82 THE FIEND'S FIELD.
It was a blustering evening in autumn: the winds moaned fearfully about the Wrekin, and dark, heavy clouds scudded across the sky. Tony Ryecroft was seated beside a roaring coalfire, in the ancient dilapidated mansion which he called his own, and which had formerly belonged to the Lord of the Wrekin, whose family had let it to Tony Ryecroft, upon his first appearance in the hamlet, at a rent little superior to that by which, from time immemorial, bats, birds, vermin, and reptiles, had tenanted the ruined edifice. Tony, we say, was sitting beside a large pit-coal fire-not dreaming, like the poet who listens in ecstacy to the fierce, wild music of the rushing blast, whilst he conjures up an Arcadia in the glowing carbone-but busily engaged in watching a large nondescript vessel upon it, in which, apparently, a metallic composition of saffron hue was bubbling and steaming. At no great distance from him stood a table, strewed with lumps of various metals, and a strange assortment of moulds, sand, screws, gimlets, files, gravers, instruments, and combinations of the mechanical powers, for which it would have been difficult for the uninitiated to have found a name or use. Tony, however, was Rosicrucian enough to know very well what he was about; his door was bolted and doubly locked, and he expected no interruption to his pursuits on such a forbidding evening. But a violent ringing at the great gate of his fortalice announced a visitor, and though he had given a strict charge to the old woman, who officiated for him in every male and female capacity, to admit no one, and though he heard her pertinaciously protesting that he was “not at home, “yet, to his extreme dismay, he also heard the intruder exclaim, as with heavy strides he approached the door of his sanctum, “Don't tell me about ' not at home; ' I know that he is, and I must and will see him. "
The intruder now reached Ryecroft's apartment, on the door of which he bestowed many a hearty knock, exclaiming, at intervals, “Why, Tony-Tony Ryecroft-let me in, I say. “At last Ryecroft, from within, replied, in a solemn tone, “Bubasticon itheologysticus! which, being interpreted, good neighbour, means-Demon avaunt! ““I say, Tony, “cried the stranger, “please to be putting no tricks upon me. I am neither a demon nor a good neighbour; * but, as you may know by my voice, if you have an ear left, your old friend Howison. ““Passpara rconatham, dentemasticon! “answered Ryecroft, “which is, being interpreted, Welcome, for I know thee! and here thou shalt enter, an thou fearest not. "
Tony then said, in his usual manner, unfastening the door, “As you have spoiled all my philosophical work for to-night, and I fear, too, for many succeeding nights, I cannot bid you so cordially welcome as“Aye, but you will though, when you know what I've come to say. Faugh! what an odour of burnt tin, or copper, or brimstone, mayhap. Why, Tony, what have
- Good neighbour-a respectful term for the fairies.
you there, simmering on the fire? And what do you mean by these queer instruments? and, above all, what is come to your tongue that you talk so outlandish? ”
Ryecroft replied only with a most mysterious look, and re-fastening the door, stole again on tip-toe to his seat. Howison took the chair opposite, and as he held his large, tanned hands within an inch of the fire, whilst his grey curious eye roved stealthily over the apartment and the person of its owner-whose linen trowsers, waistcoat opened at the breast, and uncovered arms, excited on so cold an evening no small surprise -he ventured to ask him, whether the warm work in which he seemed to be engaged were magic?
“Even so, “replied Ryecroft, with all the gravity he could command; “but, my excellent friend, start not-the branch of magic in which you now behold me occupied, belongs not to the black art, but is natural magic-the white, or the golden one, which has no kind of connection with the others. Golden, indeed, may I well term it, since it teaches, by the science of divine sublimations and transmutations, how to compound-that is, how to make-Gold! "
“Wheugh! “whistled the astonished and delighted lover of wealth, starting up and seizing our alchymist's hand, which he almost wrung off in the fervour of his transport“there's some sense in that kind of magic! Ah! Master Ryecroft! I once fancied that I too had made, though in a different way, and with huge toil and trouble, a little of that same gold; but— ”
Here poor Howison bent his head over the molten metal until his nose almost touched it; and whether its deleterious fumes, or the overwhelming consideration of Tony's extraordinary power for the accumulation of wealth, deprived him of articulation, is uncertain; but decidedly he found himself unable to conclude his observation. Tony was kind enough partially to relieve him from his embarrassment:
“My good friend, you mean to say that you find gold of late neither so easy to obtain, nor, when once lost, to recover. “Howison sighed deeply, and looked perplexed. Tony continued:
“A man can't help bad seasons; even with me, all is not fair weather; for instance, your visit this evening renders vain all the long labours of an entire day. The contents of that vessel are useless to me now. "
Consternation and horror were depicted on Howison's countenance at this avowal; he managed to stammer out a few apologies for his unlucky intrusion, and tremulously to inquire the cause of so strange a fatality.
“Why, you see, my dear sir, “said Ryecroft, drawing his chair close to Howison's, and assuming one of his best aspects of mystery“hist! what was that? “looking cautiously round the room, “ I hope that no one is present but ourselves. “I hope-1 believe so, too, “replied his terrified listener, not daring to look behind him, lest his eyes should encounter the apparition of a wicked Lord of the Wrekin, who was particular-
