was a close inner furnace which was kept
carefully at the same temperature. It was
heated, not with vulgar fuel, but with a
certain matter, about which every philosopher
made a great secret. It produced a fire not
liable to be extinguished. It was called
philosopher's fire, and generally produced by
animal matter), by putrefaction, by circulation,
by decoction, and by an infinitude of
other modes. All these operations I pursued
for twelve years, by which time I was
thirty eight years old. I had spent besides
upon the extraction of mercury from herbs
and animals about six thousand crowns.

We ought to tell the reader that Count Bernard
was somewhat credulous, and was victimised
by pretenders to the science, who spent
his money for nothing. Had he been a poorer
man he might have carried on his work at
much less expense. He relates in a piteous
tone how he spent twenty years in calcining
egg-shells, in calcining copperas with vinegar,
dissolving silver with aquafortis, but all without
any result. Then, says he, I abandoned
my attempts, for all my relations tormented
and blamed me to such a degree that I could
not either eat or drink. I had become so
emaciated and disfigured that everybody who
saw me believed I had been poisoned. I was
more than fifty-eight years old; and alas, all
these years I had been working in the wrong
direction! He then set off on his travels to
see if the philosopher's stone were concealed
in any other corner of the world. He travelled
into every known country, trying an
infinity of experiments wherever he went.
But, says he, I found only people working
in the wrong direction, and I spent upon
these things, in goings, and comings, and
trying experiments, more than ten thousand
three hundred crowns. He was reduced to
extreme poverty by this time, and all his
relations and friends forsook him, as a disgrace
to his family; and he records that in great
pain and shame he was obliged to quit his
country, trusting, however, always in the
mercy of God, who never forsakes those who
work faithfully. He went to Rhodes, where
he hoped to live unknown, and "there I
sought if I might find anything to comfort
me." He found a learned and religious
man, who again caused him to lose both
time and money. Bernard contrived to
borrow eight hundred crowns, and in three
years it was all gone. He took then to
observing the operations of nature, and reading
the works of the old alchemists, such as
Arnold, Villa Nova, The Tarba, &c. He
was by this time seventy-three years old—his
patience and courage still invincible. His
last effort was crowned with success. At the
age of seventy-five he discovered the Great
Secret! He was old, and the natural infirmities
of age were aggravated by the life of
hardship he had led, exposed to the noxious
vapours of his furnace, and still more by
the corroding anxiety and inquietude of his
pursuits. He, however, lived several years
to enjoy his success, and by no means
regretted his pains and labours. He left
behind him an apophthegm constantly cited
by the masters of the sacred art: Nature
contains nature—Nature rejoices in its own
nature. His works were greatly sought
after by adepts. His most important one is
entitled, Of the Great Secret of Philosophers.
It is the one from which we have
quoted his life. The Antwerp edition is in
Latin—fifteen hundred and sixty-seven—an
excellent and curious work. It is divided
into four parts: first, of those who first
discovered this precious art; in the second he
narrates his own pains, experience, and
perseverance; in the third part he exposes the
principles and elements of metals; in the
fourth he professes to tell the great secret,
which we transcribe for our readers. Of
course it is in the form of a parable. "I one
day was wandering in the fields, and I came
upon a fair fountain surrounded with
pallisades. None except the king of the country
has the right to approach and bathe therein.
The king goes into it by himself; none may
accompany him. So soon as he has entered
the enclosure, he takes off his robe of cloth
of fine beaten gold, and hands it to his head
man who is named Saturn. Saturn takes it
and keeps it for forty days. The king then
takes off his undergarment of fine black
velvet, and hands it to his second man, who
is Jupiter, who keeps it for twenty long days,
Then Jupiter, at the command of the king,
gives it to the Moon, who is his third attendant,
beautiful and resplendent: she keeps
it twenty days also. The king is now in his
shirt—pure and white like snow. Then he
takes off this shirt, and gives it to Mars,
who keeps it forty days. After that Mars
hands it to the Sun. It has become yellow
and not clear. The Sun keeps it twenty
days, when it becomes beautiful and red. I
met with an old priest, who told me these
things. I said to him, 'Of what use is all
this?' He replied, 'God made both one
and ten, a hundred and a thousand, and
multiplied the whole ten times.' I said, 'I do
not understand this.' He answered, 'I will
tell thee no more, for I am weary.' I then
perceived that he was tired. I, too, felt an
inclination to sleep!"

             FIEND–FANCY

UNLESS our memory be so slippery as to-
have lost all tenacity whatever, it was
Heinrich Heine who dwelt with great unction
upon the difference between the supernatural
beings who inhabit German mountains and
forests and those that spring up so decorously
in the fiend salons. In Germany, horrible
old women, rich in whirlwinds, hideous
dwarfs—hideous even when benevolent—
dwell in lonely ravines; wild huntsmen
clatter through the air. The fiend fairy, on