Fortunately there is no longer need to consider whether the weed deserves the hard things said of it, or whether it is to be ranked among the chief blessings a beneficent Providence has conferred upon this nether world. These things are settling themselves in their proper places under the critical eyes of modern science, and the larger and more rational views derived from experiences in the field, the camp, and the hospital. Conspicuous among medical treatises of recent years, wherein the subject is dispassionately surveyed, may be mentioned that of Dr. John C. Murray, of Newcastle-on-Tyne. Remarking upon the observed curative effect of tobacco-smoking on the sick and wounded in the Franco-German war, he says that its healing virtues were so obvious to an army surgeon of his acquaintance that from being strongly opposed to the use of tobacco he became a convert, in so far that he actually purchased cigars and presented them to the wounded, in consequence of having observed that their smoking assisted recovery. ‘This experience,’ adds Dr. Murray, ‘is contrary to what has been enunciated as theory, or deduced from isolated examples taken from the hospitals. Practical observation from previously healthy men must, however, be allowed precedence of speculation when inferred from disease.’ This admission marks a decided advance towards harmonising the faults of speculative reasoning with the actual experience of every-day life. Taking a general survey of army medical officers’ reports of work done in the hospital-camps, he finds evidence in abundance supporting the view that tobacco-smoking does in some indefinable way mitigate suffering and help to a speedy recovery. Not only were the good effects manifest in the comfort it afforded the men on the march, but chiefly in the camp and the hospital, where under its soothing influence the wounded were often snatched from death and the sick restored to health. An amusing incident of a wounded soldier’s love for his pipe is noted in a lady’s diary kept while occupied as a nurse in a British hospital. Private McCarthy while under chloroform had just had one of his toes amputated by the surgeon. The wound bled freely, and the surgeon, after binding it up, left strict injunctions that the man was not to put his foot down. It happened that the nurse was called away to another patient for a few minutes, but before leaving she reminded the patient of the doctor’s orders about remaining still. On her return, to her astonishment the man was nowhere to be seen. After some searching she discovered him by traces of blood on the floor, quietly seated in the yard smoking his pipe. To her admonition about disobeying orders, and concern for the injury he was likely to do himself, he paid no heed, and continued smoking in happy indifference. Better success attended her endeavour to bring him to a repentant frame of mind when she told him of how he had disfigured the floor with his blood.