ymist. He found
him, as men of his pursuits were apt to be, a mixture of enthusiasm
and simplicity; of curious and extensive reading on points of little
utility, with great inattention to the everyday occurrences of life,
and profound ignorance of the world. He was deeply versed in singular
and obscure branches of knowledge, and much given to visionary
speculations. Antonio, whose mind was of a romantic cast, had himself
given some attention to the occult sciences, and he entered upon these
themes with an ardour that delighted the philosopher. Their
conversations frequently turned upon astrology, divination, and the
great secret. The old man would forget his aches and wounds, rise up
like a spectre in his bed, and kindle into eloquence on his favourite
topics. When gently admonished of his situation, it would but prompt
him to another sally of thought.

"Alas, my son!" he would say, "is not this very decrepitude and
suffering another proof of the importance of those secrets with which
we are surrounded? Why are we trammelled by disease, withered by old
age, and our spirits quenched, as it were, within, us, but because we
have lost those secrets of life and youth which were known to our
parents before their fall? To regain these, have philosophers been
ever since aspiring; but just as they are on the point of securing the
precious secrets for ever, the brief period of life is at an end; they
die, and with them all their wisdom and experience. 'Nothing,' as De
Nuysment observes, 'nothing is wanting for man's perfection but a
longer life, less crossed with sorrows and maladies, to the attaining
of the full and perfect knowledge of things.'"

At length Antonio so far gained on the heart of his patient, as to
draw from him the outlines of his story.

Felix de Vasques, the alchymist, was a native of Castile, and of an
ancient and honourable line. Early in life he had married a beautiful
female, a descendant from one of the Moorish families. The marriage
displeased his father, who considered the pure Spanish blood
contaminated by this foreign mixture. It is true, the lady traced her
descent from one of the Abencerrages, the most gallant of Moorish
cavaliers, who had embraced the Christian faith on being exiled from
the walls of Granada.

The injured pride of the father, however, was not to be appeased. He
never saw his son afterwards, and on dying left him but a scanty
portion of his estate; bequeathing the residue, in th