The “Encyclopædia Britannica” asserts that two centuries ago the mortality of London was 80 per 1000, while now it is but a little over 20. In 1841, out of every 100,000 people in England, 30,000 would have died before reaching the age of 10, and one half would have died before they were 40 years old; in the decennium 1881–90, before 30,000 would have died out of each 100,000 some would have lived to be 17, and some would have lived to be 55 before one half of the number had departed into the unknown and the hereafter. The figures of the statistician must be quoted again and again in the progress of the article, as no more tangible evidence can be given of the benefits resulting from improved methods of sanitation. Very early a coincidence was observed between the uncleanly and the death-rate. Neighborhoods where little or no care was taken to remove the refuse, where there were foul drains and a deficient water supply, were found to be the abodes of special forms of disease,—so much so, that these diseases soon received the name of “filth diseases.” Acting upon the suggestion, the gospel of cleanliness was preached and its practice enforced. There was a “redding up” in its eventuality as thorough as the cleansing of Santiago de Cuba in recent days. It did not take long to discover that decaying organic matter in some way was the offending body, and that this contaminated the water supply. Wells were condemned and public water supplies installed; means were sought to enable the cleansing to be constantly carried on, and sewers for house drainage followed or accompanied the water supply. In proportion as this has been thoroughly done has the death-rate from certain diseases diminished. During the last century the European armies were decimated by fever (typhus or relapsing) to such a degree that the work of the fell destroyer at Santiago was trifling in comparison. On into the present century, the great scourge of Great Britain was these same two fevers; so much so, that “the fever” meant the dread jail or typhus fever. It was imported into this country, and epidemics of “ship fever” were of frequent occurrence. Thus, as late as 1846, it was estimated that in Dublin alone there were 40,000 cases of fever, with a total in Ireland of 1,000,000 cases. There were 10,000 deaths in Liverpool, a city especially prone to the disease; while in Edinburgh one person out of every nine of the population was attacked, and one out of every eight of the sick died. Turning from this account to the medical returns of the war for the Union, there were reported only 1723 cases, with 572 deaths, to the office of the Surgeon General, and even these a very competent authority after careful investigation decided not to be instances of true typhus. Or turn to civil practice: the disease is found so seldom with us that it is not necessary to assign to it a column along with the other diseases in publishing the mortality returns by our health authorities.