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antidote against acrid poisons, and seems to be obnoxious to worms; perhaps some of the undigested oil reaches these disagreeable animals, and stops their breathing-holes. Lastly, my Lord Bacon is of opinion that rubbing the skin with oil is very conducive to longevity.

Nor is our chest deficient in stimulants. First comes the common pepper, whether black or white matters not, save that the latter is the stronger. Among its more special virtues let us mention its power, when infused in water, of curing a relaxed sore-throat; and piperin, the alkaloid extracted from it, has cured ague in the hands of Dr. Meli and others. The Dublin Pharmacopoeia has an ointment of black pepper, which has been recommended against ringworm.

The Cayenne possesses similar virtues, but in a very exalted degree. It is the king of peppers, and whether in lending its fires to fish and wild fowl, or stimulating an ulcerated throat, it shows itself worthy of its high reputation, and is impressed on the memory and the palate in characters not to be effaced. We will not go through the spice-box and the herbarium of the pantry, though they

would afford materials for another lecture on the materia medica but there are two articles which have such testimony in their favour, that it is impossible to refrain from mentioning them,-we mean sage and cinnamon. Their merits have been pithily expressed in the following leonine verses. Of sage the poet says:

Salvia salvatrix, naturæ conciliatrix !

Cur moriatur homo, cui salvia crescit in horto?
And cinnamon prompts the same question :—
Cur moriatur homo, qui sumit de cinnamomo?

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LI. LE PETIT Père Andre,

AND OTHER ODD PREACHERS.

MR. D'ISRAELI has mentioned this droll monk, in his section on Jocular Preachers;' but has given no specimens of his manner, which was quite as startling and

prose for forty years without knowing it: and we doubt not that many will be equally astonished when they learn that they have had a medicine-chest in their house for forty years without knowing it-in the shape of a set of well-filled cruets. The salt, for example, is a decided cathartic in the dose of half an ounce or an ounce; it is also a vermifuge in large doses, and its power is great in preventing as well as killing worms. It has been repeatedly stated that those criminals in Holland who were formerly condemned to live without salt were dreadfully infested with worms, and there is recent evidence to the same effect. Dr. Dyer informs us, from his personal experience, that in the Mauritius the planters' slaves rarely obtain salt, and are extremely subject to worms ; while the Government slaves and the convicts get salt in their rations, and seldom suffer from the disease. Some planters, regarding economy and the health of the slaves at the same time, give a tablespoonful of salt in half a pint of water to each slave regularly every Saturday after work; and they find that this dose acts not only as a vermifuge, but as a tonic.

The vinegar, again, is refrigerant and diaphoretic ; and is moderately stimulant and astringent when applied externally. It formerly had great reputation in cases of poisoning by narcotics; but here, it must be confessed that it is of doubtful efficacy. It is certainly useful, however, when soda, potash, or ammonia are taken in over-doses, as the acetic acid which it contains combines with and chemically neutralizes them.

The mustard comes next, but this requires no panegyric at our hands, for not many years have elapsed since it was the fashion to attribute every virtue under heaven to mustard-seeds. More lately, too, a mustard emetic was extolled as infallible in cholera, just as a salt-and-water emetic was during the last autumn: so that a disease numbered among the opprobria medicorum has found two specifics in the domestic medicine-chest. A mustard poultice is no mean rival of a blister. Olive-oil has great merits. The best dispensatory that we have tells us that it is "demulcent, relaxant, and laxative." It is a good

VOL. I.

L

second class, or species," he continued, "that I must place your curate, who by his constant vigilance, and his lively and pathetic discourses, defends his flock against the arch-enemy that is always seeking to devour it. And thus, my brethren, you may say that you have the best little dog of a curate to be found in the whole Catholic church."

Ménage relates the next ancedote, which, with several others, proves that the little monk had no fear of great men. He was preaching on Twelfth-day, or the Epiphany, at Nancy, where an oppressed and impoverished people had filled his ears with complaints of the rapacity of the Marshal de la Ferté, who commanded in that province. The Marshal, with his staff, was present at the sermon, and Andrew determined to hit him hard with a bit of Church Latin. He made his discourse turn on the thanksgivings and offerings men ought to make to God, the source of all their prosperity," Afferte filios arietum, afferte aurum et argentum, afferte omnia quæcunque habetis" and he so accentuated the verb "afferte" as to make it sound like à Ferté (the name of the Marshal), and to make the sense of his phrase," Unto Ferté, the young of your rams; unto Ferté, your gold and your silver ; unto Ferté, all that you possess." He repeated his "afferte," or "à Ferté," so often, that some of his suite called the Marshal's attention to so odd an affectation. The great man, who had been dreaming about other things, is said to have blushed when he was made to understand the monk's meaning. Another curious story told of little Andrew is, that one day when he was preaching at Paris against the vices of gallantry and intrigue, he threatened to name a lady present as being one of the guilty; that he, however, corrected himself, saying, in Christian charity he would only throw his calote, or skullcap, in the direction where the lady sate; and that as soon as he took his cap in his hand every woman present bobbed down her head, for fear it should come to her. But this anecdote does not rest on good authority, and a story of precisely the same nature, and we believe much older, is told of an Italian monk that was preaching on the same vices at Venice.

Gueret says that he one day heard little Andrew in the pulpit compare the poor man to a peasant's fowl that lives on what it can pick up; and the rich man, to a luxurious poodle-dog. "The rich man," cried the monk, "is treated, whilst alive, like ladies' lap-dogs, whose mistresses share all their tit-bits with them, feed them only on the choicest delicacies, and cover them with ribbons from head to tail. But the dog dies, and then what becomes of him? Why! they throw the poodle on the dunghill! Now, on the other hand, the fowl is a poor creature whilst it lives, scratching and pecking for the commonest of food ; but after her death she is served up with honour at her master's table. In the same manner the rich man is happy whilst he lives, but after his death he goes-whither, you all know; whereas the poor man is placed in Abraham's bosom."

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The analogy here is not very close, nor is the fate of the fowl so very enviable, for, after all, it is eaten, and goes into the belly, and not the bosom of its master; but the familiar illustration was probably well suited to the ignorant audience of peasants the friar addressed. It is quite clear that although le Père Petit André occasionally turned the batteries of his wit to good purpose, he was no joker, nor intentionally a buffoon in the pulpit." On the contrary, he was most earnest in his vocation; his life was austere, and he held the world in no sort of consideration. He studied such things as would strike; and his humour, which was natural and spontaneous, was used in most cases only to arouse attention, and keep it awake to his religious and moral lessons. He was descended from a highly respectable, if not noble family: *he belonged to the Augustine order, and had received a good education; but he knew the danger of talking over the heads of his popular congregations, and thence arose his fondness for common sayings and proverbs, and for broad and familiar illustrations. He was a very different man from another preacher, a village curate mentioned by Ménage.

*His name was Boulanger. The Boulangers had been distinguished lawyers. Andrew died 1675, aged 80 years.

second class, or species," he continued, "that I must place your curate, who by his constant vigilance, and his lively and pathetic discourses, defends his flock against the arch-enemy that is always seeking to devour it. And thus, my brethren, you may say that you have the best little dog of a curate to be found in the whole Catholic church."

Ménage relates the next ancedote, which, with several others, proves that the little monk had no fear of great men. He was preaching on Twelfth-day, or the Epiphany, at Nancy, where an oppressed and impoverished people had filled his ears with complaints of the rapacity of the Marshal de la Ferté, who commanded in that province. The Marshal, with his staff, was present at the sermon, and Andrew determined to hit him hard with a bit of Church Latin. He made his discourse turn on the thanksgivings and offerings men ought to make to God, the source of all their prosperity, "Afferte filios arietum, afferte aurum et argentum, afferte omnia quæcunque habetis" and he so accentuated the verb "afferte" as to make it sound like à Ferté (the name of the Marshal), and to make the sense of his phrase, “Unto Ferté, the young of your rams; unto Ferté, your gold and your silver; unto Ferté, all that you possess." He repeated his "afferte," or "à Ferté," so often, that some of his suite I called the Marshal's attention to so odd an affectation. The great man, who had been dreaming about other things, is said to have blushed when he was made to understand the monk's meaning. Another curious story told of little Andrew is, that one day when he was preaching at Paris against the vices of gallantry and intrigue, he threatened to name a lady present as being one of the guilty; that he, however, corrected himself, saying, in Christian charity he would only throw his calote, or skullcap, in the direction where the lady sate; and that as soon as he took his cap in his hand every woman present bobbed down her head, for fear it should come to her. But this anecdote does not rest on good authority, and a story of precisely the same nature, and we believe much older, is told of an Italian monk that was preaching on the same vices at Venice.

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