must provide himself with all possible quantity of scientific knowledge of
botany, and perhaps more extensive knowledge, in order to be able to
concoct the recipe. It was the fruit of all the scientific attainment of
the age that produced it (so said the legend, which seemed reasonable
enough), a great philosopher had wrought his learning into it; and this
had been attempered, regulated, improved, by the quick, bright intellect
of his scholar. Perhaps, thought Septimius, another deep and earnest
intelligence added to these two may bring the precious recipe to still
greater perfection. At least it shall be tried. So thinking, he gathered
together all the books that he could find relating to such studies; he
spent one day, moreover, in a walk to Cambridge, where he searched the
alcoves of the college library for such works as it contained; and
borrowing them from the war-disturbed institution of learning, he betook
himself homewards, and applied himself to the study with an earnestness of
zealous application that perhaps has been seldom equalled in a study of so
quiet a character. A month or two of study, with practice upon such plants
as he found upon his hill-top, and along the brook and in other
neighboring localities, sufficed to do a great deal for him. In this
pursuit he was assisted by Sibyl, who proved to have great knowledge in
some botanical departments, especially among flowers; and in her cold and
quiet way, she met him on this subject and glided by his side, as she had
done so long, a companion, a daily observer and observed of him, mixing
herself up with his pursuits, as if she were an attendant sprite upon
him.

But this pale girl was not the only associate of his studies, the only
instructress, whom Septimius found. The observation which Doctor
Portsoaken made about the fantastic possibility that Aunt Keziah might
have inherited the same recipe from her Indian ancestry which had been
struck out by the science of Friar Bacon and his pupil had not failed to