_dura ilia_ received therefrom much benefit? Yea, 'kynges and kynges sones and other noble men hath ben eximious phisicions,' and there is in the British Museum a book full of recipes for plasters and ointments, composed by Henry VIII. Half a century before that bluff but gouty monarch 'the gude Erl of Herforth was holden a gud surgen,' though he seems to have had a tendency towards extravagant multiplication of ingredients in his prescriptions. In humbler ranks of life every monastery had an Infirmarian who, though dependent on outside assistance in serious cases, was expected to treat the ordinary illnesses of his brethren, and at least to see that there was always ginger, cinnamon, and peony (this last most effectual for the incubus or nightmare) in his cupboard. It is noteworthy that in all the hundreds of hospitals founded prior to the Reformation, from St. Leonard's at York with its two hundred beds downwards, there appears to have been no provision for medical attendance. The wardens were rarely medical men; Master Thomas Goldington, one of the surgeons of Edward III. was made warden of two hospitals, at Derby and Carlisle, but the only result was that he attended to his private practice and neglected the hospitals. Clearly the rudiments of nursing were assumed to be known to the resident chaplain or some of the inmates--more particularly the women. Wise women have doctored the country-side time out of mind, and in the reign of Elizabeth we even find one, Isabel Warick, practising surgery in York and requiring protection from her male rivals. A century earlier Alice Shevington, servant to William Gregory of London, 'pretendyng hirself to have had connyng in helyng of sore ighen,' spent much of her time attending to her neighbours' eyes instead of her master's house, wherefore he docked her of part of her munificent wages of 16_s._ a year. [Illustration: '_... gyrd abowte his bodye in iij places with towells and gyrdylls._']