powder, or Jesuits' bark. The reverend
fathers prudently determined to turn the
charitable intentions of the vicequeen of
Lima, to a profitable commercial account.
They enriched themselves by their mercantile
dealings, but were very far from spreading
the knowledge they had obtained through
the generous confidence of the countess.
Instead of accurately describing the tree whose
mere cast-off clothes, they were selling at an
enormous profit, they prevented competition
in their lucrative business by refusing to
furnish botanists with any precise data which
might help them to distinguish, recognise, or
class, the Cinchona plants. As the bark-trees
were at first found only in the environs of
Loxa, south of the equator, the Jesuits
declared that they could not exist in other
regions of America; or, if they did exist, that
they could possess no febrifugal virtue beyond
the province of Loxa. They got the pope to
trace a line, which Avas called the Pope's
line, on the map of America, beyond which
no Cinchona might, should, or would grow.
The Jesuits' agents and correspondents in
Spain had received their orders; and the
public, and even the government, were long
made the dupes. "The commercial houses
in Spain," says Humboldt, "who, for half a
century had retained the monopoly of Loxa
bark, tried hard to depreciate that of New
Grenada and Southern Peru. They found
complaisant botanists who, by raising
varieties to the rank of species, proved that
the barks of Peru were specifically different
from those which grew round Santa Fe.
Medical men followed the pope's example by
drawing lines of demarcation on the map,
and maintained that no effective bark could
grow beyond a certain degree of latitude in
the northern hemisphere. So great was the
influence of this mercantile trick, that, at Cadiz,
by a royal order, they burnt a large quantity
of the best orange bark, gathered at the
king's expense, while all the Spanish military
hospitals were suffering from a scarcity of
the precious drug. A portion of the bark
devoted to the flames was secretly
purchased at Cadiz by some English merchants,
and sold in London at a very high price."
Thus, for more than a century, Europe
obtained Peruvian bark only through the
medium of Spanish commerce directed by the
Jesuits. The consequence was, that some
doctors rejected it, because it was a nameless
novelty, shrouded in mystery; while the
English physicians would have nothing to do
with a powder prepared by the diabolical
art of the Jesuits, for the purpose of killing
heretics, instead of curing them of fever.
Nevertheless, the use of bark was spread in
France by an Englishman, after whom it
was called Talbot's Remedy, although scorned
by the French faculty. The benefit derived
from it by Louis the Fourteenth, was
sufficient to bring it into fashion, although sold
at enormous prices. The king purchased the
secret, for the laudable purpose of giving the
public the benefit of it. To the utter
astonishment of everybody, it turned out that
the Remède de l'Anglais was nothing more
than the powder of quin-quina administered
in a way to ensure its activity.

Economic Botany also, helps us to speculate
in luxuries. Thus, we all know the difficulty
and disfavour which attended the introduction
of tea and coffee; not to mention
chocolate-seeds and their nibs or shells, cocoa
(or properly cacao). All these excellent
beverages are novelties; and there is no reason
whatever to believe that they complete the
list of exotic drinkables, leaving none remaining
to be sipped and ejoyed by future
drinkers. On the contrary, an eligible
draught presents itself in the shape of Yerva
de Paraguay, or Paraguay tea, prepared from
the leaves and twigs of a South American
tree, which yield a pleasant and exhilarating
infusion. A maté, or calabash (which gives
its title to the drink itself), serves as a
teapot; the total contents being about the
eighth of a pint. The infusion is highly
refreshing when taken in the ordinary way;
but it is occasionally mixed with milk. It
has all the effects of tea, and probably
contains the principle of theine, as well as the
cocoa-leaf of Upper Peru. The notion of
intoxicating qualities in yerva is fanciful.
It will affect people of weak nerves, as strong
tea does, but not otherwise. Chinese tea is
carefully packed in leaf tin; that of Paraguay
is enclosed in bags of dry hide, in large
quantitles. It is carried to Buenos Aires, by
land or river, twelve hundred miles. Some
years back, M. Hervé, an artist, returning
from Buenos Aires, brought with him a
sample of yerva, which was sold retail, on
Ludgate Hill, for about four shillings per
pound, and was much liked by many people.
It is probable that, under favourable
circumstances, it might be imported here at from
about sixpence to ninepence per pound; and
it would be a very useful addition to our
stock of infusion-making materials. I should
like to try the effects of maté, some stormy
winter's night, with a good fire, the curtains
close drawn, and a fresh stock of uncut
periodicals on the table. Or, some bold
unprejudiced queen of the drawing-room might
create a sensation in the tea-drinking world,
by inviting her friends to a maté party.
Economic Botany helps us with the
information that the famous Paraguay tea—almost as
extensively used in South America as bohea
is here—is no true tea, but a kind of holly, as
its scientific name, Ilex Paraguensis, implies.
Economic Botany tells us whither to send for
it, presents us with a woodcut of the foliage,
and exhibits to us maté cups and tubes,
used in drinking the infusion.

Not quite ten years since, it occurred
to the director of the Royal Botanic Gardens
of Kew, that a brick structure, vacated there,
might be made a place of deposit for all kinds