NOTES ON A COUNTY HOSPITAL.

Otago Witness, Issue 2732, 18 July 1906, Page 86

NOTES ON A COUNTY HOSPITAL.

By John Maclennan.

The staunch stone walls of the warj permit little intercourse with the ordinary sounds that prevail outside. Rain may bo pelting on the roof, but it only rains to the eye in long splashes on the windowpanes. It may be blowing a stiff breezerobbing the trees of their gloriously-tinted: autumn lea-ves — but the only indication ia the bending and swaying of the eucalyptus plantation in the near distance. To-night, however, the east wind is looking for trouble. The first indication of this ia given just as the lights were lowered. The flames playing round the log on the big open fireplace become uneasy, and an occasional puff of smoke comes into tho ward. Then the wind seems to tire of playing with little tilings, andr, becoming a gale, throws its whole force into masterful conflict. It seems as if it would teaar the massive building from its foundations. Over the big chimney tops it rusher, rumbling and rolling like miniature thunder, endeavouring to force its angry arms down through the smoke to obtain, as ifc were, a hold o£ something big enough to grapple with. Being defeated in its effort, it recedes- with a moan like tie malediction of a thwarted giant. In turn doors and windows are tried, to find its herculean rage baffled at every point. It throws itself upon the ventilators, whirling them round in mad despair, and, baffled still, it hurls itself in the anguish of despair on the masterful structure itself. Giant against giant, the battle goes on — the one trembling in obstinate resistance, th© other shrieking -and howling cornice and column, - tall tho demon fear, comes into, the stoutest heart. There is no deep satisfied breathing' tonight. Every Bed has a, wakeful occupant. Every dream belongs to the storm. Towards daybreak the storm lulls. Then sighs might bo heard breathing the unspoken prayers gf peace that close weary eyes and bring forgetfulness to heavy hearts.

One day there was taken into the ward a mild type of Rip Van Winkle. He was an old weather-beaten, bearded bachelor, who had seen, life in the early Bendigo and later Dunstan times, his camping companion for long Laving been no less than our own lamented Thomas Bracken, of kindly memory. Rip lay silent for two days, then his pain left him a little, and lie became talkative. His first question caused a- sensation. "What year is this?" On being informed he set out to fill in his diarj" — on bits of stray paper. Ha beckoned the nurse to him, and whispered to her that he would like something to read. "What would- you like?" "Oh. anything drj' — the drier the better. I don't mind how dry it is. Get me some of Henry Drummond's works if you have them!" One day his thoughts ran upon Tom. He recounted how he used to compose his poetry : thow he would lay down his swag to jot something down, then, proceeding on his way, would stop to add another line, or alter a word, and so on. At night by the camp fire those notes and lines would be gathered together and handed round or recited to the admiring group. He spoke of Tom as par excellence a boon companion, with a largo heart and a noble conception of life. "Tom was an extraordinary man," concluded Rip. "He would commence a- poem at the middle verse and finish' it off both ways, or begin at the last verse and' finish it backward. Tom didn't mind which. A better-heartecl mate never shouldered) % 6wag, and he would have been a great man, only people could not understand him. Poor Tom!" The nurses were sj revelation to Rip. "How long since hay» women been allowed to do this sort cS thing?" he asked one day, adding, "Tb ** tall dark one is a gem !" She lifted my head up and fixed my pillows without hurting me a bit, and while she was doing it there was a pitiful look in her eye. I tell you she's a gem. I never had an idea that women could be co useful." On being informed that this kindness was a general thing, he mused philosophically, "Ah, well ; I suppose when a man ha< homed it on, the wattle and tussock nigh all his life a bit of sweet English graeo will come strange to him !" Poor oldi Rip — h-e was not the only one at that moment appreciating the blessing and comfort of "a bit of 6weet English grass.'* (To be continued. )

— Anyone who has watched a couple in the mazy whirlings of the waltz, must have been etruck by the amount of muscular exertion required and the distance travelled during the seven or eight minutes occupied by the dance. A careful calculator, who noted down the space covered by a dancer, estimated that in a. programme of 20 waltzes, four polkas, and two quadrilles, « good dancer would cover close Upon, 12 miles. Small boy,— little pool. Oh, joy, — no school. Felt wet,— bad cold, Home get, — mother scold. Boy sick,— nearly dead, Cure quick, doctor said. Don't wait, but secure Woods' GreaJ; Peppermint Cufcfc