July 9:—Mara is saying to Jim this evening that while in the by streets of her holy city among the dregs of the world’s population, much cocaine is taken, in the presence of grotesque libels of the Green Glass Buddha, as a matter of fact, that is a degenerate form of the religion. It is well enough since it keeps the outcasts happy and in subjection, more easily led, yet fierce in battle like the old hashish-eating assassins. But the esoteric, the masters, do not take cocaine. She speaks lovingly of the Green Glass Buddha, but saying finally of him, with the University Tone of Voice, that he is the god of wine. Like Dionysius he is especially the inspiration of the drama and all the arts that gather round it. Upon those patrons of drugs, the two greatest civilizations have been founded and the fairest catalogue of the arts. It seems to me this evening, that the lessons are done. Mara has called to me to go for her father. I have ushered him into the room, and he is receiving Jim, the son of the Mayor of Springfield, as his own son. The Man from Singapore takes on a manner Jim has never seen. There are tears in his carved eyes. He is the headlong devotee in the infatuation of proselyting. He tells Jim that those who are faithful take on the soul of the holy green glass idol, which was long ago the pure and transparent spirit of the first king of the boa constrictors, who, it is recorded, ruled his tribe in integrity and crystal honor. It is in his service that Singapore goes forth to choke the earth. From the god of glass emanate rays of psychic force that extend world wide, and give his followers spiritual eyes so they can do battle for him in the forest of Christianity and civilization. The war is really between these faithful ones and the tiger souls that infest the jungle. The vendetta of the serpents against the tigers has gone on through the ages since before there were men. It will not be ended till all the tigers are gone and the Great Boa Constrictor swallows the world as though it were a rabbit. The Man from Singapore says that the tigers feed on all men from wantonness, while the serpents kill only those who interfere with the spread of their beneficent kingdom and eat only when hungry. Before the eyes of the true priests of the serpent, all buildings turn to forest trees and all shadows to forest boughs, and all men to serpents or tigers or some neutral beasts. Thus we know our most dangerous foes. These are not necessarily the men who curse us. They are often our intended friends, but actually in the way of the God of Glass. Thus there is no real serpent among the citizens of Springfield but Montague Rock. He is indeed a good Singaporian. All the other men in power, be they friends or foes in the open, are tigers alike. Joseph Bartholdi Michael, the Second, at the seat of World Government, is the worst tiger of all. He is proscribed and doomed.