his spirit card is not reduced, or even taken away altogether. You could not manage St. Bernard’s on its present lines without alcohol. The medical school would not have a chance with it. Let us follow, say, Thomas Smith from St. Giles to the hospital. He has inflammation of the lungs, is very weak and ill, has been badly fed and cannot in his own home obtain proper care and nursing. His clergyman kindly gives him a letter for the hospital. He is advised to be at the out-patient department at one o’clock. To make sure, the poor fellow’s cab is there by half-past twelve; the great waiting-hall is already filling. The physician of the day arrives a little after two. About three, if he is lucky, Smith’s turn will come. He is not sorry. It was weary waiting, sitting upright on a hard bench in a great noisy, draughty room, with many distressing and painful sights around him; and when the kind, gently speaking physician tells his wife to strip him to the waist, he begins to think he is going to be cured straight off by some of the superabundant medical force surrounding him. There are many interesting clinical features in Tom Smith’s case, and the doctor lectures long and learnedly to the score of good-natured, athletic young gentlemen whom he has just been informed are “sucking doctors.” They have all come provided with stethoscopes, and after the examining physician has thoroughly thumped, pummelled, and “auscultated” poor Smith’s chest, back and front, as many of the aforesaid young men who are invited, or who can be induced to interest themselves, “have their go” at the patient, and are very kindly and patiently shown precisely where the mischief is, and what is the exact stage of its progress; but all this could not be got through without an ounce or two of brandy in a drop of water, in a measure glass that stands handy. And everybody having quite done, with many remarks, such as, “You see the point I was driving at, Mr. Dobbs?” or, “You are quite convinced my theory of pneumonia is correct, Mr. Murphy?” poor, shivering, sick and faint Tom Smith is sent up to the wards to bed, under the care of an entirely fresh physician, physician’s assistant, clinical clerks, and students of the in patient department. None of those men who have spent so much time over the case, will probably ever see it again. Smith’s cards, papers, and books having all been duly made out, signed and registered, he is conducted, say, to Magdalen ward, where he is put to bed and made comfortable. If he has brought any tea and sugar with him, he can have a cup; but these things are luxuries not provided by the charity.