CHAPTER XXXIX.

The Manuscript was written in a small and peculiar handwriting, which,
though evidently by the same person whose letter to Strahan I had read,
was, whether from haste or some imperfection in the ink, much more hard to
decipher. Those parts of the Memoir which related to experiments, or
alleged secrets in Nature, that the writer intimated a desire to submit
exclusively to scholars or men of science, were in Latin,--and Latin
which, though grammatically correct, was frequently obscure. But all
that detained the eye and attention on the page necessarily served to
impress the contents more deeply on remembrance.

The narrative commenced with the writer's sketch of his childhood. Both
his parents had died before he attained his seventh year. The orphan bad
been sent by his guardians to a private school, and his holidays had been
passed at Derval Court. Here his earliest reminiscences were those of the
quaint old room, in which I now sat, and of his childish wonder at the
inscription on the chimneypiece--who and what was the Simon Forman who had
there found a refuge from persecution? Of what nature were the studies he
had cultivated, and the discoveries he boasted to have made?

When he was about sixteen, Philip Derval had begun to read the many mystic
books which the library contained; but without other result on his mind
than the sentiment of disappointment and disgust. The impressions
produced on the credulous imagination of childhood vanished. He went to
the University; was sent abroad to travel: and on his return took that
place in the circles of London which is so readily conceded to a young