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as being more easily allay'd and methodically dealt with than his former fits; so as they prescrib'd the famous Jesuits powder: but it made him worse, and some very able Doctors who were present did not think it a fever, but the effect of his frequent bleeding and other sharp operations us'd by them about his head, so that probably the powder might stop the circulation, and renew his former fits, which now made him very weake. Thus he passed Thursday night with greate difficulty, when complaining of a paine in his side, they drew 12 ounces more of blood from him; this was by 6 in the morning on Friday, and it gave him reliefe, but it did not continue, for being now in much paine, and struggling for breath, he lay dozing, and after some conflicts, the physitians despairing of him, he gave up the ghost at half an houre after eleven in the morning, being 6 Feb. 1685.

But before this sad conclusion, Dr. Talbot had achieved another splendid triumph, this time, in France. Louis the Fourteenth had been stricken down, in the year 1679, by an incorrigible ague. In vain the doctors of the court had essayed to break the fever; it would not down at their bidding. When every one was in despair, there came an Englishman, from London, who said that he had that in a little bottle which would cure his most Christian majesty. It was the apothecary Talbot, whose fame secured for him admission to the chamber of the king, where he obtained permission to administer the secret remedy which he carried. His majesty drank, and was cured.

What was the medicine which had accomplished such a marvel? It was liquid, fiery, dark, and very bitter. More than this no one could tell. The curiosity of the king was thoroughly roused. Dr. Talbot shrugged his shoul

1 Le Remède Anglais pour le Guérison des Fiètres. Publié par ordre du Roi, par M. de Blégny, Paris, 1682.

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ders, and hinted that the knowledge might be had for a sufficient compensation. After considerable haggling, the secret was purchased for the sum of forty-eight thousand livres, and an annuity of two thousand francs, a large remuneration when we take into consideration the value of money at that time as compared with the present. The title of Chevalier was also conferred upon the doctor, and his recipe was given to the world. It was an alcoholic or vinous tincture of Peruvian bark. An official description of the medicine was published by order of the king, and La Fontaine composed a poem in honor of the event. Peruvian bark was for a time more fashionable in Paris than it had ever been at Madrid, and its properties became gradually known throughout the greater part of Europe. Many years, however, seem to have elapsed before its value was generally acknowledged, for in the year 1740 another conspicuous example of the ignorance or the timidity of the medical profession regarding the use of the bark was presented in the case of a most illustrious personage. Frederick the Great, riding hither and thither, from one end of his kingdom to the other, during the months of a rainy summer, was suddenly seized with a fever. It proved to be an “aguish, feverish distemper," a 66 quartan ague, bad; but

it seems; occasionally very Friedrich struggles with it; will not be cheated of any of his purposes by it. . . . A most alert and miscellaneously busy young king, in spite of the ague.' We accordingly find him writing, September 6th, to his friend Voltaire, whom he had intended to visit:

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MY DEAR VOLTAIRE,-In spite of myself, I have to yield to the quartan fever, which is more tenacious than a Jansenist; and whatever desire I had

2 Carlyle's History of Friedrich II., Book XI. chap. iv.

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"I was led into his majesty's apartment," writes Voltaire. "Nothing but four bare walls there. By the light of the candle, I perceived, in a closet, a little truckle-bed, two feet and a half broad, on which lay a little man muffled up in a dressing gown of coarse blue duffel this was the king, sweating and shivering under a wretched blanket there, in a violent fit of fever. I made my reverence, and began the acquaintance by feeling his pulse, as if I had been his chief physician. The fit over, he dressed himself, and took his place at table, (where we) discussed, naturally in a profound manner, the Immortality of the Soul, Liberty, Fate, the Androgynes of Plato, and other small topics of that nature."

Some talk there may have been also of the experience of the Grand Monarque with the ague, and of the manner of his cure; but if so, nothing came of it then, for we find Friedrich impatiently shaking through the month of September and far along into October, begging for "quinquina," and bitterly reviling his physicians because they would neither give him the drug of which he had heard, nor cure him of the fever, having nothing better than Pyrmont water to offer for his relief.

Thus the weeks dragged wearily on,

the king growing "lean and broken down, giving up court life at Berlin, and taking refuge in his country-seat at Reinsberg, when, says Carlyle, one Tuesday forenoon, October 25, 1740, express arrives, "direct from Vienna five days ago; finds Friedrich under eclipse, hidden in the interior, laboring under his ague-fit: question rises, Shall the express be introduced, or be held back? The news he brings is huge, unexpected, transcendent, and may agitate the sick king. Six or seven heads go wagging on this point. They decide, Better wait!'

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"They wait, accordingly; and then, after about an hour, the trembling-fit being over, and Fredersdorff having cautiously preluded a little, and prepared the way, the dispatch is delivered." The Emperor of Austria was dead. "Friedrich kept silence; showed no sign how transfixed he was to hear such tidings; which, he foresaw, would have immeasurable consequences in the world." He arose from his bed, dressed himself, and sent at once for the general of the army and for the chief minister of the state. No more trifling with Pyrmont water now, but immediate prescription by the king himself of Peruvian bark in good round doses, which were taken with such effect that the ague was driven out "like a mere hiccup,- quite gone in the course of next week; and we hear no more of that importunate annoyance" during the remainder of Frederick's life.

Still, in spite of all these brilliant triumphs, the general introduction of Peruvian bark progressed but slowly. The frightful wars which sundered the different nations and the backward state of chemistry and pharmacy were, no doubt, the principal causes of this delay. The extreme bitterness and bulkiness of the dose as formerly given must also have constituted no inconsiderable barrier to the general recognition of the virtues of the drug. It was not

before the year 1820 that final success crowned the effort to separate its alkaloids from the inert constituents of the bark. I well remember the curious interest with which, when a very small boy, I watched the good family physician as he prepared at my mother's bedside her first dose of the new French medicine, quinine. It was an ordinary acid solution, illuminating the water into which it was dropped with a most

beautiful tinge of fluorescent blue,but oh, how bitter! Even after this great pharmaceutical victory, ancient prejudices lingered long.

now for the most part traditions of the past, and, after a trial of two hundred and fifty years, we have exalted the once-despised pulvis ignotus into a panacea for almost every ill to which flesh is heir, a great and durable triumph, slowly but surely won.

Henry M. Lyman.

XVII.

A ROMAN SINGER.

IT fell out as Nino had anticipated, and when he told me all the details, some time afterwards, it struck me that he had shown an uncommon degree of intelligence in predicting that the old count would ride alone that day. He had, indeed, so made his arrangements that even if the whole party had come out together nothing worse would have occurred than a postponement of the interview he sought. But he was destined to get what he wanted that very day, namely, an opportunity of speaking with Von Lira alone.

It was twelve o'clock when he left me, and the midday bell was ringing from the church, while the people bustled about, getting their food. Every old woman had a piece of corn cake, and the ragged children got what they could, gathering the crumbs in their mothers' aprons. A few rough fellows who were not away at work in the valley munched the maize bread with a leek and a bit of salt fish, and some of them had oil on it. Our mountain people eat scarcely anything else, unless it be a little meat on holidays, or an egg when the hens are laying. But they laugh and chatter over the coarse fare, and drink a little

wine when they can get it. Just now, however, was the season, for fasting, being the end of Holy Week, and the people made a virtue of necessity, and kept their eggs and their wine for Easter.

When Nino went out he found his countryman, and explained to him what he was to do. The man saddled one of the mules and put himself on the watch, while Nino sat by the fire in the quaint old inn and ate some bread. It was the end of March when these things happened, and a little fire was grateful, though one could do very well without it. He spread his hands to the flame of the sticks, as he sat on the wooden settle by the old hearth, and he slowly gnawed his corn cake, as though a week before he had not been a great man in Paris, dining sumptuously with famous people. He was not thinking of that. He was looking, in the flame, for a fair face that he saw continually before him, day and night. He expected to wait a long time, some hours, perhaps.

Twenty minutes had not elapsed, however, before his man came breathless through the door, calling to him to come at once; for the solitary rider had gone out, as was expected, and at a pace that would soon take him out of sight. Nino threw his corn bread to a hungry dog,

that yelped as it hit him, and then fastened on it like a beast of prey.

In the twinkling of an eye he and his man were out of the inn. As they ran to the place where the mule was tied to an old ring in the crumbling wall of a half-ruined house near to the ascent to the castle, the man told Nino that the fine gentleman had ridden toward Trevi, down the valley. Nine mounted, and hastened in the same direction.

As he rode, he reflected that it would be wiser to meet the count on his return, and pass him after the interview, as though going away from Fillettino. It would be a little harder for the mule; but such an animal, used to bearing enormous burdens for twelve hours at a stretch, could well carry Nino only a few miles of good road before sunset, and yet be fresh again by midnight. One of those great sleek mules, if goodtempered, will tire three horses, and never feel the worse for it. He therefore let the beast go her own pace along the road to Trevi, winding by the brink of the rushing torrent: sometimes beneath great overhanging cliffs, sometimes through bits of cultivated land, where the valley widens; and now and then passing under some beech-trees, still naked and skeleton-like in the bright March air.

But Nino rode many miles, as he thought, without meeting the count, dangling his feet out of the stirrups, and humming snatches of song to himself to pass the time. He looked at his watch, a beautiful gold one, given him by a very great personage in Paris, and it was half past two o'clock. Then, to avoid tiring his mule, he got off and sat by a tree, at a place where he could see far along the road. But three o'clock came, and a quarter past, and he began to fear that the count had gone all the way to Trevi. Indeed, Trevi could not be very far off, he thought. So he mounted again, and paced down the valley. He says that in all that time he

never thought once of what he should say to the count when he met him, having determined in his mind once and for all what was to be asked; to which the only answer must be "yes" or "no."

It

At last, before he reached the turn in the valley, and just as the sun was passing down behind the high mountains on the left, beyond the stream, he saw the man he had come out to meet, not a hundred yards away, riding toward him on his great horse, at a foot pace. was the count, and he seemed lost in thought, for his head was bent on his breast, and the reins hung carelessly loose from his hand. He did not raise his eyes until he was close to Nino, who took off his hat and pulled up short.

The old count was evidently very much surprised, for he suddenly straightened himself in his saddle, with a sort of jerk, and glared savagely at Nino; his wooden features appearing to lose color, and his long mustache standing out and bristling. He also reined in his horse, and the pair sat on their beasts, not five yards apart, eying each other like a pair of duelists. Nino was the first to speak, for he was prepared.

"Good day, Signor Conte," he said as calmly as he could. "You have not forgotten me, I am sure." Lira looked more and more amazed, as he observed the cool courtesy with which he was accosted. But his polite manner did not desert him even then, for he raised his hat. "Good-day," he said, briefly, and made his horse move on. He was too proud to put the animal to a brisker pace than a walk, lest he should seem to avoid an enemy. But Nino turned his mule at the same time.

"Pardon the liberty, sir," he said, "but I would take advantage of this opportunity to have a few words with you."

"It is a liberty, as you say, sir,” replied Lira, stiffly, and looking straight before him. "But since you have met me, say what you have to say quickly."

He talked in the same curious constructions as formerly, but I will spare you the grammatical vagaries.

"Some time has elapsed," continued Nino, "since our unfortunate encounter. I have been in Paris, where I have had more than common success in my profession. From being a very poor teacher of Italian to the signorina, your daughter, I am become an exceedingly prosperous artist. My character is blameless and free from all stain, in spite of the sad business in which we were both concerned, and of which you knew the truth from the dead lady's own lips."

"What then?" growled Lira, who had listened grimly, and was fast losing his temper. "What then? Do you suppose, Signor Cardegna, that I am still interested in your comings and goings?"

"The sequel to what I have told you, sir," answered Nino, bowing again, and looking very grave, "is that I once more most respectfully and honestly ask you to give me the hand of your daughter, the Signorina Hedwig von Lira."

The hot blood flushed the old soldier's hard features to the roots of his gray hair, and his voice trembled as he answered:

"Do you intend to insult me, sir? If so, this quiet road is a favorable spot for settling the question. It shall never be said that an officer in the service of his majesty the King and Emperor refused to fight with any one, with his tailor, if need be." He reined his horse from Nino's side, and eyed him fiercely.

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Signor Conte," answered Nino calmly, "nothing could be further from my thoughts than to insult you, or to treat you in any way with disrespect. And I will not acknowledge that anything you can say can convey an insult to myself." Lira smiled in a sardonic fashion. "But," added Nino, "if it would give you any pleasure to fight, and if you have weapons, I shall be happy to oblige

you. It is a quiet spot, as you say, and it shall never be said that an Italian artist refused to fight a German soldier."

"I have two pistols in my holsters," said Lira, with a smile. "The roads are not safe, and I always carry them."

"Then, sir, be good enough to select one and to give me the other, and we will at once proceed to business." The count's manner changed. He looked grave.

"I have the pistols, Signor Cardegna, but I do not desire to use them. Your readiness satisfies me that you are in earnest, and we will therefore not fight for amusement. I need not defend myself from any charge of unwillingness, I believe," he added proudly.

"In that case, sir," said Nino, “and since we have convinced each other that we are serious and desire to be courteous, let us converse calmly."

"Have you anything more to say ?" asked the count, once more allowing his horse to pace along the dusty road, while Nino's mule walked by his side.

"I have this to say, Signor Conte," answered Nino: "that I shall not desist from desiring the honor of marrying your daughter, if you refuse me a hundred times. I wish to put it to you whether, with youth, some talent, — I speak modestly,

and the prospect of a

plentiful income, I am not as well qualified to aspire to the alliance as Baron Benoni, who has old age, much talent, an enormous fortune, and the benefit of the Jewish faith into the bargain."

The count winced palpably at the mention of Benoni's religion. No people are more insanely prejudiced against the Hebrew race than the Germans. They indeed maintain that they have greater cause than others, but it always. appears to me that they are unreasonable about it. Benoni chanced to be a Jew, but his peculiarities would have been the same had he been a Christian or an American. There is only one Ahasuerus Benoni in the world.

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