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Hear: "Corruption is the name of Life."
Now look around; go forward,-move, and act !—
(He pushes him towards the back-ground of the stage.)
ADALBERT (observing the Book.)

Ha! Here the Book of Ordination!--Seems

As if th' inscription on it might be read.

(He reads it.)


"Knock four times on the ground, Thou shalt behold thy loved one.' O Heavens! And may I see thee, sainted Agnes? (Hastening close to the Book.) My bosom yearns for thee!

(With the following words, he stamps four times on the At last his back itself sunk into ashes:


One, Two,-Three-Four!

(The Curtain hanging from the Book rolls rapidly up, and covers it. A colossal Devil's-head appears between the two Skeletons: its form is horrible; it is gilt; has a huge golden Crown, a Heart of the same in its Brow; rolling flaming Eyes: Serpents instead of Hair: golden Chains round its neck, which is visible to the breast: and a golden Cross, yet not a Crucifix, which rises over its right shoulder, as if crushing it down. The whole Bust rests on four gilt Dragon's feet. At sight of it, ADALBERT starts back in horror, and exclaims :)

Defend us!


Dreaded, may be hear it? CONCEALED VOICES.


ARMED MAN (touches the Curtain with his sword: it rolls down over the Devil's-head, concealing it again; and above, as before, appears the Book, but now opened, with white colossal leaves and red characters. The ARMED MAN, pointing constantly to the Book with his Sword, and therewith turning the leaves, addresses ADALBERT, who stands on the other side of the Book, and nearer the foreground.)

List to the Story of the Fallen Master.

(He reads the following from the Book: yet not standing before it but on one side, at some paces distance, and whilst he reads, turning the leaves with his sword.) "So now when the foundation-stone was laid, The Lord called forth the Master, Baffometus, And said to him: Go and complete my Temple! But in his heart the Master thought: What boots it Building thee a temple and took the stones, And built himself a dwelling, and what stones Were left he gave for filthy gold and silver. Now after forty moons the Lord returned, And spake: Where is my temple, Baffometus? The Master said: I had to build myself A dwelling: grant me other forty weeks. And after forty weeks, the Lord returns,

And asks where is my temple, Baffometus?

He said: There were no stones (but he had sold them

And shook the gold into a melting-pot,
And set the melting-pot upon the Sun,
So that the metal fused into a fluid mass.
And then he dipt a finger in the same,
And, straightway touching Baffometus,
Anoints him on the chin and brow and cheeks.
Then was the face of Baffometus changed:
His eye-balls rolled like fire-flames,

His nose became a crooked vulture's bill,

The tongue hung bloody from his throat; the flesh
Went from his hollow cheeks; and of his hair
Grew snakes, and of the snakes grew Devil's-horns.
Again the Lord put forth his finger with the gold
And pressed it upon Baffometus' heart;
Whereby the heart did bleed and wither up,
And all his members bled and withered up,
And fell away, the one and then the other.

For filthy gold;) so wait yet forty days.

In forty days thereafter came the Lord,
And cried: Where is my temple, Baffometus?
Then like a mill-stone fell it on his soul
How he for lucre had betrayed his Lord;
But yet to other sin the Fiend did tempt him,
And he answered, saying: Give me forty hours!
And when the forty hours were gone, the Lord
Came down in wrath: My Temple, Baffometus }
Then fell he quaking on his face, and cried
For mercy; but the Lord was wroth, and said:
Since thou hast cozened me with empty lies,
and those the stones I lent thee for my Temple
Hast sold them for a purse of filthy gold,
Lo, I will cast thee forth, and with the Mammon
Will chastise thee, until a Saviour rise
Of thy own seed, who shall redeem thy trespass.
en did the Lord lift up the purse of Gold;

The head alone continued gilt and living;
And instead of back, grew dragon's-talons,
Which destroyed all life from off the Earth.
Then from the ground the Lord took up the heart,
Which, as he touched it, also grew of gold,
And placed it on the brow of Baffometus;
And of the other metal in the pot
He made for him a burning crown of gold,
And crushed it on his serpent-hair, so that
Ev'n to the bone and brain, the circlet scorched him.
And round the neck he twisted golden chains,
Which strangled him and pressed his breath together.
What in the pot remained he poured upon the ground.
Athwart, along, and there it formed a cross;
The which he lifted and laid upon his neck,
And bent him that he could not raise his head.
Two Deaths moreover he appointed warders
To guard him: Death of Life, and Death of Hope.
The sword of the first he sees not but it smites him;
So languishes the outcast Baffometus
The other's Palm he sees, but it escapes him.
Four thousand years and four-and-forty moons,
Till once a Saviour rise from his own seed,
Redeem his trespass, and deliver him."

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This Cross

Is not thy Master's, not that bloody one:
Its counterfeit is this: throw 't from thee!

But on these secret principles of theirs, as on Werner's manner of conceiving them, we

ADALBERT (taking it from the Bust, and laying it softly are only enabled to guess; for Werner, too,

on the ground.) The Cross of the Good Lord that died for me?

has an esoteric doctrine, which he does not promulgate, except in dark Sybilline enigmas, to the unitiated. As we are here seeking chiefly for his religious creed, which forms, in truth, with its changes, the main thread whereby his wayward, desultory existence attains any unity or even coherence in our thoughts, we may quote another passage from the same First Part of this rhapsody; which, at the same time, will afford us a glimpse of his favourite hero, Robert d'Heredon, lately the darling of the Templars, but now, for some momentary infraction of their rules, cast into prison, and expecting death, or, at best, exclusion from the Order. Gottfried is another


Thou shalt no more believe in one that died;
Thou shalt henceforth believe in one that liveth
And never dies!-Obey, and question not,-
Step over it!

Till now, deny!


Take pity on me!

ARMED MAN (threatening him with his sword.)

And looks in gladness!


I do 't with shuddering—

(Steps over, and then looks up to the HEAD which raises Templar, in all points the reverse of Robert.

itself, as if freed from a load.)

How the figure rises

Him whom thou hast served

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vellous "Story of the Fallen Master," to sha dow forth. At first view, one might take it for an allegory, couched in masonic language,and truly no flattering allegory,-of the Catholic Church; and this trampling on the Cross, which is said to have been actually enjoined on every Templar at his initiation, to be a type of his secret behest to undermine that Institution, and redeem the spirit of Religion from the state of thraldom and distortion under which it was there held. It is known at least, and was well known to Werner, that the heads of the Templars entertained views, both on religion and politics, which they did not think meet for communicating to their age, and only imparted by degrees, and under mysterious adumbrations, to the wiser of their own Order. They had even publicly resisted, and succeeded in thwarting, some iniquitous measures of Philippe Auguste, the French King, in regard to his coinage; and this, while it secured them the love of the people, was one great cause, perhaps second only to their wealth, of the hatred which that sovereign bore them, and of the savage doom which he at last executed on the whole body.

-And so on through many other sulphurous pages! How much of this mummery is copied from the actual practice of the Templars we know not with certainty; nor what precisely either they or Werner intended, by this mar


(Prison; at the wall a Table. ROBERT, without sword, cap, or mantle, sits downcast on one side of it: GOTTFRIED, who keeps watch by him, sitting at the other.)


But how could'st thou so far forget thyself?
Thou wert our pride, the Master's friend and favourite!


I did it, thou perceivest!


How could a word

Of the old surly Hugo so provoke thee 1


Ask not!-Man's being is a spider-web:
The passionate flash o' th' soul-comes not of him ;
It is the breath of that dark Genius,
Which whirls invisible along the threads:

A servant of eternal Destiny,

It purifies them from the vulgar dust,

Which earthward strives to prees the net:

But Fate gives sign; the breath becomes a whirlwind
And in a moment rends to shreds the thing
We thought was woven for Eternity.

moned forth; and the whole surprising secret
of his mission, and of the Valley which ap-
points it for him, is disclosed. This Frieden-
thal (Valley of Peace), it now appears, is an
immense secret association, which has its
chief seat somewhere about the roots of Mount
Carmel, if we mistake not; but, comprehending

The corporal Atoms and Annihilation,
Methodic guides the car of Destiny,

Come down to thee? Dream'st thou, poor Nothingness, in its ramifications the best heads and hearts

That thou, and like of thee, and ten times better
Than thou or I, can lead the wheel of Fate
One hair's-breadth from its everlasting track?
I too have had such dreams: but fearfully
Have I been shook from sleep; and they are fled!—
Look at our Order: bas it spared its thousands
Of noblest lives, the victims of its Purpose;
And has it gained this Purpose; can it gain it ?
Look at our noble Molay's silvered hair:
The fruit of watchful nights and stormful days,
And of the broken yet still burning heart!
That mighty heart!-Through sixty battling years,
'T has beat in pain for nothing: his creation
Remains the vision of his own great soul;
It dies with him; and one day shall the pilgrim
Ask where his dust is lying, and not learn!

of every country, extends over the whole civi-
lized world; and has, in particular, a strong
body of adherents in Paris, and indeed a sub-
terraneous, but seemingly very commodious
suite of rooms, under the Carmelite Monastery
of that city. Here sit in solemn conclave the
heads of the Establishment; directing from
their lodge, in deepest concealment, the princi-
pal movements of the kingdom: for William
of Paris, Archbishop of Sens, being of their
number, the king and his other ministers, fan-
cying within themselves the utmost freedom
of action, are nothing more than puppets in
the hands of this all-powerful Brotherhood,
which watches, like a sort of Fate, over the in-
terests of mankind, and by mysterious agen-
cies, forwards, we suppose, "the cause of civil
and religious liberty over all the world." It is
they that have doomed the Templars; and,
without malice or pity, are sending their lead-
ers to the dungeon and the stake. That knight-
ly Order, once a favourite minister of good, has
now degenerated from its purity, and come to
mistake its purpose, having taken up politics
and a sort of radical reform; and so must now
be broken and reshaped, like a worn imple-
ment, which can no longer do its appointed


Yet each man shapes his destiny himself.


Small soul! Dost thou too know it? Has the story
Of Force and free Volition, that, defying

GOTTFRIED (yawning.)

But then the Christian has the joy of Heaven
For recompense: in his flesh he shall see God.


In his flesh-Now fair befal the journey!
Wilt stow it in behind, by way of luggage,
When the Angel comes to coach thee into Glory 1
Mind also that the memory of those fair hours
When dinner smoked before thee, or thou usedst
To dress thy nag, or scour thy rusty harness,
And such like noble business be not left behind!-
Ha! self-deceiving bipeds, is it not enough
The carcass should at every step oppress,
Imprison you; that toothache, headache,
Gout,-who knows what all,-at every moment,
Degrades the god of Earth into a beast;
But you would take this villanous mingle,
The coarser dross of all the elements,
Which, by the Light-beam from on high that visits
And dwells in it, but baser shows its bascness,-
Take this, and all the freaks which, bubble-like,
Spring forth o' th' blood, and which by such fair names
You call,-along with you into your Heaven ?—
Well, be it so much good may't-

(As his eye, by chance, lights on Gottfried, who meanwhile has fallen asleep)

-Sound already?
There is a race for whom all serves as-pillow,
Even rattling chains are but a lullaby.

This Robert d'Heredon, whose preaching has here such a narcotic virtue, is destined ultimately for a higher office than to rattle his chains by way of lullaby. He is ejected from the Order; not, however, with disgrace and in anger, but in sad feeling of necessity, and with tears and blessings from his brethren; and the messenger of the Valley, a strange, ambiguous, little sylph-like maiden, gives him obscure encouragement, before his departure, to possess his soul in patience; seeing, if he can learn the grand secret of Renunciation, his course is not ended, but only opening on a fairer scene. Robert knows not well what to make of this; but sails for his native Hebrides, in darkness and contrition, as one who can do no other.

In the end of the Second Part, which is represented as divided from the First by an interval of seven years, Robert is again sum

Such a magnificent "Society for the Sup pression of Vice" may well be supposed to walk by the most philosophical principles. These Friedenthalers, in fact, profess to be a sort of Invisible Church; preserving in vestal purity the sacred fire of religion, which burns with more or less fuliginous admixture in the worship of every people, but only with its clear sidereal lustre in the recesses of the Valley. They are Bramins on the Ganges, Bonzes on the Hoangho, Monks on the Seine. They addict themselves to contemplation, and the subtilest study; have penetrated far into the mysteries of spiritual and physical nature; they command the deep-hidden virtues of plant and mineral; and their sages can discriminate the eye of the mind from its sensual instruments, and behold, without type or material embodyment, the essence of Being. Their activity is all-comprehending and unerringly calculated: they rule over the world by the authority of wisdom over ignorance.

In the Fifth Act of the Second Part, we are at length, after many a hint and significant note of preparation, introduced to the privacies of this philosophical Sainte Hermandad. A strange Delphic cave this of theirs, under the very pavements of Paris! There are brazen folding doors, and concealed voices, and sphinxes, and naptha-lamps, and all manner of wondrous furniture. It seems, moreover, t be a sort of gala evening with them; for the "Old Man of Carmel, in eremite garb, with a long beard reaching to his girdle," is for a moment discovered " 'reading in a deep monoto

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aous voice." The "Strong Ones," meanwhile, are out in quest of Robert d'Heredon; who, by cunning practices, has been enticed from his Hebridean solitude, in the hope of saving Molay, and is even now to be initiated, and equipped for his task. After a due allowance of pompous ceremonial, Robert is at last ushered in, or rather dragged in; for it appears that he has made a stout debate, not submitting to the customary form of being ducked,-an essential preliminary, it would seem,-till compelled by the direst necessity. He is in a truly Highland anger, as is natural: but by various manipulations and solacements, he is reduced to reason again, finding, indeed, the fruitlessness of any thing else; for when lance and sword and free space are given him, and he makes a thrust at Adam of Valincourt, the master of the ceremonies, it is to no purpose: the old man has a torpedo quality in him, which benumbs the stoutest arm; and no death issues from the baffled sword-point, but only a small spark of electric fire. With his Scottish prudence, Robert, under these circumstances, cannot but perceive that quietness is best. The people hand him, in succession, the "Cup of Strength," the "Cup of Beauty," and the "Cup of Wisdom;" liquors brewed, if we may judge from their effect, with the highest stretch of Rosicrucian art; and which must have gone far to disgust Robert d'Heredon with his natural usquebaugh, however excellent, had that fierce drink been in use then. He rages in a fine frenzy; dies away in raptures; and then, at last," considers what he wanted and what he wants." Now is the time for Adam of Valincourt to strike in with an interminable exposition of the "objects of the society." To not unwilling, but still cautious ears, he unbosoms himself, in mystic wise, with extreme copiousness; turning aside objections like a veteran disputant, and leading his apt and courageous pupil, by signs and wonders, as well as by logic, deeper and deeper into the secrets of theosophic and thaumaturgic science. A little glimpse of this our readers may share with us; though we fear the allegory will seem to most of them but a hollow nut. Nevertheless, it is an allegory-of its sort; and we can profess to have translated with entire fidelity.


Thy riddle by a second will be solved, (He leads him to the Sphinx.)

Behold this Sphinx! Half-beast, half-angel, both
Combined in one, it is an emblem to thee
Of th' ancient Mother, Nature, herself a riddle,
And only by a deeper to be master'd.
Eternal clearness in th' eternal Ferment:
This is the riddle of Existence :-read it,-
Propose that other to her, and she serves thee!

The door on the right hand opens, and, in the space behind it appears, as before, the OLD MAN OF CARMEL, sitting at a Table, and reading in a large Volume. The deep strokes of a Bell are heard.)

OLD MAN OF CARMEL (reading with a loud but still monotonous voice.) "And when the Lord saw Phosphoros ❞— ROBERT (interrupting him.)

Ha! Again

A story as Baffometus?

Not so.

That tale of theirs was but some poor distortion
Of th' outmost image of our sanctuary.-
Keep silence here; and see thou interrupt not,
By too bold cavilling, this mystery.

OLD MAN (reading.)

"And when the Lord saw Phosphoros his pride,
Being wroth thereat, he cast him forth,
And shut him in a prison called LIFE;
And gave him for a Garment, earth and water,
And bound him straitly in four Azure Chains,
And pour'd for him the bitter Cup of Fire.

The Lord moreover spake: Because thou hast forgottes
My will I yield thee to the Element,

And thou shalt be his slave, and have no longer
Remembrance of thy birthplace or my name.
And sithence thou hast sinn'd against me by
Thy prideful Thought of being One and Somewhat,
I leave with thee that thought to be thy whip,
And this thy weakness for a Bit and Bridle;
Till once a Saviour from the waters rise,
Who shall again baptize thee in my bosom,
That so thou may'st be Nought and All.

"And when the Lord had spoken, he drew back
As in a mighty rushing; and the Element
Rose up round Phosphoros, and tower'd itself
Aloft to Heav'n; and he lay stunn'd beneath it.

"But when his first-born Sister saw his pain, Her heart was full of sorrow, and she turn'd her To the Lord; and with veil'd face, thus spake Mylitta :* Pity my Brother, and let me console him!

"Then did the Lord in pity rend asunder
A little chink in Phosphoros his dungeon,
That so he might behold his Sister's face :
And when she silent peep'd into his Prison,
She left with him a Mirror for his solace,
And when he look'd therein, his earthly Garment
Pressed him less; and, like the gleam of morning,
Some faint remembrance of his Birthplace dawn'd

"But yet the Azure Chains she could not break,
The bitter Cup of Fire not take from him.
Therefore she pray'd to Mythras, to her Father,
To save his younger-born: and Mythras went
Up to the footstool of the Lord, and said:
Take pity on my Son!-Then said the Lord;
Have I not sent Mylitta that he may

Behold his Birthplace -Wherefore Mythras answer'd
What profits it? The chains she cannot break,
The bitter Cup of Fire not take from him.
So will I, said the Lord, the Salt be given him.
That so the bitter Cup of Fire be softened;
But yet the Azure Chains must lie on him
Till once a Saviour rise from out the Waters.-
And when the Salt was laid on Phosphor's tongue
The Fire's piercing ceased; but th' Element
Congeal'd the Salt to Ice, and Phosphoros
Lay there benumb'd, and had not power to move.
But Isis saw him, and thus spake the mother:
"Thou who art Father, Strength and Word and

Shall he my last-born grandchild lie for ever

In pain, the down-press'd thrall of his rude Brother }
Then had the Lord compassion, and he sent him
The Herald of the Saviour from the Waters;
The cup of Fluidness, and in the Cup

The drops of Sadness and the drops of Longing.
And then the Ice was thawed, the Fire grew cool,
And Phosphoros again had room to breathe.
But yet the earthy Garment cumber'd him,

The Azure chains still gall'd, and the Remembrance
Of the Name, the Lord's, which he had lost, was want.


"Then the Mother's heart was moved with pity, She beckoned the Son to her, and said: Thou who art more than I, and yet my nursling,

*Mylitta, in the old Persian mysteries, was the narr of the Moon: Muthras that of the Sun.

Put on this Robe of Earth, and show thyself
To fallen Phosphoros bound in the dungeon,
And open him that dungeon's narrow cover.
Then said the Word: It shall be so! and sent
His messenger DISEASE; she broke the roof
Of Phosphor's Prison, so that once again
The Fount of Light he saw: the Element
Was dazzled blind; but Phosphor knew his Father.
And when the Word, in Earth, came to the Prison,
The Element address'd him as his like;

But Phosphoros look'd up to him, and said:

Thou art sent hither to redeem from Sin,

Yet art thou not the Saviour from the Waters.-
Then spake the Word: The Saviour from the Waters
I surely am not; yet when thou hast drunk
The Cup of Fluidness, I will Redeem thee.
Then Phosphor drank the Cup of Fluidness,
Of Longing, and of Sadness; and his Garment
Did drop sweet drops; wherewith the Messenger
Of the Word wash'd all his Garment, till its folds
And stiffness vanish'd, and it 'gan grow light.
And when the Prison LIFE she touch'd, straightway
It wax'd thin and lucid like to crystal.

But yet the Azure Chains she could not break.-
Then did the Word vouchsafe him the Cup of Faith,
And having drunk it, Phosphoros look'd up,
And saw the Saviour standing in the Waters.

Both hands the Captive stretch'd to grasp that Saviour;

But he fled.

"So Phosphoros was grieved in heart:
But yet the Word spake comfort, giving him
The Pillow Patience, there to lay his head.
And having rested, he rais'd his head, and said:
Wilt thou redeem me from the Prison too?

Then said the Word: Wait yet in peace seven moons,

It may be nine, until thy hour shall come.
And Phosphor answer'd, Lord, thy will be done!

"Which when the mother Isis saw, it grieved her;
She called the Rainbow up, and said to him:
Go thou and tell the Word that he forgive
The Captive these seven moons! And Rainbow flew
Where he was sent; and as he shook his wings
There dropt from them the Oil of Purity:
And this the Word did gather in a Cup,
And cleansed with it the Sinner's head and bosom.
Then passing forth into his Father's Garden,
He breathed upon the ground, and there arose
A flow'ret out of it, like milk and rose-bloom;
Which having wetted with the dew of Rapture,
He crown'd therewith the Captive's brow; then grasp'd

With his right hand, the Rainbow with the left;
Mylitta likewise with the Mirror came,
And Phosphoros looked into it, and saw
Wrote on the Azure of Infinity

The long-forgotten NAME, and the REMEMBRANCE
OF HIS BIRTHPLACE, gleaming as in light of gold.
"Then fell there as if scales from Phosphor's eyes,
He left the Thought of being One and Somewhat,
His nature melted in the mighty All;
Like sighings from above came balmy healing,
So that his heart for very bliss was bursting.
For Chains and Garment cumber'd him no more :
The Garment he had changed to royal purple,
And of his Chains were fashion'd glancing jewels.
"True, still the Saviour from the Waters tarried;
Yet came the Spirit over him; the Lord
Turn'd towards him a gracious countenance,
And Isis held him in her mother-arms.

"This is the last Evangile.

"The door closes, and again conceals the OLD MAN OF CARMEL.)

on such extravagances, we have fancied wo could discern in this apologue some glimmerings of meaning, scattered here and there like weak lamps in the darkness; not enough to interpret the riddle, but to show that by possibility it might have an interpretation,-was a typical vision, with a certain degree of significance in the wild mind of the poet, not an inane fever-dream. Might not Phosphoros, for example, indicate generally the spiritual essence of a man, and this story be an emblem of his history? He longs to be "One and Somewhat; " that is, he labours under the very common complaint of egotism; cannot, in the grandeur of Beauty and Virtue, forget his own so beautiful and virtuous Self; but, amid the glories of the majestic All, is still haunted and blinded by some shadow of his own little Me. For this reason he is punished; imprisoned in the "Element" (of a material body,) and has the "four Azure Chains" (the four principles of matter) bound round him; so that he can neither think nor act, except in a confuse him. The "Cup of Fire" is given foreign medium, and under conditions that him; perhaps, the rude, barbarous passion and cruelty natural to all uncultivated tribes! But, at length, he beholds the "Moon;" begins to have some sight and love of material Nature; self, under gross emblems, a theogony and sort and, looking into her "Mirror," forms to himof mythologic poetry; in which, if he cannot behold the "Name," and has forgotten his own "Birthplace," both of which are blotted out and hidden by the "Element," he finds some spiritual solace, and breathes more freely. Still, however, the "Cup of Fire" tortures him; till the "Salt" (intellectual culture?) is vouchsafed; which, indeed, calms the raging of that furious bloodthirstiness and warlike strife, but leaves him, as mere culture of the understanding may be supposed to do, frozen into irrelithe "Name" and his "Own Original" than gion and moral inactivity, and farther from ever. Then is the "Cup of Fluidness" a more merciful disposition? and intended, with "the Drops of Sadness and the Drops of Longing," to shadow forth that wo-struck, desolate, yet softer and devouter state in which mankind displayed itself at the coming of the "Word," at the first promulgation of the Christian religion? Is the "Rainbow" the modern poetry of Europe, the Chivalry, the new form of Stoicism, the whole romantic feeling of these later days? But who or what the "Heiland aus den Wassern" (Saviour from the Waters) may be, we need not hide our entire ignorance; this being apparently a secret of the Valley, which Robert d'Heredon, and Werner, and men of like gifts, are in due time to show the world, but unhappily have not yet succeeded in bringing to light. Perhaps, indeed, our whole interpretation may be thought little better than lost labour; a reading of what was only scrawled and flourished, not written; a shaping of gay castles and metallic palaces from the sunset clouds, which, though mountainlike, and purple and golden of hue, and towered together as if by Cyclopean arms, are but

The purport of this enigma Robert confesses that he does not “wholly" understand; an admission in which, we suspect, most of our readers, and the Old Man of Carmel himself, were he candid, might be inclined to agree with him. Sometimes, in the deeper consider-dyed vapour.

ation which translators are bound to bestow Adam of Valincourt continues his expos

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