motives, and a reasoning sense of all the bearings of the act he commits, merits a monument rather than a gibbet, though in these days he is sure to obtain the one and not the other." "Hush, hush, do not speak so loud, my dear sir," said Sir John Fenwick; "less than those words brought Sidney's head to the block." "I am not afraid of mine," replied Mr. Hastings, with a faint smile; "mine are mere abstract notions with regard to such things; very little dangerous to any crowned heads, and if they thought fit to put down such opinions, they would have to burn more than one half of all the books we have derived from Rome." Sir John Fenwick would not pursue the subject, however, and turned the conversation in another course. He thought indeed that it had gone far enough, especially when a young lady was present; for he was one of those men who have no confidence in any woman's discretion, and he knew well, though he did not profit much by his knowledge, that things very slight, when taken abstractedly, may become very dangerous if forced into connection with events. Philip Hastings would have said what he did say, before any ears in Europe, without the slightest fear, but as it proved, he had said too much for his own safety. No one indeed seemed to have noticed the very strong opinions he had expressed except Sir John Fenwick himself, and shortly after the party gathered together again, and the conversation became general and not very interesting. CHAPTER XXVIII. Men have lived and died in the pursuit of two objects the least worthy, on which the high mind of man could ever fix, out of all the vain illusions that lead us forward through existence from youth to old age: the philosopher's stone, and the elixir of life. Gold, gold, sordid gold--not competence--not independence, but wealth--profuse, inexhaustible wealth--the hard food of Croesus; strange that it should ever form the one great object of an immortal spirit! But stranger still, that a being born to higher destinies should seek to pin itself down to this dull earth forever--to dwell in a clay hut, when a palace gates are open--to linger in a prison, when freedom may be had--to outlive affections, friendships, hope and happiness--to remain desolate in a garden where every flower has withered. To seek the philosopher's stone--even could it have been found--was a madness: but to desire the elixir of life was a worse insanity. There was once, however, in the world's history a search--an eager search, for that which at first sight may seem nearly the same as the great elixir; but which was in reality very, very different.