as a peace-offering, for
the abuse he had lavished upon them. As his practice of alchymy was well
known, it was thought the box was filled with gold and silver, and the
Cordeliers congratulated each other on their rich acquisition. When it
came to be opened, they found to their horror that it was filled only with
_slates_, scratched with hieroglyphic and cabalistic characters. Indignant
at the insult, they determined to refuse him Christian burial, on pretence
that he was a sorcerer. He was, however, honourably buried in Paris, the
whole court attending his funeral.

NICHOLAS FLAMEL.

The story of this alchymist, as handed down by tradition, and enshrined in
the pages of Lenglet da Fresnoy, is not a little marvellous. He was born
at Pontoise, of a poor but respectable family, at the end of the
thirteenth, or beginning of the fourteenth century. Having no patrimony,
he set out for Paris at an early age, to try his fortune as a public
scribe. He had received a good education, was well skilled in the learned
languages, and was an excellent penman. He soon procured occupation as a
letter-writer and copyist, and used to sit at the corner of the Rue de
Marivaux, and practise his calling; but he hardly made profit enough to
keep body and soul together. To mend his fortunes he tried poetry; but
this was a more wretched occupation still. As a transcriber he had at
least gained bread and cheese; but his rhymes were not worth a crust. He
then tried painting with as little success; and as a last resource, began
to search for the philosopher's stone and tell fortunes. This was a
happier idea; he soon increased in substance, and had wherewithal to live
comfortably. He therefore took unto himself his wife Petronella, and began
to save money; but continued to all outward appearance as poor and
miserable as before. In the course of a few years, he became desperately
addicted to the study of alchymy, and thought of nothing but the
philosopher's stone, the elixir of life, and the universal alkahest. In
the year 1257, he bought by chance an old book for two florins, which soon
became his sole study. It was written with a steel instrument upon the
bark of trees, and contained twenty-one, or as he himself always expressed
it, three times seven, leaves. The writing was very elegant and in the
Latin language. Each seventh leaf contained a picture and no writing. On
the first of these was a serpent swallowing rods; on the second, a cross
wi