Magick Without Tears

Cara Soror, 44 "Serious" Style of A.C. or the Apparent Frivolity of Some of My Remarks Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. Far-off indeed those sunny days when life in England was worth living; when one could travel anywhere in Europe-except Russia and Turkey, which spiritually, at least, are in Asia-or America, without a passport; when we complained that closing time was twelve-thirty a.m.; when there was little or no class bitterness, the future seemed secure, and only Nonconformists failed to enjoy the fun that bubbled up on every side. Well, in those days there were Music-halls; I can't hope to explain to you what they were like, but they were jolly. (I'm afraid that there's another word beyond the scope of your universe!) At the Empire, Leicester Square, which at that time actually looked as if it had been lifted bodily from the "Continong" (a very wicked place) there was a promenade, with bars complete (drinking bars, my dear child, I blush to say) where one might hope to find "strength and beauty met together, Kindle their image like a star in a sea of glassy weather." There one might always find London's "soiled doves" (as they revoltingly called them in the papers) of every type: Theodora (celebrated "Christian" Empress) and Phryne, Messalina and Thais, Baudelaire's swarthy mistress, Nana, Moll Flanders and Fanny Hill. But the enemies of life were on guard. They saw people njoying themselves, (shame!) and they raked through the 283