XXXI. A SERBIAN MAGICIAN 196 XXXII. JUDAS AND TYPHON 202 XXXIII. CROWNS OF STRAW 207 XXXIV. THE SYLPH AND THE FATHER 216 XXXV. BEHIND THE DARK VEIL 223 XXXVI. THE “LUSITANIA” 232 XXXVII. VEILED PROPHECIES 237 XXXVIII. ADVICE TO A SCRIBE 239 XXXIX. ONE OF THESE LITTLE ONES 245 XL. THE HEIGHT AND THE DEPTH 255 XLI. A CONCLAVE OF MASTERS 256 XLII. A LESSON IN THE KABALA 260 XLIII. THE SECOND COMING 263 XLIV. POISON GASES 269 XLV. THE SUPERMAN 274 XLVI. THE ENTERING WEDGE 283 XLVII. THE NEW BROTHERHOOD 296 XLVIII. IN THE CRUCIBLE 301 XLIX. BLACK MAGIC IN AMERICA 303 L. THINGS TO REMEMBER 311 INTRODUCTION IN the Spring of 1914 there was published in London and New York a book of mine called “Letters From a Living Dead Man,” being automatic writings from an American Judge and teacher of philosophy who had been known to his intimate friends as “X.” There were circumstances connected with the writing of that book, explained in some detail in the Introduction, which made any other hypothesis than that of genuine communication from the other world seem untenable to me. It began, for instance, some days before I knew in Paris that my friend had died on the Pacific coast of America. In that first book of “X” I did not state who the writer was, not feeling at liberty to do so without the consent of his family; but in the Summer of 1914, while I was still living in Europe, a long interview with Mr. Bruce Hatch appeared in the _New York Sunday World_, in which he expressed the conviction that the “Letters” were genuine communications from his father, the late Judge David P. Hatch, of Los Angeles, California. For the benefit of those who have not read the former book, I wish to say that “X” was not an ordinary man. He came nearer than any other Occidental of my acquaintance to that mastery of self and of life which has been called Adeptship. After the “Letters” were finished in 1913, during a period of about two years I was conscious of the presence of “X” only on two or three occasions, when he wrote some brief advice in regard to my personal affairs. On the fourth of February, 1915, in New York, I was suddenly made aware one day that “X” stood in the room and wished to write; but as always before, with one or two exceptions, I had not the remotest idea what he was going to say. He wrote as follows: