Again they heated the crucible, but this time the crafty canon had a different trick.  He knew that the copper would not change as the quicksilver had done, but would melt and remain in the crucible.  Therefore he did not put the silver into the crucible along with the copper, for he knew they would mix together.  Instead he emptied the contents of the crucible into the mould and put it into the water to cool.  Then he had to find some way of changing the lump of copper for one of silver.  This is what that crafty man did.  When the mould and the metal were in the water he plunged in his hand.  From his sleeve he drew a lump of silver—­just an ounce in weight—­and quickly taking up the copper put the silver in its place.  “Come,” he said to the priest, “and help me.  Put in your hand and see what you can find.”  The priest put in his hand and again found the lump of silver.  “Ah!” said the canon.  “We have had success indeed.  Let us go to the goldsmith and find if it be true silver or not.”  The goldsmith hammered the metal and put it in the fire, and every way it proved silver, good and true.

Who could be more delighted now than the priest?  “Dear, noble friend,” he said to the canon, “for what price will you part with that powder which has worked such miracles for us to-day?  I would sell all I have to purchase it, so great are its powers.”  “Truly,” answered the canon, “it is dear to buy.  Except myself and one hermit there is no man in England who knows the secret.”  The priest pressed him.  “Do not fear, name any price you please.  However high it may be I will pay it gladly.”  “You have stood my friend, and therefore to you I will sell it for L40,” he said.  “But be sure you keep the matter a secret, men are so jealous of knowledge nowadays.”  The priest made no demur, paid the money and took the powder.  From that day on he never saw the canon again, and whenever he made trial of the powder his experiments failed.

Such was the dastard’s trick that the false canon played on the priest, and look you well, sirs, there are many like him, though none I hope quite so wicked.  To my mind there is something contrary to God’s will in such studies as these.  Even the greatest philosophers of old would not disclose the secret.  Hear this tale of Plato taken from an old book I once read.  A disciple came to him asking the name of the philosopher’s stone.  Said Plato, “It is called Magnesia.”  “But that,” replied the other, “is to explain one mystery by another yet greater.  Tell me, what is ’Magnesia’?” “It is a water made of elements four,” replied the master.  “And what may these four be?” “Ah!” said Plato.  “That may I not tell.  All we philosophers were sworn to reveal it to no man, for God was jealous lest man should have this knowledge unless it pleased Him to reveal it Himself.”  So, friends, if it be God’s will that the secret be kept, it is folly in men to strive against God.  Let the matter rest, and God bless all good men.  Amen.