impress Septimius, and to remain on his memory. So, not long after the
doctor's departure, the young man took occasion one evening to say to his
aunt that he thought his stomach was a little out of order with too much
application, and that perhaps she could give him some herb-drink or other
that would be good for him.

"That I can, Seppy, my darling," said the old woman, "and I'm glad you have
the sense to ask for it at last. Here it is in this bottle; and though
that foolish, blaspheming doctor turned up his old brandy nose at it, I'll
drink with him any day and come off better than he."

So saying, she took out of the closet her brown jug, stopped with a cork
that had a rag twisted round it to make it tighter, filled a mug half full
of the concoction and set it on the table before Septimius.

"There, child, smell of that; the smell merely will do you good; but drink
it down, and you'll live the longer for it."

"Indeed, Aunt Keziah, is that so?" asked Septimius, a little startled by a
recommendation which in some measure tallied with what he wanted in a
medicine. "That's a good quality."

He looked into the mug, and saw a turbid, yellow concoction, not at all
attractive to the eye; he smelt of it, and was partly of opinion that Aunt
Keziah had mixed a certain unfragrant vegetable, called skunk-cabbage,
with the other ingredients of her witch-drink. He tasted it; not a mere
sip, but a good, genuine gulp, being determined to have real proof of what
the stuff was in all respects. The draught seemed at first to burn in his
mouth, unaccustomed to any drink but water, and to go scorching all the
way down into his stomach, making him sensible of the depth of his inwards