My father did not heed the interruption, but continued gravely: "Nothing
is better for the spirits! Roland is in no want of saffron, because he
is a warrior; and the desire of fighting and the hope of victory infuse
such a heat into the spirits as is profitable for long life, and keeps
up the system."

"Tut!" said Trevanion.

"But gentlemen in your predicament must have recourse to artificial
means. Nitre in broth, for instance,--about three grains to ten (cattle
fed upon nitre grow fat); or earthy odors,--such as exist in cucumbers
and cabbage. A certain great lord had a clod of fresh earth, laid in a
napkin, put under his nose every morning after sleep. Light anointing
of the head with oil, mixed with roses and salt, is not bade but, upon
the whole, I prescribe the saffron bag at the--"

"Sisty, my dear, will you look for my scissors?" said my mother.

"What nonsense are you talking! Question! question!" cried Mr.
Trevanion.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed my father, opening his eyes: "I am giving you the
advice of Lord Bacon. You want conviction: conviction comes from
passion; passion from the spirits; spirits from a saffron bag. You,
Beaudesert, on the other hand, want to keep youth. He keeps youth
longest, who lives longest. Nothing more conduces to longevity than a
saffron bag, provided always it is worn at the--"

"Sisty, my thimble!" said my mother.