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adepts had to encounter. One of these hunters after the Green Lion, as the stone was sometimes called, describes them in the following lines:

"I asked Philosophy how I should
Have of her the things I would;
She answered me when I was able
To make the water malleable:
Or else the waye if I could finde
To mesure out a yard of winde;
Then shalt thou have thine own desire,
When thou canst weigh an ounce of fire;
Unlesse that thou canst do these three,
Content thyself, thou gett'st not me."

These were serious obstacles certainly, but modern chemistry has overcome greater, and the old alchemists, nothing daunted, fought on untiringly.

Ripley, who wrote what he called a "Compound of Alchymie," was not one of the least assiduous; though all his labors disappeared in fumo, thus describes his experiences:

"Many amalgame did I make,

Wenyng to fix these to grett avayle,
And thereto sulphur dyd I take;

Tarter, eggs whyts, and the oyl of the snayle,
But ever of my purpose dyd I fayle;

For what for the more and what for the lesse,
Ever more somethyng wanting there was.'

He then gives a long list of ingredients, and sums up by saying:

"Thus Irostyd and boylyd, as one of Geber's cooks, And oft tymes my wynning in the asks I sought;

For I was discevyd wyth many false books,
Whereby untrue thus truly I wrought;
But all such experiments avayled me nought;
But brought me in danger and in combraunce,
By losse of my goods and other grevaunce."

Sir Edward Kelley, another unsuccessful neophyte, appears to have been completely disgusted with his constant failures. He exclaims:

"Alle you that faine philosophers would be,
And night and day in Geber's kitchen broyle,
Wasting the chipps of ancient Hermes' tree,
Weening to turn them to a precious oyle,
The more you worke, the more you loose and
spoile.

To you I say, how learned soever you be,
Goe burne your books and come and learne of

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posed to be contained in the following Leonine distich:

"Si fixum solvas, faciasq. volare solutum, Et volucrum figas, faciet te vivere tutum ;"

which has been thus "Englished:"

"If thou the fixed can dissolve,
And that dissolve dost cause to fly,
That flying then to fixing bring,
Then may'st thou live most happily."

So much for the supposed transmuters of metals. We will now consider the question as it has been set before us in Mr. Douglas Jerrold's 's recent work, the "Man Made of Money."

It was by no laborious course of study, by no painful devotion of every moment snatched from rest and crucibles, alembics, and re

torts, that Solomon Jericho, the hero of Mr. Jerrold's story, accomplished the object for which so many have toiled and still are toiling. With him, however, the penalty which all must pay who make a short cut to wealth, began at the very moment of fruition, and the process of the elixir's power was reversed.

Mr. Jericho is a city gentleman, to whom the widow of a certain Captain Pennibacker (who got the brevet after his death) has confided herself and three children, in the belief that her second husband is a man of fabulous wealth, as indeed he is when it comes to be fairly examined.

"She was a woman of naturally a lively fancy -a quality haply cultivated in her sojourn in the East, where rajahs framed in gold and jewels upon elephants were common pictures; hence, Jericho, of the city of London, was instantaneously rendered by the widow a man of prodigious wealth. She gave the freest, the most imaginative translation of the words-City gentleman... What a picture to the imagination, the-City gentleman. All the bullion of the Bank of England makes background details; the India House dawns in the distance; and a hundred pennants from masts in India Docks tremble in the far-off sky."

Mr. Jericho has also called in the aid of imagination to heighten the Indian widow's attractions, as every one does, says our au"The thor, when money is the theme. common brain will bubble to the golden wand."

"It was whispered, sharply whispered to Jericho, that the widow had many relations, many hopes in India. Immediately Jericho flung

about the lady all the treasures of the East. Immediately she stood in a shower-bath of diamonds; elephant's teeth lay heaped about her; and rice and cotton-grounds and fields of opium, many thousands of acres of the prodigal East, stretched out on all sides of her, and on all sides called her mistress. All his life had Jericho trod upon firm earth; but widow Pennibacker whipped him off his leaden feet, and carried him away into the fairy-ground of Mammon; and there his eyes twinkled at imaginary wealth, and his ears turned and stood erect at the sound of shaken money-bags."

As it commonly chances when the imagination has been allowed too much play, both parties are deceived. Mr. Jericho's means barely sufficed for his own necessities, and Mrs. Pennibacker's connection with the monied world was to her disadvantage; she was literally criblée de dettes. The lady, however, had more reason for her belief than her husband, as Mr. Jericho, "with all the simplicity of real worth," had spoken "calmly, but withal hopefully, of the vast increase of profit arising from his platina mines." These mines are ever present to Mrs. Jericho's mental vision, and hence a constant tendency on her part, after her marriage, to ask for money. This is Jericho's difficulty, for he is compelled to refuse to give that which he has not got. But his wife has an unbounded belief in his capabilities, and like the daughters of the horseleech in Scripture, her cry ever is, "Give, give."

On a certain day, when this customary demand had been made, and the customary answer had been returned, with, perhaps, a little more vehemence than usual, Mr. and Mrs. Jericho separated-she, to raise her spirits by a little shopping, and he, to solace his at a quiet little dinner party with a few chosen friends. They both fulfil their missions, Mr. Jericho returning from his in a very rosy, harmonious frame of mind, "full of meat and wine, and his brain singing with fantastic humors." To his exceeding satisfaction he finds on his arrival at home, that his wife has gone to bed.

"Mr. Jericho breathed a little lighter. Such a load was taken off him, that he mounted the staircase tenderly, as though he trod upon flowers; as though every woollen blossom in the carpet, from the stair to the bed itself, was living heart's ease; which it was not."

Noiselessly he enters the bed-chamber, and silently he retires to rest beside his spouse, believing her to be sound asleep.

"Untucking the bed, and making himself the

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thinnest slice of a man, Jericho slides between the sheets. And there he lies, feloniously still; and he thinks to himself-being asleep, she cannot tell how late I came to bed. At all events, it is open to a dispute, and that is something. "Mr. Jericho, when can you let me have some money?" With open eyes, and clearly ringing every word upon the morning air, did Mrs. Jericho repeat this primal question. And what said Jericho? With a sudden qualm at the heart, and with a thick stammering tongue, he answered, Why, my dear, I thought you were sound asleep.'”

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"At last, Jericho-as though a dagger had been suddenly struck up through the bed-bounced bolt upright. There was a supernatural horror in his look; even his own wife, familiar as she was with his violence, almost squealed. However, silently eyeing him through the small murderous loopholes of her lace border, Mrs. Jericho saw her pale-faced husband snatch off his cap, holding it away at arm's length; then, breathing hard, and casting back his head, he cried, in tones so deep and so unnaturally grating, that the poor at the first sound-I WISH TO HEAVEN I WAS woman, like a night-flower, shrank within herself MADE OF MONEY!' Mrs. Jericho, considerably relieved that it was no worse, added, in a low, deep, earnest voice, 'I wish to Heaven you

were!'"

The accomplishment of this wish is the alchemy of Mr. Solomon Jericho. "Audivere Di mea vota!" may he now exclaim; the gods have heard his prayers, but in an evil hour; for the fulfilment of his desire is attained at the cost of his own existence. Not by a direct compact with the Evil One, but by a gradual wasting away of his person on every occasion when he avails himself of his money-making faculty. The fact is, his heart has been suddenly converted into a mass of bank-paper, every one of its tissues representing a hundred pounds. He makes the discovery by accident, and having once made it, soon repeats it.

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1849.] THOU ART LIKE A CALM AND STARRY SUMMER'S NIGHT.

thoughtless wish had been wrought into reality. Solomon Jericho was, in very truth, a Man Made of Money, "

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Such is the process by which the mystery of money-making is solved by Mr. Jerrold in the person of his hero. The consequences which result from it may be imagined at the hands of a writer so deeply skilled in laying bare the worst imperfections of our nature. Misery, of course, is the portion of the modern Midas, who literally "drops his blood for drachmas,' as he yields to every fresh demand upon his purse; and in the development of his career are well portrayed, by a thousand keen, satiric touches, the subserviency of the world to full-blown wealth, no matter whence its source. The story itself is of the slightest texture. The chief actors in it, after Mr. and Mrs. Jericho, are Basil Pennibacker and his sisters Monica and Agatha; the respective lovers of these young ladiesthe Honorable Mr. Candytuft and Sir Arthur Hodmadod-who jilt them; the family of the Carraways, whose pretty daughter Bessy has won the heart of Basil, for, unlike his step-father, he has a heart, though his manners are no more polished than the butcher who damned Mr. Fox's politics; Colonel Bones, who will proclaim his poverty to the world, and is disbelieved, and honored in consequence; Dr. Mizzlemist, the surgeon, who is ruined by being too candid; and a few minor personages, who serve as contrasts and makeweights.

All these characters are well described— after Mr. Jerrold's peculiar fashion; which means, not exactly as we should wish to be described ourselves; for, like Iago, Mr. Jerrold is nothing if not critical. The Honorable Mr. Candytuft, the man-tamer, is a fine specimen of the genus whose creed is un

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bounded benevolence for all the world; and Sir Arthur Hodmadod is equally great as the representative of the numerous class who are at a loss to understand their own meaning. They contrast admirably, agreeing only in selfishness.

But, unflatteringly as Mr. Jerrold may paint the individuals in whom he satirizes society, we confess that we like them better than those he tries to render amiable. They seem to us as if they were only maskers, ready at any moment to lay aside their assumed characters, and show their plainness unpainted and ungilded. Basil Pennibacker-the young man with the heart-is the most notable example of this sort; and whatever fortune awaits him in Australia, we are not sorry, at the close of the book, to find that he has emigrated. Others, however, may think differently, and give this young gentleman a good reception; but whether they welcome or wish him at a distance, they must admit that there is quite enough of the devil in his composition to redeem him from being indifferent to any. And so of the rest: our likes or dislikes may be marked forcibly enough, but, agreeing or not with the philosophy, there is no doubt of our having to do with a philosopher-one who takes his particular view of human nature, has courage enough to express, and full ability to sustain it. Examples multiplied to infinite quotation might prove this; but there is no necessity for making the appeal. The "Man Made of Money" is one more identification with the genius of its author.

And so ends our homily on alchemy, which, whether ancient or modern, ends like matrimony-according to the rubric, in amazement; or according to the experience of some-in disappointment.

"THOU ART LIKE A CALM AND STARRY SUMMER'S NIGHT."

THOU art like a calm and starry summer's night;
On thy sweet lips a tender mystery lies;
It trembles in the depths of those dark eyes-
I know it well, and reverence it aright.

Thou art like a calm and starry summer's night; Thine eye is weary of the glare of day;

And like a stranger timidly I stray 'Mid varied forms too dazzling and too bright.

Thou art like a calm and starry summer's night;
Oh, wouldst thou in those arms the wanderer hold,
The blossoms of this heart thou couldst unfold;
They close by day, but open to the night. KUGLER

From Fraser's Magazine.

AN EPISODE IN THE HISTORY OF THE EDDYSTONE LIGHTHOUSE.

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I COULD Scarcely at first believe that they were all dead-that I was never more to hear the voice of parent, brother, or sister-that I was utterly alone in the world. But so it was within the space of eight months, as the worthy curate told me, the grave had closed over the whole of my family. It was some consolation that my mother had died blessing me; but, nevertheless, I now bitterly repented that I had gone to sea, instead of remaining, as I might have done, to stay and comfort her in her old age. Yet she had approved of the step I took, and after all I acted for the best. Mr. Jones told me that she had said to him, "that I had always been a good and dutiful son to her, and that she hoped, though she was not to live to see it, that I would some day find something to my taste, so that I might settle down contentedly." She was always such a kind soul.

It was now necessary for me to shape my course anew. If I had been unable before to turn the education I had received to any good account, I thought it very unlikely I should succeed in doing so now. The only thing in that way which seemed to me possible of attainment at the time was a re-engagement as an usher in some school; but I instantly dismissed the idea, for I had had enough of that drudgery at Little Hampton. So being now a tolerable seaman, and seeing nothing else to do, I made up my mind to stick to the only profession I had acquired, and to seek another ship. But as the Neptune had digusted me with the merchant service, I set off for Plymouth, with the intention of volunteering for the navy, where, besides other advantages, I thought that my natural good qualities and abilities had a better chance of getting fair play.

On reaching Devonport I found there was no ship fitting out for sea just then; but as I had still some money left, and could afford to be idle for a week or two, I resolved to wait a short time and see what might turn

up. I lodged at a tavern called the Rodney, and the time went by quickly enough, for I had never been in that neighborhood before, and there is a good deal to be seen there. I spent almost all my time walking about the Mount Edgecumbe grounds and other places with some acquaintances I had made it is not difficult to make such in Plymouth-and I enjoyed myself much, for the weather was beautiful: it was the month of August, near its close. However, at the end of a fortnight my reckoning at the Rodney was presented; and when I had paid it, I found I had not money enough left to keep me afloat much longer. I told my situation to the landlord, a very honest man, who said it was not probable that any king's ship would be commissioned at Plymouth for some time, and that my best plan would be to go to Bristol immediately, as there I would have a better chance of finding a good berth in a merchant vessel.

Just as we were talking about it over a glass of grog, a man came in and said—

"Here's a rum go, Jem, (that was the landlord's name ;) that other chap has left the Stone, too! I'm blessed if it isn't the third within the last eight weeks!"

"Why, now,' "said the landlord to me, "that's the very thing for you, my man— that's to say, always supposing you don't dislike a little confinement and regular hours!" What is it?" said I.

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"It's one of the keepers of the Stone Light," replied he, "who has given up the job. What do you say to it? It's the very thing for a man like you, who seem to be a bit of a scholar, and not to like work overmuch."

Nothing at the time could have been more to my mind, for I little imagined what the nature of the situation was. I lost no time

in applying for the post, and my certificates being good, and besides-most unaccountably, as I then thought-no one else offering, I was almost immediately accepted. They said I must engage for six months, as they

1849.]

EDDYSTONE LIGHTHOUSE.

were tired of men leaving the place almost as soon as appointed. I said I would engage for a year if they chose; but they smiled and said six months was enough to begin with.

When all was arranged, I began to congratulate myself on my good fortune. I thought, with the landlord, that it was the An easy life, plenty to very thing for me. eat and drink, warm shelter, and tolerably good pay, I considered quite enough to content any reasonable being. I could not understand why my predecessors had given up the service, and thought they must have been men who did not know when they were well off.

Nevertheless, even at that time I thought it possible I might be a little dull now and then; so, that I might have something to amuse myself with, I bought a pack of cards to play with the other keeper, a second-hand musical snuff-box, and an excellent jest-book, with a collection of songs at the end of it. Then, seeing I had no likelihood of being able for some time to put my money to any agreeable use, I spent what remained of it in a jollification at the Rodney; there were two fiddles and a flute, and we danced till morning in a back room. How many years it is since then! And yet that was the last really happy evening I have ever spent.

Next morning I went on board the lighthouse tender, and we sailed for the Eddystone. On the way, one of the men remarked to me significantly that it was a Friday. "What of that?” said I; “all sensible people ridicule your superstitions about a Friday.

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Well, well," said he, "we shall see." But I only laughed at him, and told him that so little did I think of what he said, I resolved, since I was going to a desert island on that day, to take the name of Friday, and to call the other keeper Robinson Crusoe. I remember that well; the fact was, I was in the highest spirits.

The weather was fine, and the wind favorable, though light; in about three hours we reached our destination, and effected a landing without difficulty. There was little time lost, some stores the tender had brought off were quickly got out of her; in half an hour she was standing back for Plymouth, and I was left to establish myself in my new abode. "Well," said I to myself, as I looked about Afme, "here I am, snug and comfortable. ter knocking about the world as I have done, it is something to find such a resting-place; and, disgusted as I am with the coldness and

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selfishness of society, it is still better to find
myself so effectually removed from it." I
little knew what I was saying, or what I was
to endure there.

The other light-keeper-good reason I
have to remember him-was an elderly man,
I was by no means taken with
and a Scot.
his appearance, for he looked grave and un-
social-anything, in fact, but a jolly com-
panion. However, he was courteous enough
at first, showing me all over the lighthouse,
pointing out the different apparatus, and ex-
plaining to me my various duties. With
regard to the last, indeed, he expatiated on
them at such length, few and simple though
they were, that I was heartily tired of his
lecture.

The day passed away pleasantly enough; I had never before seen the interior of a lighthouse, and I found considerable amusement in examining everything about it. The lower part is solid; above that there are four small chambers, one over the other, besides the lantern, or light-room; the two lowest are for holding stores, the third is the kitchen, and in the fourth are the men's berths. I found everything fitted up with the same economy of space and neatness of contrivance which distinguish the arrangements of a ship; indeed, at times, I fancied for a moment I was actually aboard of one. great difference was that there was so little room to move about in—at least, horizontally; for as to going up and down I soon found that very tiresome.

The

Of that, however, I thought little; keeping a watch in that comfortable lantern was evidently a very different thing from keeping one in cold and darkness on a wet deck, step fore and aft as one might there; and if I had now and then the trouble of going aloft, it was not to reef topsails in a gale of wind. That reminded me that it was just about the same time the previous year that I was beating to the westward round Cape Horn in the Neptune, and I contrasted my position then and now.

Then we had three weeks' anxious and incessant toil, during which time not one of us took off his clothes, or had a single hour's good sleep; then, with a short CapeHorn sea perpetually breaking over us, and a most piercing, icy wind dashing the sharp snow in our faces, we had to keep the pumps constantly going; while, to crown all, our provisions had run short. But, of course, I need not repeat all our sufferings. Now, with nothing to do but to attend to a lamp. and keep a few hours' watch in an easy chair, I would have a warm berth, good food,

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