and in the very outset of the perspiration, perchance, the pores are chilled and a dangerous shock is communicated to the whole frame. Well may Mr. Urquhart exclaim:--"None but a Frank would call a miserable trough of water a bath." When, years ago, I prescribed for Mr. Urquhart, while he was labouring under a frightful attack of consecutive spasm, a hot bath, he gave me a practical lesson of the uses of heat and moisture, by subjecting himself to a vapour bath of such a degree of intensity and duration as astonished all who saw it. The bath attendant whispered me that he had never seen such a thing before, and relieved himself from responsibility by saying Mr. Urquhart "would have it so." In fact, he had converted the bath-room, for the nonce, into a Turkish Bath. But how miserable, how puny, how inefficient is the hot bath, or the boxed-up vapour bath, to the free, the open, the well-ventilated and well-heated Calidarium! The sufferer from spasm may live in the Calidarium, he may sleep there the whole night and the whole day; he may not only bring his muscular system down to any degree of relaxation that he desire, but he may keep it in that condition for any length of time, or until the disposition to spasmodic tension has entirely passed away. In a paper entitled "Thermotherapeia; the Heat Cure: or the Treatment of Disease by Immersion of the Body in Heated Air,"[18] I appended the following note as a convenient popular illustration of the action of the Turkish Bath in the relief of muscular spasm. "How many are the instances of spasm which come under the observation of medical men! Spasm of the stomach, of the bowels, of the ducts of the liver and kidneys, of the muscles. How needless to remind my brethren of their infinite variety; of their fearful agony; of our poverty of means for their relief. But here, again, the Turkish Bath cries out emphatically: 'Behold, we bring succour!' Without going more gravely into the matter, let us smile over the paragraph which I have just cut out of the _Cork Examiner_. As physiologists, we recognise the point and the value of the illustration; as philosophers, we appreciate the lesson, and become the wiser for its gift. 'One day last week, a boy, employed in Messrs. Simpson and Baker's biscuit factory was ascending to a loft, when one of the workmen below called him; and in turning his head quickly to answer the call, he got a crick in the neck of such severity that the head lay almost flat on the shoulder. The poor boy was going home in great agony, when he was met by Mr. Hegarty, the proprietor of the City View Turkish Bath, in the neighbourhood of Blarney, who, on learning what was the matter with him, sent him to take a bath. When the boy was inside about a quarter of an hour, and perspiration had set in, he was placed under a tepid shower-bath, and as soon as the water commenced to fall on him, the neck began to straighten, and in a short time the head