written geberish. Their red powder, when
found, was capable of converting all metals
into gold, even when used in the minutest
particle. There was also a second preparation,
called the white tincture, not so difficult
to obtain, and it could convert every metal
into silver, and could itself be converted into
gold by the red powder. The red powder
also could, if administered in homœopathic
doses, cure all diseases, from its quality of
being able to change everything imperfect
and unhealthy into what was pure and perfect.

What we have already said may afford
some general idea of the nature of the
study of alchemy; we proceed to give some
account of the most learned and noted adepts
whose fame has been transmitted to us, and
to whose dreams we are indebted for many
valuable realities little, if at all, inferior to
the red powder.

Synesius, Bishop of Ptolemais, one of the
earliest adepts, was born in three hundred
and sixty-five. He was a learned and excellent
man; more of a Pagan than a Christian,
but a good bishop notwithstanding. His
portrait has been restored to us in Mr.
Kingsley's Hypatia, and our readers are
referred to his pages. Geber—or more
correctly Dah-ad-far al Softe—is the first who
gives a full account of the science of alchemy;
but, although his works have come down to us
—having been translated into both Arabic and
Latin—and although he attained the greatest
celebrity in the age when he lived, which was
the eighth century, yet little is known of his life
except that he was born in Mesopotamia, and
passed into Spain, where he spent some time.

The story of Morieu reads like one of the
Arabian Nights' Entertainments, and may,
perhaps, repay the reader for any tediousness
he may have indulged in. Morieu was born
in Rome, in the tenth century, he was a good
Christian, and we are told extremely dutiful to
his parents; but, hearing of Adfar, a famous
Arabian philosopher, who lived at Alexandria,
and some of his writings having fallen into
his hands, they so took hold of his imagination
that he ran away from home and made for
Alexandria. Arrived there, he had great
difficulty in finding the house of the learned
man; but he had not come so far to fail then;
and, at length, having found the man he
sought, he made known to him his country,
his religion, and his desire to become a
disciple. Adfar was glad of a disciple who
showed great zeal, docility, and intelligence,
and Morieu was happy to have found a
master who promised to unveil for him the
source of all treasures. The gentleness of
Morieu so won upon his master that he
concealed nothing from him. But all Adfar's
immense riches, his learning, and his genius,
could not keep him from dying, like the most
ignorant of men. Morieu mourned his death
paid the last duties to his remains, and
then quitted Alexandria to go to Jerusalem.
He settled himself in a hermitage a little way
out of the city, and there determined to
end his days. He took with him a pupil
whom he intended to train in his own
knowledge. In this retreat Morieu heard of Kalid,
the Soldan of Egypt—"a wise and curious
prince," lieutenant of the caliph. One of the
books of Adfar having fallen into his hands,
he made great inquiries and offered immense
rewards to anyone who would enable him to
understand it. Many persons presented
themselves, but they were not true teachers:
only persons greedy of reward, and seeking
for gain and not wisdom.

Morieu heard with pain how much this
good Soldan was deceived by false professors,
and he determined to leave his retreat and to
undertake a journey to Egypt, as much with
the design of converting the Soldan to the
blessed faith of Christianity as of instructing
him in the knowledge of Adfar. The Soldan
received him with gladness, and gave him a
house; where Morieu remained until he had
finished his process. The work being brought
to perfection, he poured the precious elixir
into a vase, and wrote upon it, "He who has
all, has no need of others." He then
departed secretly, and returned to his hermitage
near Jerusalem. Kalid went to the house
where Morieu had dwelt, and there found the
vase containing the elixir; but that did not
console him for the loss of his master. He
was filled with great indignation against the
false pretenders who had deceived him; he
put to death all who remained within his
reach, and made an edict that, in future,
whoever dared to come before him with false
pretences should die. He kept this law
rigidly; but it did not bring back Morieu.
He one day called Galip, his favourite slave,
and said to him, "Oh! Galip, what are we to
do further?"

Galip replied, "My lord, it is good to
believe that God will make us know the
conduct we ought to pursue."

Kalid passed many years regretting the
loss of Morieu; until one day when he was
engaged in the chase, accompanied, as usual,
by Galip; they were separated by some
accident, and Galip came upon a hermit who
was devoutly praying in a solitude.

"Who are you?" said Galip to him;
"whence come you, and whither do you go?"

"I come from Jerusalem," replied the
hermit, "where I was born, and I remained
long with a holy man amongst the mountains
near to that city. I heard there how Kalid
was in pain to know how he might finish the
mystery of Hermes. That holy man is, I
know, skilful in that science, and I quitted
my country to inform the prince of him."

"Oh, my brother! what is this you say?"
cried Galip; "it is enough—I do not wish
you should die as the imposters have died,
who presented themselves to my master."

"I fear nothing," replied the hermit, "let
me see the prince, if you know where he may
be found."