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is not represented by her daughter or granddaughter, soft, and transparent as glass, and are met with of but by her great-granddaughter, or great-great-grand- various forms-discoid, hemispherical, or bell-shapeddaughter, who becomes in turn the medium through and they may be seen swimming about immediately bewhich the species is perpetuated. This curious process low the surface of the water, at sea, or in creeks, from is known to naturalists by the title of Alternate Genera- spring till late in the autumn, but only when the surface tion-a process so completely at variance with the is tranquil, and no rain has been falling. They occur in every-day maxim of 'like father like son,' that we are vast numbers, especially where streams enter the sea; sure few subjects could be more interesting to the and they swim more deeply in the water when the surintelligent reader than a brief and untechnical account face is rough, or after a fall of rain-the slightest shower of its character. causing them to descend rapidly. Every frequenter of the sea-shore must have seen the jelly-like masses lying in hundreds on the sand after a storm in autumn; but then they are likely to be bruised, or partly shrivelled; and to see with advantage their varied rays and hues, their long pendent tentacula, and their curious mode of progression, one must observe them in deep water. On the approach of winter, they withdraw themselves to a greater depth, or probably nearly all die out at that period. Before doing so, however, they perform the important function of reproduction, the spawn or ova of the female make their escape, and these we shall now trace through their startling transformations.

This alternation of generations, whereby the maternal animal does not meet with its resemblance in its own brood, but in its descendants of the second, third, or fourth generation, is totally different from what we see in the ordinary mode of reproduction, and not less distinct from what we call metamorphosis. In ordinary generation among mammalian animals, the young, at the earliest stage of its separate existence, so closely resembles the parent, that there is no difficulty in assigning it to its peculiar species. Birds, though produced from eggs by external incubation, present no intermediate stage of active life, but pass at once into the form of their respective progenitors. And so also with fishes the lowest of vertebrate classes: each speck of spawn passes in time into a perfect fish like its parent-presenting, it may be, very different aspects in its embryotic progress, but still retaining its individuality or oneness of existence. Such is the ordinary mode of reproduction; wonderful no doubt, and surpassingly beautiful in all its harmonies and relations, but not so strange as that of metamorphic life, and less startling still than that of alternate generation.

In metamorphosis, the animal passes through a circle of forms, often differing widely from one another, but still retaining the same vital principle or unity of existence. The successive forms are passively assumed; and in none, save the primitive parent, is there any reproductive or multiplying power. Take the frog, for example, which deposits its spawn in the wayside pool. Every speck or egg of this spawn becomes, under the proper conditions of moisture, temperature, and so forth, a tadpole, which is strictly aquatic; breathes by gills, sculls itself by an oar-like tail, and altogether presents a form so different from that of its parent frog, that no one could possibly predicate its original connexion. By and by an internal skeleton is formed, legs begin to appear, the tail drops off, the gills are replaced by internal lungs, and the tadpole passes into the perfect amphibious frog. Throughout this beautiful transformation everything has been passive, and limited to one exhibition of vitality -from the spawn arose the tadpole, from the tadpole the frog, in whom centered again the active power of reproduction. The tadpole might have been kept in the tadpole state for ages, without giving birth to other tadpoles; and therein consists one grand distinction between metamorphosis and alternate generation. To illustrate still farther, let us take another instance of metamorphosis. The common white butterfly drops its eggs on a cabbage leaf; from each of these, in a few days, springs a voracious caterpillar, having no feature in common with the maternal butterfly. A little longer, and the caterpillar instinctively seeks some sheltered crevice, becomes dormant, passes into a crysalis, which differs as widely from the caterpillar as it does from the butterfly; and from this crysalis springs in time the fluttering insect of another summer. Wonderful, again, but all limited and passive! Neither caterpillar nor crysalis could give birth to others of their kind: with the butterfly alone, of which the others were but metamorphosed forms, lay the power of increase.

Alternate generation differs from the preceding modes of reproduction, inasmuch as the several intermediate forms have the power of increase as well as the original parent. This curious phenomenon has as yet been traced with accuracy only in three or four animals, from which we may select for illustration the common 'jelly-fishes,'' sea-nettles,' or medusa of our own shores. These creatures are of a gelatinous consistence, very

An ovum, on its first escape from the parent, is a small roundish oblong body, floating freely in the water, but capable of locomotion, which is accomplished by means of innumerable cilia, or minute filaments, that cover its surface. By and by a small disk appears at one extremity, and by this it becomes immovably attached to some sea-weed or other substance. This is stage the first. In a few days the egg has become a polype, having a stalk of attachment, and a bell-shaped body, fringed with tentacula or filaments, by which it secures its food from the surrounding water. This is stage the second, in which it is a true polype, acting precisely as the hydra or fresh-water polype, and capable of increase by buds or gemmation. A little longer, and the body of the polype increases in length and thickness, and is marked by numerous transverse rings. These rings become lines of separation, little processes spring from their edges, the separation between the segments become more decided, and instead of a polype we have now a pile of cup-like bodies, seated within one another, each possessing a perfect life and individuality. This is stage the third. By and by the sections of the cup-like pile separate, each becomes a little fringed floater, like an inverted parasol; and from this stage (the fourth) they pass by degrees into perfect medusæ. We say a little fringed floater, for at this stage the creature is only a few lines long, while the full-grown medusa is a million times larger, often spanning a space of several fathoms with its tentacula, and swimming about freely in the ocean. Here, then, if there be no error in the observation, is one of the most curious transformations in nature. A medusa gives birth to a number of ova, which in time become polypes capable of multiplying themselves; and each polype separates into numerous cup-like creatures, which ultimately revert to true medusæ. Had the original ovum merely passed into a polypi-form, the polype into a cup-shaped creature, and this again into a medusa, the transformation would have been one of simple metamorphosis; but that the intermediate stages should be endowed with a power of reproduction, is that which constitutes the marvel.

Other examples of alternate generation might be added, as that of the corinya, or claviform polypes; the salpa, these curious molluscs which are often observed floating in chains of from twenty to fifty in number; and the trematoda—that is, the fluke or liver-worm, which inhabits the liver of sheep in peculiar situations, and especially in wet years, causing much sickness among those animals. Enough, however, has been given to exhibit the peculiar character of the phenomenon-a phenomenon the explanation of which at once enlarges our views of creation, and inculcates humility and caution. In strict philosophy, we cannot regard the medusa, the polype, and the cup-like creatures, as belonging to different species; they are part and parcel of one great specific circle, indispensably necessary to each other, and must

be regarded, however dissimilar in form and functions, as belonging to the same vital unit. It may thus happen, as the subject of alternating generations is better known, that many of the so-called species and genera of the invertebrata are neither one nor the other, but component forms of some circle of alternate generation. We regard the butterfly, caterpillar, and crysalis as one; so also it will be with these curious circles of generation when their limits are determined.

I have heard men in business say, 'Ah, if I could devote my life to study, instead of grubbing here to get money, I should then be all right.' And, on the other hand, students are heard to say, 'After all, it is the man of business who really enjoys reading, when in his hours of relaxation he goes to his books as a relief. But it is odious to make your study a workshop.' Both parties are labouring under a kindred delusion.

And thus people go on; their energies are devoted to the attainment of some object, and ‘if they can reach that, they will find repose.' The end is gained, but soon the object fails to satisfy; they miss the excitement which the chase afforded, and they must propose some new goal, or be wretched. For instance, there are hundreds of men now in England labouring to become rich, who really believe that if they were wealthy, and could spend their lives as others do who are in affluence, they would not have a care; and yet what a mass of error is contained in such an idea! It is far from true that their wealthy friends are perfectly happy; nor is it true that, if they possessed the same means, they would be one whit more contented; and, in the third place, as far as external goods are concerned, it is absolutely false that satisfaction is necessarily connected with them; for our comforts depend much more upon the state of our minds than we are willing to admit. As Iago says, ‘Our bodies are our gardens, to which our wills are gardeners.' But we too often

It will now be seen how widely this alternating system differs from the ordinary course of generation, and how far it carries the complexity of nature beyond what is presented by the system of metamorphosis. And yet the metamorphoses which take place in such insects as the aphides, bees, wasps, ants, and termites, carry us to the very confines of alternate generation. Thus the wild bee which has been impregnated in autumn, and has afterwards sought a shelter to protect itself against the cold of winter, prepares a solitary habitation, in which it builds cells and deposits eggs; from the eggs proceed larvæ, but the bees into which these larvæ are metamorphosed are neuters, and all their faculties are directed to the assisting of the parent animal in the better nourishing of the future brood, and to the erection of a better habitation and cells, into which they convey the eggs of the queen-mother, and the food of the larva to be developed from them. Other cells, which contain a better sort of food, are erected for a later and less numerous progeny of eggs-namely, for males; and later still, others which are more roomy, and provided with the best food, but of which there are only a few, for fertile females. When all of these have come to maturity, and have performed their respective func-imagine that this garden will not flourish until we have tions, the males die or are destroyed, the neuters also disappear, and the impregnated females alone survive the winter. Here, as in the case of the medusa, the neuter bee can scarcely be regarded as an individual existence, but merely as a step or stage towards the perfection of the males and females. Such gradations in being seem to point to an endless complexity in the system of nature; and yet the whole scheme, under the guidance of its omniscient Founder, goes on as smoothly as if it were composed of the plainest and simplest parts.

There is no one, therefore, who fully comprehends this discovery of alternating generations, but must be struck with the novel feature of variety, intricacy, and complexity which it confers on animated nature. Cui bono? asks the mere worldly utilitarian. To this end, responds the investigator-that the more we know, the more we wish and are fitted to know; and that the more we learn of nature, the better do we understand our relation not only to its Creator, but to its scheme, of which we constitute, physically and morally, the most exalted section.

PRESENT AND FUTURE. DISSATISFACTION with the present, and great expectations of the future, appear to be one of the most common follies of mankind. Every one is affected with it less or more; the young and middle-aged, however, much more strongly than the aged. Discontent is doubtless, on the whole, a useful element in our nature, for it prompts to better things; and it is only when it goes beyond the bounds of moderation, that it is seriously objectionable. The great error is, that people do not pursue their course of advancement with calmness; they forget to enjoy the advantages which they now possess; and while they look at the future, they neglect the present, forgetting that the present is the only real time. This error leads them into two follies: they believe that at some future period they will be happier than they are now, because they will then have at command means which are at present denied; and secondly, they fancy that people who follow a different mode of life are more favourably circumstanced than themselves. They seem to want a change.

surrounded it with costly marble, while we neglect to sow precious seed, and forget to uproot the weeds.

The men who place their hopes exclusively in the future, confess, by the very act, that they are incapable of enjoying the present (and by enjoyment much more is meant than the mere taking of pleasure); but not wishing to make this humiliating admission, they flatter themselves that something else than what they possess is essential to peace and comfort. This is nothing less than an excuse for want of contentment; because, when the object of search is attained, they are as far from what they really need as ever. He who does not begin by placing contentment as the basis of external goods, heaps up in vain, and might as well try to fill a sieve with water, as to construct a building of happiness upon a shadowy foundation.

Besides, a constant restlessness is the greatest possible hindrance to sound education of the mind. The feverish gaze of the fortune-seeker cannot look aright upon the beautiful creation which is around him, if it ever looks upon it at all. There are many men surrounded by the comforts of life, who, if you told them to divert their eyes a while from future prospects, to cease envying their associates, to admire the wonders of nature and the beautiful world we live in, to be rejoiced at the remembrance of their daily blessings, and to be fully satisfied with their numerous advantages, would put you down for a madman or a fool.

It is quite as easy to cultivate such a state of mind as to be constantly pining after what you have not got, or distressing yourself because you are not so well off as other people; and while every man of active mind must desire to go through his daily duties with energy and skill, and to fulfil his vocation with diligence, yet when he has done all this, calm contentment is one great means to make him happy, and keep him so. The poet Horace, when a young man, saw these important truths, and in his first satire lashes the folly of is not directed merely against avarice, as many critics mankind in a very just and lively manner. That satire have supposed, but against the deeper spirit of disquiet, which is at the root of all. I shall present the reader with a translation of some passages which bear more

particularly upon the question. He opens with an expression of wonder that mankind will persist in esteeming the fortunes of others more than their own, and shows that they neglect to take into account all the circumstances of the case; nay, farther, that if they were fairly brought to issue, and had their choice, they would be disposed to draw back, and keep their present

station :

How comes it, my Mecenas, that the lot

Which our own plans obtain, or chance presents,
Never contents us, but we always praise
Those who pursue a different course of life?
"How fortunate are merchants!' says the soldier,
Whose aged limbs are worn with early toil;
But yet the merchant, tossed by stormy seas,
Says, Warfare is far better. Why-they charge,
And in an hour comes death or victory.'
The lawyer thinks a country life the best,
When clients rouse him at the dawn of day.
The countryman, obliged to answer bail,
And to the city dragged from home, cries out
That they alone are blest who live in town.
But not to cite these numerous instances,
Hear how I'll put the question. Let a god
Come down and say, I will do all you wish.
Soldier, be you a merchant; and be you

A countryman who were just now a lawyer.
Your lots thus changed, depart your several ways.'
How now-you stand? They will not move a step,
And yet they might be happy if they liked.

We may remark that Horace, with great truth, makes the various characters express discontent, and look with wistful eyes upon the condition of others, just when they feel any of the difficulties or inconveniences of their own stations press upon them. How interesting to observe the application to our own day of sentiments uttered in Latin verse eighteen hundred years ago! But the poet spoke the truth, and truth is eternal. Falsehood alone perisheth.

He then goes on to notice the second great error, whereby a prudent regard to the future degenerates into neglect of the present, and a desire of pressing forward to something distant, while the day of fruition is constantly deferred. As an example of care in making provision, and good sense in enjoying that provision when the proper time comes, he instances the ant, who (according to the popular opinion) lays up her store for the dreary hours of winter; and he contrasts with her wisdom the conduct of those two-legged gatherers who are ever piling up and never distributing :

They hope to find a safe retreat in age,
And have provision for their closing days;
Just as the little, labour-loving ant
Gathers whate'er she can, and piles her heap,
Cautious and mindful of the time to come;
But when Aquarius, with his rainy storms,
Saddens the year, she never creeps abroad,
And uses what her patient care obtained.
While you cannot be moved from lust of gain
By summer's heat, or cold, fire, sea, or sword;
Nothing can stop you while you yet perceive
Another richer than yourself.

From a great river, than take just as much
At this small fount, it comes to pass that you,
So vainly pleased with superfluity,
Will by the rolling stream be carried off.
But he who seeks no more than what he needs,
Neither draws muddy water, nor his life
Loses imprudent in the dashing wave.
But most men, led astray by vain desires,
Say nothing is enough,' because our worth
Is measured by our wealth. What can you do
With people such as these? Let them remain
In misery, since they act thus by choice.

He then returns to his original point of attack-to the manner in which people compare themselves with others; for it is curious that, while you can find hundreds who distress themselves because they are not so surrounded by advantages as others are, you do not so often meet with those who look at the numbers less favoured than themselves; and yet there is no reason why we should not look on the one picture as well as on the other :But to return: should a man always praise Those who pursue a different course of life? Or should he pine because his neighbour's goat Affords more milk than his, nor once contrast The greater crowd far poorer than himself? But rushing forward, labour to surpass This one or that. He who thus hastens on, Will always find one richer in his path: As, when swift charioteers have left the bound, Each strains to outdo the steeds that conquer him, And ne'er vouchsafes a look on those behind. On the whole, we rarely find a man to say He has lived blissful, and who, at the last, When he has passed the appointed term of life, As a well-sated guest departs content.

It is very possible that the readers of Horace may flatter themselves upon having some valid excuse for neglecting to follow his advice, so difficult it is for men to stop in the chase and calmly consider their position. The seeker of wealth and the ardent lover of fame despise their quieter friends, and look with scorn upon the peace which they enjoy, nor will they admit the claims of contentment to their notice; yet the old English poet is quite correct in saying of the unambitious manThus he is free from servile bands,

Of hope to rise, and fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all.

No wonder that, when reverses come, the fortune-seeker is overwhelmed, and sometimes cannot rise again from his despair. How different would be man's condition and feelings were he to temper his desires, and restrain his expectations, within the bounds prescribed by a becoming spirit of piety and philosophy!

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THE GOLD-MAKING DELUSION. ABOUT five hundred years ago, an idea prevailed in Europe that certain base metals could be transmuted by a chemical process into gold. The pursuit of this chimera, called the Philosopher's Stone,' was carried to such lengths, that Pope John XXII. issued a bull, condemning to perpetual imprisonment those who attempted to transform one metal into another. This was in 1317; but towards the close of the same century, so much had knowledge retrograded in high places, that our Henry IV. addressed letters-patent to the professors, nobles, and priests, inciting them to prosecute the search after the Philosopher's Stone, as a means of enabling him to pay the debts of the state.

He thus states the common objects of our desires-the wish to have a retreat in age. There is no fault to be found with that desire in itself; but while we are procuring the means of living, we should also learn how to live, that when the one occupation has ceased, we may find resources in the other; that by studying the perfections of the Creator and his wonderful works, and by devoting ourselves to the general good of mankind, we may fulfil the greater and higher ends of our existence. The poet then inveighs at some length against the folly of avarice, and asks, If you are satisfied with the little that nature requires, of what importance is it whether your granary contains a hundred measures of wheat or a thousand? He shows that the grasping spirit of covetousness is itself a curse; just as in the fable Tantalus is oppressed with thirst, though placed up to the chin in pure water, which, however, flies from his mouth every time that he attempts to drink. To illustrate the workings of a grasping spirit, he uses the follow-old Historie de la Philosophie Humetique,' to have ing simile:

As, if you want to fill a single cup

With limpid water, and would rather drain

The respect, however, which princes had for the ideal science did not extend to the persons of the adepts, who were laid hold of without ceremony, and compelled to labour at the projection. In a former article on this subject, there is a quotation from a work attributed to Michael Sandovigius; but this worthy is said, in an

appropriated an honour which did not justly belong to him. Both the real and supposititious writer of

the treatise, however, experienced very harsh treatment at the hands of the great. The true 'Cosmopolitan' (the literary name of the individual), according to our author, was Alexander Seaton, who possessed an estate somewhere on the coast of Scotland at the com

mencement of the seventeenth century. In 1602, while travelling for his pleasure in Holland, accompanied by his wife, he called on a Dutch gentleman whom he had treated with hospitality in his own country; and in the course of this intimacy, had the imprudence to exhibit his skill in the art of transmutation. He pursued his travels to Basle, and afterwards found himself in Saxony; and on his route, so frequently repeated the same indiscretion, that his reputation as a living treasure could not fail to reach the ducal court. The consequence was, that he was seized and shut up in a tower.

The Duke of Saxony attempted to work upon him, first by promises, then by threats, then by torture; but all in vain. The unfortunate alchemist submitted in silence; and after having repeatedly burned his flesh and dislocated his limbs, his persecutors at length gave up active measures in despair, and trusted to the effect of protracted confinement. Michael Sandovigius, who resided at Cracow, was then in Saxony; and being himself addicted to the dangerous pursuit, heard with great interest of the adventure of Seaton. He obtained admission to his prison, and formed a plan for his deliverance, which he ultimately effected by making his guards drunk. He carried him and his wife to Cracow, and then demanded, as the price of his service, to be initiated in the mystery of the Philosopher's Stone. But Seaton, showing him his emaciated body, his shrunk nerves, and powerless limbs, replied that all these things he had endured rather than disclose a secret he had won by study and prayer. He presented him, however, with a portion of the precious powder, by means of which, if we are to believe our author, and not by any scientific merit of his own, Sandovigius became famous as an alchemist. Seaton soon after died; and the persevering friend, thinking there might be some chemical virtue even in his widow, married her, and by this means became possessed of the treatise attributed to his own pen by the ignorance of the learned.

'It is impossible,' says our author, 'to find anything less suspicious or more precise than the adventure which occurred to M. Helvetius of the Hague, first physician to the Prince of Orange, and ancestor of the learned and virtuous Helvetius.' The circumstance is related by the doctor himself. On the 27th December 1666, he received a visit from a person unknown to him, who had the appearance of a respectable Dutch citizen, and whose visit was prompted by a desire the stranger had to remove his doubts, or rather disbelief, by showing him a portion of the actual Philosopher's Stone, and of the precious metal it had created. The one was in an ivory box, and in the form of three metallic lumps, of a sulphur colour; and the other was worn upon his stomach, in fine plates of gold, covered with mysterious inscriptions. Dr Helvetius examined attentively the contents of the ivory box, which the adept informed him were sufficient to produce twenty tons of gold; and on this boast, he thought it could hardly be a dishonesty worth mentioning to pinch slily off a little particle with his thumb-nail. It was in vain, however; but he solicited the adept to make the projection before him the latter was satisfied with having convinced his eyes, and withdrew.

No sooner was his back turned, than the doctor sent for a crucible, and placing it eagerly on the fire, threw in a piece of lead, and when this was in fusion, projected (to use the proper Hermetic term) the stolen powder into the mass. The result was the instant evaporation of both lead and powder. The doctor was astonished; he thought he must have made some mistake in the manner of the projection; and when the adept returned

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some time after to ascertain what impression he had made, he besought him earnestly to give him even the smallest possible portion of the powder. This request was complied with after some difficulty; but with the advice to cover the particle with wax before projection, otherwise the volatile nature of the substance would cause everything to evaporate. Helvetius did as he was directed. He projected the powder thus prepared into six drachms of lead-which he thus converted instantaneously into pure gold! This gold was so pure, that it had the power of transmuting silver; and the prejudices of Dr Helvetius being now completely removed, he published in the following year his 'Vitulus Aureus,' in which the above incidents are related in full. A circumstance is mentioned by Father Kircher in his Mundus Subterraneus,' which may serve as a pendant to the above. About the time in which Helvetius was engaged in his experiments, another stranger called on one of the Jesuit's friends, who had been, ever since his youth, devoted to the Hermetic philosophy.

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'I see,' said the visitor, by your crucibles and furnaces what you are about. But you have no chanceyou will not succeed.'

Assist me, then,' replied the alchemist eagerly. You who talk so decisively must have some knowledge of the matter. Instruct me, and I will obey.'

'Agreed,' said the unknown- let us work together; but first take a pen, and write down the process as I describe it, that we may make no mistake."

So said, so done. The process was fairly written out; and then, with the paper before them, they set to work, and the pupil at length poured with his own hands from the retort a very brilliant oil, which congealed into a mass, and was then reduced to powder. This powder was projected into three hundred pounds of quicksilver, which was straightway converted into gold, much purer than any that was ever dug from the bowels of the earth. At this result the adept was wild with joy, but the stranger looked calmly on, as if the affair had been a matter of no moment.

'You can do nothing for me,' he said in reply to his professions of gratitude and offers of service. I am travelling to and fro for my own amusement; and although I am always ready to aid when I see people at a loss, I want no assistance in return.' The other intreated him at least to stay with him that night; but he would not consent: he must betake himself at once to his inn, naming it, and go to bed.

In the morning the adept went to inquire for him, but he was not known at that inn, nor at any other in the town. No human being but himself had ever seen him; he had utterly vanished-exhaled-evaporated!

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'No matter,' thought the adept. Since I have the process in black and white, it signifies little what has become of the man. Three hundred pounds of gold! that is worth at least a hundred thousand crowns. It is a large sum; but it is nothing to what I may-must

and shall have! Let me to work.' And so saying, he spread out the paper before him, and proceeded to the manufacture of the wonderful powder. But he was not as yet so skilful as his teacher, or he was more careless, and the experiment failed. But this was only his first trial alone, and with an untroubled brow he began anew. What should disturb him? He had plenty of money, abundance of time, and an indomitable-avarice. But his second experiment was not more successful, nor his third, nor his fourth. The directions were distinct, the writing was plain—the fault must be in himself. And so, when the hundred thousand crowns were expended, he sold his property, acre by acre, piece by piece, and only stopped when he had no longer a coin for the insatiate crucible. At that moment he was seized with a religious terror, and ran to the Jesuits, who soon explained to him that the stranger was no other than the devil! But many were of a different opinion; and Father Kircher's publication of the circumstances occasioned a literary contest, which raged for a considerable time.

It was supposed that the miraculous powder, if used in another way, would prolong life to an indefinite period; and both these superstitions were derived immediately by the Europeans from the Arabians, although the alchemists professed that Egypt was the fountain of the occult philosophy, which they termed Hermetic, after Hermus or Thoth. However this may be, the very same delusions were productive of much more remarkable disorders in China several centuries before the Christian era. There the infatuation of the princes in their search after the 'Waters of Immortality' and the Philosopher's Stone was frequently one of the leading causes of political revolutions; and it was not only the profligate and depraved who were addicted to this fatal pursuit, but some of the wisest of the emperors. In Europe, however, alchemy, as the name implies, was merely an exalted chemistry, while in China it was the worship or propitiation of spirits. In the latter country it was believed that, in some distant islands (supposed to be Japan), where the people lived a thousand years, the waters of immortal life and boundless wealth were guarded by supernatural beings, and thither more than one deputation were sent by the credulous princes. The priests of Taou, being the great devil-worshippers, were of course the Chinese proprietors, so to speak, of this water, in which they succeeded in drowning the senses of so many of their imperial masters. In the year 133 before Christ, one of these mystics presented the emperor with the ingredients for composing the miraculous draught, telling him first to sacrifice to the spirits of the hearth, and then to throw some vermilion into the goblet, which would become gold, and this gold gave immortal life. The emperor brewed as he was directed, and drank; but feeling no stirrings of immortality within him, he took council of the other philosophers, who had each his own nostrum, consisting of particular sacrifices or temple-building. He tried them all by turns; till, every rite being performed, and every spirit propitiated, he was about to receive the reward of his magnificent labours. The goblet, however, was snatched from his lips by one of his indignant nobles, who drank off the draught. If I am immortal,' said he, your majesty cannot kill me; if I am not immortal, you will of course reward me for opening your eyes to so contemptible a

delusion.'

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Twenty years afterwards, when this emperor, it may be supposed, who lived and spent so fast, was still more in need of the Water of Immortality and the art of making gold, he fell as blindly into the snare. An adventurer offered to proceed to the islands of the Immortals, and kidnap one of the inhabitants for his service; on which the imperial dupe (who, by the way, was one of the most talented and energetic of the famous dynasty of Tsin) raised him to the dignity of prince, gave him his daughter in marriage, and sent him forth on his journey to the sea-coast, escorted by the most distinguished nobles of the court. These individuals were not so credulous as their master. They watched the sage narrowly, and on taking leave of him, despatched some trusty spies to hover in his rear. He was traced to a certain mountain with an unpronounceable name, where he was welcomed by a banditti of brother philosophers, and the whole made the welkin ring with their joyous carousals for three or four months, till it was time to return from the islands of the Immortals. One of the gang was made to personate the kidnapped native, and fully instructed in the art of making gold; and in due time the learned cortège arrived in great state at the palace-preceded some few days by the spies. They were received by the emperor and his court as became their dignity; and when they had told their tale, and exhibited their man, the headsman, at a given signal, appeared upon the scene, and made them all immortal in a few minutes.

But to attempt to trace the Philosopher's Stone and Elixir Vitæ of Europe to Egypt, or China, or any other country, would be waste of time, for the superstition is part and parcel of human nature. In all ages the world

has run after some impossible good; and gold-making is one of the most widely diffused of its schemes, only because avarice is one of the most vulgar and universal of its passions.

SMALL COUNTRY PAPERS. We have on divers occasions alluded to the rise in Scotland of small monthly papers, published at no higher price than a penny, and designed principally to furnish a channel for local advertisements. In towns not sufficiently populous to support a weekly newspaper, these minor publications are found to be of considerable use; and being acceptable to readers, they are increasing in number, as well as improving in the quality of their contents. Yet how unequal are the talent and tact with which they are conducted! Some abound in original articles on literary subjects, which must have cost no small degree of labour; while others are filled chiefly with extracts, and exhibit few signs of earnest industry. On the whole, however, these papers are respectably conducted; for we see in them no ministering to mean passions, and few transgressions on the score of taste.

It would, we think, materially increase the usefulness of this interesting class of periodicals if their conductors, who are, for the most part, literary amateurs, were to condense from the metropolitan and other prints, in an original and attractive way, notices of valuable improvements in the arts and discoveries in science; likewise accounts of manufactures springing up in obscure situations through the force of some solitary but energetic to the neighbourhood. If there be a mechanics' institute, spirit-all with the view of imparting a mental stimulus or a mutual improvement society, it should be invited to publish its proceedings in brief. Questions in mathematics and mechanical science should also find a place, in order to excite the minds of youth; and this, we obWould not, likewise, a lady's corner,' with a few coserve, is done in one paper, 'The Alloa Advertiser.' nundrums, help to make the little paper a welcome

visitor at the farmers' firesides?

the cheap country papers is one called by the odd name One of the latest competitors for public favour among of The Pennyworth,' published at Arbroath. The Pennyworth' aspires to be more literary and original than most others of its class, and contains some writings which would by no means discredit periodicals of higher pretensions. We select the following little piece as a speci

men:

THE FUNERAL AT SEA.

when the surgeon of the ship, who had been in close atDeath had been for some days hourly looked for, and tendance on the sufferer, whispered to me that all was over, I felt in noway surprised. The little innocent, a beautiful boy of about four years old, was released from a world of sin and suffering. For weeks previous, the poor child had struggled against a disease which baffled medical skill. The devoted attention of two affectionate parents had been lavished on it in vain; and when the quiet spirit winged its flight to resume its place in another and a better world, I could not but regard the tiny body, beautiful as it was, otherwise than the prisonhouse of that soul which, after a brief but painful sojourn below, had ascended to the mansions of bliss, there to rest with its Father and its God. As I passed the cabin of its parents, when retiring to my own, the partially-suppressed sobbings of the mother were audible; and for some time after, the melancholy event having banished sleep, I could distinctly hear the sound of the father's voice as he slowly and solemnly prayed, that that Almighty Being who giveth and taketh away, would bend their hearts in submission to his will, and make them learn that it was good for them to be afflicted.

The father of the child thus early called to its account had, for a number of years, held a high civil appointment in the Bengal Presidency. His own health had suffered little from the effects of an eastern climate, but the decline of that of a beloved wife, and the alarming symptoms of early disease developed in his only and his dar

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