A few days after the publication of this remarkable letter I happened to travel to Marseilles in an hospital ship. The military authorities had chartered the passenger steamer “Martinique” to convey a number of convalescent soldiers to France, and on these subjects their will is law. With one or two exceptions my fellow-passengers were all doctors, some of them in charge of the patients, others going to recruit themselves. The day before we left Goletta, Dr. Bailli had been called to account for the publication of his letter, and sentenced to thirty days’ arrest as a preparatory step to being placed in _non activité_. The talk on board was chiefly of sanitary grievances and Dr. Bailli. More army doctors came on board at La Calle and Bone. Their conversation was still of hospitals and Dr. Bailli. Everybody endorsed his views, regretted his fate, and admired his courage. My next-door neighbour at table was one of the few real heroes of the last Punic War. Dr. Veillon had seen all the Khamír campaign, and for several months had been in charge of the pestilential camp at Fernána. Worn almost to a shadow with anxiety and fatigue, himself stricken and debilitated with fever, he was going back to his home in France with a hopelessly shattered constitution and a recommendation for the Cross of the Legion of Honour. He told me the same sad story of Fernána as I had previously heard from Dr. Pozzi. “I joined the Fernána camp in June,” said Dr. Veillon; “it was on the borders of a marsh. I had no chemist to assist me. Typhoid fever almost immediately appeared, and from first to last we lost ten per cent. of our garrison. As far as I know not a single individual escaped without attack. Till October the soldiers died dressed and lying on rugs on the ground: then we got beds and bedding. For a time I was forced to perform my duties while disabled by fever myself. Thank God,” he added, visibly shuddering as if at some disagreeable memory of past horrors, “that terrible camp has at last been broken up.” There is one subject upon which all the army surgeons I have met are particularly bitter. In the midst of all this death and misery, the military chaplains received a gratuity of five francs, in addition to their salary, for each decease. I can to some extent sympathise with the indignation of the doctors. · · · · · · · · · ·