ount.
You remember my old craze for medicine and chemistry?"

"I fell in with a tribe of savages who interested me immensely. The art
of torture was brought to a perfection among them that would have made
the persecutors of the Inquisition turn green with envy. It was refined
torture, such as one would not expect to see save among those who
possessed mental powers equal to their cruelty. No decapitations, no
stranglings, among these delicate fiends, I can assure you; nor were
they satisfied with a day's torment, that should culminate in death.
Captives were kept for weeks, frequently for months: the wounds made by
one day's torture were dressed at night, and stimulating drink given to
keep up the strength, that they might endure for a longer period. It was
the custom to deliver prisoners or offenders to the family of the chief
or king for the first day's torment; then down through the various
nobles, or what corresponded to the aristocracy (and I assure you the
class distinctions were as closely drawn as in May-Fair), until, if the
unfortunate possessed a fine physique, it was not unusual for almost
every family in the tribe to have had a day's amusement with him; and it
was considered a point of honor not to actually take life, but rather
let it spend itself to the last drop, in agonies undreamed of among what
we call the civilized, while to invent some new and horrible form of
torture conferred an honor upon the discoverer such as we give men who
have made some wonderful advance in art or science.

"'How could I endure such sights?' Oh! well, one gets hardened to
anything, you know, and to tell the truth, I was in search of a new
sensation, and I found it. I watched with as much fascination as the
savages--no, more--for it was new to me and old to them. Oh! come,
Lewis, you needn't draw off your chair; and that reproving,
Sunday-school expression is rather refreshing from a man who upholds
vivisection. I tell you candidly that there is nothing on earth
comparable to the fearful, curious combination of pleasure and horror
with which one watches torture one is powerless to stop. It is morbid,
and probably loathsome. No. It is not morbid, after all; it is natural,
and not a diseased state of mind. Have you never seen a sweet little
child, with a face like an angel, pull the wings from a butterfly, or
half kill a pet animal, and laugh joyfully when it writhed about? I
have. The natural man loves bloodshed, and loves to h