history, and come to that of the Hare. It impressed me a good deal at
the time, which is not long ago, so much indeed that I communicated the
facts to Jorsen. He ordered me to publish them, and what Jorsen orders
must be done. I don't know why this should be, but it is so. He has
authority of a sort that I am unable to define.

One night after the usual aspirations and concentration of mind, which
by the way are not always successful, I passed into what occultists call
spirit, and others a state of dream. At any rate I found myself upon
the borders of the Great White Road, as near to the mighty Gates as I am
ever allowed to come. How far that may be away I cannot tell. Perhaps it
is but a few yards and perhaps it is the width of this great world, for
in that place which my spirit visits time and distance do not exist.
There all things are new and strange, not to be reckoned by our
measures. There the sight is not our sight nor the hearing our hearing.
I repeat that all things are different, but that difference I cannot
describe, and if I could it would prove past comprehension.

There I sat by the borders of the Great White Road, my eyes fixed upon
the Gates above which the towers mount for miles on miles, outlined
against an encircling gloom with the radiance of the world beyond the
worlds. Four-square they stand, those towers, and fourfold the gates
that open to the denizens of other earths. But of these I have no
knowledge beyond the fact that it is so in my visions.

I sat upon the borders of the Road, my eyes fixed in hope upon the
Gates, though well I knew that the hope would never be fulfilled, and
watched the dead go by.

They were many that night. Some plague was working in the East and