On the poison gases borne by the east wind there came across to me a demon with no eyes. Where did he come from? From some subterranean hell where no light is, and therefore no need for eyes. Could I draw, I could make you see him; but words were devised to express those things which are known in the experience of the race, and no one who has seen such things has used language to describe them. Groping his way, that astral monster fastened himself upon a human victim, a prisoner in the hands of the French--one who had spit at his keepers in the madness of hate. No, I must not tell you what followed; but the astral soul of the prisoner went out of his body and remained out. This attempt to tell the world what I know now is like trying to play Beethoven on a penny whistle. I feel as a mathematician would feel should he set himself down to teach addition to small children. I dare not tell you more than I do, for you could not contain it. The world is old, and the world deemed itself wise, and the world has come to this! There are many earnest souls who desire experience in the astral world. I have heard one say in your presence that a certain attack was “only astral.” I listened, and said no word. Do you know what the astral world is, you who seek knowledge of it? The astral world is the world of _feeling_, the world of emotion, the world of love and hate. The astral world at this time is so thick with evil passions that one could cut it with a knife. It is often cut with knives now, with bayonets, and the crowding demons suffer from contact with the steel. “Only astral!” The astral world above New York, awful as you know it to be, is nothing to the astral world above those battlefields. Keep away! You can do no good there. If possible, go up among the mountains and seek in the pure breath of the pine-trees healing from the poison of the astral world above New York. Go there and stay there until the pressure is exhausted. You can do no good either where you are. I can write better in the pure air of the pine woods. Get away from the poison fumes of unneutral New York, for devils ride on the winds of hate, and you are not to be destroyed by them. You have work to do in the future. _May 27._ LETTER XLV THE SUPERMAN IN one of the upper regions of the astral world--not in the region of pure mind but near it--I met a man last night who passed to and fro with his head bowed in thought. “What troubles you, friend?” I asked, as I stood before him. He paused in his restless walk and gazed at me. “Who are you?” he enquired, listlessly. “I am a Judge,” I answered. His eyes brightened with interest. “You must have come at the call of my thought,” he said, “for I have need of a Judge.” “On whom do you wish me to pass judgment?” I asked, half smiling at his strange words. “I would like you to pass judgment on me.” “And your offence?”