This I
told Miss Griggs, who spoke contemptuously of the Father of
Medicine.
"He also recommends--whether for this complaint, or for something
similar I forget for the moment--" said I, "anointing the soles
of the feet with the fat of a dormouse, the teeth with the ear-
wax of a dog; and speaks highly of a ram's lungs applied hot to
the fore part of the head. I am sorry these admirable remedies
are out of date. There is a rich Rabelaisianism about them.
Instead of the satisfying jorums of our forefathers we take
tasteless pellets, which procure us no sensation at the time, and
even the good old hot mustard poultice is a thing of the past."
"But what about Carlotta?" inquired Miss Griggs, anxiously.
That is just like a woman, to interrupt a man when he is
beginning to talk comfortably on a subject that interests him. I
sighed.
"Send Carlotta up to me," I said, resignedly.
Another morning's work spoiled. I turned to my writing-table. I
had just transcribed on my MS. the anecdote told with such glee
by Machiavelli about Zanobi del Pino, a sort of Admiral Byng of
the early fifteenth century, who was locked up and given nothing
to eat but paper painted with snakes, so that he died, fasting,
in a few days.
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