The animal is rendered insensible, either by a stunning blow or by an anæsthetic, with the heart still beating. A vein—usually the jugular—is opened, and a small quantity of blood let out. Then a corresponding quantity of a solution of boric acid, raised to blood heat, is made to flow into the vein from a vessel raised to a suitable height above it. The action of the heart carries this through all the capillary vessels into every part of the body of the animal. The completeness of this diffusion may be understood by reflecting on the fact that we cannot puncture any part of the body with the point of a needle without drawing blood from some of these vessels. After the completion of this circulation the animal is bled to death in the usual manner. From three to four ounces of boric acid is sufficient for a sheep of average weight, and much of this comes away with the final bleeding. On April 2, 1884, I made a hearty meal on the roasted, boiled, and stewed flesh of a sheep that was killed on February 8, the carcass hanging in the meantime in the basement of the Society of Arts. It was perfectly fresh, and without any perceptible flavour of the boric acid: very tender, and full-flavoured as fresh meat. On July 19, 1884, I purchased a haunch of the prepared mutton, and hung it in an ill-constructed larder during the excessively hot weather that followed. On August 10, after twenty-two days of this severe ordeal, it was still in good condition. The 11th and 12th were two of the hottest days of the present century in England. On the 13th I examined the haunch very carefully, and detected symptoms of giving way. It had become softer, and was pervaded throughout with a slight malodour. On the 14th it became worse, and then I had it roasted. It was decidedly gamey; the fat, or rather the membranous junction between fat and lean, and the membranous sheaths of the muscles had succumbed, but the substance of the muscles, the firm lean parts of the meat, were quite eatable, and eaten by myself and other members of my family. There was no taste of boric acid, and the meat was unusually tender. The curious element of this process is the very small quantity of the boric acid which does the work so effectually. For some time past most of the milk that is supplied to London has been similarly treated by adding borax or a preparation chiefly composed of borax, and named ‘glacialine.’ This suppresses the incipient lactic fermentation, which, in the course of a few hours, otherwise produces the souring of milk, and thus prepared the milk remains for a long time unaltered. The small quantity of borax that we thus imbibe with our tea, coffee, &c., is quite harmless. M. de Cyon, who has studied this subject experimentally, affirms that it is very beneficial. CHAPTER XI. THE COOKERY OF VEGETABLES.