The king’s physician, Dr. Mayerne, was made master of the secret, which he carried to France and communicated to the Duke of Mayenne, who performed many cures by means of it, and taught it to his surgeon, who, after the Duke’s death, sold it to many distinguished persons, by whose agency it soon ceased to be a secret.  What was this wonderful substance which so astonished kings, princes, dukes, knights, and doctors?  Nothing but powdered blue vitriol.  But it was made to undergo several processes that conferred on it extraordinary virtues.  Twice or thrice it was to be dissolved, filtered, and crystallized.  The crystals were to be laid in the sun during the months of June, July, and August, taking care to turn them carefully that all should be exposed.  Then they were to be powdered, triturated, and again exposed to the sun, again reduced to a very fine powder, and secured in a vessel, while hot, from the sunshine.  If there seem anything remarkable in the fact of such astonishing properties being developed by this process, it must be from our short-sightedness, for common salt and charcoal develop powers quite as marvellous after a certain number of thumps, stirs, and shakes, from the hands of modern workers of miracles.  In fact the Unguentum Armarium and Sympathetic Powder resemble some more recent prescriptions; the latter consisting in an infinite dilution of the common dose in which remedies are given, and the two former in an infinite dilution of the common distance at which they are applied.

Whether philosophers, and more especially metaphysicians, have any peculiar tendency to dabble in drugs and dose themselves with physic, is a question which might suggest itself to the reader of their biographies.

When Bishop Berkeley visited the illustrious Malebranche at Paris, he found him in his cell, cooking in a small pipkin a medicine for an inflammation of the lungs, from which he was suffering; and the disease, being unfortunately aggravated by the vehemence of their discussion, or the contents of the pipkin, carried him off in the course of a few days.  Berkeley himself afforded a remarkable illustration of a truth which has long been known to the members of one of the learned professions, namely, that no amount of talent, or of acquirements in other departments, can rescue from lamentable folly those who, without something of the requisite preparation, undertake to experiment with nostrums upon themselves and their neighbors.  The exalted character of Berkeley is thus drawn by Sir James Mackintosh:  Ancient learning, exact science, polished society, modern literature, and the fine arts, contributed to adorn and enrich the mind of this accomplished man.  All his contemporaries agreed with the satirist in ascribing

   “‘To Berkeley every virtue under heaven.’

“Even the discerning, fastidious, and turbulent Atterbury said, after an interview with him, ’So much understanding, so much knowledge, so much innocence, and such humility, I did not think had been the portion of any but angels, till I saw this gentleman.’”