esolution
this iron man had taken in regard to the Lost Boy--his own beloved
Lionel. None!

"A fine speech from Sir Edward to-night," said Lord Billingsgate, as,
arm-and-arm with the Premier, he entered his carriage.

"Yes! but how dreadfully he coughs!"

"Exactly. Dr. Bolus says his lungs are entirely gone; he breathes
entirely by an effort of will, and altogether independent of pulmonary
assistance."

"How strange!" and the carriage rolled away.

BOOK III.

THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD.

"ADON AI, appear! appear!"

And as the Seer spoke, the awful Presence glided out of Nothingness,
and sat, sphinx-like, at the feet of the Alchemist.

"I am come!" said the Thing.

"You should say, 'I have come,'--it's better grammar," said the
Boy-Neophyte, thoughtfully accenting the substituted expression.

"Hush, rash Boy," said the Seer, sternly. "Would you oppose your
feeble knowledge to the infinite intelligence of the Unmistakable? A
word, and you are lost forever."

The Boy breathed a silent prayer, and, handing a sealed package to the
Seer, begged him to hand it to his father in case of his premature
decease.

"You have sent for me," hissed the Presence. "Behold me,
Apokatharticon,--the Unpronounceable. In me all things exist that are
not already coexistent. I am the Unattainable, the Intangible, the
Cause, and the Effect. In me observe the Brahma of Mr. Emerson; not
only Brahma himself, but also the sacred musical composition rehearsed
by the faithful Hindoo. I am the real Gyges. None others are genuine."

And the veiled Son of the Starbeam laid himself loosely about the room,
and permeated Space generally.

"Unfathomable Mystery," said the Rosicrucian in a low, sweet voice.
"Brave Child with the Vitreous Optic! Thou who pervadest all things
and rubbest against us without abrasion of the cuticle. I command
thee, speak!"

And the misty, intangible, indefinite Presence spoke.

BOOK IV.

MYSELF.

After the events related in the last chapter, the reader will perceive
that nothing was easier than to reconcile Sir Edward to his son Lionel,
nor to resuscitate the beautiful Italian girl, who, it appears, was not
dead, and to cause Sir Edward to marry his first and boyish love, whom
he had deserted. They were married in St. George's, Hanover Square.
As the bridal party stood before the altar, Sir Edward, with a sweet
sad smile, said, in quite his old manner:--

"The Sublime and Beautiful