le and harmless youth whose only
offense was that he had gone his own way and was healing the sick for
the benefit of his own pocket-book:

Behold! thou criminal mental marauder, that would blot out
the sunshine of earth, that would sever friends, destroy
virtue, put out Truth, and murder in secret the innocent,
befouling thy track with the trophies of thy guilt--I say,
Behold the "cloud" no bigger than a man's hand already
rising on the horizon of Truth, to pour down upon thy guilty
head the hailstones of doom.

And again:

The Nero of today, regaling himself through a mental method
with the torture of individuals, is repeating history, and
will fall upon his own sword, and it shall pierce him
through. Let him remember this when, in the dark recesses of
thought, he is robbing, committing adultery and killing.
When he is attempting to turn friend away from friend,
ruthlessly stabbing the quivering heart; when he is clipping
the thread of life and giving to the grave youth and its
rainbow hues; when he is turning back the reviving sufferer
to his bed of pain, clouding his first morning after years
of night; and the Nemesis of that hour shall point to the
tyrant's fate, who falls at length upon the sword of
justice.

#New Nonsense#

In a certain city of America is a large building given up entirely to
the whims of pretty ladies. Its floors are not floors but
"Promenades", and have walls of glass, behind which, as you stroll,
you see bonnets from Paris and opera cloaks from London, furs from
Alaska and blankets from Arizona, diamonds from South Africa and beads
from the Philippines, grapes from Spain and cherries from Japan,
fortune-tellers from Arabia and dancing-masters from Petrograd and
"naturopaths" from Vienna. There are seventy-three shops, by actual
count, containing everything that could be imagined or desired by a
pretty lady, whether for her body, or for that vague stream of emotion
she calls her "soul". One of the seventy-three shops is a
"Metaphysical Library", having broad windows, and walls in pastel
tints, and pretty vases with pink flowers, and pretty gray wicker
chairs in which the reader will please to be seated, while we probe
the mysteries of an activity widely spread throughout America, called
"New Thought."

We begin with a shelf of magazines having mystical titles: Azoth;
Master Mind; Aleth