouth of Night; I swear to Thee by the thurible of Thy Glory, to breathe the incense of mine understanding, and to cast the ashes of my wisdom into the Valley of Thy breast.
           8. O Thou ruin of the mountains, glistening as an old white wolf above the fleecy mists of Earth: I swear to Thee by the galaxies of Thy domain, to press Thy lamb's breasts with the teeth of my soul, and drink of the milk and blood of Thy subtlety and innocence.
           9. O Thou Eternal river of chaotic law, in whose depths lie locked the secrets of Creation; I swear to Thee by the primal waters of the Deep, to suck up the Firmament of Thy Chaos, and as a volcano to belch forth a Cosmos of coruscating suns.
           10. O Thou Dragon-regent of the blue seas of air, as a chain of emeralds round the neck of Space; I swear to Thee by the hexagram of Night and Day, to be unto Thee as the twin fish of Time, which being set apart never divulge the secret of their unity.
           11. O Thou flame of the hornd storm-clouds, that {17} sunderest their desolation, that outroarest the winds; I swear to Thee by the gleaming sandals of the stars, to climb beyond the summits of the mountains, and rend Thy robe of purple thunders with a sword of silvery light.
           12. O Thou fat of an hundred fortresses of iron, crimson as the blades of a million murderous swords; I swear to Thee by the smoke-wreath of the volcano, to open the secret shrine of Thy bull's breast, and tear out as an augur the heart of Thine all-pervading mystery.
           13. O Thou silver axle of the Wheel of Being, thrust through the wings of Time by the still hand of Space; I swear to Thee by the twelve spokes of Thy Unity, to become unto Thee as the rim thereof, so that I may clothe me majestically in the robe that has no seam.

               		   O Glory be unto Thee	through	all Time
               		       and through all Space: Glory,
               			   and Glory upon Glory,
               			   Everlastingly.  Amen,
               			       and Amen, and
               				   Amen.
               

               								 {18}
               

               		       The Chapter known as
                   Cancer		    The	Twelvefold Certitude of	God
               		       and the Unity thereof
               

               			      I
               			    adore
               			  Thee by the
               		       Twelve Certitudes
               		   and by the Unity thereof.
               

               1. O Thou Sovran Warrior of steel-girt valour, whose scimitar is a flame between day and night, whose helm is crested with the wings of the Abyss. I know Thee! O Thou four-eyed guardian of heaven, who kindleth to a flame the hearts of the downcast, and girdeth about with fire the loins of the unarmed.
               2. O Thou Sovran Light and fire of loveliness, whose flaming locks stream downwards through the aethyr as knots of lightning deep-rooted in the Abyss. I know Thee! O Thou winnowing flail of brightness, the passionate lash of whose encircling hand scatters mankind before Thy fury as the wind-scud from the stormy breast of Ocean.
               3. O Thou Sovran Singer of the revelling winds, whose voice is as a vestal troop of Bacchanals awakened by the piping of a Pan-pipe. I know Thee! O thou dancing flame of frenzied song, whose shouts, like unto golden swords of leaping fire, urge us onward to the wild slaughter of the Worlds.
               4. O Thou Sovran Might of the most ancient forests, whose voice is as the murmur of unappeasable winds caught up in the arms of the swaying branches. I know Thee! O {19} Thou rumble of conquering drums, who lulleth to a rapture of deep sleep those lovers who burn into each other, flame to fine flame.
               5. O Thou Sovran Guide of the star-wheeling circles, the soles of whose feet smith plumes of golden fire from the outermost annihilation of the Abyss. I know Thee! O Thou crimson sword of destruction, who chasest the comets from the dark bed of night, till they speed before Thee as serpent tongues of flame.
               6. O Thou Sovran Archer of the darksome regions, who shooteth forth from Thy transcendental crossbow the many-rayed suns into the fields of heaven. I know Thee! O Thou eight-pointed arrow of light, who smiteth the regions of the seven rivers until they laugh like Maenads with snaky thyrsus.
               7. O Thou Sovran Paladin of self-vanquished knights, whose path lieth through the trackless forests of time, winding athrough the Byss of unbegotten space. I know Thee! O Thou despiser of the mountains, Thou whose course is as that of a lightning-hoofed steed leaping along the green bank of a fair river.
               8. O Thou Sovran Surging of wild felicity, whose love is as the overflowing of the seas, and who makest our bodies to laugh with beauty. I know Thee! O Thou outstrider of the sunset, who deckest the snow-capped mountains with red roses, and strewest white violets on the curling waves.
               9. O Thou Sovran Diadem of crownd Wisdom, whose work knoweth the path of the sylphs of the air, and the black burrowings of the gnomes of the earth. I know Thee! O Thou Master of the ways of life, in the palm of whose hand {20} all the arts lie bounden as a smoke-cloud betwixt the lips of the mountain.
               10. O Thou Sovran Lord of primaeval Baresarkers, who huntest with dawn the dappled deer of twilight, and whose engines of war are blood-crested comets. I know Thee! O Thou flame-crowned Self-luminous One, the lash of whose whip gathered the ancient worlds, and looseth the blood from the virgin clouds of heaven.
               11. O Thou Sovran Moonstone of pearly loveliness, from out whose many eyes flash the fire-clouds of life, and whose breath enkindleth the Byss and the Abyss. I know Thee! O Thou fountain-head of fierce aethyr, in the pupil of whose brightness all things lie crouched and wrapped like a babe in the womb of its mother.
               12. O Thou Sovran Mother of the breath of being, the milk of whose breasts is as the fountain of love, twin-jets of fire upon the blue bosom of night. I know Thee! O Thou Virgin of the moonlit glades, who fondleth us as a drop of dew in Thy lap, ever watchful over the cradle of our fate.
               13. O Thou Sovran All-Beholding eternal Sun, who lappest up the constellations of heaven, as a thirsty thief a jar of ancient wine. I know Thee! O Thou dawn-wing'd courtesan of light, who makest me to reel with one kiss of Thy mouth, as a leaf cast into the flames of a furnace.

                   		   O Glory be unto Thee	through	all Time
                   		       and through all Space: Glory,
                   			   and Glory upon Glory,
                   			   Everlastingly.  Amen,
                   			       and Amen, and
                   				   Amen.
                   

                   								 {21}
                   

                   		       The Chapter known as
                   

                   Leo The Twelvefold Glorification of God

                   		       and the Unity thereof
                   

                   			      I
                   			    adore
                   			  Thee by the
                   		     Twelve Glorifications
                   		   and by the Unity thereof.
                   

                   1. O Glory be to Thee, O God my God; for I behold Thee in the Lion Rampant of the dawn: Thou hast crushed with Thy paw the crouching lioness of Night, so that she may roar forth the Glory of Thy Name.
                   2. O Glory be to Thee, O God my God; for I behold Thee in the lap of the fertile valleys: Thou hast adorned their strong limbs with a robe of poppied corn, so that they may laugh forth the Glory of Thy Name.
                   3. O Glory be to Thee, O God my God; for I behold Thee in the gilded rout of dancing-girls: Thou hast garlanded their naked middles with fragrant flowers, so that they may pace forth the Glory of Thy Name.
                   4. O Glory be to Thee, O God my God; for I behold Thee in the riotous joy of the storm; Thou hast shaken the gold-dust from the tresses of the hills, so that they may chaunt forth the Glory of Thy Name.
                   5. O Glory be to Thee, O God my God; for I behold Thee in the stars and meteors of Night: Thou has caparisoned her grey coursers with moons of pearl, so that they may shake forth the Glory of Thy Name.
                   6. O Glory be to Thee, O God my God; for I behold Thee {22} in the precious stones of the black earth: Thou hast lightened her with a myriad eyes of magic, so that she may wink forth the Glory of Thy Name.
                   7. O Glory be to Thee, O God my God; for I behold Thee in the sparkling dew of the wild glades: Thou hast decked them out as for a great feast of rejoicing, so that they may gleam forth the Glory of Thy Name.
                   8. O Glory be to Thee, O God my God; for I behold Thee in the stillness of the frozen lakes: Thou hast made their faces more dazzling than a silver mirror, so that they may flash forth the Glory of Thy Name.
                   9. O Glory be to Thee, O God my God; for I behold Thee in the smokeveil' d fire of the mountains: Thou hast inflamed them as lions that scent a fallow deer, so that they may rage forth the Glory of Thy Name.
                   10. O Glory be to Thee, O God my God; for I behold Thee in the countenance of my darling: Thou hast unclothed her of white lilies and crimson roses, so that she may blush forth the Glory of Thy Name.
                   11. O Glory be to Thee, O God my God; for I behold Thee in the weeping of the flying clouds: Thou hast swelled therewith the blue breasts of the milky rivers, so that they may roll forth the Glory of Thy Name.
                   12. O Glory be to Thee, O God my God; for I behold Thee in the amber combers of the storm: Thou hast laid Thy lash upon the sphinxes of the waters, so that they may boom forth the Glory of Thy Name.
                   13. O Glory be to Thee, O God my God; for I behold Thee in the lotusflower within my heart: Thou hast {23} emblazoned my trumpet with the lionstandard, so that I may blare forth the Glory of Thy Name.

                       		   O Glory be unto Thee	through	all Time
                       		       and through all Space: Glory,
                       			   and Glory upon Glory,
                       			   Everlastingly.  Amen,
                       			       and Amen, and
                       				   Amen.
                       

                       								 {24}
                       

                       		       The Chapter known as
                           Virgo		   The Twelvefold Beseechment of God
                       		       and the Unity thereof
                       

                       			      I
                       			    adore
                       			  Thee by the
                       		      Twelve Beseechments
                       		   and by the Unity thereof.
                       

                       1. O Thou Mighty God, make me as a fair virgin that is clad in the blue-bells of the fragrant hillside; I beseech Thee, O Thou great God! That I may ring out the melody of Thy voice, and be clothed in the pure light of Thy loveliness: O Thou God my God!
                       2. O Thou Mighty God, make me as a Balance of rubies and jet that is cast in the lap of the Sun; I beseech Thee, O Thou great God! That I may flash forth the wonder of Thy brightness, and melt into the perfect poise of Thy Being: O Thou God my God!
                       3. O Thou Mighty God, make me as a brown Scorpion that creepeth on through a vast desert of silver; I beseech Thee, O Thou great God! That I may lose myself in the span of Thy light, and become one with the glitter of Thy Shadow: O Thou God my God!
                       4. O Thou mighty God, make me as a green arrow of Lightning that speedeth through the purple clouds of Night; I beseech Thee, O Thou great God! That I may wake fire from the crown of Thy Wisdom, and flash into the depths of Thine Understanding: O Thou God my God!
                       5. O Thou mighty God, make me as a flint-black goat that {25} pranceth in a shining wilderness of steel; I beseech Thee, O Thou great God! That I may paw one flashing spark from Thy Splendour, and be welded into the Glory of Thy might: O Thou God my God!
                       6. O Thou mighty God, make me as the sapphirine waves that cling to the shimmering limbs of the green rocks; I beseech Thee, O Thou great God! That I may chant in foaming music Thy Glory, and roll forth the eternal rapture of Thy Name: O Thou God my God!
                       7. O Thou mighty God, make me as a silver fish darting through the vast depths of the dim-peopled waters; I beseech Thee, O Thou great God! That I may swim through the vastness of Thine abyss, and sink beneath the waveless depths of Thy Glory: O Thou God my God!
                       8. O Thou mighty God, make me as a white ram that is athirst in a sunscorched desert of bitterness; I beseech Thee, O Thou great God! That I may seek the deep waters of Thy Wisdom, and plunge into the whiteness of Thine effulgence: O Thou God my God!
                       9. O Thou mighty God, make me as a thunder-smitten bull that is drunk upon the vintage of Thy blood; I beseech Thee, O Thou great God! That I may bellow through the universe Thy Power, and trample the nectar-sweet grapes of Thine Essence: O Thou God my God!
                       10. O Thou mighty God, make me as a black eunuch of song that is twinvoiced, yet dumb in either tongue; I beseech Thee, O Thou great God! That I may hush my melody in Thy Silence, and swell into the sweet ecstasy of Thy Song. O Thou God my God!
                       11. O Thou mighty God, make me as an emerald crab that {26} crawleth over the wet sands of the sea-shore; I beseech Thee, O Thou great God! That I may write Thy name across the shores of Time, and sink amongst the white atoms of Thy Being. O Thou God, my God!
                       12. O Thou mighty God, make me as a ruby lion that roareth from the summit of a white mountain; I beseech Thee, O thou great God! That I may echo forth Thy lordship through the hills, and dwindle into the nipple of Thy bounty. O thou God, my God!
                       13. O Thou mighty God, make me as an all-consuming Sun ablaze in the centre of the Universe; I beseech Thee, O Thou great God! That I may become as a crown upon Thy brow, and flash forth the exceeding fire of Thy Godhead: O Thou God, my God!

                           		   O Glory be unto Thee	through	all Time
                           		       and through all Space: Glory,
                           			   and Glory upon Glory,
                           			   Everlastingly.  Amen,
                           			       and Amen, and
                           				   Amen.
                           

                           								 {27}
                           

                           		       The Chapter known as
                               Libra		   The Twelvefold Gratification	of God
                           		       and the Unity thereof
                           

                           			      I
                           			    adore
                           			  Thee by the
                           		     Twelve Gratifications
                           		   and by the Unity thereof.
                           

                           1. O Thou green-cloaked Maenad in labour, who bearest beneath Thy leaden girdle the vintage of Thy kisses; release me from the darkness of Thy womb, so that I may cast off my infant wrappings and leap forth as an armed warrior in steel.
                           2. O Thou snake of misty countenance, whose braided hair is like a fleecy dawn of swooning maidens; hunt me as a fierce wild boar through the skies, so that Thy burning spear may gore the blue heavens red with the foaming blood of my frenzy.
                           3. O Thou cloudy Virgin of the World, whose breasts are as scarlet lilies paling before the sun; dandle me in the cradle of Thine arms, so that the murmur of Thy voice may lull me to a sleep like a pearl lost in the depths of a silent sea.
                           4. O Thou wine-voiced laughter of fainting gloom, who art as a naked faun crushed to death between millstones of thunder; make me drunk on the rapture of Thy song, so that in the corpse-clutch of my passion I may tear the cloud-robe from off Thy swooning breast.
                           5. O Thou wanton cup-bearer of madness, whose mouth is as the joy of a thousand thousand masterful kisses; intoxicate me on Thy loveliness, so that the silver of Thy {28} merriment may revel as a moon-white pearl upon my tongue.
                           6. O Thou midnight Vision of Whiteness, whose lips are as pouting rosebuds deflowered by the deciduous moon; tend me as a drop of dew in Thy breast, so that the dragon of Thy gluttonous hate may devour me with its mouth of adamant.
                           7. O Thou effulgence of burning love, who pursueth the dawn as a youth pursueth a rose-lipped maiden; rend me with the fierce kisses of Thy mouth, so that in the battle of our lips I may be drenched by the snow pure fountains of Thy bliss.
                           8. O Thou black bull in a field of white girls, whose foaming flanks are as starry night ravished in the fierce arms of noon; shake forth the purple horns of my passion, so that I may dissolve as a crown of fire in the bewilderment of Thine ecstasy.
                           9. O Thou dread arbiter of all men, the hem of whose broidered skirt crimsoneth the white battlements of Space; bare me the starry nipple of Thy breast, so that the milk of Thy love may nurture me to the lustiness of Thy virginity.
                           10. O Thou thirsty charioteer of Time, whose cup is the hollow night filled with the foam of the vintage of day; drench me in the shower of Thy passion, so that I may pant in Thine arms as a tongue of lightning on the purple bosom of night.
                           11. O Thou opalescent Serpent-Queen, whose mouth is as the sunset that is bloody with the slaughter of day; hold me in the crimson flames of Thine arms, so that at Thy kisses I may expire as a bubble in the foam of Thy dazzling lips.
                           12. O Thou Odalisque of earth's palace, whose garments are scented and passionate as spring flowers in sunlit glades; {29} roll me in the sweet perfume of Thy hair, so that Thy tresses of gold may anoint me with the honey of a million roses.
                           13. O Thou manly warrior amongst youths, whose limbs are as swords of fire that are welded in the furnace of war; press Thy cool kisses to my burning lips, so that the folly of our passion may weave us into the Crown of everlasting Light.

                               		   O Glory be unto Thee	through	all Time
                               		       and through all Space: Glory,
                               			   and Glory upon Glory,
                               			   Everlastingly.  Amen,
                               			       and Amen, and
                               				   Amen.
                               

                               								 {30}
                               

                               		       The Chapter known as
                                   Scorpio		     The Twelvefold Denial of God
                               		       and the Unity thereof
                               

                               			      I
                               			    adore
                               			  Thee by the
                               

                               Twelve Denials
                               

                               		   and by the Unity thereof.
                               

                               1. O Thou God of the Nothingness of All Things! Thou who art neither the Formless breath of Chaos; nor the exhaler of the ordered spheres:
                                  O Thou who art not the cloud-cradled star of the morning; nor the sun, drunken upon the mist, who blindeth men! I deny Thee by the powers of mine understanding; Guide me in the unity of thy might, and lead me to the fatherhood of Thine all-pervading Nothingness;
                                  for Thou art all and none of these in the fullness of Thy Not-Being.
                               2. O Thou God of the Nothingness of All Things! Thou who art neither the vitality of worlds; nor the breath of starentangled Being:
                                  O Thou who art not horsed 'mid the centaur clouds of night; nor the twanging of the shuddering bowstring of noon! I deny Thee by the powers of mine understanding; Throne me in the unity of Thy might, and stab me with the javelin of Thine all-pervading Nothingness;
                                  for Thou art all and none of these in the fullness of Thy Not-being. {31}
                               3. O Thou God of the Nothingness of All Things! Thou who art neither the Pan-pipe in the forest; nor life's blue sword wrapped in the cloak of death:
                                  O Thou who art not found amongst the echoes of the hills; nor in the whisperings that wake within the valleys! I deny Thee by the powers of mine understanding; Crown me in the unity of Thy might, and flash me as a scarlet tongue into Thine all-pervading Nothingness;
                                  for Thou art all and none of these in the fullness of Thy Not-Being.
                               4. O Thou God of the Nothingness of All Things! Thou who art neither the Crown of the flaming storm; nor the opalescence of the Abyss:
                                  O Thou who art not a nymph in the foam of the sea; nor a whirling devil in the sand of the desert!
                                  I deny Thee by the powers of mine understanding; Bear me in the unity of Thy might, and pour me forth from out the cup of Thine all-pervading Nothingness;
                                  for Thou art all and none of these in the fullness of Thy Not-Being.
                               5. O Thou God of the Nothingness of All Things! Thou who art neither the formulator of law; nor the Cheat of the maze of illusion:
                                  O Thou who art not the foundation-stone of existence; nor the eagle that broodeth upon the egg of space!
                                  I deny Thee by the powers of mine understanding; Swathe me in the unity of Thy might, and teach me wisdom from the lips of Thine all-pervading Nothingness;
                                  for Thou art all and none of these in the fullness of Thy Not-Being. {32}
                               6. O Thou God of the Nothingness of All Things! Thou who art neither the fivefold root of Nature; nor the fire-crested helm of her Master:
                                  O Thou who art not the Emperor or Eternal Time; nor the warrior shout that rocketh the Byss of Space!
                                  I deny Thee by the powers of mine understanding; Raise me in the unity of Thy might, and suckle me at the swol'n breasts of Thine all-pervading Nothingness;
                                  for Thou art all and none of these in the fullness of Thy Not-Being.
                               7. O Thou God of the Nothingness of All Things! Thou who art neither the golden bull of the heavens; nor the crimsoned fountain of the lusts of men:
                                  O Thou who reclinest not upon the Waggon of Night; nor restest Thine hand upon the handle of the Plough!
                                  I deny Thee by the powers of mine understanding; Urge me in the unity of Thy might, and drench me with the red vintage of Thine all-pervading Nothingness;
                                  for Thou art all and none of these in the fullness of Thy Not-Being.
                               8. O Thou God of the Nothingness of All Things! Thou who art neither the starry eyes of heaven; nor the forehead of the crownd morning:
                                  O Thou who art not perceived by the powers of the mind; nor grasped by the fingers of Silence or of Speech!
                                  I deny Thee by the powers of mine understanding; Robe me in the unity of Thy might, and speed me into the blindness of Thine all-pervading Nothingness;
                                  for Thy art all and none of these in the fullness of Thy Not-Being. {33}
                               9. O Thou God of the Nothingness of All Things! Thou who art neither the forge of Eternity; nor the thunder-throated womb of Chaos:
                                  O Thou who art not found in the hissing of the hailstones; nor in the rioting of the equinoctial storm!
                                  I deny Thee by the powers of mine understanding; Bring me to the unity of Thy might, and feast me on honeyed manna of Thine all-pervading Nothingness;
                                  for Thou art all and none of these in the fullness of Thy Not-Being.
                               10. O Thou God of the Nothingness of All Things! Thou who art neither the traces of the chariot; nor the pole of galloping delusion:
                                   O Thou who art not the pivot of the whole Universe; nor the body of the woman-serpent of the stars!
                                   I deny Thee by the powers of mine understanding; Lead me in the Unity of Thy might, and draw me unto the threshold of Thine all-pervading Nothingness;
                                   for Thou art all and none of these in the fullness of Thy Not-Being.
                               11. O Thou God of the Nothingness of All Things! Thou who art neither the moaning of a maiden; nor the electric touch of fire-thrilled youth:
                                   O Thou who art not found in the hardy kisses of love; nor in the tortured spasms of madness and of hate! I deny Thee by the powers of mine understanding; Weight me in the unity of Thy might, and roll me in the poised rapture of Thine all-pervading Nothingness;
                                   for Thou art all and none of these in the fullness of Thy Not-Being. {34}
                               12. O Thou God of the Nothingness of All Things! Thou who art neither the primal cause of causes; nor the soul of what is, or was, or will be:
                                   O Thou who art not measured in the motionless balance; nor smitten by the arrow-flights of man!
                                   I deny Thee by the powers of mine understanding; Shield me in the unity of Thy might, and reckon me aright in the span of Thine all-pervading Nothingness;
                                   for Thou art all and none of these in the fullness of Thy Not-Being.
                               13. O Thou God of the Nothingness of All Things! Thou who art neither the breathing influx of life; nor the iron ring i' the marriage feast of death:
                                   O Thou who art not shadowd forth in the songs of war; nor in the tears and lamentations of a child!
                                   I deny Thee by the powers of my understanding; Sheathe me in the unity of Thy might, and kindle me with the grey flame of Thine all-pervading Nothingness.
                                   for Thou art all and none of these in the fullness of Thy Not-Being.

                                   		   O Glory be unto Thee	through	all Time
                                   		       and through all Space: Glory,
                                   			   and Glory upon Glory,
                                   			   Everlastingly.  Amen,
                                   			       and Amen, and
                                   				   Amen.
                                   

                                   								 {35}
                                   

                                   		       The Chapter known as
                                   

                                   Sagittarius The Twelvefold Rejoicing of God

                                   		       and the Unity thereof
                                   

                                   			      I
                                   			    adore
                                   			  Thee by the
                                   		       Twelve Rejoicings
                                   		   and by the Unity thereof.
                                   

                                   1. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou seven-rayed rainbow of perfect loveliness; Thou light-rolling chariot of sunbeams; Thou fragrant scent of the passing storm: Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou breath of the slumbering valleys; O Thou low-murmuring ripple of the ripe cornfields! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till, as the mingling blushes of day and night, my song weaveth the joys of life into a gold and purple Crown, for the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name.
                                   2. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou zigzagged effulgence of the burning stars; Thou wilderment of indigo light;
                                      Thou grey horn of immaculate fire:
                                      Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou embattled cloud of flashing flame; O Thou capricious serpent-head of scarlet hair! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till my roaring filleth {36} the wooded mountains, and like a giant forceth the wind's head through the struggling trees, in the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name.
                                   3. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou silken web of emerald bewitchment; Thou berylline mist of marshy meers; Thou flame-spangled fleece of seething gold: Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou pearly dew of the setting moon; O Thou dark purple storm-cloud of contending kisses! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till all my laughter, like enchaunted waters, is blown as an iris-web of bubbles from the lips of the deep, in the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name.
                                   4. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou who broodest on the dark breasts of the deep; Thou lap of the wave-glittering sea; Thou bright vesture of the crested floods: Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou native splendour of the Waters; O Thou fathomless Abyss of surging joy! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till the mad swords of my music smite the hills, and rend the amethyst limbs of Night from the white embrace of Day, at the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name.
                                   5. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou cloud-hooded bastion of the stormy skies; Thou lightning anvil of angel swords; Thou gloomy forge of the thunderbolt: {37} Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou all-subduing Crown of Splendour; O Thou hero-souled helm of endless victory! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till the mad rivers rush roaring through the woods, and my re-echoing voice danceth like a ram among the hills, for the Gory and Splendour of Thy Name.
                                   6. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou opalescent orb of shattered sunsets; Thou pearly boss on the shield of light; Thou tawny priest at the Mass of lust: Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou chalcedony cloudland of light; O Thou poppy-petal floating upon the snowstorm! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till my frenzied words rush through the souls of men, like a blood-red bull through a white heard of terror-stricken kine, at the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name.
                                   7. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou unimperilled flight of joyous laughter; Thou eunuch glaive-armed before joy's veil; Thou dreadful insatiable One:
                                      Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou lofty gathering-point of Bliss; O Thou bridal-bed of murmuring rapture! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till I tangle the black tresses of the storm, and lash the tempest into a green foam of twining basilisks, in the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name. {38}
                                   8. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou coruscating star-point of Endlessness; Thou inundating fire of the Void;
                                      Thou moonbeam cup of eternal life:
                                      Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou fire-sandalled warrior of steel; O Thou bloody dew of the field of slaughter and death! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till the music of my throat smiteth the hills as a crescent moon waketh a nightly field of sleeping comets, at the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name.
                                   9. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou jewel-work of snow on the limbs of night; Thou elaboration of oneness;
                                      Thou shower of universal suns:
                                      Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou gorgeous, Thou wildering one; O Thou great lion roaring over a sea of blood! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till the wild thunder of my praise breaketh down, as a satyr doth a babe, the nine and ninety gates of Thy Power, in the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name.
                                   10. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou ambrosia-yielding rose of the World; Thou vaulted dome of effulgent light; Thou valley of venomous vipers:
                                       Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou dazzling robe of the soft rain-clouds; O Thou lion-voiced up-rearing of the goaded storm! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till my rapture, {39} like unto a two-edged sword, traceth a sigil of fire and blasteth the banded sorcerers, in the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name.
                                   11. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou Crown of unutterable loveliness; Thou feather of hyalescent flame;
                                       Thou all-beholding eye of brightness: Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou resplendent everlasting one: O Thou vast abysmal ocean of foaming flames! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till the stars leap like white coursers from the night, and the heavens resound as an army of steel-clad warriors, at the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name.
                                   12. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou star-blaze of undying expectation; Thou ibis-throated voice of silence; Thou blinding night of understanding: Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou white finger of Chaotic law; O Thou creative cockatrice twined amongst the waters! I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till my cries stir the night as the burnished gold of a lance thrust into a poisonous dragon of adamant, for the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name.
                                   13. Ah! but I rejoice in Thee, O Thou my God; Thou self-luminous refulgent Brilliance; Thou eye of light that hath no eyelid; Thou turquoise-studeed sceptre of deed: Yea, I rejoice in Thee, Thou white furnace womb of Energy; {40} O Thou spark-whirling forge of the substance of the worlds; I rejoice, yea, I shout with gladness! till I mount as a white beam unto the crown, and as a breath of night melt into the golden lips of Thy dawn, in the Glory and Splendour of Thy Name.

                                       		   O Glory be unto Thee	through	all Time
                                       		       and through all Space: Glory,
                                       			   and Glory upon Glory,
                                       			   Everlastingly.  Amen,
                                       			       and Amen, and
                                       				   Amen.
                                       

                                       								 {41}
                                       

                                       		       The Chapter known as
                                           Capricorn		       The Twelvefold Humiliation of God
                                       		       and the Unity thereof
                                       

                                       			      I
                                       			    adore
                                       			  Thee by the
                                       		      Twelve Humiliations
                                       		   and by the Unity thereof.
                                       

                                       1. O my God, behold me fully and be merciful unto me, as I humble myself before Thee; for all my searching is as a bat that seeks some hollow of night upon a sun-parched wilderness.
                                       2. O my God, order me justly and be merciful unto me, as I humble myself before Thee; for all my thoughts are as a dust-clad serpent wind at noon that danceth through the ashen grass of law.
                                       3. O my God, conquer me with love and be merciful unto me, as I humble myself before Thee; for all the striving of my spirit is as a child's kiss that struggles through a cloud of tangled hair.
                                       4. O my God, suckle me with truth and be merciful unto me, as I humble myself before Thee: for all my agony of anguish is but as a quail struggling in the jaws of an hungry wolf.
                                       5. O my God, comfort me with ease and be merciful unto me, as I humble myself before Thee; for all the toil of my life is but as a small white mouse swimming through a vast sea of crimson blood. {42}
                                       6. O my God, entreat me gently and be merciful unto me as I humble myself before Thee; for all my toil is but as a threadless shuttle of steel thrust here and there in the black loom of night.
                                       7. O my God, fondle me with kisses and be merciful unto me, as I humble myself before Thee; for all my desires are as dewdrops that are sucked from silver lilies by the throat of a young god.
                                       8. O my God, exalt me with blood and be merciful unto me, as I humble myself before Thee; for all my courage is but as the fang of a viper that striketh at the rosy heel of dawn.
                                       9. O my God, teach me with patience and be merciful unto me, as I humble myself before Thee; for all my knowledge is but as the refuse of the chaff that is flung to the darkness of the void.
                                       10. O my God, measure me rightly and be merciful unto me, as I humble myself before Thee; for all my praise is but as a single letter of lead lost in the gilded scriptures of the rocks.
                                       11. O my God, fill me with slumber and be merciful unto me, as I humble myself before Thee; for all my wakefulness is but as a cloud at sunset that is like a snake gliding through the dew.
                                       12. O my God, kindle me with joy and be merciful unto me, as I humble myself before thee; for all the strength of my mind is but as a web of silk that bindeth the milky breasts of the stars.
                                       13. O my God, consume me with fire and be merciful unto me, as I humble myself before Thee; for all mine understanding {43} is but as a spider's thread drawn from star to star of a young galaxy.

                                           		   O Glory be unto Thee	through	all Time
                                           		       and through all Space: Glory,
                                           			   and Glory upon Glory,
                                           			   Everlastingly.  Amen,
                                           			       and Amen, and
                                           				   Amen.
                                           

                                           								 {44}
                                           

                                           		       The Chapter known as
                                               Aquarius		      The Twelvefold Lamentation of God
                                           		       and the Unity thereof
                                           

                                           			      I
                                           			    adore
                                           			  Thee by the
                                           		      Twelve Lamentations
                                           		   and by the Unity thereof.
                                           

                                           1. O woe unto me, my God, woe unto me; for all my song is as the dirge of the sea that moans about a corpse, lapping most mournfully against the dead shore in the darkness. Yet in the sob of the wind do I hear Thy name, that quickeneth the cold lips of death to life.
                                           2. O woe unto me, my God, woe unto me; for all my for all my praise is as the song of a bird that is ensnared in the network or the winds, and cast adown the drowning depths of night. Yet in the faltering notes of my music do I mark the melody of universal truth.
                                           3. O woe unto me, my God, woe unto me; for all my works are as a coiled-up sleeper who hath overslept the day, even the dawn that hovereth as a hawk in the void. Yet in the gloom of mine awakening do I see, across the breasts of night, Thy shadowed form.
                                           4. O woe unto me, my God, woe unto me; for all my labours are as weary oxen laggard and sore stricken with the goad, ploughing black furrows across the white fields of light. Yet in the scrawling trail of their slow toil do I descry the golden harvest of Thine effulgence.
                                           5. O woe unto me, my God, woe unto me; for all the hope {45} of my heart hath been ravished as the body of a virgin that is fallen into the hands of riotous robbers. Yet in the outrage of mine innocence do I disclose the clear manna of Thy purity.
                                           6. O woe unto me, my God, woe unto me; for all the passion of my love is mazed as the bewildered eyes of a youth, who should wake to find his belovd fled away. Yet in the crumpled couch of lust do I behold as an imprint the sigil of Thy name.
                                           7. O woe unto me, my God, woe unto me; for all the joy of my days lies dishonoured as the spangle-veil'd Virgin of night torn and trampled by the sun-lashed stallions of Dawn. Yet in the frenzy of their couplings do I tremble forth the pearly dew of ecstatic light.
                                           8. O woe unto me, my God, woe unto me; for all the aspirations of my heart ruin as in time of earthquake the bare hut of an hermit that he hath built for prayer. Yet from the lightning-struck tower of my reason do I enter Thy house that Thou didst build for me.
                                           9. O woe unto me, my God, woe unto me; for all my joy is as a cloud of dust blown athwart a memory of tears, even across the shadowless brow of the desert. Yet as from the breast of a slave-girl do I pluck the fragrant blossom of Thy Crimson Splendour.
                                           10. O woe unto me, my God, woe unto me; for all the feastings of my flesh have sickened to the wormy hunger of the grave, writing in the spasms of indolent decay. Yet in the maggots of my corruption do I shadow forth sunlit hosts of crownd eagles.
                                           11. O woe unto me, my God, woe unto me; for all my {46} craft is as an injured arrow, featherless and twisted, that should be loosed from its bowstring by the hands of an infant. Yet in the wayward struggling of its flight do I grip the unwavering courses of Thy wisdom.
                                           12. O woe unto me, my God, woe unto me; for all my faith is as a filthy puddle in the sinister confines of a forest, splashed by the wanton foot of a young gnome. Yet like a wildfire through the trees at nightfall do I divine the distant glimmer of Thine Eye.
                                           13. O woe unto me, my God, woe unto me; for all my life sinks as the western Sun that struggles in the strangling arms of Night, flecked over with the starry foam of her kisses. Yet in the very midnight of my soul do I hold as a scarab the signet of Thy name.

                                               		   O Glory be unto Thee	through	all Time
                                               		       and through all Space: Glory,
                                               			   and Glory upon Glory,
                                               			   Everlastingly.  Amen,
                                               			       and Amen, and
                                               				   Amen.
                                               

                                               								 {47}
                                               

                                               		       The Chapter known as
                                                   Pisces		    The	Twelvefold Bewilderment	of God
                                               		       and the Unity thereof
                                               

                                               			      I
                                               			    adore
                                               			  Thee by the
                                               		     Twelve Bewilderments
                                               		   and by the Unity thereof.
                                               

                                               1. O what art Thou, O God my God, Thou snow-browed storm that art whirled up in clouds of flame?
                                                  O Thou red sword of the thunder!
                                                  Thou great blue river of ever-flowing Brightness, over whose breasts creep the star-bannered vessels of night! O how can I plunge within Thine inscrutable depths, and yet with open eye be lost in the pearly foam of Thine Oblivion?
                                               2. O what art Thou, O God my God, Thou eternal incarnating immortal One?
                                                  O Thou welder of life and death!
                                                  Thou whose breasts are as the full breasts of a mother, yet in Thy hand Thou carriest the sword of destruction! O how can I cleave the shield of Thy might as a little wanton child may burst a floating bubble with the breast-feather of a dove?
                                               3. O what art Thou, O God my God, Thou mighty worker laden with the dust of toil?
                                                  O Thou little ant of the earth!
                                                  Thou great monster who infuriatest the seas, and by their vigour wearest down the strength of the cliffs! {48}
                                                  O how can I bind Thee in a spider's web of song, and yet remain one and unconsumd before the raging of Thy nostrils?
                                               4. O what art Thou, O God my God, Thou forkd tongue of the purplethroated thunder?
                                                  O Thou silver sword of lightning!
                                                  Thou who rippest out the fire-bolt from the storm-cloud, as a sorcerer teareth the heart from a black kid!
                                                  O how can I possess Thee as the dome of the skies, so that I may fix the keystone of my reason in the arch of Thy forehead?
                                               5. O what art Thou, O God my God, Thou amber-scal'd one whose eyes are set on columns?
                                                  O Thou sightless seer of all things! Thou spearless warrior who urgest on Thy steeds and blindest the outer edge of darkness with Thy Glory!
                                                  O how can I grasp the whirling wheels of Thy splendour, and yet be not smitten into death by the hurtling fury of Thy chariot?
                                               6. O what art Thou, O God my God, Thou red fire-fang that gnawest the blue limbs of night?
                                                  O Thou devouring breath of flame!
                                                  Thou illimitable ocean of frenzied air, in whom all is one, a plume cast into a furnace!
                                                  O how can I dare to approach and stand before Thee, for I am but as a withered leaf whirled away by the anger of the storm?
                                               7. O what art Thou, O God my God, Thou almighty worker ungirded of slumber? {49}
                                                  O Thou Unicorn of the Stars!
                                                  Thou tongue of flame burning above the firmament, as a lily that blossometh in the drear desert!
                                                  O how can I pluck Thee from the dark bed of Thy birth, and revel like a wine-drenched faun in the banqueting-house of Thy Seigniory?
                                               8. O what art Thou, O God my God, Thou dazzler of the deep obscurity of day?
                                                  O Thou golden breast of beauty!
                                                  Thou shrivelled udder of the storm-blasted mountains, who no longer sucklest the babe-clouds of wind-swept night! O how can I gaze upon Thy countenance of eld, and yet be not blinded by the black fury of Thy dethrond Majesty?
                                               9. O what art Thou, O God my God, Thou seraph-venom of witch-vengeance enchaunted?
                                                  O Thou coiled wizardry of stars!
                                                  Thou one Lord of life triumphant over death, Thou red rose of love nailed to the cross of golden light!
                                                  O how can I die in Thee as sea-foam in the clouds, and yet possess Thee as a frail white mist possesses the stripped limbs of the Sun?
                                               10. O what art Thou, O God my God, Thou soft pearl set in a bow of effulgent light?
                                                   O Thou drop of shimmering dew!
                                                   Thou surging river of bewildering beauty who speedest as a blue arrow of fire beyond, beyond!
                                                   O how can I measure the poisons of Thy limbeck, and yet be for ever transmuted in the athanor of Thine understanding? {50}
                                               11. O what art Thou, O God my God, Thou disrober of the darkness of the Abyss?
                                                   O Thou veil'd eye of creation!
                                                   Thou soundless voice who, for ever misunderstood, rollest on through the dark abysms of infinity!
                                                   O how can I learn to sing the music of Thy name, as a quivering silence above the thundering discord of the tempest?
                                               12. O what art Thou, O God my God, Thou teeming desert of the abundance of night?
                                                   O Thou river of unquench'd thirst!
                                                   Thou toungeless one who lickest up the dust of death and casteth it forth as the rolling ocean of life!
                                                   O how can I possess the still depths of Thy darkness, and yet in Thine embrace fall asleep as a child in a bower of lilies?
                                               13. O what art Thou, O God my God, Thou shrouded one veiled in a dazzling effulgence?
                                                   O Thou centreless whorl of Time!
                                                   Thou illimitable abysm of Righteousness, the lashes of whose eye are as showers of molten suns!
                                                   O how can I reflect the light of Thine unity, and melt into Thy Glory as a cloudy chaplet of calcedony moons?

                                                   		   O Glory be unto Thee	through	all Time
                                                   		       and through all Space: Glory,
                                                   			   and Glory upon Glory,
                                                   			   Everlastingly.  Amen,
                                                   			       and Amen, and
                                                   				   Amen.
                                                   

                                                   								 {51}
                                                   

                                                   		       The Chapter known as
                                                   

                                                   Sun The Twelvefold Unification of God

                                                   		       and the Unity thereof
                                                   

                                                   			      I
                                                   			    adore
                                                   			  Thee by the
                                                   		      Twelve Unifications
                                                   		   and by the Unity thereof.
                                                   

                                                   1. O Thou Unity of all things: as the water that poureth through the fingers of my hand, so art Thou, O God my God. I cannot hold Thee, for Thou art everywhere; lo! though I plunge into the heart of the ocean, there still shall I find Thee, Thou Unity of Unities, Thou Oneness, O Thou perfect Nothingness of Bliss!
                                                   2. O Thou Unity of all things: as the hot fire that flameth is too subtle to be held, so art Thou, O God my God. I cannot grasp Thee, for Thou art everywhere; lo! though I hurl me down the scarlet throat of a volcano, there still shall I find Thee, Thou Unity of Unities, Thou Oneness, O Thou perfect Nothingness of Bliss!
                                                   3. O Thou Unity of all things: as the moon that waneth and increaseth in the heavens, so art Thou, O God my God. I cannot stay Thee; for Thou art everywhere; lo! though I devour Thee, as a dragon devoureth a kid, there still shall I find Thee, Thou Unity of Unities, Thou Oneness, O Thou perfect Nothingness of Bliss!
                                                   4. O Thou Unity of all things: as the dust that danceth over the breast of the desert, so art Thou, O God my God. I cannot seize Thee, for Thou art everywhere; lo! though I lick up with my tongue the bitter salt of the plains, there still {52} shall I find Thee, Thou Unity of Unities, Thou Oneness, O Thou perfect Nothingness of Bliss!
                                                   5. O Thou Unity of all things: as the air that bubbleth from the dark depths of the waters, so art Thou, O God my God. I cannot catch Thee, for Thou art everywhere; lo! though I net Thee as a goldfish in a kerchief of silk, there still shall I find Thee, Thou Unity of Unities, Thou Oneness, O Thou perfect Nothingness of Bliss!
                                                   6. O Thou Unity of all things: as the cloud that flitteth across the white horns of the moon, so art Thou, O God my God. I cannot pierce Thee, for Thou art everywhere; lo! though I tangle Thee in a witch-gossamer of starlight, there still shall I find Thee, Thou Unity of Unities, Thou Oneness, O Thou perfect Nothingness of Bliss!
                                                   7. O Thou Unity of all things: as the star that travelleth along its appointed course, so art Thou, O God my God. I cannot rule Thee, for Thou art everywhere; lo! though I hunt Thee across the blue heavens as a lost comet, there still shall I find Thee, Thou Unity of Unities, Thou Oneness, O Thou perfect Nothingness of Bliss!
                                                   8. O Thou Unity of all things: as the lightning that lurketh in the heart of the thunder, so art Thou, O God my God. I cannot search Thee, for Thou art everywhere; lo! though I wed the flaming circle to the enshrouded square, there still shall I find Thee, Thou Unity of Unities, Thou Oneness, O Thou perfect Nothingness of Bliss!
                                                   9. O Thou Unity of all things: as the earth that holdeth all precious jewels in her heart, so art Thou, O God my God. I cannot spoil Thee, for Thou art everywhere; lo! though I burrow as a mole in the mountain of Chaos, there still shall I {53} find Thee, Thou Unity of Unities, Thou Oneness, O Thou perfect Nothingness of Bliss!
                                                   10. O Thou Unity of all things: as the pole-star that burneth in the centre of the night, so art Thou, O God my God. I cannot hide Thee, for Thou art everywhere; lo! though I turn from Thee at each touch of the lodestone of lust, there still shall I find Thee, Thou Unity of Unities, Thou Oneness, O Thou perfect Nothingness of Bliss!
                                                   11. O Thou Unity of all things: as the blue smoke that whirleth up from the altar of life, so art Thou, O God my God. I cannot find Thee, for Thou art everywhere; lo! though I inter Thee in the sarcophagi of the damned, there still shall I find Thee, Thou Unity of Unities, Thou Oneness, O Thou perfect Nothingness of Bliss!
                                                   12. O Thou Unity of all things: as a dark-eyed maiden decked in crimson and precious pearls, so art Thou, O God my God. I cannot rob Thee, for Thou art everywhere; lo! though I strip Thee of Thy gold and scarlet raiment of the Self, there still shall I find Thee, Thou Unity of Unities, Thou Oneness, O Thou perfect Nothingness of Bliss!
                                                   13. O Thou Unity of all things: as the sun that rolleth through the twelve mansions of the skies, so art Thou, O God my God. I cannot slay Thee, for Thou art everywhere; lo! though I lick up the Boundless Light, the Boundless, and the Not, there still shall I find Thee, Thou Unity of Unities, Thou Oneness, O Thou perfect Nothingness of Bliss!

                                                       		   O Glory be unto Thee	through	all Time
                                                       		       and through all Space: Glory,
                                                       			   and Glory upon Glory,
                                                       			   Everlastingly.  Amen,
                                                       			       and Amen, and
                                                       				   Amen.
                                                       

                                                       								 {54}
                                                       

                                                       		       The Chapter known as
                                                           Hexagram		      The Hundred and Sixty-Nine Cries of
                                                       		       Adoration and the Unity thereof
                                                       

                                                       			      I
                                                       			    adore
                                                       			  Thee by the
                                                       		      Hundred and Sixty-
                                                       		    Nine Cries of Adoration
                                                       		   and by the Unity thereof.
                                                       

                                                       O Thou Dragon-prince of the air, that art drunk on the blood of the sunsets! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou Unicorn of the storm, that art crested above the purple air! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou burning sword of passion, that art tempered on the anvil of flesh! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou slimy lust of the grave, that art tangled in the roots of the Tree! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou smoke-shrouded sword of flame, that art ensheathed in the bowels of earth! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou scented grove of wild vines, that art trampled by the white feet of love! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou golden sheaf of desires, that art bound by a fair wisp of poppies! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou molten comet of gold, that art seen through the wizard's glass of Space! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! {55} O Thou shrill song of the eunuch, that art heard behind the curtain of shame! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou bright star of the morning, that art set betwixt the breasts of the night! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou lidless eye of the world, that art seen through the sapphire veil of space! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou smiling mouth of the dawn, that art freed from the laughter of the night! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou dazzling star-point of hope, that burnest over oceans of despair! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou naked virgin of love, that art caught in a net of wild roses! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou iron turret of death, that art rusted with the bright blood of war! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou bubbling wine-cup of joy, that foamest like the cauldron of murder! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou icy trail of the moon, that art traced in the veins of the onyx! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou frenzied hunter of love, that art slain by the twisted horns of lust! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou frozen book of the seas, that art graven by the swords of the sun! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! {56} O Thou flashing opal of light, that art wrapped in the robes of the rainbow! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou purple mist of the hills, that hideth shepherds from the wanton moon! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou low moaning fainting maids, that art caught up in the strong sobs of love! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou fleeting beam of delight, that lurkest within the spear-thrusts of dawn! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou golden wine of the sun, that art poured over the dark breasts of night! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou fragrance of sweet flowers, that art wafted over blue fields of air! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou mighty bastion of faith, that withstandest all the breachers of doubt! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou silver horn of the moon, that gorest the red flank of the morning! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou grey glory of twilight, that art the hermaphrodite triumphant! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou thirsty mouth of the wind, that art maddened by the foam of the sea! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou couch of rose-leaf desires, that art crumpled by the vine and the fir! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! {57} O Thou bird-sweet river of Love, that warblest through the pebbly gorge of Life! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou golden network of stars, that art girt about the cold breasts of Night! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou mad whirlwind of laughter, that art meshed in the wild locks of folly! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou white hand of Creation, that holdest up the dying head of Death! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou purple tongue of Twilight, that dost lap up the lucent milk of Day! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou thunderbolt of Science, that flashest from he dark clouds of Magic! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou red rose of the Morning, that glowest in the bosom of the Night! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou flaming globe of Glory, that art caught up in the arms of the sun! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou silver arrow of hope, that art shot from the arc of the rainbow! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou starry virgin of Night, that art strained to the arms of the morning! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou sworded soldier of life, that art sucked down in the quicksands of death! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! {58} O Thou bronze blast of the trumpet, that rollest over emerald-tipped spears! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou opal mist of the sea, that art sucked up by the beams of the sun! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou red worm of formation, that art lifted by the white whorl of love! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou mighty anvil of Time, that outshowerest the bright sparks of life! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou red cobra of desire, that art unhooded by the hands of girls! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou emerald vulture of Truth, that art perched upon the vast tree of life! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou lonely eagle of night, that drinkest at the moist lips of the moon! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou wild daughter of Chaos, that art ravished by the strong son of law! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou ghostly night of terror, that art slaughtered in the blood of the dawn! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou poppied nectar of sleep, that art curled in the {59} still womb of slumber! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou burning rapture of girls, that disport in the sunset of passion! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou molten ocean of stars, that art a crown for the forehead of day! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou little brook in the hills, like an asp betwixt the breasts of a girl! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou mighty oak of magic, that art rooted in the mountain of life! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou sparkling network of pearls, that art woven of the waves by the moon! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou wanton sword-blade of life, that art sheathd by the harlot call'd Death! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou mist-clad spirit of spring, that art unrob'd by the hands of the wind! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou sweet perfume of desire, that art wafted through the valleys of love! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou sparkling wine-cup of light, whose foaming is the heart's blood of the stars! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou silver sword of madness, that art smitten through the midden of life! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! {60} O Thou hooded vulture of night, that art glutted on the entrails of day! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou pearl-grey arch of the world, whose keystone is the ecstasy of man! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou silken web of movement, that art blown through the atoms of matter! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou rush-strewn threshold of joy, that art lost in the quicksands of reason! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou wild vision of Beauty, but half seen betwixt the cusps of the moon! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou pearl cloud of the sunset, that art caught up in a murderer's hand! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou rich vintage of slumber, that art crushed from the bud of the poppy! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou great boulder of rapture, that leapest adown the mountains of joy! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou breather-out of the winds, that art snared in the drag-net of reason! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou purple breast of the storm, that art scarred by the teeth of the lightning! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou Pillar of phosphor foam, that Leviathan spouteth from's nostrils! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou song of the harp of life, that chantest forth the perfection of death! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! {61} O Thou veild beam of the stars, that art tangled in the tresses of night! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou flashing shield of the sun, as a discus hurled by the hand of Space! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou ribald shout of laughter, that echoest among the tombs of death! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou unfailing cruse of joy, that art filled with the tears of the fallen! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou burning lust of the moon, that art clothed in the mist of the ocean! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou one measure of all things, that art Dam of the great order or worlds! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou frail virgin of Eden, that art ravished to the abode of Hell! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou dark forest of wonder, that art tangled in a gold web of dew! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou tortured shriek of the storm, that art whirled up through the leaves of the woods! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou dazzling opal of light, that flamest in the crumbling skull of space! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou red knife of destruction, that art sheathed in the bowels of order! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou storm-drunk breath of the winds, that pant in the bosom of the mountains! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou loud bell of rejoicing, that art smitten by the hammer of woe! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! {62} O Thou red rose of the sunset, that witherest on the altar of night! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou bright vision of sunbeams, that burnest in a flagon of topaz! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou virgin lily of light, that sproutest between the lips of a corpse! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou blue helm of destruction, that art winged with the lightings of madness! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou voice of the heaving seas, that tremblest in the grey of the twilight! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou unfolder of heaven, red-winged as an eagle at sunrise! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou curling tongue of red flame, athirst on the nipple of my passion! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou outrider of the sun, that spurrest the bloody flanks of the wind! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou dancer with gilded nails, that unbraidest the star-hair of the night! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou moonlit pearl of rapture, clasped fast in the silver hand of the Dawn! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou wanton mother of love, that art mistress of the children of men! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou crimson fountain of blood, that spoutest from the heart of Creation! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou warrior eye of the sun, that shooteth death from the berylline Byss! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! {63} O Thou Witch's hell-broth of hate, that boilest in the white cauldron of love! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou Ribbon of Northern lights, that bindest the elfin tresses of night! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou red sword of the Twilight, that art rusted with the blood of the noon! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou sacrificer of Dawn, that wearest the chasuble of the sunset! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou bloodshot eye of lightning, glowering beneath the eyebrows of thunder! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou four-square Crown of Nothing, that circlest the destruction of worlds! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou bloodhound whirlwind of lust, that art unleashed by the first kiss of love! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou wondrous chalice of light, uplifted by the Maenads of Dawn! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou fecund opal of death, that sparklest through a sea of mother-ofpearl ! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou crimson rose of the Dawn, that art fastened in the dark locks of Night! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou pink nipple of Being, thrust deep into the black mouth of Chaos! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou vampire Queen of the Flesh, wound as a snake around the throats of men! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! {64} O Thou tender nest of dove's down, built up betwixt the hawks claws of the Night! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou concubine of Matter, anointed with love-nard of Motion! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou flame-tipp'd bolt of Morning, that art shot out from the crossbow of Night! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou frail blue-bell of Moonlight, that art lost in the gardens of the Stars! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou tall mast of wreck'd Chaos, that art crowned by the white lamp of Cosmos! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou pearly eyelid of day, that art closed by the finger of Evening! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou wild anarch of the Hills, pale glooming above the mists of the Earth! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou moonlit peak of pleasure, that art crowned by viper tongues of forked flame! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou wolfish head of the winds, that frighteth the snow-white lamb of winter! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou dew-lit nymph of the Dawn, that swoonest in the satyr arms of the Sun! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou mad abode of kisses, that art lit by the fat of murdered fiends! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! {65} O Thou sleeping lust of the Storm, that art flame-gorg'd as a flint full of fire! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou soft dew of the Evening, that art drunk up by the mist of the Night! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou wounded son of the West, that gushest out Thy blood on the heavens! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou burning tower of fire, that art set up in the midst of the seas! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou unvintageable dew, that art moist upon the lips of the Morn! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou silver crescent of love, that burnest over the dark helm of War! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou snow-white ram of the Dawn, that art slain by the lion of the noon! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou crimson spear-point of life, that art thrust through the dark bowels of Time! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou black waterspout of Death, that whirlest, whelmest the tall ship of Life! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou mighty chain of events, that art strained betwixt Cosmos and Chaos! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou towering eagre of lust, that art heaped up by the moon-breasts of youth! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! {66} O Thou serpent-crown of green light, that art wound round the dark forehead of Death! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou crimson vintage of Life, that art poured into the jar of the Grave! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou waveless Ocean of Peace, that sleepest beneath the wild heart of man! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou whirling skirt of the stars, that art swathed round the limbs of the AEthyr! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou snow-white chalice of Love, thou art filled up with the red lusts of Man! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou fragrant garden of Joy, firm-set betwixt the breasts of the morning! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou pearly fountain of Life, that spoutest up in the black court of Death! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou brindle hound of the Night, with thy nose to the sleuth of the Sunset! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou leprous claw of the ghoul, that coaxest the babe from its chaste cradle! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou assassin word of law, that art written in ruin of earthquakes! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou trembling breast of the night, that gleamest with a rosary of moons! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! {67} O Thou Holy Sphinx of rebirth, that crouchest in the black desert of death! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou diadem of the suns, that art the knot of this red web of worlds! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou ravished river of law, that outpourest the arcanum of Life! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou glimmering tongue of day, that art sucked into the blue lips of Night! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou Queen-Bee of Heaven's hive, that smearest thy thighs with honey of Hell! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou scarlet dragon of flame, enmeshed in the web of a spider! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou magic symbol of light, that art frozen on the black book of blood! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou swathed image of Death, that art hidden in the coffin of joy! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou red breast of the sunset, that pantest for the ravishment of Night! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou serpent of malachite, that baskest in a desert of turquoise! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou fierce whirlpool of passion, that art sucked up by the mouth of the sun! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou green cockatrice of Hell, that art coiled around the finger of Fate! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou lambent laughter of fire, that art wound round {68} the heart of the waters! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou gorilla blizzard Air, that tearest out Earth's tresses by the roots! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou reveller of Spirit, that carousest in the halls of Matter! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!
                                                       O Thou red-lipped Vampire of Life, that drainest blood from the black Mount of Death! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou little lark of Beyond, that art heard in the dark groves of knowledge! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou summer softness of lips, that glow hot with the scarlet of passion! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou pearly foam of the grape, that art flecked with the roses of love! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou frenzied hand of the seas, that unfurlest the black Banner of Storm! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou shrouded book of the dead, that art sealed with the seven souls of man! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou writhing frenzy of love, that art knotted like the grid-flames of Hell! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! O Thou primal birth-ring of thought, that dost encircle the thumb of the soul! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO! {69} O Thou blind flame of Nothingness, as a crown upon my brow! I adore Thee, Evoe! I adore Thee, IAO!

                                                       		   O Glory be unto Thee	through	all Time
                                                       		       and through all Space: Glory,
                                                       			   and Glory upon Glory,
                                                       			   Everlastingly.  Amen,
                                                       			       and Amen, and
                                                       				   Amen.
                                                       

                                                       								 {70}
                                                       

                                                       {Symbol of the } The Chapter known as {crescent Moon,} The Unconsciousness of God {horns to left } that is hidden from man for a sign

                                                       			      I
                                                       			    adore
                                                       			  Thee by the
                                                       

                                                       Twelvefold Sign
                                                       

                                                       		   and by the Unity thereof.
                                                       

                                                       12. The Light of my Life is as the light of two moons, one rising and the other setting, one increasing and the other waning; the one growing fat as the other groweth lean, like a paunchy thief sucking dry a skin of amber wine. Yet though the light of the first devoureth the light of the second, nevertheless the light of the second disgorgeth the light of the first, so that there is neither the desire of light nor the need of light ___ all being as a woven twilight of day and night, a madness of mingling moons. Yet I behold!

                                                       11. Now mine eyes are seven, and are as stars about a star; and the lids of mine eyes are fourteen, two to each eye. Also have I seven arms to do the bidding of the seven eyes; and each arm hath an hand of three fingers, so that I may rule the great ocean and burn it up with the Spirit of Flame, and that I may drown the fire in the Abode of the Waters. Thus I am rendered naked; for neither flame nor water can clothe me; therefore am I as a breath of wind blown over an Earth of Adamant, that knoweth neither sorrow nor rejoicing; then do I abide as a River of Light between the Night of Chaos and the Day of Creation.

                                                       10. Two are the moons of my madness, like the horns on {71} the head of a goat. And between them burneth a pyramid of flame, which consumeth neither but blindeth both, so that the one beholdeth not the other. Notwithstanding, when the one is lost in the water, and the other is burnt up in the flame, they become united in the form of a woman fashioned of Earth and of Air, who without husband is yet mother of many sons.

                                                       9. Now the Sons are in truth but one Son; and the one Son but a daughter draped and never naked; for her mother is naked, therefore is she robed. And she is called the Light of my Love, for she is concealed and cannot be seen, as the Sun burneth over her and drowneth her in fire, whilst below her surgeth the sea, whose waves are as flames of water. When thou has licked up the ocean thou shalt not see her because of the fire; and when thou hast swallowed the Sun surely shall the waters be driven from thee, so that though the fire be thine the water hath slipped thee, as a dog its leash. Yet the path is straight.

                                                       8. Along it shalt thou journey, and then shalt thou learn that the fear of death is the blood of the world. So the woman dressed herself in the shrouds of the dead, and decked herself with the bones of the fallen; and all feared her, therefore they lived. But she feared life; therefore she wove a dew-moon in her tangled hair as a sign of the fickleness of Death, and wept tears of bitter sorrow that she should live in the blossom of her youth. And her tears crept like scorpions down her cheeks, and sped away in the darkness like serpents; and for each serpent came there an eagle which did carry it away.

                                                       7. "Why weep?" said the Balance swinging to the left. "Why laugh?" said the Balance swinging to the right. "Why {72} not remain still?" answered the Hand that held the Balance. And the Balance replied: "Because on my right laughs Death and on my left weeps a Virgin."

                                                       6. Then the voice of the Hand said to the girl: "Why weep?" And the maid answered: "Because Death maketh jest of my life." Then the Hand stayed the Balance, and at once the girl saw that she was Death, and that Death that had sat opposite her was in truth a motherless babe. So she took the child she had conceived in the arms of fear, and went her way laughing.

                                                       5. And the infant grew strong; yet its strength was in its weakness; and though to look at it from before was to look upon a man-child, from behind it was a little girl with golden hair. Now, when the child wished to tempt a maid he faced and approached her; and when the child wished to tempt a man she turned her back on him and fled.

                                                       4. But one day the child met, at the self-same hour, Love; and the man, seeing a woman, approached her eagerly, and the woman, seeing a man, fled, so that he might capture her. Thus it came about that the child met the child and wondered, not knowing that the child had lost the child. So it was that they walked side by side.

                                                       3. Then that part of the child that was man loved and lusted for that part of the child that was woman; and each knew not that each was the other, and felt that they were two and yet one, nevertheless one and yet two. And when one said: "Who art thou?" the other answered at the selfsame moment: "Who am I?"

                                                       2. Soon becoming perplexed if I were Thou, or if Thou were I, it came about that the I mingled with the Thou, and {73} the Thou with the I, so that six added to ten became sixteen, which is felicity; for it is the interplay of the elements. Four are the elements that make man, and four are the elements that make woman. Thus was the child reborn.

                                                       1. But though the man ruleth the woman, and the woman ruleth the man, the Child ruleth both its mother and father, and being five is Emperor over the kingdom of their hearts. To its father it giveth four, and to its mother it giveth four, yet it remaineth five, for it hath of its father an half and of its mother an half; but in itself it is equal to both its father and its mother; for it is father of fathers and mother of mothers.
                                                          • Therefore is it One Whole, and not two halves; and being One is Thirteen, which is called Nothing when it is All-things.

                                                          				     .
                                                          				   Amen
                                                          			       without lie,
                                                          			     and Amen of Amen,
                                                          

                                                          and Amen of Amen of Amen.

                                                          {74}

                                                          {Illustration facing page 74 partly described and partly aproximated:

                                                          "FIG. 2. The Greek Cross of the Zodiac."

                                                          "Aries.	Emerald	on Scarlet.		      Libra. Scarlet on	Emerald.
                                                           Taurus. Greenish Blue on Orange-Red.	       Scorpio.	Orange-Red on Greenish
                                                          

                                                          Blue.
                                                          

                                                           Gemini. Royal Blue on Orange.		       Sagittarius. Orange on Royal Blue.
                                                           Cancer. Indigo	on Amber.		       Capricorn. Amber	on Indigo.
                                                           Leo. Violet on	Greenish Yellow.	    Aquarius. Greenish Yellow on
                                                          

                                                          Violet.
                                                          

                                                           Virgo.	Crimson	on Yellow-Green.	      Pisces. Yelow-Green on Crimson.
                                                          		     Spirit. Black on White.
                                                          		     Serpent. Azure, with Golden Scales.
                                                          		     Border. Gold."
                                                          

                                                          	    Z___?
                                                          	    3 Pisces 3
                                                          	    C___4
                                                          	    3 Scorpio 3
                                                          	    C___4
                                                          	    3 Cancer 3
                                                          

                                                          Z___B___B___E___E___B___B___?
                                                          3 Gemini 3 Aquarius 3 Libra 3 < 3 Aries 3 Leo 3 Sagittarius 3 @___A___A___E___E___A___A___Y
                                                          

                                                          	    3 Capricorn	3
                                                          	    C___4
                                                          	    3 Taurus 3
                                                          	    C___4
                                                          	    3 Virgo 3
                                                          	    @___Y
                                                          

                                                          This is a black and white half tone on clay paper, tipped in. About and beneath the above figure of the Creek Cross are the interlaced coils of a serpent. This serpent does not pass beneath the spirit square, but circles from head to tail clockwise in a loose set of loops behind the arms ___ thus the snake appears to be coiling counterclockwise, even though the order of passage beneath the symbols is clockwise to be in proper sequence. The head bites the tail just below Aries, thence traveling back from the head: under Taurus, over the body and under Gemini, under the tail and over the body to go under Cancer, under the tail to go under Leo, over the body to pass beneath Virgo, under body twice to go behind Libra, under the body and under Scorpio, over the tail and under Sagittarius, under body and head beneath Capricorn, over body and under Aquarius, over body and under Pisces, thence under body followed by over body and under Aries with the tip just within the mouth of the serpent's head. In all loopings, the scute plates of the underbelly are toward the center of the cross and the back is outward, all viewed from the side.} STOP PRESS REVIEWS

                                                          NATURE'S HELP TO HAPPINESS By JOHN WARREN ACHORN, M.D. W. Rider

                                                               and Sons.	1s. net.
                                                          

                                                          This is the best book ever written on health. Go out and hold naked Nature to your breast; and you will be well. You sleep in or you sleep out, as luck will have it; sometimes you get food, and sometimes not; it's no odds; you are one with Nature, and find that Nature is one with God.
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                                                          MASQUES AND PHASES. By ROBERT ROSS. Arthur L. Humphreys. A very pleasant collection of witty essays. "O si sic omnes!" Do let us have some more this year.
                                                          And thank you so much for the very necessary statements in "There is no decay."
                                                          

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                                                          AFTER DEATH ___ WHAT? By CESARE LOMBROSO. We sent this book to our undertaker for review, but he only wired back "Rot." Why are undertakers always poets? [The late Cesare Lombroso was a mattoid and degenerate suffering from paranoiac delusions about "criminal types." He would count the hairs in your moustache, and if you had two more on one side than the other, it showed that you would commit forgery. The authorities once sent him a photograph of a murderer, and he proved that not only was he bound to murder somebody, but to do it in just that special way. By an accident, the {75} photograph was that of a blameless grocer, an Arthur Henry Hallam of grocers.
                                                          But he went galumphing on with his monomania, until senile decay supervened, and he became a spiritualist. Now he is dead, like Max Nordau. ___ ED.]

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                                                          				 OCCULTISM
                                                          

                                                          To the readers of "The Equinox." ___ All who are interested in curious old literature should write to FRANK HOLLINGS for his Catalogue of over 1,000 volumes. Sent post free on receipt of name and address, and all future issues. A few selected items below.
                                                          TRANSCENDENTAL MAGIC: Its Doctrine and Ritual. By ELIPHAS LVI (a complete Translation of "Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie"), with a Biographical Preface by ARTHUR E. WAITE, author of "Devil Worship in France," etc. etc. Portrait of the Author, and all the original engravings. 8vo, 406

                                                            pp., cloth, 1896.  Published 15s	      Offered at 7s. 6p.
                                                          

                                                          The Pillars of the Temple, Triangle of Solomon, The Tetragram, The Pentagram, Magical Equilibrium, The Fiery Sword, Realisation, Initiation, The Kabbalah, The Magic Chain, Necromancy, Transmutations, Black Magic, Bewitchments, Astrology, Charms and Philtres, The Stone of the Philosophers, The Universal Medicine, Divination, The Triangle of Pantacles, The Conjuration of the Four, The Blazing Pentagram, Medium and Mediator, The Septenary of Talismans, A Warning to the Imprudent, The Ceremonial of Initiates, The Key of Occultism, The Sabbath of the Sorcerers, Witchcraft and Spells, The Writing of the Stars, Philtres and Magnetism, The Mastery of the Sun, The Thaumaturge, The Science of the Prophets, The Book of Hermes, etc.
                                                          "Occult Philosophy seems to have been the Nurse, or Godmother of all intellectual forces, the key of all divine obscurities, and the absolute queen of society in those ages when it was reserved exclusively for the education of priests and of kings. It reigned in Persia with Magi, who at length perished, as perish all masters of the world, because they abused their power; it endowed India with the most wonderful traditions, and with an incredible wealth of poesy, grace, and terror in its emblems; it civilised Greece to the music of Orpheus; it concealed the principles of all the sciences and of all human intellectual progress in the bold calculations of Pythagoras; fable abounded in its miracles, and history, attempting to appreciate this unknown power, became confused with fable; it shook or strengthened empires by its oracles, caused tyrants to tremble on their thrones, and governed all minds, either by curiosity, or by fear." BOOK OF THE SACRED MAGIC (The) OF ABRA-MELIN THE MAGE, as delivered by Abraham the Jew unto his Son Lamech, A.D. 1458. Translated from the Original Hebrew into French, and now rendered into English. From a unique and valuable MS, in the "Bibliothque de l'Arsenal" at Paris; with copious Notes and Magical Squares of Letters. By L.S.MACGREGOR-MATHERS. 4to, black cloth, Magical Square on side in gold. 1900. (Published at

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                                                          The original work, of which this is a translation, is unique, no other copy being known, although both Bylwer Lytton and Eliphas Levi were well aware of its existence; the former having based part of his description of the sage Rosicrucian, Mejnour, on that of Abra-Melin, while the account of the so-called Observatory of Sir Philip Derval in the "Strange Story" was, to some extent, copied from that of the Magical Oratory and Terrace given in the present work. There are also other interesting points too numerous to be given here in detail. It is felt therefore that by its publication a service is rendered to lovers of rare and curious Books, and to Students of Occultism, by placing within their reach a magical work of so much importance, and one so interestingly associated with the respective authors of "Zanoni" and of the "Dogma and Ritual of Transcendental Magie." The Magical Squares or combination of letters, placed in a certain manner, are said to possess a peculiar species of automatic intelligent vitality, apart from any of the methods given for their use; and students are recommended to make no use of these whatever unless this higher Divine Knowledge is approached in a frame of mind worthy of it. NEW PEARL OF GREAT PRICE: A Treatise concerning the Treasure and Most Precious Stone of the Philosophers; the Original Aldine Edition of 1546, translated into English, with Preface and Index; the original illustrations, photographically reproduced. Crown 8vo, cloth, 1894. (Published 12s. 6d. net.) 4s. 6d.
                                                          PARACELSUS. ___ The Hermetic and Alchemical Writings of Aureolus Philippus Theophrastus Bombast of Hohenheim, called Paracelsus the Great, now for the first time translated into English. Edited, with Elucidatory Notes, a copious Hermetic Vocabulary and Index, by A. E. WAITE. 2 vols., 4to, cloth, 1894. (Published 2 12s. 6d.) 27s. 6d. ALCHEMICAL WRITINGS OF EDWARD KELLY, The Englishman's Two Excellent Treatises on the Philosopher's Stone, together with the Theatre of Terrestrial Astronomy. By EDWARD KELLY, translated from the Hamburg Edition of 1676, and edited, with a Biographical Preface, emblematic figures. Crown 8vo, cloth, 1893. (Published, 7s. 6d.) 4s. 6d. ASHMOLE (Elias) Theatrum Chemicum Britannicum. Containing severall Poeticall Pieces of our Famous English Philosophers, who have written the Hermetique Mysteries in their owne Ancient Language, with Annotations. 4to, with curious copper-plates printed on the letter-press, calf, rebacked, rare, 1652. 3 10s.
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                                                          QABBALAH. ___ The Philosophical Writings of Ibn Gebirol, or Avicebron, and their Connection with the Hebrew Qabbalah and Sepher ha-Zohar, with Remarks upon the Antiquity and Contents of the latter, and Translations of selected passages from the same; also, an Ancient Lodge of Initiates, Translated from the Zohar, and Abstract of an Essay upon the Chinese Qabbalah, a Translation of Part of the Mystic Theology of Dionysus, the Areopagite, etc. etc., by ISAAC MYERS, LL.B. Royal 4to, large paper, with diagrams and illustrations, cloth, t. e g., others uncut,

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                                                          NOSTRODAMUS. ___ The True Prophecies and Prognostications of Michel Nostrodamus, Physician to Henry II., Francis II., and Charles IX., Kings of France, and one of the best Astronomers that ever were; a Work full of Curiosity and Learning, Translated and Commented by Theophilus Garienceres, M.D. Folio, fine portrait frontispiece by Dolle, orig.

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                                                          SANDERS (Richard, Student in the Divine and Celestial Sciences) Physiognomie and Chiromancie, Metoposcopie, the Symmetrical Proportions and signal Moles of the Body; with their Natural-PredictiveSignifications; The Subject of Dreams; Divinative, Steganographical, and Lullian Sciences. Folio, fine portrait by T. Cross, and many illustrations, calf, 1653. 42s.
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                                                                 THE MOST	REMARKABLE TREATISE ON THE MYSTIC PATH EVER WRITTEN
                                                          

                                                          Contains an Introduction and Four Essays; the first an account of the progress of the soul to perfect illumination, under the guise of a charming fairy tale;
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                                                          The fourth, a Treatise on many Magical Subjects of the profoundest importance, under the guise of a symposium, interspersed with beautiful lyrics.
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                                                            "Dr. M. D. EDER in "The New Age"
                                                            "Yours also is the Reincarnation and the Life, O laughing lion that is to be!
                                                            "Here you have distilled for our delight the inner spirit of the Tulip's form, the sweet secret mystery of the Rose's perfume: you have set them free from all that is material whilst preserving all that is sensual. 'So also the old mystics were right who saw in every phenomenon a dog-faced demon apt only to seduce the soul from the sacred mystery.' Yes, but the phenomenon shall it not be as another sacred mystery; the force of attraction still to be interpreted in terms of God and the Psyche? We shall reward you by befoulment, by cant, by misunderstanding, and by understanding. This to you who wear the Phrygian cap, not as symbol of Liberty, O ribald ones, but of sacrifice and victory, of Inmost Enlightenment, of the soul's deliverance from the fetters of the very soul itself ___ fear not; you are not 'replacing truth of thought by mere expertness of mechanical skill.'
                                                            "You who hold more skill and more power than your great English predecessor, Robertus de Fluctibus, you have not feared to reveal 'the Arcana which are in the Adytum of God-nourished Silence' to those who, abandoning nothing, will sail in the company of the Brethren of the Rosy Cross towards the Limbus, that outer, unknown world encircling so many a universe."
                                                            ":John Bull," in the course of a long review by Mr. HERBERT VIVIAN" "The author is evidently that rare combination of genius, a humorist and a philosopher. For pages he will bewilder the mind with abstruse esoteric pronouncements, and then, all of a sudden, he will reduce his readers to hysterics with some surprisingly quaint conceit. I was unlucky to begin reading him at breakfast and I was moved to so much laughter that I watered my bread with my tears and barely escaped a convulsion." "The Times"
                                                            "The Light wherein he writes is the L.V.X., of that which, first mastering and then transcending the reason, illumines all the darkness caused by the interference of the opposite waves of thought. ... It is one of the most suggestive definitions of KONX ___ the LVX of the Brethren of the Rosy Cross ___ that it transcends all the possible pairs of opposites. Nor does this sound nonsensical to those who are acquainted with that LVX. But to those who do not it must remain as obscure and ridiculous as spherical trigonometry to the inhabitants of Flatland." "The Literary Guide"
                                                            "He is a lofty idealist. He sings like a lark at the gates of heaven. 'Konx Om Pax' is the apotheosis of extravagance. the last word in eccentricity. A prettily told fairy-story 'for babes and sucklings' has 'explanatory notes in Hebrew and Latin for the wise and prudent ___ which notes, as far as we can see, explain nothing ___ together with a weird preface in scraps of twelve or fifteen languages. The best poetry in the book is contained in the last section ___ 'The Stone of the Philosophers.' Here is some fine work."

                                                          			    A. CROWLEY'S WORKS
                                                          

                                                          The volumes here listed are all of definite occult and mystical interest and importance.
                                                          "The Trade may obtain them from"
                                                          "The Equinox," 124 Victoria Street, S. W. Tel.: 3210 Victoria; and Messrs. Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co., 23 Paternoster Row, E.C.
                                                          "The Public may obtain them from"
                                                          "The Equinox," 124 Victoria Street, S. W. Mr. Elkin Matthews, Vigo Street, W.
                                                          The Walter Scott Publishing Co., Paternoster Square, E.C. Mr. F. Hollings, Great Turnstile, Holborn. And through all Booksellers.
                                                          ACELDAMA. Crown 8vo, 29 pp., 2 2s. net. Of this rare pamplet less than 10 copies remain. It is Mr. Crowley's earliest and in some ways most striking mystical work.
                                                          JEPHTHAH AND OTHER MYSTERIES, LYRICAL AND DRAMATIC. Demy 8vo, boards, pp. xxii. + 223, 7s. 6d. net.
                                                          SONGS OF THE SPIRIT. Pp. x. + 109. A new edition. 3s. 6d. net. These two volumes breathe the pure semi-conscious aspiration of the soul, and express the first glimmerings of the light. THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. Medium 8vo, pp. ix. + 129, 5s. net. A collection of lyrics, illustrating the progress of the soul from corporeal to celestial beatitude.
                                                          TANNHUSER. Demy 4to, pp. 142, 15s. net. The progress of the soul in dramatic form. BERASHITH. 4to, china paper, pp. 24, 5s. net. Only a few copies remain. An illuminating essay on the Universe, reconciling the conflicting systems of religion.
                                                          THE GOD-EATER. Crown 4to, pp. 32, 2s. 6d. net. A striking dramatic study of the origin of religions. THE SWORD OF SONG. Post 4to, pp. ix. + 194, printed in red and black, decorative wrapper, 20s. net.
                                                          This is the author's first most brilliant attempt to base the truths of mysticism on the truths of scepticism. It contains also an enlarged amended edition of "Berashith," and an Essay showing the striking parallels and identities between the doctrines of Modern Science and those of Buddhism.
                                                          GARGOYLES. Pott 8vo, pp. vi. + 113, 5s. net. ORACLES. Demy 8vo, pp. viii. + 176, 5s. net. Some of Mr. Crowley's finest mystical lyrics are in these collections. KNOX OM PAX. See advt.
                                                          Collected Works (Travellers' Edition). Extra crown 8vo, India paper, 3 vols. in one, pp. 808 + Appendices. Vellum, green ties, with protraits, 3 3s.; white buckram, without portraits, 2 2s. This edition contains "Qabalistic Dogma," "Time," "The Excluded Middle," "Eleusis," and other matter of the highest occult importance which are not printed elsewhere. AMBERGRIS. Medium 8vo, pp. 200, 3s 6d. (Elkin Mathews.) A selection of lyrics, containing some of great mystical beauty.

                                                          {Illustration on center top third by horizontal of the back cover of the boards edition, entire back cover in red ink:

                                                          This is an equilateral triangle circumscribed in a white ring. The triangle is of wide white bars. The field within ring and triangle is solid red.

                                                          Text to the left: "PRICE
                                                          

                                                          		      ONE
                                                          		    GUINEA
                                                          		      NET."
                                                          

                                                          Text to	the right:     "To be had
                                                          		     of	The Equinox,
                                                          

                                                          124 Victoria St., S. W.
                                                          

                                                          		     and through all
                                                          

                                                          Booksellers}

                                                          GOETIA vel Clavicula

                                                          		     SALOMONIS REGIS
                                                          

                                                          (The Lesser Key of Solomon the King.)

                                                          The best, simplest, most intelligible and most effective treatise extant on CEREMONIAL MAGIC

                                                          Careful and complete instruction; ample illustration; beautiful production. This books is very much easier both to understand and to operate than the so-called
                                                          

                                                          		     "Greater" Key of Solomon.
                                                          

                                                          ---

                                                          ONLY A FEW COPIES REMAIN FOR SALE.