Then there were fearful tortures in the way of excoriations, of which St. John Long’s famous remedy was a notable example,--blisters, cauteries, and setons, too unpleasant to dwell upon. Scarification was a comparatively merciful form of these inflictions. It was practised, according to Prosper Albinus (_Hist. Phys._, p. 17), in the following agreeable manner: “First, make a strait [tight] ligature on the leg; then rub the leg below it, put it into warm water, and beat _till it swells_, and so scarify”! Something worse than this was practised down to the present generation in the case of wounds. It is in the writer’s recollection that an unhappy groom who had lost a piece of flesh out of the calf of his leg sought assistance after his accident from a motherly old cook, the medical adviser in ordinary of the whole household. The good woman evidently held the doctrine of Sacrificial Medicine deep in her soul, as well as a due estimate of the utility, under all circumstances, of the art of cookery. Encouraging the poor young man with suitable reflections on the purifying use of salt and fire, she accordingly rubbed a handful from her salt-box into the wound, and then held the miserable limb steadily to the kitchen fire! A bath of blood has been frequently employed to resuscitate exhausted patients. When Cæsar Borgia barely survived swallowing his share of the bottles of poisoned wine which his respectable father, Pope Alexander VI., had intended for the Cardinal, but took by mistake for himself and his son, it is said that an ox was brought into Cæsar’s apartments and disembowelled, to enable him to get into it and receive such vitality as the warm, bleeding carcass might impart. We are here at the point where Sacrificial Medicine assumes the vicarious form, and the poor brutes are made to suffer instead of the human patients for the benefit of the latter. In an account of the birth of the Duc de Bourgogne, grandson of Louis XIV., in the _Curiosités Historiques_ (p. 48), amid the description of the raptures of the splendid court assembled on the occasion, there is a casual mention of an incident affording a wonderful contrast to all this royal joy and magnificence. The attendant chief _accoucheur_, the celebrated Dr. Clement, to prevent suffering on the part of the mother (the Dauphine), applied to her person the skin of a sheep, newly flayed. To obtain this quite fresh, a butcher was engaged to skin the animal alive in the adjoining room; and, being anxious to offer the skin as quickly as possible to the doctor, he carried it into the chamber of the Dauphine, leaving the door open. The sheep, in its agony, followed him, and ran in, bleeding and skinless, among the shrieking crowd of courtiers and grandees. In modern times, worse things than these are done to animals, professedly for the benefit of mankind; but they are now performed quietly in physiological laboratories, not paraded in public, else it