cases," as they are technically called-i.e., those patients who cannot move without crutches, and who might therefore find the stairs too fatiguing, or even too dangerous for them. Lavatories are also placed on the ground floor, so that all needful ablutions can be conducted without the patient being required to enter the bed-rooms.

At a definite hour the patients are required to enter their respective dormitories; and from that moment all conversation is strictly forbidden -no very great hardship to any, and to many a very great comfort. The beds have a very neat and comfortable aspect, each with its white curtain, shutting it off from its neighbour, and its warm thick mat by its side. Both in the day-rooms and dormitories the walls are relieved from the bald blank aspect they must assume if unadorned, by being decorated with various prints, mostly in colours, and on scriptural subjects. These are generally presents from visitors, and have a wonderful effect in giving cheerfulness to the rooms.

I think that the regulation hospital drab is one of the most depressing colours that can be placed before the sensitive eyes of a sick person, and ought by every means to be avoided. Everything ought to be as cheerful, as bright, and as clean as possible; and by using ordinary precautions, there is no great difficulty in obtaining these results.

The ventilation is peculiarly good, and struck me forcibly as soon as I entered. At first the inmates are apt to complain, as in their normal state of life they have no idea that a room can be warm unless all doors and windows are shut, and all air (which they call by the general title of "draught") excluded. They soon, however, get over the feeling; and may possibly carry to their homes better ideas of ventilation.

Their fears of catching cold are quite unfounded; for when the weather becomes chilly, heated air is passed through the rooms, entering by means of a grating near the floor, and passing out at a second grating near the ceiling. Practically, it is found necessary to place this upper opening out of reach, as there are a great number of silly inmates who would stop up the egress-valve, if they could reach it, so as to prevent the air from circulating. I remember that in one large prison which I visited, the ventilating arrangements had to be altered for that very reason-the prisoners mounting on their beds, and stuffing their clothing into the aperture.

In case that any of the patients should be scized with sudden illness and require assistance, an attendant sleeps in a little chamber, opening out of the dormitory. Considering, however, the character of this institution, it very rarely happens that the services of the attendant are nceded.

Unless under special circumstances, the stay of each patient is limited to twenty-seven full days, though where the welfare of the patient would be really compromised by his dismissal to his house, he is

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retained for as long a period as possible. It often happens, too, that a patient who desires to obtain a longer residence, will offer his services in payment of his board and lodging, and earn another week of country life by helping the gardener where the labour is not very heavy, and yet where an additional hand is required.

The Royal Sea-Bathing Infirmary, although, as I have already mentioned, not strictly a convalescent hospital, yet partakes much of that character, and is managed in almost exactly the same manner. Being intended for the cure, or at all events the relief, of scrofula in its multitudinous forms, medical and surgical treatment are almost subservient to the two essentials of plentiful diet and fresh air.

To secure the former condition, the diet scale is almost absurdly liberal. Every patient gets as much beef or mutton, pudding, and vege tables, as he can eat-together with sixteen ounces of bread and a pint of porter daily. The same generous allowance is made to children-the only limit to the food being the capacity for eating it, and the only difference in the drink being that table-beer is substituted for porter.

To ensure the requisite amount of fresh air, the building is placed upon a promontory in such a manner that every window from which a patient looks commands a view of the sea. It is no small matter for the poor creatures who have been mewed up all their lives in the noisome courts of our crowded cities to be brought to such a place. They pass into a new world, and acquire new ideas. They are able to look out on a view of at least ten miles in extent, and see the noble ships come sliding along, with the sunlight falling on their white sails; to watch the active, fussy steamers paddling about, leaving a long shining wake behind their keels, and a long trail of smoke from their busy funnels; and even to make practical acquaintance with the tides and the many phenomena of the ocean.

It is a great thing for them to be removed from the close foggy atmosphere of the metropolis, and to exchange the fearful exhalations of their sordid homes for the bright pure air of the sea; to live in peace and quiet, far away from the drunken squabbles that break the silence of the night in their own dwellings, from the loud shrieks of the perpetual costermonger, the ceaseless noise and rattle of the streets, and the wearisome torment of the organ-grinder.

And, when they are improving in health, it is no small thing for them to be able to use their renovated limbs as they will-to bathe in the health-restoring waters of the sea, to walk upon the sands, or to play upon a wide piece of turf. When I passed through the institution I saw a merry party engaged in a game of "rounders," and was much amused at the alacrity displayed by the players, and the extraordinary agility with which, despite of crutches, they chased the ball or ran round the stations. Quoits also seemed to be in great requisition.

In order that those who are unable to walk may yet enjoy the fresh air, there is a whole series of ingenious couches and seats-some to permit a patient to recline at full length; others, in which the invalid can sit or lounge as he likes; and all are placed on wheels and elaborately mounted on springs, so as to prevent injury by the movement of the vehicle. There is also a paid schoolmistress for the instruction of the women and children, and a well-educated patient takes on himself the care of helping the adult males in their studies.

In these two institutions are seen some of the advantages conferred upon the sick and needy by hospitals built expressly for the purpose of affording abundant diet and fresh air to the poor, who, without these necessaries, would pine away through sickness to death.

"There is a tide in the affairs of men,

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and in miseries."

Thus is it with sickness and convalescence. If the tide be "taken at the flood," the patient soon floats into renewed life and vigour; but the delay of even a few hours will often permit the little remaining strength to ebb away, never more to be recovered. The rich hold the means of recovery, and get well; the poor are without them, and die.

It is true that some two or three thousand poor are annually delivered from this sad fate by short sojourns in one of our convalescent hospitals. But there are many thousands who can obtain no such help, and who die unknown and unheeded by the public except as filling up an item in the registrar's report. The few such hospitals which we possess are valuable, but insufficient. Hundreds of applicants are refused on each admission day, purely for lack of room. We want more and larger convalescent hospitals. We want accommodation for ten times the number of patients, and that they should be able to make a longer stay. Four weeks are hardly sufficient for a radical cure, as any one may know, from experience, who has been sick nigh to death, and remembers the slow tedious process of recovery. None ought to be discharged from such an institution until at least six weeks have passed; and cases of peculiar debility might require even a longer period.

If each metropolitan hospital had a supplementary building at the seaside, or if several hospitals were to unite in erecting one large institution to which they could send every patient who, although cured of disease, was too weak to earn a living, the cause of humanity would be greatly served, and the bills of mortality sensibly lightened. Were that consummation to be attained, we should no more have our hearts wrung at the future and inevitable sufferings of those whom we have been carefully tending, and no longer feel a pang at the sight of the words "Discharged Cured."

LET me look back some five-and-twenty years,
And I behold a home of rural peace,
Bowered amidst evergreens, the sunny front
Covered with trellised creepers, rich with bloom,
And all the lawny garden cut in beds,

VOL. I.-NO. II.

L

Heart-shaped, and lozenge, and the true love-knot,
Dainty device of form, to hold the wealth

Of scarlet, purple, blue, and orange flowers,
Which through the circling seasons never failed,
And like an iris-bow linked earth with heaven.
A peaceful, lovely home, whose outward guise
Was but the semblance of the life within,
As a fair form seems to enshrine most fitly
A gracious soul-all purity and love.
Domestic life, that fore-court to the joy
Ordained in heaven, in its perfected form
Reigned in this blissful home; husband and wife,
Parent and child, and children, linked in love,
One to the other, like an angel band,

Made of these bowers a paradise on earth.

Each passing day stamped on the ductile minds Of these glad children, memories enwoven From books and flowers, and all the mingled wealth Of Nature's sweet surroundings-fields and woods, The river-banks, the breezy uplands, crowned With groups of pine-trees, black-green 'gainst the sky; And memorable spots of old renown

Within a walking distance of their door.

A lovely home it was, set like a gem
In the rich gold of England's old romance,
With choicest taste adorned, and every charm
Of outward beauty!

Let me once again

Walk through its garden, to the sunny slope
Of a green orchard, where, in dewy spring,
The banks are massed with flowers-pale primroses,
The deep-eyed cowslip, violets white and blue,
And crimson campions; whilst overhead
The rose-pink apple-bloom and snowy pear,
Add beauty even to the soft blue sky.
This is a paradise for more than flowers-
For more than singing-birds, that chorus forth
The jubilant rapture of the early year,

For more than beauty of the sky and earth-
For here resorts a boy, morn, noon, and night,
To weave sweet fancies and to shape day-dreams;
A young enthusiast, with deep, mystic eyes,
And brow compact, yet open as the dawn.