This fact being clearly ascertained, the next question was whether it was lawful in a desperate case to crave the help of the evil one on the principle Flectere si nequeunt Superos, Acheronta movebunt. Paracelsus rather impiously argues that we might, as it matters not, he says, "whether it be God or the devil, angels or unclean spirits, (_immundi spiritus_,) that cure him, so that he be eased. If a man fall in a ditch, what matter is it whether a friend or an enemy help him out? If I be troubled with such a malady, what care I whether the devil himself, or any of his ministers, by God's permission, redeem me?"--and he therefore concludes, that diseases brought on by _malefices_ can only be cured by _incantations_. However, this doctrine was denounced as abominable by Remigius, Bodinus, Godelmannus, Erastus, and various divines and schoolmen; and Delrio plainly declares, "_mori praestat quam superstitiose canari_." Therefore pontificial writers and sages recommend adjuration and exorcism by "fire, suffumigations, lights, cutting the air with swords (_gladiorum ictus_), sacred herbs, odours," &c., though some hungry devils can only be cast out by fasting. Witches and impostors, says Lord Bacon, have always held a competition with physicians. Galen complains of this superstition, and observes that patients placed more confidence in the oracles of Esculapius and their own idle dreams than in the prescriptions of doctors. The introduction of precious stones into medical practice owed its origin to a superstitious belief that, from their beauty, splendour, and high value, they were the natural receptacles for _good_ spirits. Mystery, in the dark ages, and, alas! even now, increases the confidence in remedial means; reveal their true nature, the charm is dissolved: "_Minus credunt quae ad suam salutem pertinent si intelligunt_," said Pliny. One cannot but wonder when we behold men pre-eminent in deep learning and acute observation becoming converts to such superstitious practices. Lord Bacon believed in spells and amulets; and Sir Theodore Mayence, who was physician to three English sovereigns, and supposed to have been Shakspeare's Dr. Caius, believed in supernatural agency, and frequently prescribed the most disgusting and absurd medicines, such as the heart of a mule ripped up alive, a portion of the lungs of a man who had died a violent death, or the hand of a thief who had been gibbeted on some particular day. Nauseous medicines have ever been deemed the most efficacious, on the reasoning that as every thing medicinal is nauseous, every thing that is nauseous must be medicinal. The ancients firmly believed that blood can be stanched by charms; the bleeding of Ulysses was stopped by this means; and Cato the Censor has given us an incantation for setting dislocated bones. To this day charms are supposed to arrest the flow of blood: