"And the midriff?"

"Here, certes."

"Right!--thou mayest go now," said the friar, dryly. Adam disappeared
through the aperture, and closed the panel.

"Now I know where the lungs, midriff, and liver are," said the friar
to himself, "I shall get on famously. 'T is a useful fellow, that, or I
should have had him hanged long ago!"

Adam did not remark on his re-entrance that his visitor, Hilyard,
had disappeared, and the philosopher was soon reimmersed in the fiery
interest of his thankless labours.

It might be an hour afterwards, when, wearied and exhausted by perpetual
hope and perpetual disappointment, he flung himself on his seat; and
that deep sadness, which they who devote themselves in this noisy
world to wisdom and to truth alone can know, suffused his thoughts, and
murmured from his feverish lips.

"Oh, hard condition of my life!" groaned the sage,--"ever to strive,
and never to accomplish. The sun sets and the sun rises upon my eternal
toils, and my age stands as distant from the goal as stood my youth!
Fast, fast the mind is wearing out the frame, and my schemes have but
woven the ropes of sand, and my name shall be writ in water. Golden
dreams of my young hope, where are ye? Methought once, that could I
obtain the grace of royalty, the ear of power, the command of wealth,
my path to glory was made smooth and sure; I should become the grand
inventor of my time and land; I should leave my lore a heritage and
blessing wherever labour works to civilize the round globe. And now my
lodging is a palace, royalty my patron; they give me gold at my desire;
my wants no longer mar my leisure. Well, and for what? On condition that
I forego the sole task for which patronage, wealth, and leisure were
desired! There stands the broken iron, and there simmers the ore I am to
turn to gold,--the iron worth more than all the gold, and the gold
never to be won! Poor, I was an inventor, a creator, the true magician;
protected, patronized, enriched, I am but the alchemist, the bubble, the
dupe or duper, the fool's fool. God, brace up my limbs! Let me escape!
give me back my old dream, and die at least, if accomplishing nothing,
hoping all!"

He rose as he spoke; he strode across the chamber with majestic step,
with resolve upon his brow. He stopped short, for a sharp pain shot
across his heart. Premature age and the disease that labour brings were
at their work of decay within: the mind's excitement gave way to the
body's