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fraternity; nor have these modern pretenders any more real claims to the truth than the hordes of fanatics which swarmed all over Europe an age or two ago, and who brought ineffable disgrace both upon themselves and the sublime name which they stole. A good gold coin passes very quietly through the world, but your counterfeit makes a great noise wherever it may chance to be; so with the pseudo-Rosicrucians. The latter created a sensation, and then disappeared, only occasionally jingling their bells to let the world know that the fools were not all defunct; while the true Brotherhood went on, and still goes on, quietly performing its mission. Every student of history is, or ought to be, aware that the pretended “adepts” in past times laid claim to enormous amounts of the most wonderful knowledge, but when put to the proof, invariably failed to substantiate their claims. Such were the men who sought, and, in some instances, pretended to have succeeded, in accomplishing the composition of the Philosopher’s Stone and the great Elixir. Vaughan, in his “Hours with the Mystics,” laughs at the idea that there ever was really such a society as that of the Brethren of the Rosie Cross, and alleges that they were but the “Mrs. Harris” of certain romancers of the past two centuries; in other words, that they are altogether