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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Emily Crowley
Aug 27 1903.
My dearest Mother.
Aunt Jonathan sent me on your delightful letter of the 19th to her with the copy of mine. I suppose you are enlightened by now. My wife wrote you a most daughterly letter some days ago. Why don't you answer.
I was sorry you would not come to the wedding—it was a very grand affair—plumed hearse and all, and the mutes recalled the delicious mutes of thirty years ago. The Rev F. F. Kelly the bride's father preached such a beautiful sermon over the open grave. His text was from the 44th verse of the 44th chapter of Isaiah—"And the Lord said unto Moses, and he arose and smote him"—36 pipers played "the voice that breathed o'er Eden"—some reference to Whistler whom her brother so much admires—I suppose—and as the earth was shovelled reverently by 12 stalwart professors of Esperanto, taxidermists, and assorted Mormon missionaries (with the such dear destroying angels) aver the last mortal remains, a heartfelt sob of relief burst from the assembled multitudes, and tears of bitter joy streamed down—such profusion as to enable us to carry out our nearly abandoned project of beginning the honeymoon in a canoe. This we did and shot Barnes bridge in the astonishing time of 24 h[ours] 43 m[inutes] 21 1/2 s[econds]. Thence to seas of molten glory in the glowing west where we still are.
c/o God.
Heaven
Will always find us.
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