ert, valuable only in the eyes of superstition. Our Order soon
adopted bolder and wider views, and found out a better
indemnification for our sacrifices. Our immense possessions in
every kingdom of Europe, our high military fame, which brings
within our circle the flower of chivalry from every Christian
clime--these are dedicated to ends of which our pious founders
little dreamed, and which are equally concealed from such weak
spirits as embrace our Order on the ancient principles, and whose
superstition makes them our passive tools. But I will not further
withdraw the veil of our mysteries.'

We may well pause for an instant to wonder what would have been the
present state of the now civilized world had this order with its
Oriental illumineeism actually succeeded in undermining feudal society
and in overthrowing thrones. That it was jointly dreaded by Church and
State appears from the excessive, implacable zeal with which it was
broken up by Philip the Fair and Pope Clement the Fifth--a zeal quite
inexplicable from the motives of avarice usually attributed to them by
the modern freemasonic defenders of the Knights of the Temple. I may
well say modern, since in a freemasonic document bearing date 1766,
reprinted in a rare work,[13] we find the most earnest protest and
denial that freemasonry had anything in common with the Templars. But
the Order did not die unavenged. It is by no means improbable that the
secret heresies which, bearing unmistakable marks of Eastern origin,
continually sprang up in Europe, and finally led the way to Huss and the
Reformation, were in their origin encouraged by the Templars.

Certain it is that the character of Bois Guilbert as drawn by Scott--his
habitual oath 'by earth and sea and sky!' his scorn of 'the doting
scruples which fetter our free-born reason,' and his atheistic faith
that to die is to be 'dispersed to the elements of which our strange
forms are so mystically composed,' are all wonderful indications of
insight into a type of mind differing inconceivably from the mere
infidel villain of modern novels, and which could never have been
attributed to a knight of the superstitious Middle Ages without a strong
basis of historical research. Very striking indeed is his fierce love
for Rebecca--his intense appreciation of her great courage and firmness,
which he at once recognizes as congenial to his own daring, and believes
will form for h