The writer has frequently made use of Hartmann's wood-wool as a dressing in his operations on the brain, and as he also induced a number of colleagues to observe its effect, he can speak from experience.

to salute my king / With ruder terms, such as my wit affords / And over-joy of heart doth minister

The fruit thereof is fair and fine, / And golden of its blee, / That well the Son of God might think / It came of Paradise—tree, / Nor deem how its root with cold Pit-fire / Is suckled evilly.

So after “The Rainmaker” in 1997 — another decent, well-acted, sharply directed movie with no evident aspirations to be anything more — he seemed to enter a phase of semi-retirement, devoting himself to winemaking and proud papahood.