The last true believer in alchemy was, according to Mr. Brande, one Peter Woulfe, who occupied chambers in Barnard's Inn, Holborn, while in London, and usually spent the summer in Paris. He died in 1805. About the year 1801, another solitary adept lived, or rather starved, in London, in the person of an editor of an evening newspaper, who expected to compound the alkahest, if he could keep his materials digested in a lamp-furnace for the space of seven years. The lamp burnt brightly during six years eleven months, and some odd days besides; and then, unluckily, it went out. Why it went out, the adept could never guess; but he was certain that if the name could only have burnt to the end of the septenary cycle, his experiment must have succeeded.

In 1828, Sir Richard Phillips visited "an alchemist," named Kellerman, at the village of Lilley, midway between Luton and Hitchen; he was believed by some of his neighbours to have succeeded in discovering the Philosopher's Stone, and also the universal solvent. He had been a man of fashion, and an adventurer on the turf; but had for many years shut himself up at Lilley, and been inaccessible and invisible to the world; his house being barricaded, and the walls of his grounds protected by hurdles, with spring-guns, so planted as to resist intrusion in every direction. Sir Richard, however, obtained an interview with this strange being, and the account of his visit is very graphic:—

"The front-door was opened, and Mr. Kellerman presented himself. I lament that I have not the pencil of Hogarth, for a more original figure never was seen. He was about six feet high, and of athletic make. On his head was a white nightcap, and his dress consisted of a long great-coat, once green, and a sort of jockey waistcoat, with three tiers of pockets. His manner was extremely polite and graceful; but my attention was chiefly absorbed by his singular physiognomy. His complexion was deeply sallow, and his eyes large, black, and rolling. He conducted me into a very large parlour, with a window looking backward, and having locked the door and put the key into his pocket, he desired me to be seated in one of two large armchairs, covered with sheepskins. The room was a realization of the well-known picture of Teniers's Alchemist. The floor was strewed with retorts, crucibles, alembics, jars, and bottles of various shapes, intermingled with old books, the whole covered with dust and cobwebs. Different shelves were filled in the same manner; and on one side stood the Alchemist's bed. In a corner, somewhat shaded from the light, I beheld two heads, white, with dark wigs on them; I entertained no doubt, therefore, that, among other fancies, he was engaged in re making the brazen speaking head of Roger Bacon and Albertus."

"He then gave me a history of his studies, mentioned some men in London whom I happened to know, and who, he alleged, had assured him that they had made gold. That having, in consequence, examined the works of the ancient alchemists, and discovered the key which they had studiously concealed from the multitude, he had pursued their system under the influence of new lights; and, after suffering numerous disappointments, owing to the ambiguity with which they describe their processes, he had at length happily succeeded; had made gold, and could make as much more as he pleased, even to the extent of paying off the national debt in the coin of the realm."

"I yielded to the declaration, expressed my satisfaction at so extraordinary a discovery, and asked him to show me some of the precious metal which he had made."

"'Not so,' said he, 'I will show it to no one. I made Lord Liverpool the offer that, if he would introduce me to the King, I would show it to his Majesty; but Lord Liverpool insolently declined, on the ground that there was no precedent; and I am therefore determined that the secret shall die with me. It is true that, in order to avenge myself of such contempt, I made a communication to the French ambassador, Prince Polignac, and offered to go to France, and transfer to the French government the entire advantages of the discovery; but, after deluding me, and shuffling for some time, I found it necessary to treat him with the same contempt as the others. Every court in Europe,' he added, 'knows that I have made the discovery, and they are all in a confederacy against me; lest, by giving it to any one, I should make that country master of all the rest—the world, Sir,' he exclaimed with great emotion, 'is in my hands, and my power.'"

"I now inquired whether he had been alarmed by the ignorance of the people in the country, so as to shut himself up in this unusual manner?"

"'No,' he replied, 'not on their account wholly. They are ignorant and insolent enough; but it was to protect myself against the governments of Europe, who are determined to get possession of my secret by force. I have been,' he exclaimed, 'twice fired at through that window, and three times attempted to be poisoned. They believed I had written a book containing my secrets, and to get possession of this book has been their object. To baffle them, I burnt all that I had ever written; and I have so guarded the windows with spring-guns, and have such a collection of combustibles in the range of bottles which stand at your elbow, that I could destroy a whole regiment of soldiers if sent against me.' He then related that, as a further protection, he lived entirely in that room, and permitted no one to come into the house; while he had locked up every room except that with patent padlocks, and sealed the keyholes."

In a conversation of two or three hours with the narrator, Kellerman enlarged upon the merits of the ancient alchemists, and on the blunders and impertinent assumptions of modern chemists. He quoted Roger and Lord Bacon, Paracelsus, Boyle, Boerhaave, Woolfe, and others, to justify his pursuits. As to the term philosopher's stone, he alleged that it was a mere figure to deceive the vulgar. He appeared to give full credit to the silly story of Dee's assistant, Kelly, finding some of the powder of projection in the tomb of Roger Bacon, at Glastonbury, by means of which, as he said, Kelly for a length of time supported himself in princely splendour. Kellerman added, that he had discovered the blacker than black of Appolonius Tyanus: it was itself "the powder of projection for producing gold."

It further appeared he had lived in the premises at Lilley for twenty-three years, during fourteen of which he had pursued his alchemical studies with unremitting ardour; keeping eight assistants for the purpose of superintending his crucibles, two at a time, relieving each other every six hours: that he had exposed some preparations to intense heat for many months at a time, but that all except one crucible had burst—and that, Kellerman said, contained the true "blacker than black." One of his assistants, however, protested that no gold had ever been found, and that no mercury had ever been fixed, for he was quite sure Kellerman could not have concealed it from his assistants; while, on the contrary, they witnessed his severe disappointment at the result of his most elaborate experiments.

By the way, in the introduction to Zanoni, Sir E. Bulwer Lytton has given a clever sketch of an eccentric antiquarian bookseller, in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, who is said to have assembled "the most notable collection ever amassed by an enthusiast, of the works of alchemist, cabalist, and astrologer." The "vindictive glare and uneasy vigilance," and the frowning and groaning of the anti-bookseller (for it absolutely went to his heart when a customer entered his shop), are all very characteristic and life-like in this sketch. When free from such annoyance, he might be seen gloating over his musty, unsaleable treasures, on which he had, it was said, spent a fortune.