to
our tongue, and there, over my Tobacco, made some strange Acquaintance.
There was one De Suaso, an Empiric, that had writ against the English
College of Physicians, and was like to have made a Fortune by his famous
Nostrum for the Gout, _the Sudorific Expulsive Mixture_; but that
Scheme had fallen through, it having been discovered that the Mixture
was naught but Quicksilver and Suet, which made the Patients perspire
indeed, but turned 'em all, to the very Silver in their Pockets, as
Black as Small-Coal Men. Now, he had become a kind of Pedlar, selling
Handkerchiefs made at Amsterdam, in imitation of those of Naples, with
Women's Gloves, Fans, Essences, and Pomatums--and in fact all the
Whim-Whams that are known in the Italian trade as _Galanterie le piu
curiose di Venezia e di Milano_. But his prime trade was in Selling of
Snuff, for the choicer sorts of which there was at that time a perfect
Rage among the Quality, both of the Continent and of England. This De
Suaso used to Laugh, and say that the best venture he had ever made was
from a Parcel of Snuff so bad and rotten, that he was about to send it
back to the Hamburg Merchant who had sold it him, when one day, plying
at the chief Coffee-House, as was his wont, my Lord Hautgoustham, an
English Nobleman, desired him to fill his box with the choicest Snuff
he had. Thinking my Lord really a Judge, he gives him some undeniable
_Bouquet Dauphine_; but the Peer would have none of it. Then he tries
him with one Mixture after another, but always unsuccessfully; until at
last he bethinks him of the Musty Parcel he has at home, and
accordingly, having fetched some of that, returns to the Coffee-House,
and says that he has indeed a Snuff of extraordinary Smell and Taste,
but that 'tis extravagantly dear. Lord Hautgoustham tries it, and calls
out in an ecstasy that 'tis the most beautiful Snuff he ever put to his
Nose. He bought a Pound of it, for which De Suaso charged him at the
moderate rate of Four Guineas; and desires to know his Lodging, that he
may send his Friends to buy some of this Incomparable Mixture. The
Artful Rogue then affects the Coy, says that his Stock of the Snuff is
very low, and by degrees raises his price to Eleven Pistoles a Pound,
until the English in Brussels have been half-poisoned with his filthy
Remnant; when there comes upon the scene a certain Mr. Dubiggin, a rich
old English Merchant of the Caraccas, who knew all kinds of Snuff as
well as a Yor