William Rider and Son.
   We shall be very sorry if any of our readers misses this little book, a
translation from the French translation of the German original into the
pretty broken English of Madame de Steyer.
   It was this book which first made your reviewer aware of the existence
of a secret mystical assembly of saints, and determined him to devote his
whole life, without keeping back the least imaginable thing, to the purpose
of making himself worthy to enter that circle.  We shall be disappointed if
the book has any less effect on any other reader.
   The perusal of the notes may be omitted with advantage.       N.

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 Tannh?user 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 Hegel-
Huxley 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
   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!


                     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
   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
                                                             R. KIPLING.
        8  "While as for Quilp Hop o' my Thumb there,
            Banjo-Byron that twangs the strum-strum there."
                                     BROWNING, "Pachiarotto" (said of A.
all, here as in all the universe, of every subject and in every predicate,
is a matter of degree.
   Our faculties never tell us true; our eyes say flat when our fingers say
round; our tongue sends a set of impressions to our brain which our hearing
declares non-existent ___ and so on.
   What is this delusion of personality but a profound and centrally-seated
intoxication of the consciousness?  I am intoxicated as I address these
words; you are drunk ___ beastly drunk! ___ as you read them; Buddha was a
drunk as a voter at election time when he uttered his besotted command.
There, my dear children, is the conclusion to which we are brought if you
insist that he was serious!
   I answer No!  Alone among men then living, the Buddha was sober, and saw
Truth.  He, who was freed from the coils of the great serpent Theli coiled
round the universe, he knew how deep the slaver of that snake had entered
into us, infecting us, rotting our very bones with poisonous drunkenness.
And so his cutting irony ___ drink no intoxicating drinks!

   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.
   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-on-
Sunday 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.

     and Sons, 12"s." 6"d." net.
   I have always held Arthur Edward Waite for a good poet; I am not sure
that he is not a great poet; but that he is a great mystic there can be no
manner of doubt.
   "Strange Houses of Sleep," conceived in the abyss of a noble mind and
brought forth in travail of Chaos that hath been stirred by the Breath, is
one of the finest records of Mystical Progress that is possible to imagine.
   I may be biased in my judgment by this fact, that long ago when first my
young heart stirred within me at the sound of the trumpet ___ perchance of
Israfel ___ and leapt to grasp with profane hands the Holy Grail, it was to
Mr. Waite that I wrote for instruction, it was from him that came the first
words of help and comfort that I ever had from mortal man.  In all these
years I have met him but once, and then within a certain veil; yet still I
can go to his book as a child to his father, without diffidence or doubt;
and indeed he can communicate the Sacrament, the Wafer of his thought, the
Wine of his music.
   And if in earthly things the instructions of his Master seem contrary to
those of mine, at the end it is all one.  Shall we cry out if Caesar for
his pleasure commandeth his servants to take one the spear and the other
the net, and slay each other?  Is not service service?  Is not obedience a
sacrament apart from its accidents?
   However this may be, clear enough it is that Mr. Waite has indeed the
key to certain Royal Treasuries.  Unfortunately, just as to face the title-
page he gives us the portrait of a man in a frock-coat, so within the book
we have the {311} Muse in a dress-improver and a Bond Street hat.  Never
mind; even those who dislike the poetry may love to puzzle out the meaning.
   Detailed criticism is here impossible for lack of two illusions, time
and space!  I will only add that I was profoundly interested in the final
book, "The King's Dole."  No mystic who is familiar only with Christian
symbolism can afford to neglect this Ritual.
   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.
   "But this German woman, pretending to defend the cause of virtue, and to
warn women against the perils of the day, produces a book ('The Diary of a
Lost One') which is defilement to touch. ... Before I had skimmed fifty
pages I found my brain swimming; I nearly swooned."
                                        REV. R. F. HORTON, D.D.
   This book should be printed on vellum and locked up in a fire-proof safe
in the British Museum, Great Russell Street W.C.; so that future
ecclesiastical historians and ethicists may learn into what a state of
mental menorrhagia the adherents of the Christian Church had fallen at the
commencement of the twentieth century.
   The "cleansing" part of the business seems to consist in pumping filth
into everything that is clean.  We are not allowed to talk of leg because
every leg adjoins a thigh: soon we shall not be able to put a foot into a
boot without first looking to see if some nasty mess has not been deposited
in it, and why?  Because foot adjoins leg!  Moreover, foot suggests
walking, and walking, like the name of the Ref. Horton, D.D., suggests
prostitution ___ at the thought of this we swoon.
   Most of the contributors to this cesspit, like Rev. Horton, have "D.D."
after their names.  Dr. Bodie has informed us that "M.D." stands for "Merry
Devil"; perhaps he can also enlighten us as to the true meaning of these
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.
   Wm. Alexr. Ayton's preface to this book deserves a better subject than
Dr. Thomas Smith's "Life of John Dee," which is as dreary dull as a life
crammed so full of incidents could be made.  In fact, if Dr. Smith had
collected all Dr. Dee's washing bills and printed them in Hebrew, the
result would scarcely have been more oppressive; anyhow it would have been
as {312} interesting to read of how many handkerchiefs the famous seer used
when he had a cold as to ponder over the platitudes of this rheumy old
   Never since reading "Bothwell" and "Who's Who" have we read such
ponderous and pedantic pedagogics.  The translator in his preface informs
us that Moses and Solomon were adepts; verily hast thou spoke, but thou,
Wm. Alexr. Ayton, art greater than either, to have survived such a leaden
task as this of putting Dr. Smith's bad Latin into good English; at the
completion of it you must have felt like Jacob when "he gathered up his
feet into the bed, and yielded up the ghost!"

     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.
   Only maniacs are recommended to read this book; its dulness may being
them to their senses.  For the first chapter is like the second, and the
second like the third, and the third like the fourth, which almost proves
the Athanasian Creed; for all chapters are but one chapter, which is
infinitely dull and dismal.  In fact this "realistic study" might well have
been translated from Dr. Thomas Smith's "Life of John Dee," and goes a long
way to prove Mr. Stanley Redgrove's theory of concentric infinities.
   The heroine is a lady journalist, unmarried,and on the wrong side of
thirty ___ there's the whole tragedy in a nutshell.  Stimulating work, and
thirty years of an unstimulating life.  Cut off the first syllable from
"unmarried," and this unfortunate lady, in spite of Karezza and the Order
of Melchisedec, would never have imagined that she had been seduced by a
fiend, or have afflicted us with her dreary ravings.
   Therefore we advise ___ Marry, my good woman, marry, and if nobody will
have you, well then, don't be too particular, for anything is better than a
second book like this!
                                                 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.
   This is a suggestive little book by a man who revolves a matter in his
mind before he writes of it, and whose common sense never quits the hub of
his thoughts.  Mr. Round never rolls off down a side street, but always
keeps to the high road between them all.  He does not, so at least we read
him, wobble more towards mysticism than towards materialism.  He believes
that a perfect equilibrium between the Subjective mind ___ S, and the
Objective mind ___ O, produces the Individual mind, which he symbolises as
being neither round nor square, but a simple I or line, connecting the S
and O.  This I is the self-renewing link between these two, which, when it
is truly balanced, renders death the most unnatural, in place of the most
natural event, that we may expect once we are born.

THE CASE FOR ALCOHOL.  Or the Actions of Alcohol on Body an Soul.  By
     ROBERT PARK, M.D.  Rebman Limited.  1"s." net.
   Dr. Park is an old friend of ours; we enjoyed his masterly translation
of Ch: F‚r‚'s "The Pathology of Emotions," and his various writings in the
days of the old "Free Review" and "University Review," when J. M. Robertson was
worth reading, a review (by the way) which was assassinated by the prurient
pot-scourers who would put a pair of "pants" on Phoebus Apollo, and who
presumably take their bath in the dark for fear of expiring in a priapic
frenzy at the sight of their own nakedness.
   Dr. Park in this most admirable little treatise declares that Alcohol is
one of "the good creatures of God"; and that Alcohol is a poison is only
true relatively.
   "It is not true of the stimulant dosage.  It is true of it as a
narcotic, in narcotic dosage." ... "So the objection to the use of Alcohol,
because in overdosage it is a poison, is not only futile, but stupid."
   Further, Dr. Park writes:
   "The burden of responsibility must lie upon the person who so misuses
his means.  Tea, tobacco, coffee, and beef-tea are frequently so misused,
but we hear of no socio-political organisations for interfering with the
liberty of individuals in regard to the use of these, or trespassing on the
rights of traders and purveyors thereof."             {315}
   "Alcohol," Dr. Park declares, "is a food," and not only a food, but an
excellent one at that.  Put that in your pipes and smoke it, ye Baptist
Bible-bangers ___ but we forget, you do not smoke, in fact you do nothing
which is pleasant; you spend your whole lives in looking for the Devil in
the most unlikely places, and declare that the only remedy against his
craft and his cunning is total immersion in tonic-water and pine-apple
syrup.                                                      F.

   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."
    "The life that is within and the life that is without, are not these
     the heaven and the earth that the Truth created?"
   Whether the author intends to weave into his interpretation the
doctrines of the Qabalah we are not certain, but time after time we came
across curious allusions.  Thus on p. 3: "Within myself when the truth
divided the light from the darkness wisdom arose" ... "and I knew that
every atom of our great Mother giveth light to other atoms ...".  P. 4:
"The truth in man is the light of the world.  Thus we have known from the
beginning, and we shall know it unto the end ... and the Mother gave unto
man her breasts.   And man guided by the light within him did eat and was
glad."  P. 6: "The tree of Life belongeth unto the Father, it groweth in
the Mother, but because darkness is still in man he may not eat thereof,
but the Truth of the Father that is within man, that Truth may eat and
   The philosophy of this little book shows that Darkness alone is not
evil, and that neither is Light good.  Both are beyond: but the mingling
twilight begets the illusion of duality, the goodness and wickedness of
things external.
   It is a little volume which one who reads will grow fond of, and will
carry about with him, and open at random in quiet places, in the woods, and
under the stars; and it is a little book which one learns to love the more
one reads it, for it is inspired by one who at least has crept into the
shadow of God's Glory.
                                                J. F. C. F.   {316}

     Co.  1"s."
   Mr. McCabe has written another little book on evolution: how many more
of these small, small, small volumes are to appear?  The subject seems a
tall order for 128 pages.  However, let us be thankful there are not more.
   The most interesting fact that we can discover in it, or at least the
only one really original, is, that Erasmus Darwin was born in 1788.  This
makes him only thirty years younger than his son Charles; and yet these are
the good people who make such a fuss about Ahaziah being two years older
than his father Jehoram!

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
                Now darkles where aforetimes they set me,
                  .        .        .        .        .
                Keep thou my pillar, Paul; I grudge it not,
                Plebeian-hearted spirit ..."

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

               "Two thousand years of fooled humanity,
                Christ, they have prostituted thee and raped      {317}
                Thy virgin message till at last it stands
                No more than handmaid to their infamy."
(Phillpotts really means harlot, but he is afraid of shocking the
inhabitants of Torquay.)

               "Some flight of years
                And the inevitable, tireless hand
                Gropes and grips fast, and draws it gently down ___
                   .         .          .        .        .
                To sublimation. ..."

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!

   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
   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!"

   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."

   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
   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 servant-
girls 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
   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
   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
   In chapter iv. she puts a drop of the Kerosene of Myers into her good
   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.

     FRANK HARRIS.  7"s." 6"d."
   It has always been a source of harmless amusement, in our leisure hours,
to watch our learned men grappling with Shakespeare.  To study him, the
Knower of man's heart, they have withered their own; to interpret the
Witness of Life, they have refused to live, and, surrounded by a thousand
foolish folios, have sat gloomily in the mouldering colleges of Oxford, or
walked the horrid marshes of Cambridge, and produced uncounted pages of
most learned drivel.
   Frank Harris had another way than that.  He took life in both hands and
shook it; he made his own study of the heart of man, enlarging, not
restricting, his own; and many a night has he lain under the stars on the
savannah or the sierra, with Shakespeare for his pillow.
   His result is accordingly different.  His knowledge of Shakespeare is a
living, bleeding, Truth; there is no room in his great heart and brain for
the lumber of the pedants.
   More, Frank Harris is himself a creative artist, a Freeman of the City
of God, and knows that as there is no smoke without fire, so is there no
speech without thought.
   Whenever a poet writes of something that he does not know, he makes a
{323} botch of it; whenever a poet gives detail, and gives it right, he has
probably observed it directly.  There is nothing in "Hamlet" which need make
us think that Shakespeare was ever in Denmark; but from the description in
"King Lear" it is likely that he knew Dover.
   In the hands of an acute critic this method is perfectly reliable; and
Mr. Harris's familiarity with the text, his power of concentration and his
sense of proportion, have made it possible for him to see Shakespeare
steadily and see him whole.
   We are perfectly convinced of the truth of the main theory which Frank
Harris presents, the enslaving of his gentle spirit by the bold black-eyed
harlot Mary Fitton, and we are even shaken in that other hypothesis which
attributes to Shakespeare the vice of Caesar, Goethe, Milton, Michael
Angelo, and of so many other good and great men that time and space would
fail us to enumerate them.
   Yet Mr. Harris only shakes the fabric of proof; he cannot the foundation
___ instinct.
   And it is strange that he, the friend of Oscar Wilde through honour and
dishonour, has not perceived the amazing strength of the theory propounded
in "The portrait of Mr. W. H."  Surely this theory should have been lashed
and smashed, had it been possible.  For where there is no definite
evidence, we must accept the theory which contains least contradiction in
   Now, there is nothing monstrous in the supposition that Shakespeare was
great enough to understand and feel all the overmastering passions which
enrapture and torment, enslave and emancipate mankind; it would have been
astonishing had he not done so.  Oscar Wilde's theory does not explain
Rosalind and Tamora and the dark lady of the Sonnets; but Frank Harris
forgets the ambiguous Rosalind and Viola and Imogen, or at least fails to
attach to them the immense importance which they are bound to possess for
any one who is capable of emotional sympathy with such modern writers as
Symonds, Pater, Whitman, FitzGerald, Burton, Wilde, Bloomfield, and a
hundred others.
   Everything is significant to sympathy, nothing to antipathy; and if
sometimes sympathy o'erleaps itself and falls on the other, seeing a camel
where there is only a cloud, the error is rarely so great as the opposite.
We cannot help thinking that in this one instance Frank Harris has emulated
Nelson at Copenhagen.
   He will forgive us for dwelling on the one point of disagreement where
the points of agreement are so many, where we gladly welcome his book as
the sole real light that has ever been shed upon the life and thought of
Shakespeare, the light of Frank Harris's soul split up by the prism of his
mind {324} into wit, style, insight, intelligence, pathos, history, comedy,
tragedy, that adorn his book.
   As for Staunton, Sidney Lee, Raleigh, Garrett, Bradley, Haliwell-
Phillips, Fleay and the rest, their learning is lumber and their theories
                                                      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.

     Methuen.  1"s." net.
   Was it merely an unfortunate accident?  As I opened the book my eye fell
on these words: "They are my apples and they are not the finest at that!
... They will all be alike when I am alive." ... My memory of the play ___
sole comrade of my wanderings in the Sahara ___ said no! no!  So I turned
up the passage, and read ___ "Toutes seront de mˆme quand je serai vivant."
   My memory was right, and Mr. de Mattos had completely failed to grasp
the sense of a simple sentence of eight easy words.
   I did not continue my inquiry.                     A. C.

                      AN APOLOGY FOR PRINTING HONEST


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.



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