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ness of my question: "Those articles of diet would be impracticably out of place with native patients; they would neither tolerate, nor eat, nor assimilate them. As a matter of health as well as of wisdom, we must provide food suitable in some degree to their constitutional idiosyncrasies and lifelong usage." Then I was shown the flat damp cakes of coarse unleavened bread, as stodgy as an untoasted muffin; tubs of sickly looking cream - cheese; jars of sour-milk; and a great abundance of preserved fruits. On emergencies a small amount of spirit may be prescribed, but this is attended with difficulty owing to the religious prejudices of Moslems.

The most prevalent normal illnesses-I put abnormal cholera out of calculation—are fever, affections of the liver, dysentery, and rheumatism, but by far the greater number of cases are surgical. Last year 307 operations were performed, of which 39 were for bone, 33 for glands, 51 for abscesses, 48 for ophthalmia, and 14 amputations. Who are the nurses, the compounders, the dressers, the aids to the doctor in surgical operations, the anesthetists, &c., and of whom the reasonable number might appear to be some ten or twelve? All these functions are fulfilled by those three skilled Edinburgh young ladies, who act on the divine principle that the relief of suffering sanctifies every office to the helpless sick, who unerringly make up complicated prescriptions, and who without blenching hand to the surgeon knives and tourniquets, band

ages and sponges, required for operations so ghastly that the sight of them would almost turn a hardened man faint. In the out-patient department they ply their business with the fullest activity. Every morning a crowd pours into the waiting-room in such numbers that time would not admit of a medical diagnosis in all cases. Therefore, perforce, in slight ailments, where simple remedies and common-sense suffice, the nurses deal direct with the applicants. The total number of out-patients treated January-November 30 last year amounted to 7122. Those in the wards are necessarily restricted within narrow limits. In 1903, 134 were admitted. Treatment is sought not only by inhabitants from the adjacent city, but from remote districts in the desert, and a large number is made up of children. Not infrequently there is an anguish - stricken entreaty that the doctor will come to the dwelling-house of the sufferer. "Sir, come down

ere my child die." Whenever possible the request is complied with, and the parent's heart made to rejoice with the assurance, "Thy son liveth." Nor is there any lack of gratitude and appreciation on appreciation on the part of those who have been recipients of the benefits of this hospital. There are, it is true, other dispensaries at Damascus established by religious foreign societies. Let us give them the credit they deserve; let us also bear in mind that in their practice as well as in their principles the interests of their particular Church justify every detail in

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their conduct. It would also be unfair to stigmatise all native doctors as ignorant and inefficient. But the light of European science reduces to comparative twilight the utmost knowledge of oriental practitioners, so that the respect for and confidence in the English hakim is deep throughout the native city, and is diffused to villages distant many hours' journey. Inces

santly old patients appear to bless and to thank, sometimes bringing one of their kinsfolk for treatment. On dismissal days friends come to accompany home those who have been relieved or cured. They carry away with them impressions which they will long remember; and for many a year they will discuss in their Bedouin habitations the deeds of mercy they have received at the hands of those very Christians whom tradition has taught them to

curse.

The Victoria Hospital is, as we have already mentioned, one of the offshoots of the Edinburgh Medical Missionary Society; and where, it may be asked, does any direct work of evangelisation come in? Not by an inflated and illusory record of nominal conversions, baptisms, communicants, prayermeetings, and stump preachings; but, in the first instance, by the daily practical exercise of one of the foremost principles of Christianity, in alleviating suffering and sorrow, followed by setting before those whom they have relieved the truths of that religion, and the life, beauty, and compassion of its divine Founder. Every

evening, when all is quiet and tidied and comfortable in the wards, the doctor or one of the Scottish ladies reads in Arabic a few passages from the Scriptures, carefully selected so that they may may include include nothing likely to scare a Mussulman. Christians are scarcely aware that most of the Bible tenets and much of its history are cherished by Moslems, and they regard our Saviour as a most holy man, although they deny His divinity, and know very little about Him. Then comes a short explanation, avoiding controversial points, and finally a few brief prayers are prayed,

not dirged or gabbled,-and still in Arabic. The entire service does not exceed fifteen or twenty minutes. Inasmuch as by far the greater portion of the native audience are Mohammedans, the question naturally arises whether this presentation of a religion which they regard as infidel does not wound their consciences? With absolute certainty we may reply in the negative. I cannot accept the not infrequent statement of the fanatical hatred of the Damascus inhabitants to every form of Christianity. Naught has been said which could ruffle them; much has been spoken which cheers and soothes them; and as a matter of fact they have never uttered one word of objection, although they have had ample opportunity of so doing. There has been only a single instance of remonstrance. A Roman Catholic, a native convert, complained to the Scottish nurse that the reading aloud of the Bible made his head ache. The charming young lady

sympathisingly advised him to stuff his ears with cotton-wool. "Le bon est toujours l'ennemi du meilleur." Dr Mackinnon has recently been defying his hospital's foe "Le Bon" by fostering its friend "Le Meilleur," and by striving to extend the scope of its work, the very success of which had caused considerable embarrassment. He therefore undertook the construction of, and has nearly completed, the sorely needed additional accommodation for the increasing number of patients. The new building has been strictly confined to the requisites of utility; decoration, swagger, and even further comforts for the European staff, have been sternly excluded. Thus the outlay has been kept within the extraordinarily narrow limit of £800, and it has not been easy to provide even this sum. The poverty-stricken patients are treated entirely gratis; those who are able to contribute towards defraying their own expenses are required to pay small sums, varying according to circumstances, and to this they make not the slightest demur. Casual visitors to Damascus-very few in number- have often been liberal in their donations, yet the aggregate from the above sources is inconsiderable. Now I will not weary my readers with the usual tiresome and fallacious balance sheet of charities, and I hotly repudiate sending round the hat with the mendicant importunity to which so many clerical advocates are not ashamed to resort; but I am not infringing my principle of abstention in remarking that

possibly some one of my readers may feel an impulse to send me a postal order (4 Morpeth Mansions, London) to aid the Scottish ladies, and to alleviate the sufferings of the Arabs. You may if you like, and I give you my word of honour it shall immediately be forwarded to Damascus without one farthing of the deductions for commission, postage, or miscellaneous, which so largely attenuate most charitable contributions.

Finally, I venture to point out that though the nurses of the Victoria Hospital will not on ordinary occasions forgo their exclusive attendance on their Arab patients, they render their readiest help in advising, in smoothing away difficulties, in contributing to the welfare of Europeans who invoke their assistance, and, whatever the nature of the aid, the nurses always refuse to accept any payment. Ay, and in very exceptional, desperate cases I have known them quit their wards and install themselves at the bedside of a chance English traveller smitten with the pestilence of the city, watching and nursing day and night until the patient be made whole, or until the demon of death proves the conqueror. The wards bear more than one record, and contain more than one gift, in grateful in grateful recognition of this angelic compassion. And should you ever chance to visit the Victoria Hospital, Damascus, you may find on one of the walls a small brass plate bearing the inscription, "Filio dileotissimo hoc æs posuit pater mærens."

THE RAWHIDE.

BY STEWART EDWARD WHITE.

CHAPTER IV.-DREAMS.

ALTHOUGH the paper was a year old, Señor Johnson in due time received an answer from Kansas. A correspondence ensued. Señor Johnson enshrined above the big fireplace the photograph of a woman. Before this he used to stand for hours at a time slowly constructing in his mind what he had hitherto lacked an ideal of womanhood and of home. This ideal he used sometimes to express to himself and to the ironical Jed.

"It must sure be nice to have a little woman waitin' for you when you come in off'n the desert."

Or

"Now, a woman would have them windows just blooming with flowers and white curtains and such truck." Or

"I bet that Sang would get a wiggle on him with his little old cleaning duds if he had a woman a-hold of his jerk-line."

Slowly he reconstructed his life, the life of the ranch, in terms of this hypothesised feminine influence. Then matters came to an understanding. Señor Johnson had sent his own portrait. Estrella Sands wrote back that she adored big black beards, but she was afraid of him, he had such a fascinatingly bad eye: no woman could resist him. Señor Johnson at once took things for

granted, sent on to Kansas a preposterous sum of "expense money and a railroad - ticket, and raided Goodrich's store at Williams, a hundred miles away, for all manner of gaudy carpets, silverware, fancy lamps, works of art, pianos, linens, and gimcracks for the adornment of the ranch-house. Furthermore, he offered wages more than equal to a hundred miles of desert to a young Irish girl named Susie O'Toole to come out as housekeeper, decorator, boss of Sang and another Chinaman, and companion to Mrs Johnson when she should arrive.

Furthermore, he laid off from the range-work Brent Palmer, the most skilful man with horses, and set him to "gentling" a beautiful little sorrel. A side-saddle had arrived from El Paso. It was "" centre-fire," which is to say, it had but the single horsehair cinch, broad, tasselled, very genteel in its suggestion of pleasure use only. Brent could be seen at all times of day cantering here and there on the sorrel, a blanket tied around his waist to simulate the long riding-skirt. He carried also a sulky and evil gleam in his eye, warning against undue levity.

Jed Parker watched these various proceedings sardonically.

Once, the baby light of innocence blue in his eye, he asked

if he would be required to dress

for dinner?

"If so, ," he went on, "I'll have my man brush up my lownecked clothes."

But Señor Johnson refused to be baited.

"Go on, Jed!" said he; 'you know you ain't got clothes enough to dust a fiddle."

The señor was happy these days. He showed it by an unwonted joviality of spirit, by a slight but evident unbending of his Spanish dignity. No longer did the splendour of the desert fill him with a vague yearning and uneasiness. He He looked upon it confidently, noting its various phases with care, rejoicing in each new development of colour and light, of form and illusion, storing them away in his memory,

so that their recurrence should find him prepared to recognise and explain them. For soon he would have some one by his side with whom to appreciate them. In that sharing he could see the reason for them, the reason for their strange bitter-sweet effects on the human soul.

One evening he leaned on the corral-fence looking toward the Chiracuahas. The sun had set behind them. Gigantic they loomed against the western light. From their summits, like an aureola, radiated the splendour of the dust - moted air, this evening a deep umber. deep umber. A faint reflection of it fell across the desert, glorifying the reaches of its nothingness.

"I'll take her out on an evenin' like this," quoth Señor Johnson to himself, "and I'll make her keep her eyes on the

ground 'till we get right up by Running Bear knob, and then I'll let her look up all to once. And she'll surely enjoy this life. I bet she never saw a steer roped in her life. She can ride with me every day out over th' range, and I'll show her the busting and the branding and that band of antelope over by the Tall Windmill. I'll teach her to shoot, too. And we can make little pack-trips off in the hills when she gets too hot,— up there by Deerskin Meadows 'mongst the high peaks."

He mused, turning over in his mind a new picture of his own life, aims, and pursuits as modified by the sympathetic and understanding companionship of a woman. He imaged

himself as he must seem to her in his different pursuits. The picturesqueness pleased him. The simple direct vanity of the man-the wholesome vanity of

straightforward nature awakened to preen its feathers before the idea of the mate.

The shadows fell. Over the Chiracuahas flared the evening star. The plain, self-luminous with the weird lucence of the arid lands, showed ghostly. Jed Parker, coming out from the lamplit adobe, leaned his elbows on elbows on the rail in silent company with his chief. He too looked abroad. His mind's eye saw what his body's eye had always told him were the insistent notes-the alkali, the cactus, the sage, the mesquite, the lava, the choking dust, the blinding heat, the burning thirst. He sighed in the dim half-recollection of past days.

"I wonder if she'll like the country," he hazarded.

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