that did quicken the taste." Advice, also, followed in the postscript on
the making of tea, with counsel that "the boiling water should remain upon
it just so long as one might say a _miserere_." A mutual innocence being
now established, the Lady Digby did by way of apology peck the Countess on
the cheek.

Sir Kenelm died in 1665, full of years. In that day his fame rested chiefly
on his books in physic and chirurgery. His most enduring work was still to
be published--"The Closet Opened."

It was two years after his death that his son came upon a bundle of his
father's papers that had hitherto been overlooked. I fancy that he went
spying in the attic on a rainy day. In the darkest corner, behind the
rocking horse--if such devices were known in those distant days--he came
upon a trunk of his father's papers. "Od's fish," said Sir Kenelm's son,
"here's a box of manuscripts. It is like that they pertain to alchemy or
chirurgery." He pulled out a bundle and held it to the light--such light as
came through the cobwebs of the ancient windows. "Here be strange matters,"
he exclaimed. Then he read aloud: "My Lord of Bristol's Scotch collops are
thus made: Take a leg of fine sweet mutton, that to make it tender, is
kept as long as possible may be without stinking. In winter seven or eight
days"--"Ho! Ho!" cried Sir Kenelm's son. "This is not alchemy!" He drew out
another parchment and read again: "My Lord of Carlile's sack posset, how
it's made: Take a pottle of cream and boil in it a little whole cinnamon
and three or four flakes of mace. Boil it until it simpreth and bubbleth."

By this time, as you may well imagine, Sir Kenelm's son was wrought to an
excitement. It is likely that he inherited his father's palate and that the
juices of his appetite were stirred. Seizing an armful of the papers, he
leaped down the attic steps, three at a time. His lady mother thrust a