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Updated: June 12, 2025
A good way in the distance behind him might be discovered another figure dogging his footsteps, that figure being no other than the honest figure of Barney Casey. On went Woodward unsuspicious that he was watched, until he reached the indescribable cabin of Sol Donnel, the old herbalist.
The herbalist, at all events, was entrapped, and not only his disposition to sell botanical poisons, but his habit of doing so, was clearly proved to the benevolent magistrate.
The thirty shillings thus subscribed, together with a few odd coins which he himself had contrived to scrape together during a long life of thrift, would secure the services of a skilled advocate, who would doubtless be able to prove to the satisfaction of justice that no high-class Herbalist would ever dream, save in the way of kindness, of putting tartaric acid into a policeman's beefsteak pudding.
"Ah! my dear children, you could not have caused me greater pleasure! I who have so often deplored your painful misunderstanding." Bertheroy was a tall and lean septuagenarian, with angular features. His yellow skin clung like parchment to the projecting bones of his cheeks and jaw. Moreover, there was nothing imposing about him; he looked like some old shop-keeping herbalist.
So, one day, Sir, I went out fishing with a strange gentleman from London, and, in a very quiet retired spot some miles off, he stopped and plucked some herbs that seemed to me common enough, but which he declared were most curious and rare things, and he carried them carefully away. I heard afterwards he was a great herbalist, I think they call it, but he was a very poor fisher.
"I never talk of these things in the presence of a third party," replied the herbalist, looking significantly at Barney, whom he well knew. "Well," replied the other, "I dare say you are right. Casey, go out and leave us to ourselves." There was a little hall in the house, which hall was in complete obscurity.
So all that was left to him to do was to cure her injuries which he did, and quickly, under the advice of an old herbalist in the Silk Market, and then sit down for the rest of his life whilst she drew strange little marks on those pale pink leaves. "My faint spirit was sitting in the light Of thy looks, my love; It panted for thee like the hind at noon For the brooks, my love."
The herbalist and his editor write from personal experience, and this gives them a great advantage in dealing with superstitions.
Perhaps his only fault is that he was born four centuries too late. Then, as the heat became too great, he took off his over-coat, adding: 'He's a long while fetching his tobacco. 'Oh! his tobacco! I know what that means, said Mahoudeau, who had set to work at his bust, finishing the whiskers; 'he has simply gone next door. 'Oh! so you still see the herbalist? 'Yes, she comes in and out.
'What! are you going? said Mahoudeau to Chaine, who was rising from his chair. The other mumbled some indistinct words in his beard, and went off after distributing handshakes among the party. 'I know, said Jory to Mahoudeau. 'I believe he has a weakness for your neighbour, the herbalist woman. I saw his eyes flash all at once; it comes upon him like toothache. Look how he's running over there.
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