On May 18, 1888, about 3 p.m., I was called to see Mrs, James S., æt. 27, the mother of twins two years old, and then in the eighth month of her second pregnancy. She was of robust constitution, a native of the North of Ireland, three years a resident of the United States, the last year a resident of Florida.
The family were living in an unfinished house, about a mile and a-half from my office. While engaged in baking bread, the back part of her dress became ignited by the flames from the side-door of the cooking stove, which she had thoughtlessly left open after replenishing the fire. Unconscious of what had taken place, she walked to an open passage, and stood in the breeze until enveloped in flames. Her screams soon brought the only man in the vicinity, who was working a few hundred yards from the