DEAD WEIGHT
Ir is with the deepest feeling that we record the passing
over of our less disciple than colleague, less colleague than
bosom friend, the aged saint known on earth as Arthur
Edward Waite. ‘The disciple whom Crowley loved,” they
called him, and Crowley himself never gave the lie to the
tender nickname by forgetting the text, “Whom the Lord
loveth he chasteneth.”
However, all that is over now. The beloved disciple, full
of age and saintliness, is gone to his reward.
The story of his life has already been told, though, alas!
inadequately, in the Eguinox and in Who's Who, but no list
of his achievements is given even in What's What, or What
Swat, as we used affectionately to call our premier book of
reference. The Witches’ Switch has only a passing allusion.
The career of Arthur Edward Waite was largely de-
termined by his father’s fine perception. “Ned, my lad,”
said he when the future saint was barely six years of age,
“brains are not your long suit, I can see. But it doesn’t
matter. If you can’t be wise, look wise!” These words sank
deeply into the mind of the future saint, and only two days
later, when his father handed him a work on the Integral
Calculus, he looked through it in a steady professional
manner, going backwards and forwards several times, knitting
his brows, nodding his head and muttering, “ H’m! ingenious,”
[} Also, of course, by Karma.—Ed.]
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