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Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 Open Knowledge Commons 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/williamfairlieclOOclar 
 

^. ^^^^^ 
 
 WILLIAM FAIRLIE CLARKE, 
 
 M.D., F.R.C.S., 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'DISEASES OF THE TONGUE,' ETC. 
 
 1bt6 3Ltte auD 3Lettec6t 
 1bo0pital Sketches auD BDDresees. 
 
 By E. a. W., 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' HYMNS AND THOUGHTS IN VERSE,' ' HUMBERT THE BRAVE,' ETC. 
 
 amitJj portrait. 
 
 LONDON: 
 WILLIAM HUNT & COMPANY, 
 
 12 PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 1885. 
 

 <L^r'vi-</d<x>eKU 
 
 "R^tS .CSS 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The following short sketch of the life of Dr. W. 
 Fairlie Clarke has been written in hopes that it 
 may be useful and helpful to others. It shows 
 how a devout life may be maintained by a busy 
 professional man, to whom frequent week-day 
 attendance at religious services either at church, 
 chapel, or mission-hall are alike impossible. The 
 flame of religious ardour must in such a case be 
 kept alive by other means. That it can be 
 sustained, and a high standard of holiness be 
 reached, by the active medical practitioner as well 
 as by others whose occupations are not so severe, 
 is, we think, shown in the life of Dr. W. Fairlie 
 Clarke, as it has been in many other instances. 
 It is indeed useful in these days of abundant 
 religious excitement to be reminded that religion 
 does not consist, as ascetics in all ages have 
 imagined, in the exclusion from our minds of all 
 secular thought, but in living a holy life, in * doing 
 
vi Preface. 
 
 justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly with 
 God;' in being 'not slothful in business, but 
 fervent in spirit, serving the Lord.' 
 
 If these pages should likewise awake in any of 
 its readers a livelier interest in our young medical 
 students, another desire of the writer will then 
 be accomplished ; for their welfare was very dear 
 to the heart of Dr. Fairlie Clarke, and was the 
 object of his most earnest and persevering en- 
 deavours, and constant prayer. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 I. Childhood— School and College Life — Conversion- 
 Choice of Profession, ...... i 
 
 II. Student Life in London — Tour Abroad — Marriage — 
 
 Residence in London, 21 
 
 III. Hospital Reform — Provident Dispensaries, ... 33 
 
 IV. Medical Missions — The Medical Prayer Union — The 
 
 Medical Missionary Association, . . . ••41 
 
 V. Life at Southborough — Illness and Recovery, . . 57 
 
 VI. Last Illness and Death, 69 
 
 ADDRESSES. 
 
 Addresses to the Members of the Medical Prayer Union, . 81 
 Address to the Christian Medical Association, ... 97 
 
 PRAYERS. 
 Prayers for Medical Missions, 103 
 
 HOSPITAL SKETCHES. 
 
 The Sick-Nurse, ........ 107 
 
 The Medical Student, 124 
 
 A Short Life well spent, 144 
 
 vii 
 
Vlll 
 
 Contents. 
 
 A Day among Out-Patients, 
 
 An Hour among In-Patients, 
 
 A Surgical Operation, .... 
 
 The Visitors' Hour and the Children's Ward, 
 
 A Night in Hospital, . 
 
 Christmas Day in Hospital, 
 
 163 
 189 
 212 
 232 
 248 
 265 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Jesus, hold me by Thy Hand, 284 
 
 Judge Not, . . 285 
 
 May I Love Thee, 287 
 
 Little Lily ! 288 
 
 The Out-Patient, 289 
 
 The Voice of the Seasons, . . . . . . .291 
 
 A New Year's Greeting, 292 
 
 My Wish for my Boys, . . . . . . . 292 
 
 A Song for my Boys, 294 
 
 A New Year's Greeting, 295 
 
 Christmas Greeting, 296 
 
 The Last New Year's Greeting, 296 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 CHILDHOOD — SCHOOL AND COLLEGE LIFE — 
 CONVERSION — CHOICE OF PROFESSION. 
 
 ' Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. ' 
 —John iii. 3. 
 
 * Take my life, and let it be 
 Consecrated, Lord, to Thee ! ' 
 
 Frances Ridley Havergal. 
 
 WILLIAM FAIRLIE CLARKE was born 
 at Calcutta in 1833. His father, who 
 was attached to the Bengal Civil Service, died in 
 that city on September 23, 1835. The maiden 
 name of his mother was Arabella Anne Cheap. 
 She was born in India, but spent the early years 
 of her life at Elvington, Yorkshire, under the care 
 of an aunt, sister to the Rev. Andrew Clark, then 
 rector of that place. At the age of sixteen she 
 returned to her parents in India, and was married 
 in A.D. 1820 to William Fairlie Clarke.^ 
 
 ^ The name Fairlie came from an uncle who belonged to an Ayr- 
 shire family. 
 
 A 
 
2 Memoir of Willia^n Fairlie Clarke, 
 
 William Fairlie's earliest reminiscences were of 
 his voyage home from India after his father's 
 death. When he was only seven years old, his 
 eldest brother died, Patrick jCheap, an officer in 
 the Bengal Army, at the early age of nineteen. 
 This youth deserves an honourable mention, for, 
 in days when religion was not so frequent in the 
 army as it is now, he had manfully served God, 
 and endeavoured to live a Christian life. 
 
 William's boyhood was a happy one under the 
 wise and tender supervision of his mother, and, 
 being the youngest of the family, he was an object 
 of special affection to the other brothers and 
 sisters. As a boy he was very merry, an adept 
 at all games, and his spirit and intelligence gave 
 ample promise for the future. He went to Rugby 
 when fifteen years of age, Dr. Goulburn, the well- 
 known author of Thoughts on Personal Religion^ 
 being then head-master. 
 
 A fragment of autobiography gives us a sketch 
 of his life, beginning at this time, and brings 
 before us the event which he himself regarded as 
 the most important in his whole career. 
 
 A Chapter of Autobiography. 
 ^ Dec. 5, 1875. — It was at Sidmouth in the 
 
Conversion, 3 
 
 summer holidays of 1852. I was then at Rugby 
 School. I was in the sixth form, and in " The 
 Eleven." We had gone to Sidmouth for the 
 benefit of my mother's health. 
 
 ' One night — it must have been towards the end 
 of July — I could not sleep. I lay awake, crying 
 and sobbing under a profound conviction of my 
 own sinfulness, and my need of deep repentance. 
 I had been well instructed in religious knowledge, 
 and I knew that, if we confess our sins, God is 
 faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and I knew 
 also that whosoever cometh unto Christ He will 
 in no wise cast out. That night I slept little. 
 Next morning I rose very early, and walked up 
 and down the esplanade, communing with my 
 own heart and with God. 
 
 ' And now, after an experience of twenty-three 
 years, I humbly believe that during that night of 
 spiritual distress, and that communion with God 
 by the seaside on that summer morning, there 
 was wrought in me, by the power of the Holy 
 Ghost, that great change which the Saviour speaks 
 of as *' a new birth." 
 
 "Perverse and foolish, oft I strayed, » 
 
 But yet in love He sought nie, 
 And on His shoulders gently laid, 
 And home, rejoicing, brought me."- 
 
4 Me7noir of William Fairlie Clm^ke. 
 
 * The little memoir of Abby Bolton was a book 
 to which I turned at this time with great delight. 
 
 It had been lent me by Mrs. , and I read it 
 
 and re-read it with no small profit. Parts of it I 
 recollect vividly to this day, though I have not 
 seen it for twenty years. 
 
 * Within a few days I wrote to Mr. John 
 Campbell Shairp, now Principal of St. Andrews, 
 the master of my boarding house at Rugby, to 
 express my regret for not having made better use 
 of the advantages which the school afforded, and 
 to promise amendment for the short time that I 
 was yet to stay there. 
 
 * In June 185 1 the school character that I had 
 received was but a poor one. It is evident I was 
 wasting my time. This character my mother had 
 forwarded to me, with a few lines of her own 
 written on the back. I crumpled it up in my 
 hand, scorning, I suppose, both the character 
 itself and the loving exhortation that accom- 
 panied it, and was on the point of throwing it 
 away, but better thoughts prevailed, and it is in 
 my desk now. To me it is a precious document, 
 for it is almost the only letter of my mother's 
 that I possess, and, soiled and crumpled as it is, it 
 seems to remind me of my own idleness and re- 
 
Conversion, 5 
 
 jection of good advice (which I look back upon 
 with shame), and of my mother's affectionate and 
 unwearied efforts for my welfare, for which I can 
 never be sufficiently thankful. 
 
 * But I had now been brought to a better mind ; 
 my mother's prayers had received the first in- 
 stalment oftheir answer ; and in July 1852 I wrote, 
 as I have said, expressing my desire to redeem 
 the few weeks I was yet to remain at Rugby. 
 
 ' In looking back upon the incident which 
 forms the main subject of this chapter, there 
 are two or three remarks which it appears to 
 me important to make. 
 
 * (i) As far as I could see, no Church ordinances 
 had any direct effect in working in me the change 
 to which I have alluded, though I do not doubt 
 they had an indirect effect, as forming part of 
 the religious training in which we were brought 
 up. 
 
 * (2) Some people object to fixing thus definitely 
 the time of conversion. But are there not many 
 examples of speedy, and even of sudden conver- 
 sion in the New Testament 1 If it is not the 
 way in which the Holy Spirit usually works, it 
 is at least one of the modes of His operation. 
 Christian biography abundantly testifies this. 
 
6 Me^noir of William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 By conversion, I understand, a change is wrought 
 upon our mental, moral, and spiritual nature, 
 whereby we are, as it were, turned right round, 
 so that our thoughts, our affections, and our 
 aspirations come to be supremely set upon God 
 and upon good. This operation of the Holy 
 Ghost Christ Himself compares to the wind. 
 Sometimes the wind blows gently, but continu- 
 ously, from a particular quarter, and we see the 
 trees permanently bent under its influence ; some- 
 times a tree is thrown over by a few severe gales ; 
 sometimes it is torn up by the roots by a sudden 
 hurricane. So it is with the afflatus of God's 
 Spirit ; and I believe there are many cases of 
 real conversion corresponding to each of these 
 actions of the wind. 
 
 '(3) In looking back over these twenty-three 
 years, I can say with truth that my life since 
 July 1852 has been a different one from my 
 previous life. Old things then passed away, and 
 all things became new. My feet were turned 
 into another path, and, by the grace of God, 
 they have been kept in that path ever since. 
 He that began a good work has continued it 
 unto this present hour. I well know, and I 
 confess with shame, that all this while my heart 
 
spiritual Life, 7 
 
 has been full of rebellious and wicked thoughts ; 
 I have said many things that were wrong as well 
 as foolish ; and I have done much that was likely 
 to discredit my Christian profession, and to grieve 
 my Saviour. At times the flame of my spiritual 
 life has burnt very low, — so low that it could 
 scarcely have given any token to those around 
 me, and certainly could not have afforded them 
 any help. Still, though all this is perfectly true, 
 and I acknowledge it with shame and regret, yet 
 what I said before is no less true ; namely, that 
 my life since July 1852 has been altogether a 
 new one, different from, and higher than, my 
 previous life. And though I have had my 
 periods of spiritual dullness and inactivity, I can 
 truly say that I have never for any great length 
 of time been without the earnest desire to spend 
 my life in the service of that gracious God and 
 loving Father who has called me into His king- 
 dom and glory through Jesus Christ my Savioun 
 
 'July 1877. — And here let me add a sentence 
 or two with regard to my own children. 
 
 * It is not in our power to give them true con- 
 version of heart to God, — His Spirit alone can 
 effect that ; but we can do our utmost by prayer 
 and supplication to beseech God to give them 
 
8 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 an effectual blessing, and we can use every 
 endeavour to prepare their minds and character 
 for the reception of it. We cannot light the 
 heavenly fire ; but we can, as it were, lay the 
 wood and the coal in order.' 
 
 Here, then, we have, as it were, the watershed 
 of William Fairlie Clarke's life. Hitherto his 
 thoughts and aspirations had tended to earthly 
 things ; henceforth they were fixed on heaven. 
 His course from this date up to the close of 
 his life, more than thirty years afterwards, was — 
 
 ' Right upwards and right onwards 
 To yonder throne.' 
 
 The story of his conversion should be full of 
 encouragement to many an anxious mother. In 
 due season shall she reap if she faint not. 
 
 In vain men may scoff at the notion of a 
 supernatural influence exercised on the heart. 
 Experience of a fact rebuts assertions of its 
 impossibility. Sober-minded, scientific men, such 
 as was the subject of this memoir, deserve to be 
 attended to when they give us their own spiritual 
 history, and state their own deliberate conviction 
 of the crisis through which they have passed, 
 and of the divine Agent who directed it. 
 
 The autobiography goes on to narrate his 
 
Death of his Mother. g 
 
 entrance on college life, and his first great sorrow 
 on the death of his mother. 
 
 *I left Rugby in October 1852, and went 
 straight to Oxford. I distinctly remember how, 
 in driving from the station to Tom Gate, I 
 earnestly prayed that I might be a member of 
 Christ's Church in the truest sense, and that in 
 this new period of my life I might walk worthy 
 of my high calling. Through my brother I was 
 introduced to one or two pious men, and I can 
 never be sufficiently thankful for the friendships 
 which I thus made at Oxford. I only regret 
 that I did not cast in my lot more promptly 
 and more unreservedly with the circle of God- 
 fearing men to which he introduced me. 
 
 ' On the morning of February 10, 1853, we were 
 summoned by telegraph to Low Harrogate, as my 
 mother was sinking fast. We started with as little 
 delay as possible, but when we reached Leeds the 
 last train for Harrogate had started, and there was 
 nothing for it but to take a cab. It was a bitterly 
 cold night, the snow lying thick upon the ground, 
 and the drive was a mournful and desolate one in 
 every sense. When we arrived at the house at 
 about eleven o'clock, we found it shut up for the 
 night. All was over with our mother. Her 
 
lo Memoir of Willia77i Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 earthly life had ended at four in the afternoon, 
 and my brother and my three sisters, wearied 
 with fatigue and distress, had gone early to bed. 
 We crept softly up-stairs ; were taken into the 
 chamber of death, that we might see our mother's 
 face once more ; and then we too retired to rest. 
 
 *0n the 15th we laid our mother in the church- 
 yard at Elvington, and we have always regarded 
 it as a merciful circumstance that we were able 
 thus to bury her in the village which was dear to 
 her as having been her early home, and with which 
 we have as a family been ever since more or less 
 connected. The 15th was a beautiful winter day. 
 The sun shone brightly upon the snow as we laid 
 our mother down in the grave under the south side 
 of the old church.' 
 
 One of the friends of Dr. Fairlie Clarke's college 
 life gives us the following reminiscences of him at 
 this period :— 
 
 * You most truly speak of William as so loving. 
 His brightness and cheerfulness were also most 
 pleasing traits in his character. Such was also 
 his earnestness. The time that I was most closely 
 connected with him was during a six weeks' read- 
 ing party at the English Lakes in 1856. It was 
 chiefly through his means that we adopted the 
 
Study of Scriphire. 1 1 
 
 practice of reading the Holy Scriptures every 
 morning before breakfast for half an hour together, 
 and I well remember how that reading gave me a 
 new view of St. Paul's character. It must have 
 been he who led us to join a Bible class at Keswick 
 on Sunday, and I can remember how on one of 
 these we were led to dwell upon the manna given 
 to the Israelites as a type of the food supplied to 
 us in the Word of God. There was a word which 
 I have never forgotten. I was in a great deal of 
 trouble about my own spiritual state, and he said 
 to me, "When you think once of self, think twice 
 of Christ." I remember at the Lakes his quoting 
 with marked admiration some words of Mr. 
 Keble's Christian Year. One was — 
 
 " Thou who hast given me eyes to see 
 And love this sight so fair, 
 Give me a heart to find out Thee, 
 And love Thee every where. " 
 
 The other — 
 
 *' Yes, ransom'd sinner, would'st thou know 
 
 How others to forgive, 
 How dearly to embrace thy foe, 
 
 Look where thou hop'st to live. 
 When thou hast told those realms of light, 
 
 And fancied all beyond 
 "Whatever owns in depth or height 
 
 Creation's wondrous bond, 
 
12 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke, 
 
 Then in that solemn pageant learn 
 
 Sweet mercy's praise to see, 
 Their Lord resigned them all to earn 
 
 The bliss of saving thee." 
 
 ' At college he introduced me to Sunday school 
 teaching at St. Ebbe's, and when some one came 
 to visit us, and said there was only one teacher 
 who understood teaching properly, my impression 
 is, he must have been intended. 
 
 ' At Christ Church we had a Bible class on 
 Sunday evenings, part of our time there. He used 
 to mark with a pencil his Bible, and I seem to 
 remember his earnest thoughtful voice. Thus 
 you see how he was a help to me and others in 
 those days.' 
 
 Soon after taking his B.A. degree, W. Fairlie 
 Clarke went to Edinburgh, and entered him- 
 self as a student of law. The curriculum of 
 his legal studies embraced a course of lectures 
 upon medical jurisprudence by Dr. Littlejohn. 
 Whilst attending these he found his interest in 
 medical subjects increasing daily, and, on the other 
 hand, his interest in purely legal studies was daily 
 decreasing. * Under these circumstances,' he 
 writes, ' the question arose in my mind whether I 
 had not better give up the law altogether and 
 turn to medicine. To me the medical profession 
 
Choice of the Medical Profession. 13 
 
 appeared only second to the ministry, and, as my 
 two elder brothers were clergymen, I thought I 
 might follow the other aspect of the Lord's ex- 
 ample, and serve Him as a doctor. This was in 
 1858. About Easter I left Edinburgh. For a 
 few weeks I stayed at Elvington. In the summer 
 I went to Paris for six weeks ; and in the follow- 
 ing October I entered as a medical student at 
 King's College, London.' 
 
 William Fairlie Clarke never regretted this 
 change of profession. On the contrary, the longer 
 he lived the more highly he valued the medical 
 calling, as so powerful a means of benefiting 
 Others ; and as also, in itself, of such profound 
 interest to a scientific mind. 
 
 Before we follow him to London, let us glance 
 at some letters written about this date. 
 
 Letters to Rev. J. C . 
 
 19 Albany Street, Edinburgh, 
 May 26, 1859. 
 
 . . . As you desire it, let me speak of myself 
 The summer is not the time when the law lectures 
 are given ; they only go on during the winter 
 months, so, as far as these go, I am unemployed, 
 but I read a little law and a good deal of history 
 on my own account, to the amount of seven hours 
 
14 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 a day. I recently heard that the authorities here 
 are going to accept my course of Law Lectures in 
 Oxford, in place of a course here : this was my 
 aim in coming up in February, so my journey has 
 not been in vain. This will enable me to be called 
 to the Bar and put on the wig and gown in a year 
 from this time ! Only conceive how learned I 
 shall look ! 
 
 As soon as I was settled, I began to teach in a 
 Sunday school ; I am so fond of boys that it was 
 to me the very reverse of a burden. The school 
 is in the very lowest part of the town ; in fact, it is 
 a Ragged School during the week, so you may 
 imagine the class of boys ; some are in tatters, 
 several have no shoes or stockings. But for all 
 this they are, I think, more intelligent, and 
 decidedly more industrious, than fellows of the 
 same age in England ; struggling poverty is quite 
 characteristic of Scotland. Moreover, I have 
 offered to undertake a little visiting. I have not 
 yet had a district assigned me, but in the course 
 of a few visits I have paid to the parents of my 
 Sunday scholars, I have seen phases of life I 
 never saw before : old toppling houses, room over 
 room to the height of seven storeys, swarming 
 with human beings, several living in a single room 
 not big enough for one, and no arrangements 
 made for cleanliness or decency; but, for all this, 
 intercourse with the poor is a grand thing for 
 making one thoughtful, considerate, and self- 
 denying. It is impossible to see the wants of 
 others, and then spend money on fine clothes or 
 other vanities. 
 
Letters, 1 5 
 
 I shall probably go to England in July to a 
 cottage my brother has in Yorkshire. If you are 
 in the neighbourhood you must drop us a line, 
 and come and see us. 
 
 Elvington, near York, 
 October 13, 1859. 
 
 My dear C, — I think you manage very well 
 to get seven hours' reading per diem at home. The 
 difficulties of reading at home are so great, that I 
 reckon seven hours there equal to ten at Oxford. I 
 hope you have had no return of headaches. If you 
 have, I would advise you to give up reading for 
 Honours at once, and not risk your health ; 
 though I feel as strongly as any one that it is a 
 man's bounden duty to read for Honours if his 
 health permits, yet I have also felt how little 
 Honours in themselves have to do with a man's 
 after life, unless it be such honours as are out of 
 the reach of ordinary mortals like you and me. 
 My thoughts are never now thrown back on my 
 class, but they are often thrown back upon the 
 information I acquired in reading for a class ; 
 therein, as you know well, lies the real benefit of 
 reading for Honours,' — in the reading, but not in 
 the Honours. But I am well aware that when the 
 schools are staring one in the face, it is difficult 
 to avoid giving undue thought and attention to 
 the class list, and therefore it is that I am repeaf- 
 ing all these trite observations. I very much fear 
 that we all want a more vivid sense of our 
 heavenly Father's care for us ; we want to think 
 more of Christ, and less of ourselves ; we want to 
 
1 6 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke* 
 
 be less jealous of our own dignities and honours, 
 and more jealous for the Lord God of Hosts. 
 
 A 's departure is still delayed ; it is by no 
 
 means the least of the numberless mercies we 
 enjoy that we are able as a family to spend so 
 much time together, though we have all arrived at 
 man's estate. This summer we have been all 
 together for about three weeks, and almost all 
 together for about four months. What shall we 
 render the Lord for all His benefits ? Oh for 
 more gratitude, more active gratitude, that would 
 result in bold and persevering efforts for Him to 
 whom we owe everything. 
 
 You ask about Elvington matters. . . . We have 
 opened a library for children, and another for 
 adults, both of which are in a healthy state, and 
 seem to be valued. We have got a site for the 
 school-house we propose to build, but that cannot 
 be begun till the spring. We have been trying for 
 about a month to get a suitable master, but alas ! 
 all our efforts up to this tim.e have failed. The 
 difficulties arise from the small salary we have to 
 offer. If you can do anything to help us, pray 
 do it, for we must have a man by the beginning 
 of November next, for reasons which I will show 
 you immediately. The want of a day-school 
 acted painfully on the Sunday school. Every 
 Sunday I felt the necessity of doing something 
 for the education of the place more and more ; so 
 one fine Sunday, about a fortnight ago, I de- 
 termined, come what would, to open the school 
 myself forthwith. Accordingly I communicated 
 with the rector, and turned pedagogue on the 
 
School-teaching. 17 
 
 spot. I have now been engaged ten days in my 
 new employment, and get on famously ; I always 
 was fond of children, and of instructing them ; and 
 the children, I think, are not below the average. 
 Only fancy me, a B.B. of Ch. Ch., setting copies 
 in large text, and instilling the multiplication 
 table for five hours a day to Yorkshire rustics ! 
 I have about twenty scholars already, and we all 
 get on famously. They begin to show improve- 
 ment already, and I have still three or four weeks 
 to work upon them. But then comes the rub : / 
 fnust leave in November, and we have not yet 
 found the man to fill my place. After all, these 
 youngsters would sometimes drive me to my 
 wits' end, had I not occasional assistance from 
 Alured, and constant assistance from a good 
 thick cane. — Your affectionate friend, 
 
 W. F. Clarke. 
 
 Elvington is a little village of between three 
 and four hundred inhabitants, a few miles from 
 York. Not many young men would have given 
 up the leisure of a short period of vacation to 
 teaching country lads ! He also built a school- 
 house for them at his own expense.^ 
 
 In a letter dated Nov. 3, 1859, he describes the 
 further progress of the school. 
 
 My dear C, — Here I am, still school-master. 
 
 ^ Since 1863 the parish has been under the charge of one of his 
 brothers. 
 
 B 
 
1 8 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 I have filled the post now for a month exactly. 
 However, we have met with a master who is likely 
 to suit us, so I have no fears of an interregnum. 
 It is pretty hard work, I can tell you, five hours a 
 day, except on Wednesdays and Saturdays, which 
 are half-holidays, and I have work in the evening 
 setting copies, and putting things in order for 
 next day. I look forward to the half-holidays 
 with as much delight as the boys themselves can 
 possibly do. I met with a verse the other day 
 which pleased me much. I try, by repeating it 
 and dwelling on it, to make it my own,^ — 
 
 * Then welcome toil, and care, and pain, 
 
 And welcome service too ; 
 
 All toil is rest, all grief is gain, 
 
 With such a prize in view.' 
 
 I find it comparatively easy to work because 
 one ought to work, or because it gives one real 
 pleasure to benefit others ; but to work in order 
 that we may glorify God, there is the difficulty, 
 and yet, I take it, nothing short of that ought to 
 satisfy a Christian. . . . 
 
 * Peace be thy gentle guest ! 
 Peace holy and divine ! 
 God's blessed sunlight still 
 Upon thy pathway shine ! 
 
 ' His Spirit fill thy soul, 
 And cast out every sin ; 
 His own deep joy impart, 
 And make a heaven within. ' 
 
Letters, 1 9 
 
 TO THE SAME, ON TRAVELLING WITH A PUPIL. 
 
 April 1858. 
 
 A couple of years ago I was arranging a 
 continental tour with a friend of ours. He is not 
 a fellow who sees quite eye to eye with myself, but 
 I determined to make it a sine qua non that we 
 should join together every morning, if not every 
 morning and evening, in reading and prayer. I 
 would most strongly advise you to lay down some 
 such rule, and adopt some such practice, from the 
 very first At those times I should confine my 
 reading to the parts of Scripture which are most 
 directly practical, such, for instance, as the Psalms, 
 Gospels, and simpler Epistles. For a prayer 
 (looking at the matter from your point of view, 
 and remembering that you do not like ex- 
 tempore prayer), I should advise you, before you 
 leave, to draw up one or two prayers in writing, 
 suitable to the circumstances in which you are 
 likely to be placed, asking for wisdom to direct 
 your journey (Psalm xxxii. 8, xlii. 3, and other 
 passages innumerable) ; for a mind calm and 
 unruffled by the petty annoyances to which you 
 will be exposed ; for * a heart to find out God 
 and read Him everywhere' (according to Keble's 
 beautiful hymn) ; for the constant daily descent 
 of the Holy Spirit, to sanctify all your pleasures, 
 and to enable you to use the knowledge and 
 experience you are acquiring in His service and 
 for His glory. These are petitions in which both 
 you and your pupil might join heartily ; but 
 besides this, my dear fellow, you will require 
 much of the Spirit of Wisdom to teach you how 
 
20 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 to refuse the evil and choose the good (Lam. i. 5 ; 
 Prov. iii. 5), and also much ' mercy of the Lord to 
 be faithful ' in dealing with your pupil's best in- 
 terests (i Cor. vii. 25). You know as well as I do 
 where and how these things are to be obtained. 
 May more of the spirit of prayer rest upon us both. 
 May the Mercy-seat become more and more our 
 habitual resort. May our prayers be more and 
 more those simple, believing prayers which our 
 Father delights to answer ; His ear is not heavy 
 that it cannot hear, neither is His arm shortened 
 that it cannot save, but our iniquities, our want of 
 faith and love, have separated between us and Him. 
 
 Believe me, I shall not forget to mention your 
 name from time to time in my prayers, and it will be 
 my heart's desire that, in all the changes through 
 which you may pass, you may find your happiness 
 in resting your soul on His unchanging love ; and 
 in all the varied circumstances in which you may 
 be placed, may the peace of God, which passeth 
 understanding, keep your heart and mind through 
 Christ Jesus. 
 
 I have some thought of changing my profession ; 
 I intend to take time for counsel and deliberation 
 during the summer while I am at home. Will 
 you ask for me, that I may have a single eye to 
 God's glory } 
 
 The present circumstances of my life, and the 
 recent dealings of God towards me, are expressed 
 in Psalm xxxii. 10, latter clause. At Elvington 
 things prosper wonderfully. — Ever your very 
 affectionate, 
 
 William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
CHAPTER IL 
 
 STUDENT LIFE IN LONDON — TOUR ABROAD — 
 MARRIAGE — RESIDENCE IN LONDON, 
 
 ' Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way ? By taking heed 
 thereto according to Thy word.' — Ps. cxix, 9. 
 
 ' Speaking broadly, only two things are needed to make a true 
 Christian : a simple trust in God's mercy through Jesus Christ his 
 Saviour, and an earnest desire to follow in the steps of His most holy 
 life.' — William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 WILLIAM FAIRLIE CLARKE had not 
 been long in King's College Hospital as a 
 student before his influence began to be strongly 
 felt there for good. There was something about 
 him which invited confidence, and commanded 
 respect Nurses liked to have him in their wards ; 
 patients were soothed by his presence at their bed- 
 sides. Older than most of his fellow-students, and 
 having had the advantage of a university education, 
 his influence and the weight of his example were 
 naturally great. A proof of this occurs in a letter 
 
 written by one who was in the college along with 
 
 21 
 
2 2 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 him. * He and I,' writes this gentleman (Bal- 
 manno Squire, Esq., M.D., F.R.CS.), *took the 
 main part in what, to us, was a very ambitious 
 undertaking, namely, the establishment of a de- 
 bating and conversazione society, for the united 
 medical students of London. I was its first 
 president. He was its second president Subse- 
 quently each of us wrote a book on a special 
 department of surgery, and I know how highly on 
 the Continent, as well as here, his unique treatise 
 is esteemed. I may say that we began life, or 
 rather our active career together, and ran it on 
 parallel lines. I remember well his good-looking 
 face, his specially gentlemanly demeanour, and 
 the very high opinion of his character that we all 
 entertained ; and I can say that, as my chief 
 colleague in the rather formidable undertaking 
 that we as youngsters successfully carried out, and 
 in which I was specially anxious to single out for 
 my chief coadjutor the man who seemed to be of 
 the highest tone of mind, and whose manner and 
 course of action would carry the most weight, I 
 pitched upon Mr. Fairlie Clarke, whom I had not 
 before known, and I never had any reason to think 
 that I could have made a better choice than when 
 I solicited him to bear the Ijrunt with me.' 
 
Workhouse- Visiting. 23 
 
 His genial character and kindly ways rapidly 
 made him popular. He lost no opportunity of 
 showing kindness to his fellow - students, and 
 would frequently invite them to his lodgings on 
 Sunday evenings, and occasionally have one of 
 them to stay with him. 
 
 But his efforts to be useful were not long con- 
 fined to the little world of King's College. He 
 soon began to visit the poor. About this time 
 Miss Louisa Twining was beginning her well- 
 known and largely successful efforts to ameliorate 
 the condition of the poor in workhouses. Being 
 introduced to her by his brother, Canon Erskine 
 Clarke, he at once began to give her hearty aid in 
 her work. 'It was in February 1858,' writes this 
 lady, 'that I began to visit the Strand Union 
 Workhouse in Cleveland Row on Sunday after- 
 noons. I was then making efforts to obtain 
 visitors to every ward on Sundays, and gladl}^ 
 availed myself of Mr. Fairlie Clarke's aid. It was 
 the first time a gentleman had volunteered for the 
 purpose. There were several wards of men, sick 
 and infirm, and it was evident it would be a very 
 great boon, as the chaplain could never hold more 
 than two services in the workroom, being a curate 
 elsewhere. Mr. Fairlie Clarke at once brought a 
 
24 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 coadjutor in Mr. C. P. Bosanquet, first honorary 
 secretary of the Chanty Organization Society. 
 They continued for many years. At one time he 
 tried to do more, and began readings with some of 
 the men in an evening of the week. After some 
 time, however, I remember his telling me he found 
 them of too low a class, being the so-called able- 
 bodied, all mixed up together in those days in 
 one mass of 500 inmates of all ages and classes. 
 These would naturally be the most hopeless and 
 impervious to such efforts. At Christmas, for some 
 years, tea-parties took place in every ward, each 
 visitor contributing the cost, and waiting upon the 
 patients. It was a pleasant sight, and long looked 
 forward to and remembered. I can see now the 
 cheery face of the one, and the tall thin form of 
 the other, helping thus to cheer and brighten the 
 sad, lonely lives of these forlorn ones. I am quite 
 sure these services were highly appreciated by 
 the chaplain and excellent master and matron.' 
 
 At a later period his services were transferred 
 to St. James's Union, Poland Street, where he con- 
 tinued to hold two or three services every Sunday 
 afternoon for many years, till he left London. 
 
 His coadjutor at the Strand Union, C. P. 
 Bosanquet, gives us a sketch of his early friendship 
 
Reminiscences of C. P. Bosanqttet, 25 
 
 with him, and of his London life. ' I first met him 
 at St. Michael's Vicarage, Derby, and he won my 
 confidence at once. We were both at Oxford at 
 the same time, he at Christ Church, I at Balliol. 
 The most noticeable thing I remember about him, 
 in those early days, was a combination of inde- 
 pendence with much gentleness and sympathy. 
 He was less the creature of circumstances, and less 
 in awe of public opinion, than his quiet manners 
 would have led one to expect. When I took 
 lodgings in Bloomsbury in 1859, I found him 
 lodging in the same parish. I did not see much 
 of his student friends, but I think he generally 
 had some of them come to his lodgings for a 
 Bible class once a week, and sometimes referred 
 to the effect anything might have on his influence 
 with them as a reason for deciding in one way 
 or another about his own conduct or action in 
 matters as to which he felt free. He contributed 
 some excellent papers to Golden Hours^ in one of 
 which, " A Surgical Operation," his sympathy with 
 medical students comes out very touchingly. In 
 i860 he and I gave some time to visiting the 
 principal blocks of model dwellings which were 
 then in existence, and collecting information on 
 the subject; and in 1861 we and others, mostly 
 
26 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 young barristers, started a small Limited Liability 
 Company for buying and improving small houses. 
 He was one of the first directors of the Company, 
 which still exists, the Central London Dwellings 
 Improvement Company, but gave up the direc- 
 torship after a time. He was always decided as to 
 what lines of usefulness it was best for him to 
 undertake or continue ; giving the preference to 
 those most akin to his profession. The facts in a 
 life like his tell their own story. His character 
 was beautifully simple, and at the same time 
 clearly marked. Masculine and feminine elements 
 met in it. He was as full of sympathy as a 
 woman, but there was much of the strong kindli- 
 ness in him which one sees in its fulness in the 
 author of Rab and his Friends^ and other large- 
 natured Scotchmen. I have never had a friend 
 to whom I could open my mind more fully, or by 
 whom my better feelings were more drawn out, 
 and I believe there are many who would say the 
 same.' 
 
 Miss E. Twining, as well known as her sister 
 for her wise philanthropy, adds another illustra- 
 tion of his active benevolence : — * I should like,' 
 she writes, * to bear my testimony to his benevolent 
 mind for the working people and the sick poor. 
 
Letter of Miss E, Twining. 27 
 
 During the time that he was registrar in King's 
 College Hospital, he was especially led to consider 
 the wants, and also the improvidence, of the poor 
 in that locality, then very densely populated. By 
 his advice, in a great degree, I was induced to 
 establish a penny bank in a mission house I had 
 at a corner of the street opposite the hospital. 
 It had exceedingly good success ; and so much 
 was he interested in it, that he often came to 
 assist me and my two clerks when we had many 
 clients to attend to. This was the first in that 
 parish, and led to others elsewhere. He was 
 also one of the first to advise provident dis- 
 pensaries. There is a very flourishing dispensary 
 here, begun by me seven years ago, mainly know- 
 ing it was his good plan ; and when I, after that 
 time, made a small hospital with a provident 
 department, he wrote very kindly, asking how it 
 was going on, proving how anxious he was for the 
 spread and success of that portion of work for 
 the aid of the really industrious working classes.* 
 W. Fairlie Clarke likewise found time to teach 
 at the Grotto Ragged School, and to visit, or 
 receive visits from, many sick poor, to whom his 
 attention was exactly the same as to paying 
 patients. 
 
2 8 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 In 1862 he became M.A. and M.B,, Oxon., and 
 F.R.C.S. in the following year ; but, before settling 
 down to practice, he accepted an appointment to 
 travel abroad with Lord Shaftesbury. The route 
 proposed was by Cologne, Coblentz, Mayence, 
 Basle, Berne, Zurich, the Spliigen, Milan, Turin, 
 Genoa, Marseilles, Lyons, and Paris. It was 
 truly, as he described it, ' a splendid programme ; ' 
 and he fully enjoyed the glorious scenery he 
 visited. ' I was struck,' he writes at Bevano, * as 
 never before, with the words, " Heaven and earth 
 are full of the majesty of Thy glory ! " Glorious 
 days ! lovely nights ! beautiful scenery ! ' He had 
 much talent for sketching, and WTites home : — ' I 
 sketch a great deal. Lady Shaftesbury, who 
 draws beautifully, keeps me up to the mark ; but 
 I shall not have much to bring back, for I have 
 given my best to the young ladies, and I am 
 only too glad to be able in any way to repay 
 their kindness.' 
 
 In Italy the party was joined by the celebrated 
 Marquis d'Azeglio, to whose patriotism and 
 wisdom Italy owes so much. ' Through his 
 kindness,' writes W. F. C, 'we have seen some 
 things, and enjoyed some favours, which we could 
 not otherwise have had ; and, now that we have 
 
Letter from Piedmo7it. 29 
 
 reached his capital, he seems to feel bound to do 
 the honours of the country.' The party spent 
 some days at the Marquis's home, whence our 
 traveller writes : — 
 
 II Rocho, Busca, per Saluzzo, Piedmont, 
 Sept. 29, 1862. 
 
 We have been here for the last week, enjoying 
 the hospitality of the Marquis d'Azeglio, and 
 are to stay till the 5th or 6th of next month. 
 We are here at an Italian country-house, perched 
 on the side of a spur of the Alps, commanding 
 from the windows glorious views of the Apennines, 
 which rise at the farther side of a rich and ex- 
 tensive plain. There are walks about the house 
 from which we can get, in an hour or two, views 
 of the whole range of the Alps which stretches 
 behind us. Yesterday we took a walk of this 
 kind, and had a magnificent sight of the whole 
 line of snow-capped mountains. The plain is 
 more like a garden than anything else. Every 
 field, besides being under cultivation, is regularly 
 dotted with mulberry trees, which supply food 
 for the silkworms that are kept at all the cottages, 
 and form a great part of the industry of the 
 country. Farming is very far behind ; the im- 
 plements used have hardly undergone any change 
 since the days of the Romans. The carts drawn 
 by bullocks are very picturesque, but very incon- 
 venient ; and the ploughs only scratch the surface. 
 Just now they are gathering the grapes, and a 
 pretty sight it is. 
 
30 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 Returned to London, W. F. C took a house in 
 Curzon Street, and started as a pure surgeon. 
 He became a demonstrator of anatomy at King's 
 College, and clinical assistant to Mr. Bowman, 
 a post which he held for three years, and relin- 
 quished on being appointed assistant surgeon to 
 the Royal Westminster Ophthalmic Hospital. He 
 also became in succession surgeon to the St. 
 George's and St. James' Dispensary, assistant 
 surgeon to the West London Hospital, and finally 
 to Charing Cross Hospital. In 1865 he wrote a 
 small Manual of Surgery^ of which two subse- 
 quent additions have been published, incorporating 
 the contents of another small volume on Bandag- 
 ing. The book, however, by which he will be 
 best remembered is a monograph on Diseases of 
 the Tongue y a subject which he was making a 
 special study, and on which he also wrote two 
 excellent papers, published in the Medico- 
 Chirurgical Transactions. 
 
 In a letter to his friend, he thus describes 
 himself at this time : — 
 
 May II, 1869. 
 
 I am very busy with hospital and other work, 
 and I am sticking to it as closely as possible, 
 because I have been asked to go down to 
 
Letters. 3 1 
 
 Scotland again this year in my professional 
 capacity, as I have done the last two years, and 
 before I go I want to get all the work done that 
 I have on hand. Altogether I am flourishing, 
 and have a very great deal to be thankful for. 
 I only wish one could make one's gratitude more 
 evident by a heart and life more entirely devoted 
 to the service of our Lord and Master. 
 
 W. F. Clarke. 
 
 Another letter is not in so cheerful a strain, 
 and shows that even his buoyant nature could 
 sometimes be overshadowed by those clouds of 
 depression with which most of us are so familiar. 
 What to do in such moods is suggested by his 
 example. Not in dissipation, but in prayer, is 
 solace for low spirits to be sought. 
 
 Nov. 6, 1869. 
 While I was in London I was much pressed 
 with work and beset with difficulties. I think 
 too that I was not in very good health. But, 
 however this may have been, I don't know that 
 I ever felt so broken and dispirited as I did for 
 a fortnight or so, and then I found great comfort 
 in week-day services, so much so that when I 
 return to town I shall probably go often to after- 
 noon prayers. The church seemed a veritable 
 home for the weary and heavy-laden, where we 
 could go and welcome, where one could be among 
 one's fellow- Christians, where one might pour out 
 one's griefs, and explain one's difficulties, and feel 
 
32 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 sure that they would be gently and wisely handled 
 by a compassionate Saviour ; and if only our trials 
 and perplexities would lead us to drink deeper of 
 the fountain of His sweetness and love, how light 
 would the discipline appear in coniparison with 
 such great and happy results. 
 
 In his visits to Scotland, W. F. Clarke not 
 only formed a lasting friendship with the family 
 at whose delightful residence he was a guest, 
 he there made acquaintance with the lady who 
 became his wife. It was eminently what a Chris- 
 tian union should be — one of deep mutual affection 
 and esteem, and of entire sympathy in matters of 
 religion. 
 
 They took up their residence in Curzon Street, 
 Mayfair, but afterwards removed to a larger house 
 in Mansfield Street, Cavendish Square. All the 
 philanthropic pursuits of W. F. Clarke were now 
 carried on with greater zest than ever ; and at 
 home his happiness was perhaps as great as any 
 human being could desire. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 HOSPITAL REFORM — PROVIDENT DISPENSARIES. 
 
 ' Not slothful in business ; . . . serving the Lord.' — ROM. xii. ii. 
 ' Others, I doubt not, if not we, 
 The issue of our toils shall see. 
 
 Young children gather as their own 
 The harvest that the dead have sown. ' 
 
 Arthur Clough. 
 
 THERE were two important movements 
 which became such prominent matters of 
 interest to William Fairlie Clarke, that they re- 
 quire special consideration in any review of his 
 life. The first of these is Hospital Reform. 
 
 For many years the attention of medical men 
 had been drawn to the vast and increasing 
 numbers of out-patients crowding the ante-rooms 
 of the London hospitals. It was becoming 
 utterly impossible to deal with such multitudes 
 satisfactorily. Whereas in private practice a 
 medical man would see, at the most, ten or fifteen 
 
34 Me^noir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 patients in an hour, out-patients were seen in the 
 hospitals at the rate of fifty an hour. The 
 expense which these enormous numbers entailed 
 on these institutions was more than any of them 
 could support. These important facts forced 
 upon the medical profession the double question : 
 ' How could this large and unmanageable con- 
 course of out-patients be brought down to legiti- 
 mate proportions? And again, how were those 
 who should be excluded from hospital relief to be 
 otherwise dealt with } ' By careful sifting of cases, 
 it was proved, beyond a doubt, that numbers who 
 sought medical aid at hospitals were quite capable 
 either to pay a medical man's ordinary fees, or to 
 contribute some small sum towards a dispen- 
 sary. 
 
 The medical profession went into these ques- 
 tions very thoroughly. A meeting was held to 
 investigate the subject in March 1870, presided 
 over by Sir William Ferguson, and attended by 
 156 of the leading members of the profession. 
 Committees and sub-committees were formed, 
 and of one of these William Fairlie Clarke was 
 elected a member. The Charity Organization 
 Society next took up the matter, and appointed 
 him honorary secretary of the Medical Com- 
 
Charity Organization Society, 35 
 
 mittee of the Society, whose duty it should be to 
 collect evidence, and to make suggestions for 
 Hospital Reform. 
 
 On December 12, 1871, he read a paper to 
 the Society which exercised a powerful effect on 
 all who heard it, and gave a noticeable impulse 
 to the movement. ' I find,' he said, ' that last 
 year the out-patients treated at fifteen general 
 hospitals were 590,151 ; at thirty-four general 
 dispensaries 305,491 ; at thirty-nine special hos- 
 pitals and dispensaries, 261,374. Total, 1,157,016. 
 This is exclusive of seventeen hospitals which 
 make no return, and it is exclusive also of those 
 who are assisted by the medical services of the 
 Poor Law. I think, sir, that if this figure is any- 
 thing like correct, it represents a percentage upon 
 the population which is much larger than should 
 be considered fit objects for gratuitous charitable 
 relief. ... I am willing, for argument's sake, to 
 make allowances, because, if we even state the 
 figures as low as 820,000, it would still form a 
 quarter of the three millions and a quarter at 
 which the population of London is estimated ; i.e. 
 it would show that one person in four is receiving 
 gratuitous medical relief Now, sir, I cannot 
 think that our social state is so bad, that our 
 
36 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 national industry is at such a low point, that one 
 fourth of our population would be correctly de- 
 scribed as the "really indigent." But this is not 
 all. Not only have the numbers attending the 
 out-patient department reached this number, but 
 the rate at which the increase has proceeded is 
 very serious. . . . At eight hospitals the total 
 number of out-patients in 1830 was 46,435. In 
 1869 it had risen to 277,891. During that period 
 of thirty-nine years, the population of London 
 had a little more than doubled, while the attend- 
 ance at these hospitals had increased more than 
 fivefold.' 
 
 He then went on to suggest that the establish- 
 ment of more Provident Dispensaries would best 
 meet the demands of the times. ' I suppose,' he 
 said, ' that all present are familiar with the idea 
 of a Provident Dispensary. It is an institution 
 which receives all comers, — men, women, and 
 young persons alike, — who secure for themselves, 
 by small but continuous payments, medical 
 attendance and medicine when they are ill. It 
 is in fact a Mutual Assurance against sickness, 
 conducted in part on a commercial footing, but at 
 present needing to be supplemented by the charit- 
 able. Such institutions were originated about 
 
' The Limits of Uitpaid Laboitr! 2)7 
 
 forty years ago, and they have been tried in 
 various parts of the country as well as in the 
 metropolis. ... If we would not pauperize our 
 working classes by encouraging them to rely on 
 others for relief, some form of co-operation such 
 as we have described must be adopted. The 
 Association has no desire to bridle charity, but to 
 prevent indiscriminate relief.' 
 
 Other speakers bore testimony to the ac- 
 curacy of Dr. Fairlie Clarke's statistics, startling 
 as they were, and equal in their importance to 
 the lucidity with which they were brought for- 
 ward. 
 
 In this address Dr. Fairlie Clarke dealt chiefly 
 with the subject in its bearing on the working 
 classes. In January 1875 he published an article 
 in the British and Foreign Medico- Chirurgical 
 Review, entitled * The Limits of Unpaid Labour,' 
 in which he treated it mainly from a professional 
 standpoint. He insisted that medical men could 
 not satisfactorily prescribe for the crowds who 
 passed hurriedly before them as hospital out- 
 patients. ' Such slipshod work,' he says, * as much 
 of that which is performed in the out-patient 
 departments of hospitals is, is a fraud both to poor 
 and to rich. . . . Who can blame the medical 
 
38 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 man ? He gives up two or three whole afternoons 
 every week to this unpaid service. It would be 
 unreasonable to expect him to give more. He 
 must have time to earn his bread, and it is not won- 
 derful that he should so hasten his hospital work 
 so as to secure time for more remunerative labour.' 
 He then dealt with the supposed advantage to 
 medical men of gaining experience at hospitals. 
 ' Very true, we are not forgetful of these facts. 
 But a man cannot live upon his connection with 
 a public institution, or upon the experience it 
 affords him. . . . The supposed advantages are 
 poor remuneration for the regular, continuous, and 
 responsible work that is required from dispensary 
 and hospital doctors. It is contrary to the first 
 principles of political economy, to suppose that 
 such arduous services are adequately recognised 
 as matters now stand. We sincerely hope that 
 our efforts, coinciding as they do with a movement 
 which is now going on all over the country, may 
 tend to bring about changes in the mode of ad- 
 ministering relief to the lower middle classes, 
 which would be advantageous alike to them, to 
 the medical profession, and to the nation at 
 large.' 
 
 The whole paper was full of force, and was wel- 
 
P7^ovident Dispensaries. 39 
 
 corned as one of the most important contributions 
 on the subject. 
 
 Dr. FairHe Clarke was invited to assist in draw- 
 ing up for the Charity Organization Society 
 Model Rules for Provident Dispensaries, and was 
 frequently called on to write articles on the subject 
 for medical journals. In 1882 he was requested 
 to read a paper on the subject at the Congress of 
 the Social Science Association, but was unable to 
 spare time to attend it. 
 
 The movement went bravely forward, and, to 
 the credit of working men be it said, that the 
 vast majority of those who were consulted on the 
 subject were decided in the wish they expressed 
 to pay as far as their means would allow for 
 medical aid rather than receive it as a gratuity. 
 
 Provident Dispensaries have now become a 
 rooted institution in the land. The working man 
 pays a few pence monthly, which he can easily 
 subtract from his wages. When ill he and his 
 family receive medical advice as their due ; while, 
 on the other hand, the doctors who give it receive 
 a certain annual payment, not large, indeed, but 
 yet valuable to those on whom very likely wife 
 and family depend for support 
 
 Dr. Fairlie Clarke's penetration usually led him 
 
40 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 to identify himself with movements which were 
 sound in principle, and calculated to benefit his 
 fellows. Not the least important or successful of 
 these was the one for Hospital Reform/ 
 
 ^ Persons interested in this subject should read the valuable 
 paper by Sir Charles Trevelyan, entitled Metropolitart Medical 
 Relief, read at a conference of the Charity Organization Society, 
 and published by Longman, Green, & Co. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MEDICAL MISSIONS— THE MEDICAL PRAYER 
 UNION — THE MEDICAL MISSIONARY ASSOCIA- 
 TION. 
 
 ' Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.' -Matt. xix. 19, 
 
 'Welcome the post of danger 
 And the task that others flee, 
 Welcome the meanest service, 
 If only liker Thee. 
 
 Welcome the cold of winter, 
 Welcome the summer heat, 
 Welcome the toil-worn brain, 
 Welcome the weary feet.' 
 
 W. Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 ' Thus love with ever-widening round 
 Extends its aim, and spreads its care 
 Wherever misery is found, 
 And hearts are breaking in despair.' 
 
 E. A. W. 
 
 A DEARER object of interest to Dr. Fairlie 
 Clarke than Hospital Reform was that of 
 Medical Missions. Perhaps no agency has sprung 
 up so rapidly, nor has more decidedly proved its 
 
42 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 usefulness than this. When Dr. F. Clarke was resid- 
 ing in Edinburgh, he had seen something of the 
 Edinburgh Medical Missionary Society, the pio- 
 neer of such institutions, and had become much 
 interested in its work. The history of the rise and 
 progress of this Society has been most remarkable. 
 Founded only in 1841, and having during its first 
 decade an income averaging only ;£"i50, in 1883 
 its income was £j^\2y and its expenditure 
 ^7497j Qs- 6d. Unable at first to find suitable 
 men to send out as medical missionaries, the 
 Society had determined to train its own men. 
 It rightly held that it was better to send none 
 than to send an inefficient man. A medical 
 missionary, they said, ' must have his heart in his 
 work. He must have a sincere love for the souls 
 of the heathen, and be prepared to be their 
 physician, counsellor, teacher, and friend.' A 
 Medical Mission Dispensary was opened, and a 
 house taken for the superintendent and the 
 medical students. These young men, while pass- 
 ing through the full usual medical curriculum 
 at the Edinburgh University, take part in dis- 
 pensing medicines to the poor, visit them in their 
 houses, and are trained to take part in evangel- 
 istic services. When it was desired to erect a 
 
Edinburgh Medical Missionary Society. 43 
 
 memorial to the great medical missionary, 
 Livingstone, it was thought that no fitter one 
 could be erected than a new Training Institution 
 for Medical Missions. Upwards of ;^ 10,000 was 
 quickly raised, and the Livingstone Memorial 
 Medical Missionary Training Institution in the 
 Cowgate, Edinburgh, was built, and forms an 
 edifice in every way adapted for its pur- 
 poses. 
 
 'The number of medical missionaries trained 
 by the Edinburgh Medical Missionary Society is,' 
 writes the Rev. J. Lowe, its present secretary, 
 'seventy-two. Of these forty-three are now in 
 active service in all parts of the world, the agents 
 of various missionary societies. Fourteen have 
 died, eleven in the foreign field, two on their 
 return to this country in ill-health, and one, the 
 great-grandson of the renowned father of Indian 
 missions. Dr. Carey, on finishing his studies. 
 Eight have withdrawn from medical missionary 
 work after periods of active service, varying from 
 four to eleven years ; and seven, after finishing 
 their studies, have not followed out their inten- 
 tion of becoming medical missionaries. These, 
 however, have either repaid the Society the ex- 
 penditure incurred on behalf of their medical 
 
44 Memoir of William Fai7die Clarke. 
 
 education, or have promised to do so within a 
 Hmited period. 
 
 ' Thirty- three of those trained by the Society, 
 now engaged in the work, have passed through 
 the Institution during the last fifteen years. 
 Seventeen students are at present preparing for 
 the work under the auspices of the Society.' 
 
 The celebrated Dr. Henderson of China, Dr. 
 Elmslie of Kashmir, Dr. Valentine of Agra, Dr. 
 Gould, late of Swatow, China, now Superintendent 
 of the Mildmay Medical Mission, were all students 
 of this Society. 
 
 Such were the operations which attracted Dr. 
 Fairlie Clarke's attention to Medical Missions 
 while a young man in Edinburgh. He naturally 
 thought that if such an agency could be founded 
 and supported in Scotland, a similar effort 
 might be conducted in England. On October 
 24, 1866, he wrote as follows to his friend Mr. 
 C : 
 
 I wrote a letter about six weeks ago to 
 the Guardian on the subject of medical mission- 
 aries. My object was to propose that we should 
 try and form an Association like one which exists 
 in Edinburgh in connection with the Presbyterian 
 Churches, for the purpose of supplying both our 
 great Missionary Societies with young men duly 
 
Letter to the ' Gum^dian! 45 
 
 qualified as physicians, who would be willing to 
 devote themselves to missionary work, and who 
 would link themselves to the ecclesiastical system 
 of the Church of England. But I am sorry to 
 say that it has not as yet led to any discussion. 
 I confess I am rather disappointed that it has 
 been allowed to pass in silence, for it seems to me 
 of much more real moment than many of the 
 subjects which are just now filling the correspond- 
 ents' columns of the Guardiari. I had hoped 
 that my suggestion might have been ventilated, 
 and that then something might have been done 
 during the winter towards carrying it into 
 execution.' 
 
 We beHeve that no result followed this letter to 
 the Guardian, but, while the Edinburgh Society 
 was springing up into vigorous maturity, a little 
 work began in London amongst medical men, 
 which eventually led to the formation of an 
 English Medical Missionary Association, and in 
 which Dr. Fairlie Clarke soon took a prominent 
 part. 
 
 In 1849 I^^- Habershon of Guy's Hospital and 
 Dr. Gladstone of St. Thomas's arranged a meet- 
 ing of medical students for the study of the 
 Scriptures at Guy's. Similar efforts were made 
 in 185 1 and 1853 by Professor Le Gros Clerk 
 and Dr. Golding Bird, which resulted in the 
 inauguration of the Christian Medical Associa- 
 
46 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 tion. Dr. Fairlie Clarke joined this Association, 
 and was one of its first honorary secretaries. ' The 
 conditions under which our medical students live,' 
 he observed at one of their annual meetings, * the 
 vast area over which they are scattered, and the 
 numerous demands made upon their time, prevent 
 them from attending at meetings which are held 
 far from many of the hospitals. However, the 
 committee urge the wisdom of their meeting 
 together. Union is strength, and strength — 
 spiritual strength — is sorely needed to withstand 
 the temptations and difficulties of a young man 
 in London at the present time. These are days 
 of peculiar danger. On the one hand, there are 
 the dangers arising out of the excess of cere- 
 monial to which the young and ardent are par- 
 ticularly exposed ; and, on the other hand, there 
 are the dangers arising out of the rapid develop- 
 ment of the physical sciences. But for both these 
 great dangers the best remedy will be found in 
 the devotional study of God's Word. If we 
 drink into the spirit of the Bible, and learn the 
 great lesson which it is designed to teach us of the 
 way of salvation, we shall not easily suffer our- 
 selves to depart from the simplicity of spiritual 
 worship, and we shall be able to wait with un- 
 
The Christian Medical Association. 47 
 
 wavering faith for the adjustment of those diffi- 
 culties which arise out of physical science, — diffi- 
 culties which, we are assured, will fade away before 
 a fuller knowledge and a clearer understanding 
 of the revealed Word of God.' 
 
 The Christian Medical Association continued 
 its useful labours till 1 871, when it ceased to exist. 
 It had done a good work. It had felt the way 
 amongst medical students ; helped to awaken 
 interest in them ; rallied some of them round the 
 Cross ; nor had it lost sight of its additional and 
 wider aim, to promote Medical Missions among 
 the heathen. The names of Dr. A. P. Stewart, 
 Mr. Charles Brooke, Professor Miller, Mr. Charles 
 Moore, Dr. Hyde Salter, Dr. C. J. B. Williams, 
 Dr. Risdon Bennett, and Mr. Grainger, among its 
 leading members, deserve to be held in grateful 
 remembrance. 
 
 Although this Association thus came to an end, 
 its work was very speedily taken up and revived 
 in another form which has happily become a 
 settled institution. In 1874 the Medical Prayer 
 Union was founded by Dr. C. Saunders, C.B., and 
 has proved a most useful and successful under- 
 taking. Dr. Fairlie Clarke was one of its earliest 
 members, and gave it the benefit of his warmest 
 
48 Me77toir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 sympathy and aid. The agencies employed by it 
 are : — 
 
 (i) Meetings for prayer and the study of the 
 Scriptures among the students of the various 
 Medical Schools. 
 
 (2) An annual general meeting, held in October, 
 at which addresses are given upon subjects bear- 
 ing on the Christian life. 
 
 (3) Conferences held occasionally. 
 
 The Secretary of the Medical Prayer Union, 
 (47 Endell St., St. Giles) is always glad to receive 
 the name and address of any student coming 
 up to London, in whose welfare friends are 
 interested. 
 
 The blessing of God appears to rest on this 
 valuable Union. It now numbers 220 medical 
 students, who attend its meetings with more or 
 less regularity. Who can say to how many these 
 meetings have proved the means of salvation from 
 the snares of London life, and of conversion to 
 God 1 It is impossible to over-estimate the value 
 of such a work among our young medical men, 
 tending to send them forth throughout our land 
 not merely as highly educated, but also as serious- 
 minded Christian men. 
 
 Foreign Medical Missions have occupied the 
 
The Medical Prayer Union. 49 
 
 attention of the Union. Six of its members have 
 already gone forth to the mission field, and one of 
 these, Harold Scholfield, M.A., M.B., F.R.C.S., 
 B^., etc., who had attained the highest honours 
 both at Oxford University and at St. Bartholo- 
 mew's Hospital, laid down his life at his far-away 
 post, dying of typhus fever after three years' work at 
 Tai-Yuen-Fu, a post of the China Inland Mission. 
 
 Dr. Fairlie Clarke addressed the members of 
 the Medical Prayer Union twice at their annual 
 meetings in Freemasons' Hall, on October 29, 
 1875, and October 19, 1877.1 A rule had been 
 passed that none but the staff of the London 
 Hospitals were to be appointed as vice-presidents, 
 in order to promote the link between the medical 
 staff and the students. This was overruled when 
 he was proposed by Dr. Saunders, and elected 
 vice-president. In the following year he was 
 chosen president for the year 1884, but of this 
 fact he was never aware. 
 
 To promote a feeling of union, and to encourage 
 the youthful members of the Medical Prayer 
 Union, ^ Dr. and Mrs. Fairlie Clarke gave a yearly 
 
 ^ See Addresses, at pages 8i and 89. 
 
 ^ Dr. Fairlie Clarke was ready to welcome any medical students 
 to these reunions, although they might not have joined the Prayer 
 Union. 
 
 D 
 
50 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 conversazione at the Beethoven Rooms, Harley 
 Street. This was ever to him an occasion of the 
 deepest interest. He never perhaps appeared 
 more thoroughly happy than at such gatherings. 
 His love for young men, his interest in mission 
 work, his hospitality, his pride in his profession, 
 his deep longing for the spiritual good of the 
 students, combined to make them as interest- 
 ing to himself as they were exhilarating and 
 useful to his guests. * We still try,' he wrote on 
 January 7, 1879, to Miss Twining, 'to do what we 
 can for the medical students. On the nth of 
 last month we gave a conversazione. Fully 300 
 names were sent us of students who are either 
 members of the Prayer Union, or likely to take an 
 interest in our meeting. Amongst these were a 
 dozen lady students from the School of Medicine 
 for Women. In all 175 accepted our invitation, 
 but the evening was very stormy, and only 135 
 came. It was certainly a remarkable sight to see 
 so large a number of medical students assembled 
 on such an occasion.' 
 
 At these meetings, after the guests had par- 
 taken of some refreshments. Dr. Fairlie Clarke, 
 who took the chair, addressed to them a few words 
 of welcome, and an address was then given, either 
 
Co7iversaziones. 51 
 
 of a practical nature, or occasionally by some 
 missionary of note. There once the Bishop of 
 Huron graphically described how he was bound 
 to be carpenter, mason, doctor, dentist, book- 
 binder, tailor, all in one, and how he had to per- 
 form his episcopal visitations, travelling hundreds 
 of miles in sledges, often nigh frozen to death. 
 There, on another occasion^ Taylor, founder of the 
 China Inland Mission, related how the Chinese 
 converts came readily forward to aid as employes 
 in an hospital left in his charge, at a time when he 
 was obliged to tell them that he could not promise 
 them any salary whatever. After such stirring 
 addresses, the happy evenings were closed with 
 prayer and the singing of a hymn. These con- 
 versaziones were continued every year, even after 
 Dr. and Mrs. Fairlie Clarke ceased to reside in 
 London, they then going up to town expressly for 
 them. The average attendance latterly was over 
 two hundred. How highly they were valued was 
 shown by the burst of affectionate regret from the 
 medical students when they received the tidings 
 of his death. 
 
 * I have not liked to trouble you with a 
 letter,' one of them then wrote to Mrs. Fairlie 
 Clarke, * but cannot help writing now. He was 
 
52 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 so good to all us medical students, and those 
 meetings in Harley Street every winter seemed 
 so bound up with our hospital life, that I can 
 hardly realize we shall not meet him again down 
 here. 
 
 ' I think neither he nor you knew how much 
 good these meetings did. Old schoolfellows used to 
 meet who had known each other in careless days, 
 and had entered, unknown to each other, on a 
 medical career. And meeting in that way, where 
 they could talk to each other, after having heard 
 one or other of those practical addresses we used 
 to have, knit hearts together more than any other 
 of our meetings did. 
 
 ' There is generally plenty of good practical 
 teaching to be obtained, and men energetic in the 
 Master's service, but kind-hearted thoughtfulness 
 for others is a great deal less common, and it is 
 Dr. R Clarke's sympathy with us that we shall 
 miss more than anything else. . . . You must 
 have many friends, and I cannot see how in any 
 way I am ever likely to be useful to you, but if 
 there should be anything I could do, either now, 
 or in the course of time, I hope you will give me 
 the opportunity of doing what I can for those 
 dear to one whose kindness helped towards 
 
Medical Students, 53 
 
 making my terms, and those of many of my 
 friends, the happiest years of our lives.' 
 
 Such a letter as this does credit to the writer, 
 and shows that kindness is not thrown away when 
 shown to the young medical student. Perhaps 
 there are few youths who ought to receive it more, 
 and who share it less. There are, roughly speak- 
 ing, about 2000 medical students attached to the 
 various hospitals of London. Some of these, of 
 course, live with their families, still under the 
 parental roof. But the great majority are 
 scattered about in such lodgings or boarding- 
 houses as they can find within not too great dis- 
 tances from the hospitals where they attend. 
 Many of them come up to town as perfect 
 strangers, without relations or friends there. Can 
 it be wondered if some are drawn into the snares 
 that abound in the metropolis, or, at the least, 
 drop their early habits of the worship of God in 
 private or in church t At the very period of 
 their lives when all sorts of temptations, intellec- 
 tual and social, begin to press around them, they 
 are thrown entirely upon their own resources, 
 and left to the unaided guidance of their own 
 consciences. If colleges cannot be attached to 
 the hospitals, where students might pass those 
 
54 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 years which other youths spend amid so many 
 amenities at Oxford or Cambridge, could there 
 not be at least some system of supervised lodgings, 
 such as exists also at those universities ? If such 
 schemes are not feasible, Christian ladies and 
 gentlemen may at any rate oftener act the part 
 of friends to these youths, not, indeed, to distract 
 them from their studies, which necessarily make 
 such severe demands on their time, but to let them 
 know that they have somewhere to turn for sym- 
 pathy and advice. The Sunday evening hymn- 
 singing in a Christian home would be a welcome 
 worship for many a youth to join. 
 
 In 1877 the Medical Missionary Association was 
 founded. Dr. Saunders being its first president. 
 Its aims were : — 
 
 {a) To support the Medical Prayer Union. 
 
 iU) To encourage and assist suitable Christian 
 men who desire to give themselves up to medical 
 missionary work. 
 
 {c) To establish Medical Missions in connection 
 with the Association. 
 
 id) To publish a magazine ; and in this and 
 other ways to collect and diffuse information 
 respecting home and foreign missions and all 
 kindred works. 
 
The Medical Missionary Association. 55 
 
 The first number of the quarterly magazine — 
 Medical Missions at Home and Abroad — appeared 
 in July 1878. Dr. W. Fairlie Clarke was its first 
 editor, and continued in charge of it till his death.^ 
 
 Let us hope that this Medical Missionary 
 Association may have as successful a career 
 before it as that of its Scotch predecessor has been. 
 
 Thus, amid varied interests, the years of Dr. 
 Fairlie Clarke's London life sped rapidly away. 
 Three of his children were born there ; and 
 though the life of one of them hung for some 
 time in the balance under a severe attack of 
 typhoid fever, the cloud passed away, and all 
 was sunshine again. 
 
 In May 1873 a sad blank was left in the family 
 of Dr. Fairlie Clarke, by the unexpected death of 
 one of his sisters. 
 
 In 1874 Mr. Moody came to London, and 
 instituted, amongst other gatherings, Sunday 
 evening meetings at the Agricultural Hall. 
 These Dr. Fairlie Clarke attended, after having 
 been at church in the morning, and conducted 
 two services in the Poland Street Workhouse in 
 
 1 The last evening he spent at home, ere he left it in 1884 to die, 
 was occupied in finishing the material for the April number of 
 this magazine. It was the last work of any kind he was able 
 to do. 
 
56 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 the afternoon. They proved to him a means 
 of great refreshment, and helped permanently 
 to deepen his whole spiritual life. 
 
 In March 1875 Dr. Fairlie Clarke purchased 
 a practice at Southborough, near Tunbridge 
 Wells ; and, after going to Oxford to take his 
 M.D. degree, he finally left London, and settled 
 with his family at that place. He carried with 
 him the satisfaction of knowing that his stay in 
 the metropolis had been helpful to many good 
 works, and gladdening to many of the sick and 
 sorrowful amongst both rich and poor. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 LIFE AT SOUTHBOROUGH — ILLNESS AND 
 RECOVERY. 
 
 ' Patient in tribulation, continuing instant in prayer. ' — RoM. xii. 12. 
 
 ' The Holy Helper liveth yet, 
 My Friend and Guide to be ; 
 The Healer of Gennesareth 
 Shall go the rounds with me. ' 
 
 SOUTHBOROUGH has the name of being 
 one of the prettiest villages in England. 
 Its beauty has indeed been somewhat marred 
 by buildings ; but no one who has resided there 
 can easily forget the loveliness of the surrounding 
 scenery, — the breezy common with its oaken glades, 
 the lanes overshadowed by beeches, or dipping 
 into the valleys among the hazel woods, the gay 
 hop gardens, and the Turneresque views of misty 
 distances across the Weald of Kent. In this 
 quiet spot were passed the remaining years of 
 
 Dr. Fairlie Clarke's life. It was a great change 
 
 or 
 
58 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 from London, and in some respects trying to one 
 who had taken a leading part in public life. But 
 Dr. Fairlie Clarke's sunny disposition and Christian 
 humility enabled him quickly to settle down into 
 happy usefulness. ' Of course/ he wrote to his 
 
 old friend C , ' it was a disappointment to have 
 
 to give up the metropolis ; but I well know that 
 our heavenly Father can and often does use 
 disappointments as means of conveying His best 
 blessings. As Keble says, — 
 
 "In disappointment Thou canst bless, 
 So love at heart prevail. " ' 
 
 He soon had his hands full of varied and 
 interesting occupation, besides his daily pro- 
 fessional work. He was elected a member of 
 the Local Board, and gave his attention and 
 aid in every movement for the good of the 
 place. Coming across a knot of idle boys one 
 Sunday afternoon, he invited them to his house, 
 and kept up a weekly class. 
 
 He took a deep interest in the promotion of 
 temperance, and from the time he left London 
 was himself a total abstainer. Occasionally he 
 gave lectures on the subject ; and two pamphlets 
 written by him were published by the Church 
 of England Temperance Society. By his energy 
 
Working Mens Club. 59 
 
 and perseverance he greatly assisted in establish- 
 ing a working men's club, which was for some 
 time very successful. His aim was always not 
 to dictate to the men, but to let them think and 
 act for themselves, giving them only the benefit 
 of his sympathy and advice as a friend.^ 
 
 His interest in them was very great, and his 
 influence and popularity amongst them equally 
 so. In conjunction with other kind and public- 
 spirited gentlemen, he helped to secure the use of 
 a house for the Club, and also to build a very 
 
 ^ Thus, total abstainer as he was, he left them to form their 
 own rules as to drink. The result was interesting. The Club 
 ruled that — 'Beer should be supplied to such members as desired 
 it, on the following conditions : — No member shall be allowed to 
 have more than one pint in the course of the evening, and it must 
 be consumed on the premises. The beer shall be sold at the 
 usual price, and only to bona fide members. Any profits derived 
 from the sale thereof shall be carried to the credit of the Club 
 funds for the benefit of the members generally, and no individual 
 servant or otherwise shall derive any advantage from it. No other 
 alcoholic drink shall be introduced.' Men who were not members 
 of the Club were allowed to use their room on payment of id,, 
 but to such no beer on any account was to be sold ! The practical 
 working of this arrangement was satisfactory. The consumption 
 of beer was exceedingly small in 1878 and 1879, and in 1881 Dr. 
 Fairlie Clarke reported to the Church of England Temperance 
 Chronicle that it was still less. ' Taking the average number 
 throughout the year at forty, the quantity of beer consumed 
 has been less than one pint per member per quarter.' Subse- 
 quently the beer was given up altogether, in deference to the vicar 
 of the parish. 
 
6o Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 neat and useful public hall.^ In support of the 
 Club he got up occasional entertainments of an 
 elevating character, such as readings, concerts, 
 flower-shows, and lectures. He was himself an 
 excellent reader ; and it was a great pleasure to 
 hear him recite such passages as the 'Fall of 
 Wolsey,' or the * Charge of Balaclava.' It was 
 ever his deHght to promote the happiness of all 
 around him, whether rich or poor. Many were 
 the pleasant sketching parties in summer, and 
 evening reunions at his own house, which will 
 be long remembered by those who joined them. 
 
 One night Dr. Fairlie Clarke was summoned 
 to visit a sick woman in a place which he had 
 never yet visited, or even heard of. A hamlet 
 had sprung up, inhabited by bricklayers and 
 other workmen employed in Tunbridge Wells, 
 and had so entirely escaped observation, that, 
 when Dr. Fairlie Clarke subsequently brought 
 its wants forward, it was doubtful to what parish 
 it belonged. He found that the people were in 
 danger of lapsing into practical heathenism. 
 Without loss of time, therefore, he at once com- 
 menced a cottage Bible-reading once a week, and 
 
 ^ This hall has since passed under the management of the vicar 
 of the parish. 
 
Mission ■ Work at High Broo7ns. 6 1 
 
 conducted it himself for nine months. No slight 
 self-denial was necessary sometimes, after a day 
 of medical work, to plod through the deep snow, 
 and through the biting winds of that exposed 
 region, to hold these little Bible-readings in a 
 small close cottage. This effort was followed up 
 by the establishment of a mothers' meeting, and 
 the opening of a small house as a coffee tavern. 
 Ultimately the care of the hamlet was taken over 
 by the vicar of Southborough, and permanency 
 was thus given to the good work he had begun. 
 
 Dr. Fairlie Clarke was adored by his servants, 
 and beloved by the poor. His patients found in 
 him not only a medical adviser, but a friend ever 
 ready to do anything in his power on their behalf. 
 
 He was a most affectionate and careful father. 
 His first desire for his children was not their 
 worldly success, or that they should attain wealth 
 or position. The longing of his heart was that 
 they should love and fear God, and grow up to 
 be useful and good men. In the following simple 
 lines he expressed these feelings : — 
 
 A Prayer Hymn for our Children. 
 
 Lord, we bring the little children 
 
 To Thy loving arms to-day : 
 Give vigour to our feeble faith, 
 
 And hear us when we pray. 
 
62 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 Known to Thee are all the dangers 
 
 That beset their tiny feet ; 
 Known to Thee the snares and pitfalls 
 
 That each little one will meet. 
 
 Known to Thee the fair disguises 
 
 That the tempter puts on sin ; 
 Known to Thee the guilt that rises 
 
 From the naughty heart within. 
 
 We ourselves cannot direct them, 
 
 We are ignorant and blind ; 
 We cannot discern the workings 
 
 Of the infant heart and mind. 
 
 We ourselves have need of guidance, 
 
 We have need of heavenly light ; 
 How can we select their pathway, 
 
 Or direct their steps aright ? 
 
 Yes, we feel it, so we bring them 
 
 To Thy throne in earnest prayer, 
 Praising Thee for all Thy mercy, 
 
 Humbly we present them there. 
 Lord ! the children's Friend, we pray Thee, 
 
 Make our little ones Thy care. 
 
 But, while as a Christian man, who himself 
 counted all for loss that he might win Christ, and 
 run with patience the heavenward race, his 
 deepest desires were thus for his children's 
 spiritual good, he by no means neglected or was 
 indifferent to their little occupations, pleasures, 
 and pursuits. He tried to be his little boys' 
 friend. He took an interest in all that interested 
 
Home Life. 63 
 
 their young minds, and made a point of trying to 
 give them some portion of his scanty leisure time. 
 Thus * father ' had a larger place than is often the 
 case in their hearts and lives, and, young as they 
 were when he was taken from them, this happy 
 intercourse with them in their earliest years left a 
 deep impression upon them, and must remain a 
 life-long sacred memory. 
 
 Thus life passed on swiftly and cheerfully. 
 ' His sympathies,' writes his friend, the Rev. W. 
 Wheeler, ' were constantly widening so as to em- 
 brace all who loved the Lord Jesus. Being brought 
 by professional work into contact with Wesleyans 
 and other Nonconformists, and witnessing much 
 of their labours for Christ, he could not but feel 
 love for them, and, having the courage of his 
 opinions, he felt it his duty to show his love. 
 Thus he now and then took the chair at their 
 public meetings. Though he regretted divisions, 
 he thought the best way to heal them was to 
 cultivate and manifest unity of spirit. When I 
 was ill he frequently invited me to join him as he 
 drove to visit his patients, especially if he were 
 going through beautiful scenery, of which we were 
 both ardent admirers. But the most delightful 
 recollection I have of those drives is not the 
 
64 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 scenery, nor the refreshing air, but the free play of 
 intellect and heart with which he discussed men 
 and books, and the general topics of the day. He 
 often rejoiced in the beneficent character of his own 
 profession, looking on it as a ministry of mercy ; 
 and much indeed he made it so, both for the life 
 which now is, and for that which is to come. One 
 morning I went to breakfast at his house, and never 
 shall I forget his family prayers afterwards. First 
 of all we sang a hymn most heartily, led by the 
 harmonium, all the servants (some of whom had 
 become Christian friends) joining with evident 
 sympathy. Then the father of the family read a 
 passage of Scripture, his boys sitting on his knees 
 or standing by him ; this was followed by an 
 admirable exposition, and then by such a prayer 
 as I have seldom heard. The ten or fifteen 
 minutes seemed to have flown, and then all went 
 their different ways to begin the various duties of 
 the day with God's blessing upon them. O happy 
 family ! They are dispersed now, but may they 
 be reunited in that infinitely more blessed family 
 above, whose union they were permitted on earth 
 to anticipate.' 
 
 Thus Dr. Fairlie Clarke's life flowed on calmly 
 and peacefully, diffusing happiness all around him. 
 
Habits of Devotion. 65 
 
 It may be asked what was the secret of an exist- 
 ence so pure and an influence so sweet, in the 
 midst of the hurry and frequent anxieties of busy 
 professional life. No doubt the answer should be, 
 it was his habits of devotion. An hour early in 
 the morning was daily given to the study of the 
 Bible. He was in the habit of committing pas- 
 sages of Scripture to memory, and there is a 
 list in his Bible of portions learnt Sunday after 
 Sunday regularly for more than a year. Prayer 
 was his delight, and not only 'unlocked the 
 morning and locked in the day,' but he valued 
 deeply, and never omitted, a short period of 
 private prayer in the middle of the day. Such 
 a pause in the midst of the busy working hours 
 has a wonderfully soothing effect. Family prayer 
 also was no mere form, but a thorough outpour- 
 ing of the heart. ' He who prays much cannot 
 help living a holy life,' are words transcribed by 
 his hand in the fly-leaf of his Bible, and himself 
 was an illustration of the truth of the saying. 
 He would earnestly urge young friends about 
 to marry to form a habit of always reading a 
 passage of Scripture together, if only a few 
 verses, and of praying together, before retiring 
 to rest This was a practice which he esteemed 
 
66 Memoir of Willia^n Fairlie Clarke, 
 
 of the highest importance, and no late detention 
 in medical duties was allowed to interfere with it. 
 The Sunday was to him in very deed * a day of 
 days,' and a * delight and honourable,' as an island 
 of peace amid the ocean of life. He never missed 
 the services of the English Church, unless ab- 
 solutely compelled to be absent by professional 
 work, and uttered the responses and joined in the 
 singing with all his heart.^ He had neither time 
 nor inclination to read many religious books ; the 
 Scriptures were the solid nourishment of his 
 spiritual life. But he highly valued well-written 
 biographies of Christian men. * I am so much 
 
 impressed,' he wrote to his friend C , * with the 
 
 usefulness of religious memoirs, that I have made 
 it my rule always to try and keep one on hand ; 
 it holds up to one's imitation a high standard 
 which has been reached by persons differing little 
 from one's self, and prevents one from falling in 
 with the conventional notions of holiness, which 
 are assuredly no higher than they ought to be, 
 and not nearly so high as they would be if they 
 were taken straight from the Bible.' His favourite 
 
 1 A blind woman expressed great regret when Dr. Fairlie Clarke 
 changed his seat at church to one at some distance from her. She 
 said she should so miss hearing him say the responses. 
 
Illness and Recovery, 67 
 
 memoirs were those of Arnold, Havelock, and, 
 above all, that of Henry Martyn, which he usually 
 read through once a year. * Have you read the 
 life of Henry Martyn?' he asked in 1857. 'I 
 have just finished it, and am delighted with it. 
 He was Senior Wrangler, and then became a 
 missionary, and that at the beginning of the 
 century, when it involved many more trials than 
 it does now, especially from the low tone of 
 European society in India. Altogether he was a 
 noble fellow, and his memoir is short and pithy.' 
 
 In 1878 Dr. Fairlie Clarke lost another dear 
 sister. Such sorrows are amongst the heaviest 
 trials of life, but how much are they soothed when, 
 as in this case, both those who leave and those 
 who are left share a blessed hope of reunion ere 
 long in the Everlasting Home! The mourner 
 tries to forget his sorrow in unselfish sympathy 
 with the bliss of his dear one, and with quickened 
 steps hastens to follow her steps heavenwards. 
 
 In 1 88 1 Dr. Fairlie Clarke was laid low with 
 an attack of typhoid fever, which proved severe 
 and of long continuance. The nurse marvelled 
 at his unruffled patience in the tedious days of his 
 slow and often interrupted convalescence. When 
 able to travel, he and his wife went to Ventnor, 
 
68 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 and there he rapidly regained strength. On his 
 recovery, and before returning to Southborough, 
 he wrote the following beautiful sonnet : 
 
 ' The rest and the retirement are o'er, 
 And now, with strength renewed, we turn once more 
 To active life and duty. Lord, we pray 
 The lessons we have learned in sickness may 
 Abide with us for ever, abide until 
 Another sickness, sharper — sorer still — 
 Shall bring us to Thyself. Thus may we be 
 More filled with love and tender sympathy — 
 More patient, gentle, and considerate ; 
 More humble too, remembering Thy great 
 Forbearance. Strong in Thee, may holy zeal 
 Quicken our laggard footsteps. May we feel. 
 With a fresh force, how fast life speeds away, 
 And in Thy service spend our one short day.' 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH. 
 
 ' Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will 
 fear no evil : for Thou art with me ; Thy rod and Thy staff they 
 comfort me,' — Ps. xxiii. 4. 
 
 ' Fear thou not ; for I am with thee : be not dismayed ; for I am 
 thy God : I will strengthen thee ; yea, I will help thee ; yea, I will 
 uphold thee with the right hand of My righteousness.' — Is A. xU. 10. 
 
 ON his return to Southborough, Dr. Fairlie 
 Clarke at once resumed all his former 
 occupations, and apparently his strength was 
 completely restored. But it was not so in fact. 
 His constitution had suffered a severe shock, 
 and almost imperceptibly he began to droop, 
 and fatal disease stole over him. More loving, 
 more tender, more prayerful than ever, — 
 
 ' The sunshine of the West 
 Upon his pathway lay : 
 Hush as of coming rest 
 Fell on the closing day.' 
 
 Premature evening was about to close that 
 
 69 
 
70 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 singularly peaceful, blameless life. Somewhat 
 of the buoyancy of his spirits failed him. Cir- 
 cumstances over which he had no control led 
 to the breaking up of the Working Men's Club, 
 and he felt this keenly, and missed the fresh 
 interest outside his professional work which it 
 had supplied. Only those who know what it is 
 to give self-denying efforts to any labour of love, 
 know what the trial is when, from one cause or 
 another, such work is taken out of their hands. 
 By such trials Christians are trained to find their 
 delight, not even in the service of God, but in 
 God Himself and His infinite love. 
 
 ' We dare not love our work 
 
 Too well, lest it should be 
 A part, Lord, of ourselves, 
 And not all, all for Thee.' 
 
 One of Dr. Fairlie Clarke's favourite verses of 
 Scripture was, ' Ye have need of patience.' * I 
 venture to hope for the blessing of the peace- 
 maker,' he wrote to a friend, 'even though I 
 have not succeeded in making peace. I some- 
 times say that in this fallen world working for 
 God is like sewing with a knotted thread ; one 
 has constantly to stop and untie the knots. Hence 
 it is no wonder that patience stands so high among 
 the Christian graces.' 
 
Last Illness and Death. 71 
 
 In the end of March 1884, Dr. Fairlle Clarke 
 became so poorly that he was compelled to 
 seek advice from a London physician, who at 
 once gave a very serious viev/ of his case, and 
 ordered immediate and complete cessation from 
 work, rest, and change of scene, as the only 
 hope of possible recovery. Accordingly he and 
 his wife again went to the Isle of Wight, hoping 
 that its balmy air would again have the same 
 beneficial effect upon him as before. But this 
 was not to be. For a few days, indeed, he 
 seemed to rally ; but after this he rapidly grew 
 worse. When first the nature of his malady 
 dawned on him, he had uttered no complaint, 
 nor expressed any misgivings. Trial found him 
 under shelter. 'Thou wilt keep him in perfect 
 peace whose mind is stayed on Thee, because 
 he trusteth in Thee.' In an early stage of the 
 illness the suffering in the head was most acute, 
 and, as some gentle sighs escaped him, it was 
 observed, ' Those sighs sound like the words, " I 
 am oppressed, undertake for me"' (Isa. xxxviii. 
 14). 'Yes,' he answered, 'I am oppressed! 
 Undertake for me.' Then he added, ' I wonder 
 whether David had as many fears as I have now.' 
 He was reminded of the words, ' What time I am 
 
'^i Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 afraid I will trust in Thee,' and repeated them 
 more than once with much earnestness. Sub- 
 sequently he gradually lapsed into a state of 
 unconsciousness. Yet from time to time his 
 mind revived, and he would repeat passages of 
 Scripture or of hymns. Expressions of praise 
 and love to God were then always on his lips. 
 When asked how he had slept, his ready answer 
 one morning was, *0h, I have had such a good 
 night! How sweet it is to say, "Te Deum 
 laudamus."' *Give the little boys my love,' he 
 another day said ; * and tell them they shall have 
 a penny a-piece if they can translate " Te Deum 
 laudamus.'" Often he fancied it was Sunday, 
 and would repeat some lines he had written for 
 his children : — 
 
 ' This is the happiest, happiest day 
 Of all the happy seven ; 
 It is the day on which we seem 
 Most near to God and heaven.' 
 
 No thoughts of an anxious nature were ap- 
 parently allowed to trouble him. When at all 
 conscious, he seemed to realize only the love of 
 God, and the love of his dearest one on 
 earth. 
 
Last Illness and Death, ']2i 
 
 ' 'Twixt the love below and the love on high 
 
 Uncertain he seemed to stand ; 
 So bright was the smile of his darling's eye, 
 
 So soft the touch of her hand. 
 'Twas the dearest thing, next the love of the King, 
 
 Who waits in the heavenly land.' 
 
 The spring of 1884 was one of unusual love- 
 liness. Days of unclouded sunshine followed 
 one another. From his bed Dr. Clarke could 
 watch the play of light on the waves, and their 
 curling foam as they broke over a rock that lay 
 within his view. His room was often full of 
 flowers sent by his children, or by friends far 
 away. His heavenly Father had sent many 
 tender mercies to soothe his passing away. A 
 kind physician (Dr. Whitehead of Ventnor) 
 attended him. His eldest brother watched beside 
 him. A faithful friend helped to nurse him, one 
 who deserves special mention. We have seen 
 how Dr. Fairlie Clarke had loved and laboured 
 for working men. It was the privilege of one 
 of that class, whom he had long valued, and to 
 whom he had shown much kindness, to wait 
 upon him now, and receive some of his last smiles 
 of recognition.^ When conscious, passages of 
 
 1 This was Henry Granville Howells, carpenter, late of Bon- 
 church, now of Ryde, Isle of Wight. During his former stay at 
 
74 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke, 
 
 Scripture supported him. Once, when evidently 
 thinking of the children, he said, * We have tried 
 to train them for the Lord Jesus Christ ; ' and a 
 few minutes later, evidently thinking of her upon 
 whom the care of them was soon to devolve, he 
 added, ' Grace and wisdom will be given.' When 
 a passing look of trouble crossed his face, and his 
 wife repeated the verse, ' I will hold thee by the 
 right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not. I will 
 help thee,' — he said, * Say that over and over again ; 
 that is the hand / want.' Many years before, he 
 had written a hymn on this verse, and the prayer 
 in it for help whenever death might come seemed 
 to be answered now.^ When the words were 
 said, * His mercies are new every morning, great 
 is His faithfulness^ he repeated the last clause, 
 adding, ' Remember that ! notice that ! You will 
 need it. Yoii' will find it so ! ' and later, when 
 the text was quoted, * To depart and be with 
 Christ, which is far better,' he added, ' Yes, indeed! ' 
 
 Ventnor, Dr. Fairlie Clarke, who was fond of carving in wood, 
 took some lessons from Howells to perfect himself in the art. 
 This led to an intimate acquaintance with him. He twice invited 
 him to his house at Southborough, partly to teach his children to 
 carve, and still more that Mr. Howells might have the benefit of 
 rest and change of air when sick and in sorrow. 
 1 See Hymns at the end of the volume. 
 
Last Ilhiess and Death, 75 
 
 The very last words he uttered were adding 
 ' even unto the end/ when the verse was read, 
 * Lo, I am with you alway.' Such occasional 
 gleams of consciousness and expressions of gentle 
 trust in God were soothing to those who nursed 
 him. As he had lived, so was he ready to die. 
 On the 8th of May the end came, and his spirit 
 gently passed away. 
 
 On the 14th the body of Dr. Fairlie Clarke 
 was laid to rest in Elvington Churchyard, near 
 his beloved mother's grave. 
 
 ' We lay them down to sleep, 
 
 But not in grief forlorn ; 
 We lay them but to ripen there 
 Till the last joyous morn.' 
 
 Amongst the wreaths placed on the grave was 
 a beautiful one sent by the members of the 
 Medical Prayer Union. 
 
 The sorrow felt at the death of Dr. Fairlie 
 Clarke was deep and widely spread. The circle 
 of his friends was large ; for he never lost hold 
 of those to whom he had once become attached. 
 The friendships of his life amongst old and young, 
 rich and poor, were among its chief pleasures. 
 Perhaps, however, no letters received when he 
 was taken away were more touching than those 
 
76 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 which came in from young medical students 
 belonging to different branches of the Prayer 
 Union. They all seemed to feel that they had 
 lost a kind and valued friend, whose place could 
 not easily be filled. * Your husband was a true 
 friend to me in my student days, always kind 
 and genial, a devoted Christian, whose memory 
 it will be a life-long pleasure to cherish.' So 
 wrote one of them. ' I write at once,' are the words 
 of another, the honorary secretary of the Medical 
 Prayer Union, * to express to you the sympathy 
 of every member. The kindness of one who 
 has been to each and all of us a true friend we 
 shall never forget. The help that Dr. Fairlie 
 Clarke and yourself have been to our Union as 
 a body, and to each individual, I cannot easily 
 express.' 
 
 In Southborough and its neighbourhood the 
 premature ending of his career occasioned the 
 keenest regret, and was noticed with much respect- 
 ful sympathy in all the local papers. The Vicar 
 of St. Thomas, Southborough, the Rev. H. 
 Bigsby, while expressing his own personal loss 
 of a dear friend, thus alludes to his life and 
 character : — * When Dr. Fairlie Clarke had settled 
 down among us, we soon found that a valuable 
 
Last Illness and Death. 77 
 
 addition had been made to our village and its 
 neighbourhood. His Christian influence began 
 almost from the first to make itself evident 
 amongst both high and low. The poor especially- 
 received much attention from him, and I fre- 
 quently heard of cases where, without letting 
 them know to whom they were indebted, he 
 would order articles of nourishment to be sent to 
 them. He was one who eminently laid himself 
 out for the good of others. He had a well- 
 furnished mind, and a fund of general information 
 which was always at any one's service. He also 
 quickly won the confidence of those around him, 
 both in his good judgment and in the pains he 
 took to arrive at a right decision in any point of 
 difficulty brought before him. He was often 
 successful in introducing a higher tone into our 
 social gatherings, and would suggest the reading 
 of some poem or striking narrative in the course 
 of the evening. I have a lively recollection of 
 one afternoon at his house when prizes were given 
 to those children who recited best, and who had 
 sent in the best story composed by themselves. 
 I can see the glisten in his eye when one fell to 
 his little son, and I see the scarcely less glad 
 look when one of my own little daughters proved 
 
78 Me^noir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 a successful competitor. We had looked forward 
 to many such pleasant gatherings, but our Father 
 willed it otherwise, and we know, even when we 
 mourn our loss, that His will is best. I must 
 allude to the deeply religious tone which pervaded 
 our friend's whole life. Deeds with him were 
 perhaps more frequent than words. At the same 
 time, he was quick to recognise the electric touch 
 of love for the Master, and to respond to it in 
 conversation which was full of interest. His 
 place in church was seldom empty, which is saying 
 much for a medical man. His responses were 
 particularly hearty, so as to make his absence 
 felt. He found time to attend the meetings of 
 various religious societies, and would on occasion 
 take a part in offering prayer, which I think I 
 may say was one of his gifts. We all miss him, 
 but most of all must he be missed in the home 
 circle. May God fill the gap with the sunshine 
 of His comfortable presence, and help us to follow 
 our dear friend as he followed Christ' 
 
 A memorial tablet^ was placed in the mission 
 
 room at High Brooms, the village where he had 
 
 so earnestly laboured, the expense of which was 
 
 defrayed by small subscriptions, largely made up 
 
 ^ See fac-simile, page opposite. 
 
Last Illness and Death. 
 
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8o Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 by offerings from the poor amongst whom he had 
 laboured. Another memorial of Dr. W. Fairlie 
 Clarke was, we may say, planted by his own 
 hands. He had often watched with admiration 
 a group of old oaks on the edge of the village 
 green. He regretted to observe their advancing 
 decay, and frequently urged the desirability of 
 planting others to take their place when they 
 were gone. 'We must not be selfish,' he said. 
 ' We should plant for generations to come, 
 and not think only of ourselves.' At last he 
 obtained leave to plant some oak saplings. He 
 and his wife planted four, with playful allusion 
 to their own four children. There they stand, 
 therefore, and grow, symbols of ' the good men 
 do, which lives after them ! ' ^ 
 
 ' Enough, if something from our hands have power 
 To live, and act, and serve the future hour.' 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 ' The righteous and the wise and their works are in the hands 
 of God.' — EccLES. ix. I. 
 
 ^ We are informed that a drinking fountain is about to be erected 
 at Southborough in memory of Dr. W. F. Clarke. It had been 
 his wish before his illness to have one built, and there is therefore 
 particular appropriateness in this token of affection and respect. 
 
ADDRESSES. 
 
ADDRESSES. 
 
 ADDRESSES TO THE MEMBERS OF 
 THE MEDICAL PRAYER UNION. 
 
 I. 
 
 October 29, 1875. 
 
 When I was invited to take part in the proceedings 
 of this evening, I at once accepted the invitation ; 
 and yet I did not do so without diffidence. 
 
 I accepted at once, because it seemed to me 
 so clearly my duty to do anything in my power 
 to support the Medical Prayer Union. But I 
 accepted with diffidence, because I know how 
 easy it is to stand up before a meeting of 
 sympathisers, and to express one's belief in the 
 gospel of Christ ; and how difficult it is when the 
 meeting is over, and one returns to the business 
 of life, — how difficult it is to live as it becometh 
 the gospel of Christ. 
 
 I beg you, therefore, to understand that in 
 what I say this evening I am fully alive to the 
 
8 2 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke, 
 
 dangers and difficulties which beset your lives, 
 and that my desire is to offer you from my own 
 experience one or two hints which you may find 
 practically useful. 
 
 This is the meeting of the MEDICAL PRAYER 
 Union. The link which binds us all together is 
 our connection with our profession. We are all 
 members of the medical profession, or we are 
 preparing to become such. Our special diffi- 
 culties, temptations, and dangers are, therefore, 
 much the same, and by our presence here this 
 evening we declare plainly that we desire to 
 resist these temptations, to avoid those dangers, 
 and to discharge our special duties as it becomes 
 those who are seeking * a better country, that is, 
 an heavenly.' 
 
 Much has been said about the danger arising 
 from the study of the natural sciences. I cannot 
 but think that this danger has been exaggerated. 
 I cannot believe that the study of God's handi- 
 work has of necessity a tendency to turn our 
 hearts from Him. It ought surely to have quite 
 an opposite effect, and to lead us to say, * How 
 marvellous are Thy works, O Lord : in wisdom 
 hast Thou made them all.' A short time ago 
 classical education was paramount in this country. 
 The universities and public schools recognised 
 scarcely anything else. The natural sciences 
 were looked on as unworthy of being made the 
 objects of serious study. Hence, when attention 
 was more directed to these subjects, they had to 
 encounter much opposition, and I believe the evil 
 effects attributed to them were in great part the 
 
Addresses to Medical Prayer Union, ^'^ 
 
 result of prejudice. They no more tend of 
 necessity to produce infidelity and materialism 
 than does the study of mathematics or classics. 
 I need not go far to prove this. We have only 
 to recall such names as Galileo, Sir Isaac Newton, 
 Sir David Brewster, Michael Faraday ; or, to 
 come nearer home, I might point to some of 
 those who have taken part of late years in such 
 meetings as this, — for example. Sir J. Simpson, 
 William Allen Miller, George Wilson, — who have 
 combined the highest scientific attainments with 
 a sincere acceptance of the gospel of Christ, and 
 an earnest practical piety. 
 
 It is not, then, in this direction that your chief 
 danger lies. It is, I believe, rather from the 
 hardening effect which familiarity with disease 
 and death is apt to produce in some natures, 
 unless it is carefully guarded against. In par- 
 ticular, the work in the dissecting-room and the 
 dead-house is liable to have this result. If there 
 is anything coarse in a man's nature, it is apt to 
 make it coarser. It does not give rise to an 
 intellectual materialism, but simply to hard and 
 callous feelings, and to sensual conduct, the result 
 of unrestrained animal passions. 
 
 These are your special dangers ; but, in addition 
 to these, you are, of course, exposed to those 
 trials which beset all young men at their entrance 
 on life. You are exposed to the temptation of 
 being wholly engrossed in your professional 
 pursuits, to the neglect of spiritual things. On 
 the other hand, you are exposed to the danger of 
 neglecting both your studies and your spiritual 
 
84 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 interests, and yielding to the allurements which 
 the many places of amusement in this metropolis 
 hold out to you. Or, again, you are in danger 
 of stifling your convictions and hiding your 
 colours from fear of the ridicule or the petty 
 persecution of ungodly companions. To all 
 these evil suggestions the deceitfulness of our 
 own hearts gives additional strength. In the 
 midst of so many dangers, how can we hope to 
 stand .'' * Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse 
 his way?' Here it is that the Medical Prayer 
 Union steps in, and answers in the words of 
 Scripture : ' By taking heed thereto according to 
 Thy word ; ' and my chief object this evening is 
 to give you a few hints as to how this word 
 should be used in order that it may prove your 
 safeguard and guide. You have a hard struggle 
 to maintain your ground, a daily conflict in which 
 you must engage ; and this is the sword which 
 God Himself has put into your hand. But of 
 w^hat value is a sword unless we know how to use 
 it } The young soldier must be well practised in 
 his sword exercise before he will be fit to face 
 the enemy. 
 
 Having got your Bible, be sure you use it. 
 
 First of all, I would remark, it should be used 
 daily. You must not let your sword get rusty. 
 It must be ready at any moment to repel an 
 unexpected foe. And this it can only be if your 
 mind is being kept constantly occupied with it. 
 The Word of God must dwell in you richly. You 
 must be familiar with it, if you are to have its 
 exhortations and commands ready at hand, so as 
 
Addresses to Medical Prayer Union. 85 
 
 to repel an unexpected temptation, as Christ did 
 in the wilderness. It is not the historical know- 
 ledge which we received at school — it is not even 
 the verbal knowledge of passages which we learnt 
 as children — that will sustain us in the conflict of 
 life. We must, each one for himself, study the 
 Word of God constantly and diligently, if, like 
 Apollos, we are to be mighty in the Scriptures. 
 I say, therefore, read your Bibles daily, so that 
 your memories may be always freshly stored 
 with it. 
 
 Next, I would say, read the Bible upon a 
 regular system and plan. Don't be satisfied with 
 only opening your Bibles as it were at hazard, 
 and reading a few verses. Would you expect to 
 advance in any knowledge if you treated your 
 scientific books in this way } You might get a 
 smattering of knowledge, but it would be of no 
 practical value. Nor even is it enough to read 
 and re-read certain selected portions of Scripture. 
 The Bible has been given to us as a whole. One 
 part throws light upon another ; and unless we 
 are acquainted with all the various books of 
 which it is composed, our views of God's truth 
 are apt to be narrow, and our religious life ill- 
 balanced. I know that a knowledge of the 
 simplest gospel truths is enough for salvation, 
 and that it may be wise to confine the attention 
 of children and uneducated persons to the plainest 
 portions of Scripture. But I am now speaking to 
 educated men, and to those who are aspiring to a 
 learned profession ; and I say that you should 
 aspire to a comprehensive acquaintance with 
 
86 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 God's Word in order that you may be thoroughly 
 furnished unto all good works. 
 
 When I speak of reading upon a regular 
 system, I mean read consecutively, so that in a 
 longer or shorter period you may read through 
 the entire Bible. For instance, I should recom- 
 mend you each day to read at least one chapter 
 from the Old Testament, and another from the 
 New. This would carry you through the whole 
 volume in about two years. Or you might like 
 to make use of some of the calendars which have 
 been drawn up for the purpose, such as the Table 
 of Lessons of the Church of England, or the 
 Calendar prepared by the Rev. Robert M'Cheyne. 
 The Chairman, I know, will agree with me in 
 recommending the latter, as it was through him 
 that I became acquainted with it. Since I first 
 saw the little tract, * Daily Bread,' as it is called, 
 on his table, I have got several penny copies at 
 Nisbet's and circulated them among my friends, 
 so as to induce them to adopt it. 
 
 I know the demands which are made upon 
 your time, and how many subjects a diligent 
 medical student has to learn. But, however 
 important your professional studies may be, do 
 not forget that the welfare of your souls is of still 
 greater moment. If you are determined to make 
 time for reading a portion of God's Word morning 
 and evening, you will be able to find means to do it. 
 This may involve a little self-denial, but you must 
 endure hardness as good soldiers of Jesus Christ. 
 We read in Havelock's Memoir that when he was 
 on the march he habitually rose two hours before 
 
Addresses to Medical Prayer Union, ^j 
 
 the time for starting, in order to secure leisure for 
 reading the Bible and prayer. If you cannot 
 find leisure in any other way, it will always be in 
 your power to follow his example. On Sundays 
 I would recommend you to make a point of 
 devoting some portions of the day to its special 
 study, with the addition of such books as you can 
 procure which will throw light upon it. And 
 remember that your study of the Bible ought 
 always to be a devotional study. It is a book full 
 of interest in a historical, a philological, and an 
 antiquarian point of view, and I do not say that 
 you should neglect it in any of these aspects. 
 But its main object is to be a spiritual guide to 
 us, and what is most important to each individual 
 is that it should be the nourishment of his own 
 soul. And to secure these benefits we must read 
 it in a humble, teachable spirit, with prayer to 
 God for the enlightenment and application of His 
 Holy Spirit. One of the rules of the Jansenists 
 was to read the Bible on their knees. We should 
 all do well to follow this rule in its spirit, if not in 
 its letter. 
 
 I have now touched upon the points to which 
 I was chiefly anxious to call your attention, 
 namely, the daily study of the Scriptures, the 
 systematic study of the Scriptures, the devotional 
 study of the Scriptures. In carrying out these 
 pieces of advice which I have ventured to give 
 you, you will find great assistance from the meet- 
 ings of the Medical Prayer Union. They will 
 strengthen your hands by bringing you into 
 association with other God-fearing men. They 
 
88 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 will add to the interest of Bible study by the 
 comments which you will hear struck out from 
 different minds, and they will enlarge your Chris- 
 tian sympathies by showing you that, though good 
 men may differ upon secondary or trifling ques- 
 tions, these are nothing compared with the great 
 fundamental principles upon which they are 
 one. 
 
 When I allude to the advantages which you will 
 gain by attending the meetings of the Medical 
 Prayer Union, I speak from my own experience. 
 I often look back with pleasure to my connection 
 with the Christian Medical Association, which in 
 the early years of my career held much the same 
 place that this Union does now. Many a pleasant 
 and profitable hour have I spent under this very 
 roof in attending the Bible-readings presided over 
 by Dr. Stewart, and I made the acquaintance of 
 some of my best and most valued friends at these 
 meetings. 
 
 I feel confident that if you use to the full the 
 opportunities which this Association affords you, 
 you will find it not only a source of strength, com- 
 fort, and enjoyment while you are a student, but 
 when you are called to responsible spheres of duty, 
 when you stand by the bedside of the sick and 
 dying, you will thank God that you were led to 
 take this means of strengthening your own reli- 
 gious life, and of laying up treasures of religious 
 knowledge which you m.ight bring forth as words 
 in season to supply the needs of others. 
 
Addresses to Medical Prayer Union. 89 
 
 II. 
 
 October 19, 1877. 
 
 This is the annual meeting of the Medical 
 Students' Association. Almost all whom I 
 address bear that title. All are students of a 
 most interesting and important subject, and are 
 preparing for the exercise of one of the most 
 useful and honourable of professions. You are 
 bracing yourselves for the business of your lives ; 
 you are equipping yourselves for the work which 
 is to make you independent. I doubt not many 
 of you are looking forward to the time when, no 
 longer as learners but as active workers in the 
 field, you will be reaping the fruits of your present 
 toil ; and you are anticipating happiness and 
 satisfaction in gathering in the harvest. We 
 who meet you to-night can, from our own past 
 experience, sympathize with your aspirations, 
 and our great desire is that you may not be dis- 
 appointed, but that your anticipations of happiness 
 may be fully realized. But this can only be the 
 case if you set out in the right way, and if your 
 powers are put forth in due subordination to the 
 mind and will of God. He who has given us our 
 powers of body and our faculties of mind requires 
 that they should be used in subservience to His 
 design in our creation, if we are to derive any 
 true satisfaction, any real happiness, any per- 
 manent blessing from them. 
 
 Apart from God, none of our powers can bring 
 
90 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 us the satisfaction we crave. It needs no words 
 of mine to convince you that you would find no 
 full satisfaction in the exercise merely of your 
 bodily powers. If you were the most successful 
 athlete, if you carried off the leading prizes at the 
 annual games at Lillie Bridge, it would be but a 
 passing pleasure, a momentary triumph. No, 
 no ! He who made you designed you for higher 
 things than these, and you would not find, you 
 would not be permitted to find, full satisfaction in 
 the exercise of your bodily powers, however 
 much success you might achieve. 
 
 This is so obvious that we need not dwell upon 
 it. Let us pass to the higher, the much higher 
 part of your nature, your intellectual faculties. 
 Will you find a full satisfaction in the exercise of 
 them } I trow not. By all means cultivate them 
 to the highest degree, and use them to the best 
 advantage. To work hard at your studies is 
 your proper duty now. It is what you have 
 come to London for. It is what you have 
 entered at your hospital for. It is what your 
 parents are paying a large sum of money for, — 
 money, perhaps, which they can very ill spare ; — 
 and many an anxious father and many a fond 
 mother is longing and praying that you may be 
 steady and diligent students. By all means 
 work hard at the various subjects which enter 
 into the curriculum of your medical study. I 
 should like to hear that among the winners of 
 scholarships, medals, and prizes, there were many 
 who were members of the Medical Prayer Union. 
 But when you have cultivated your intellectual 
 
Addresses to Medical Prayer Union, g i 
 
 powers to the utmost, and when you have attained 
 the largest measure of success, you will achieve 
 nothing- which will yield you a full satisfaction. 
 Let me tell you the experience of a very dis- 
 tinguished scholar, Henry Martyn, the well-known 
 missionary and translator of the Bible. Heobtained 
 the highest academical honour at Cambridge, 
 that of Senior Wrangler, before he had completed 
 his twentieth year. His own description of his 
 feelings on that occasion is very remarkable. * I 
 obtained,' he said, *my highest w^ishes, but I was 
 surprised to find that I had grasped a shadow.' 
 
 There is no prize within the reach of a medical 
 student equal to that which Henry Martyn 
 obtained, none which implies such a high 
 standard of ability, or which carries with it so 
 much worldly distinction. If you were to obtain 
 the highest prizes open to a medical student, the 
 highest honours at the London University, you 
 would find, with Henry Martyn, that you had 
 grasped a shadow. The study of the natural 
 world around us, the study of our own bodily 
 organization, the study of our own minds : these 
 and many kindred subjects are, no doubt, full of 
 interest, and may well engage our attention, but 
 they cannot afford us full satisfaction. As we 
 are capable of knowing and communing with the 
 Creator, we cannot rest content in the works of 
 His creation. And more than this : the more 
 we cultivate our intellectual faculties, the more 
 sensible we become of the boundless extent of 
 the field before us, and the utter impossibility of 
 our ever attaining a complete knowledge of it all. 
 
92 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 And more still : such is the constitution of our 
 bodies, that just at that time when we seem to 
 have gained such a measure of knowledge and 
 experience as to justify the hope that we may 
 advance with redoubled strides, at that very time 
 our senses begin to fail, our faculties begin to 
 decay, and bodily infirmity puts a drag upon all 
 the powers and achievements of the mind. Few 
 men have had stronger minds than Faraday, 
 whose name is dear to all the students of natural 
 science, and few have retained their faculties 
 longer in vigorous exercise. Yet in one of his 
 letters, dated a few years before his death, he 
 writes : ' My worldly faculties are slipping away 
 day by day. Happy it is for all of us that the 
 true good lies not in them. As they ebb they 
 may leave us as little children, trusting in the 
 Father of mercies and accepting His unspeakable 
 gift.' No, no ! He who made you designed you 
 for higher things than these, and you will not 
 be permitted to find a full satisfaction even in 
 the most successful exercise of your intellectual 
 faculties. But, when we have spoken of the 
 physical and intellectual parts of man's nature, we 
 have not covered all. There remain his affec- 
 tions, the part which makes him a social and a 
 sociable being, and which links him to his fellows. 
 Will he find a full satisfaction here ? I trow not. 
 For all earthly friendships are like castles built 
 upon the sand, and sooner or later the inevitable 
 wave must carry them away. By all means 
 make friendships during your student days ; 
 above all, make Christian friendships. There are 
 
Addresses to Medical Prayer Union, 93 
 
 no friendships like the friendships of youth, and 
 amongst youthful friendships there are none 
 which are so valuable as those which rest on a 
 common faith in Christ, and a common desire to 
 serve and glorify Him. They are a veritable 
 anticipation of the communion of saints. By all 
 means make friends among your companions. 
 But your visits to the hospital will give you many 
 opportunities of seeing how manifold are the 
 dangers with which life is beset, how precarious 
 are the ties of friendship, how many are the part- 
 ings and separations, and in how many ways death 
 may advance to snatch away the loving and the 
 loved, which no care, no forethought, no assiduity 
 can retard or resist. This is a fact which must 
 come to all. All are touched through their affec- 
 tions. It is only the young and strong who find 
 pleasure in the exercise of their physical powers. 
 It is only the talented and the educated who 
 delight in the exercise of their intellectual 
 faculties. But all of us, the young and the old, 
 the educated and the uneducated, the rich and 
 the poor, are influenced by our affections, and are 
 apt to seek our happiness in the exercise of them. 
 But it is certain that such hopes are doomed to 
 disappointment. I daresay you remember those 
 well-known lines of Thomas Moore's upon disap- 
 pointed hopes : — 
 
 ' Oh, ever thus from childhood's hour 
 I've seen my fondest hope decay : 
 
 I never loved a tree, a flower, 
 But 'twas the first to fade away ; 
 
 I never nursed a young gazelle 
 To glad me with its soft black eye. 
 
94 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 But when it came to know me well, 
 
 And love me, it was sure to die. 
 Now, too, the joy most like divine 
 
 Of all I ever dreamt or knew, 
 To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine, — 
 
 O misery, must I lose that too ? ' 
 
 That was what Moore wrote as a mere observer 
 of human life, and of the fleeting character of all 
 earthly attachments and friendships, and his lines 
 have become popular just because so many feel 
 them to be true. 
 
 And so, if your life were enriched with all that 
 human affection can give, you would not be con- 
 tent. You would at least desire this: that the 
 objects of your affections should endure, that they 
 should not pass away like a morning cloud. No, 
 no ; He who made you designed you for higher 
 things than these, and you would not find, you 
 would not be permitted to find, a full satisfaction 
 even in the enjoyment of the purest earthly 
 friendships. 
 
 It is not in the play of our muscles, however 
 vigorous they may be — it is not in the exercise 
 of our minds, however strong and cultivated they 
 may be — it is not in the warmest of our hearts' 
 affections — that we can find a full satisfaction. 
 We must look higher still, and higher. 
 
 St. Augustine says : * The reasonable soul, made 
 in the likeness of God, may here find much dis- 
 traction, no full satisfaction ; for, it being capable 
 of God, it can be satisfied with nothing but God. 
 Thou hast made us for Thyself, and our heart is 
 restless till it rests in Thee.' 
 
 How then are we to find this rest .-^ The Lord 
 
Addresses to Medical Prayer Ufiion. 95 
 
 Himself answers : ' Come unto me, and I will 
 give you rest ; ' ' Take my yoke upon you and 
 learn of me ; ' enter my service, and with sincere 
 desire try to obey my words, to follow my 
 example, and you shall find rest unto your souls. 
 Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me, not in 
 pride and self-will, but in meekness and lowliness, 
 and you will find rest to your souls. Here is full 
 satisfaction. Here is happiness which leaves no 
 aching void behind it. And it is the object of 
 the Prayer Union to help you thus to come to 
 Christ, to learn His will, to study His example, 
 and try by united prayer to seek for the teaching 
 of His Holy Spirit and for His strength, the moral 
 courage, the perseverance that you need in order 
 that you may put His precepts into practice, and 
 that you may follow in the blessed steps of His 
 most holy life. 
 
 I do not pretend to say that you will find it 
 easy to do this. It is not easy to be a consistent 
 and out-spoken Christian at any time of our lives, 
 or in any position ; and most assuredly it is not 
 easy during our college days. Students are 
 thrown together so intimately, they are apt to 
 form such hasty opinions about one another, and 
 to express them in such unmeasured, such dis- 
 agreeable and ill-natured terms, that the position 
 of a young man who desires to walk godly in 
 Christ Jesus is by no means easy. But we must 
 all of us try to ' endure hardness as good soldiers 
 of Jesus Christ ;' and how various are the hardships 
 which soldiers of all ages and of all ranks are 
 called upon to endure, any one who has read the 
 
96 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 newspapers during the last few months has had 
 opportunity of learning. Never mind what 
 thoughtless fellows around you may say. Never 
 mind the sneers and the jeers ; never mind the 
 laughing and the chaffing. Take it in good part. 
 Bear it as you best can. Be patient, be gentle, be 
 brave. Suffer not yourself to be moved from the 
 hope of the gospel. Hold fast by the Word of 
 God. Attend the meetings of the Prayer Union 
 regularly. Try to consecrate all your powers of 
 body and mind to the service of God. There you 
 will find a peace, a rest, a full satisfaction, which 
 no annoyances, no insults, no petty persecutions 
 can disturb or destroy, because it is a peace, a 
 satisfaction not given by man, but by God. 
 
 'O satisfy us early with Thy mercy, that we 
 may rejoice and be glad all our days' (Ps. xc. 14). 
 
ADDRESS TO THE CHRISTIAN MED- 
 ICAL ASSOCIATION, BY DR. C. J. B. 
 WILLIAMS. 
 
 October 30, 1S68. 
 
 I HAVE been requested by the Committee of 
 the Christian Medical Association to address 
 the students at this meeting, and I would wish 
 particularly to speak to the new students, just 
 beginning their career, in the hope of influencing 
 (however feebly) any of them that are undecided 
 on the great proposition which the prophet put 
 to the Israelites — * Choose ye this day whom ye 
 will serve ; if Baal be God, follow him : but if 
 the Lord be God, then follow Him.' As an old 
 teacher, I have known many students in their 
 career, and I have some experience of students' 
 life. I know how young life is full of hope, 
 expectation, and enjoyment ; I know how much 
 there is to interest and delight you in the pursuit 
 of your studies. It is hard work truly, and will 
 tax your attention and abilities to the utmost, but 
 there is so much to engage and draw you on, that 
 you will find pleasure as well as toil in the work. 
 It is more the idle days and the leisure evenings 
 that you have to fear. You may feel them dull 
 
 G 
 
98 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 and wearisome ; and then come the temptations 
 of the amusements and scenes of dissipation, so 
 varied and so seducing, in this great town ; idle 
 and frivolous in themselves, and full of snares and 
 further temptations to worse and worse evil. 
 How many, alas ! fall and are ruined in health, and 
 in all their prospects — for time, and for eternity ! 
 and even those less imprudent, that dip into them 
 and think they escape, are they unpolluted ? Ask 
 them ' what fruit had ye of those things of which 
 ye are now ashamed ? for the end of those things 
 is death.' So of all sinful pursuits and pleasures. 
 — 'The wages of sin is death, but' — mark the 
 contrast — 'the GIFT OF GoD is eternal life, 
 through Jesus Christ our Lord.' 
 
 I would earnestly urge you at once to * choose 
 that better part' — to seek the more excellent 
 way ; a way not only to save from danger and 
 escape from temptation, but a way of pleasant- 
 ness and peace, a way in which you will find new 
 life, new happiness, guidance, strength, comfort, 
 and peace, now and for ever — a peace 'which 
 passeth all understanding' — a peace which the 
 world can neither give nor take away — THE 
 PEACE OF God, 'which endureth to everlasting 
 life.' 
 
 What then is this way 1 It is the way of Him 
 who said, ' I am the way, the truth, and the life,' 
 the way of Christ. Be a CHRISTIAN : that is, a 
 man in CHRIST. ' Now, if any man be in Christ 
 he is a new creature : old things are passed away ; 
 behold, all things are become new.' A new 
 creature in Christ Jesus ! How different from a 
 
Address to Medical Association, 99 
 
 nominal Christian ! Oh, that cold, lifeless, outside 
 Christianity will never give you life, or comfort, 
 or strength. The nominal Christian may say his 
 prayers, but is that praying ? he cannot, in using 
 the Lord's Prayer, address Almighty God as * Our 
 Father in heaven,' — as his reconciled Father in 
 Christ. He has not the 'spirit of sonship' — {literal 
 trans., Rom. viii. 15) — whereby we can say 'Abba, 
 dear Father,' with the filial confidence of a par- 
 doned and loving child. Again, the petition, 
 ' Thy Kingdom come,' is that the wish of one who 
 is a Christian only in name } O no ; the king- 
 dom of Christ must begin in our hearts, before 
 we can look and long for its coming on earth ; 
 we must have the foretaste before we can long for 
 the fruition. 
 
 But listen to some of the exceeding great and 
 precious promises to the real Christian : ' Behold, 
 what manner of love the Father hath bestowed 
 upon us, that we should be called God's children ; ' 
 ' Now are we God's children, and it doth not yet 
 appear what we shall be : but we know that, when 
 He shall appear, we shall be like Him : for we 
 shall see Him as He is ; and ' (mark the corollary) 
 ' every one that hath this hope in Him purifieth 
 himself even as That One is pure.' How aston- 
 ishing this declaration : ' As many as are led by 
 God's Spirit, they are God's sons ' — {literal, i John 
 iii. i) ; — ' and if children, then heirs ; heirs of God, 
 and joint-heirs with Christ.' And the promises are 
 for the present as well as for the future : ' Godli- 
 ness is profitable to all things, having the promise 
 of the life which now is, and of that which is to 
 
lOO Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 come;' 'All things are yours;' 'Things present 
 or things to come, all are yours.' But ' trust not 
 in uncertain riches, but in the living God, who 
 giveth us richly all things for enjoyment ' {literal^ 
 I Tim. vi. 17). 
 
 And is not our covenant God in Christ the 
 Almighty God of nature also ? the great First 
 Cause who in wisdom made all things by the word 
 of His power? the All-wise Designer of the 
 wondrous and beautiful phenomena and laws of 
 chemistry, physiology, and other sciences, which 
 delight us ? We discover them bit by bit, slowly 
 and partially unveiling their wonders ; but oh, 
 what a blaze of unspeakable glory, when all these, 
 and ten thousand times more, shall be revealed in 
 the clear light of heaven ! 'Now we see through a 
 glass darkly, but then face to face ; now we know 
 in part, but then shall we fully know even as also 
 we are fully known' — {litei'al, i Cor. xiii. 12). 
 Oh, shall we not therefore look to Him in whom 
 ' are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and know- 
 ledge,' and in whose presence is fulness of joy, 
 and at whose right hand are pleasures for ever- 
 more? 
 
 It is written, ' He that made the eye, shall He 
 not see } and He that formed the ear, shall He 
 not hear .-* ' and in the spirit of the Scripture may 
 '^e not say. He that formed our senses here below : 
 for such exquisite enjoyment in sight, hearing, 
 and other sensations, so captivating even in our 
 imperfect state, what shall He not prepare for us 
 when our senses shall be purified and exalted in 
 our glorified bodies.'* For, bear in mind, our 
 
Address to Medical Association, loi 
 
 bodies shall be raised with all their senses and 
 perceptions, and with all the mental powers also ; 
 but * made like unto the body of His glory ' 
 (Phil. iii. 2i), refined, ennobled, incorruptible; 
 so that all enjoyment shall be no longer mixed, 
 but complete, no longer fleeting, but everlasting. 
 Think of this, ye that prefer the pleasures of sin 
 which are but for a season. It is God that has 
 made that capacity for pleasure, which you abuse 
 and turn to everlasting torment. But to those 
 who love Him and obey His commandments He 
 will surely give a far more exceeding and eternal 
 weight of enjoyment in His heavenly kingdom. 
 
 And so of all the capacities and faculties with 
 which God has endowed us in this life, — our delight 
 in the beautiful scenes of nature, our aesthetic 
 gratification in all the charms of music and of 
 painting, enhanced by culture and art, our en- 
 joyment of the inspiring thoughts and words of 
 poetry and imagination, and even the severer 
 exercise of our reasoning powers in matters of 
 philosophy and science, — all these, if kept in sub- 
 jection to the will of God, and giving Him the 
 praise due to His name, all these granted to us, 
 in limited portions, as our earthly talents and 
 blessings here, shall not cease in death, but shall 
 be infinitely expanded and perfectly consummated 
 in our glorified bodies, made like unto the glorious 
 body of Christ our Head and Forerunner, and 
 thus be made fit for the glorious inheritance of 
 the saints in light. There shall be no more dark- 
 ness, no more pain, no more sorrow, and (blessed 
 be God) no more sin and temptation ; but all shall 
 
I02 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 be light, and wisdom, and beauty, and bliss 
 unutterable and unbounded, for ever and ever. 
 * Wherefore, beloved, seeing that ye look for such 
 things, be diligent, that ye be found of Him in 
 peace, without spot and blameless.' 
 
 Addressing myself especially to new students, 
 I have urged these considerations — feebly, I know 
 — to induce them to serve the Lord Christ. You 
 have a noble work in your profession — noble in 
 its study — noble in its practice — noble in its 
 objects ; but oh ! ennoble it more completely, by 
 doing all in the love and to the glory of God. 
 
 Seek continually His help, study constantly 
 His Word, rely ever on His strength, confide in 
 His love. *Not slothful in business, fervent in 
 spirit, serving the Lord.' Thus follow the steps 
 of the Great Physician, who went about doing 
 good, and making it His meat and drink to do 
 the will of His Father in heaven. So, united to 
 Him, as Head of all things to His Church, abide 
 in Him by firm and living faith, and ' He will 
 never leave you nor forsake you,' but He will be 
 your support, and comfort, and guide in this life, 
 and will give you an abundant entrance into His 
 everlasting kingdom, there to be with Him, and 
 reign with Him for ever and ever. 
 
 &-9 
 
PRAYERS. 
 
 PRAYERS FOR MEDICAL MISSIONS. 
 
 I. 
 
 We pray Thee, O God, for all who have gone 
 forth as medical missionaries, or as missionary 
 nurses. Give them special fitness for their special 
 work. Give them skill and ability and tenderness 
 in dealing with the suffering and the afflicted. 
 Give them grace and wisdom to enable them to 
 speak words in season, and to point the sick and 
 the dying to the Great Physician of souls. Grant 
 them such success in their medical work, that 
 prejudices may be removed and confidence won, 
 that so by this means a great door and effectual 
 way be opened for the preaching of Thy gospel, 
 and that the Word of God may have free course 
 and be glorified. 
 
 We pray Thee, O God, to pour out a spirit of 
 brotherly love and Christian unity on all those who 
 are labouring in the field of foreign missions. 
 Let no root of bitterness springing up trouble 
 them, and give occasion to the adversary to speak 
 
 103 
 
I04 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 reproachfully. Whatever differences there may- 
 be among them, by whatever names they are 
 known among us, may they be known among the 
 heathen only as the standard-bearers of the Cross, 
 and the faithful soldiers of Jesus Christ. Let not 
 their work be hindered by the inconsistent lives of 
 Englishmen who profess to call themselves Chris- 
 tians. Constrain all our countrymen, who are in 
 foreign lands, to remember how great is their 
 responsibility, how influential is their example, 
 and how much they can do by a holy walk 
 and conversation, to encourage the missionaries, 
 and to further their work. Grant that wherever 
 Englishmen go, as soldiers or sailors, in commerce 
 or in enterprise, they may remember the blessings 
 which Thou hast bestowed upon us as a nation, 
 and that, having had the advantage of a Christian 
 education themselves, they may not bring discredit 
 on Thy holy religion or hinder the spread of the 
 gospel. 
 
 And we pray for the converts, those who by 
 Thy grace have been called out of darkness into 
 marvellous light. Help them to stand fast in the 
 faith, and to witness a good confession. Help 
 them to maintain holy lives, and thus may they 
 adorn the doctrine of God their Saviour in all 
 things. Let them not hanker after any of the 
 heathen practices which they have renounced, but 
 may they be wholly Thine, and separated unto 
 Thyself; and may they see such beauty and 
 excellence in Christ Jesus, that they may desire 
 none but Him ; and may they be ever pressing 
 toward the mark for the prize of their high calling. 
 
Prayers for Medical Missions, 105 
 
 Thou hast drawn us together at this time, O 
 God, and united us in prayer for a great and 
 glorious object, but our hearts are cold, our desires 
 are feeble. Create in us an earnest longing for 
 Thy glory, and for the extension of Thy kingdom. 
 May it be a real grief to us that Thy name is 
 blasphemed every day, and that the honour and 
 worship which belong to Thee only are given to 
 others. May we say from our hearts, ' Thy king- 
 dom come,' * Even so, come. Lord Jesus ; ' and 
 may we endeavour, each one in our station, by 
 prayer, by self-denial, by personal effort, to 
 promote this blessed end. 
 
 Hear us, heavenly Father, pardon our sins, 
 pardon the unworthiness of our prayer, and give 
 us a gracious answer, for the sake of Jesus Christ 
 our Lord. Amen. 
 
 IL 
 
 O God, who hast commanded us to make 
 supplications and prayers for all men, we desire 
 now to intercede for those who are engaged in 
 alleviating the sickness and the suffering that 
 there is in this fallen world. 
 
 We pray for all medical men, and for all who 
 attend upon the sick, that they may know Thee 
 themselves and value Thy salvation, and may be 
 real followers of Him who went about doing good 
 to the bodies and souls of men. 
 
 We pray for all hospitals and schools of medical 
 education. May those who teach do so in Thy 
 faith and fear, and may those who learn be 
 
1 06 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 preserved from the peculiar dangers by which they 
 are surrounded. Lead them not into temptation, 
 but deliver them from evil. Let not their studies 
 harden their hearts or alienate their minds from 
 Thee, but may the contemplation of Thy marvellous 
 handiwork and the observation of disease and 
 death turn them to Jesus Christ, who is the Truth 
 and the Life ; so that, when they themselves enter 
 upon their ministry of healing, they may go forth 
 as His disciples. 
 
 We pray Thee especially for all medical 
 missionaries, whether at home or abroad. Uphold 
 their goings in Thy ways, that their footsteps slip 
 not. Support them in their trials, and guide them 
 in their difficulties. May their faith fail not. May 
 their love abound more and more, both towards 
 Thee and towards all men. Give them the skill 
 and the wisdom that they need. May they be 
 fruitful in every good word and work, and may 
 Thy blessing so rest on them that their labours 
 may not be in vain in the Lord. Make them 
 mighty, O Lord, to the pulling down of the strong- 
 holds of prejudice and superstition, so that a 
 great door and effectual way may be opened for 
 the preaching of Thy gospel, and that Thy word 
 may have free course and be glorified. 
 
 Thus, in Thine own good time, may Thy kingdom 
 come, wherein there shall be no more death, 
 neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be 
 any more pain, for the former things shall have 
 passed away. 
 
 Grant this, O heavenly Father, for Jesus Christ's 
 sake, our blessed Lord and Saviour. Amen. 
 
HOSPITAL SKETCHES. 
 
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 HOSPITAL SKETCHES. 
 
 THE SICK-NURSE. 
 
 The sick-nurse ! What a multitude of associa- 
 tions does the name call up, — visions of ^sickness 
 and disease in an infinite number of shapes, — 
 visions of nursing in all the varieties of that many- 
 sided occupation. What significant glimpses it 
 gives us of brutal violence and womanly tender- 
 ness ; of gross vices and heroic virtues ; of fiendish 
 passions and angelic ministrations. Into what a 
 close and eloquent juxtaposition it brings human 
 weakness and human strength ; man's littleness 
 and man's greatness. Of this the incident that 
 I am about to relate furnishes one of the most 
 striking examples that have ever come under my 
 observation. 
 
 But first I must premise that sick-nurses are 
 not now what once they were. Only a few 
 years ago, it was thought that any woman who 
 had gained some slight knowledge of nursing 
 in tending her own children, was good enough 
 
 107 
 
io8 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 to be a sick-nurse. Her acquaintance with the 
 subject might be of the scantiest and most im- 
 perfect kind ; her education might have been nil ; 
 her character and habits might have been such 
 as it would be dangerous to investigate ; she might 
 have found it impossible to obtain a livelihood in 
 any other way : and yet she was accounted good 
 enough for a sick-nurse. I have known the entire 
 supervision of two wards accommodating five-and- 
 twenty patients entrusted to a woman who could 
 neither read nor write. And why, some one may 
 ask, should it not be so ? Does nursing consist 
 in anything more than shaking up pillows, apply- 
 ing poultices, and giving a table-spoonful of physic 
 every four hours } Yes, reader ; it consists in 
 much more than this — in infinitely more. It 
 means the art of influencing all the conditions — 
 physical, intellectual, moral, and spiritual — which 
 surround the sick man, and the art of regulating 
 all circumstances, good or bad, so as to avoid all 
 harm and secure all benefit, and that with the 
 least possible wear and tear to the patient himself. 
 But to do this is a very high art ; indeed, it needs 
 not the worn-out energies of the coarse, the vulgar, 
 and the brutish, but the highest training of the 
 most refined and cultivated minds. 
 
 It is only of late years that this has come to 
 be acknowledged. However, with the acknow- 
 ledgment has set in a mighty change. Training 
 
The Sick-Nurse, 109 
 
 institutions for nurses have been established in 
 town and country, and very strict have the 
 managers been as to the material which they 
 undertook to mould. Only women of good 
 character and tolerable education are considered 
 eligible, and these are carefully instructed in the 
 rationale of their art by lectures and classes, as 
 well as trained practically in the wards of a 
 hospital. At the head of these training institu- 
 tions are placed ladies of the highest possible 
 character, — ladies who combine all the advantages 
 of education and refinement with devoted zeal 
 and energy in carrying out the task which they 
 have voluntarily undertaken. It is not my in- 
 tention in this slight sketch to speak of these 
 establishments in detail. It is not my purpose 
 to trace their rise and progress, to discuss the 
 principles upon which they should be based, or 
 to define the proper method of regulating them. 
 All this has been done by far abler pens than 
 mine. I would only say that, so speedily have 
 they taken root in English soil, so rapidly have 
 they been multiplied, that there are now training 
 institutions to suit persons of all the different 
 shades of religious belief, as well as others which 
 have no affinity whatever with sisterhoods, and in 
 which nursing is treated merely as an employment 
 by which women may earn an honest livelihood. 
 No lady, no woman, can with justice say that there 
 
I lo Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 is not at hand the means of her becoming a skilled 
 sick-nurse, without her adopting any extreme 
 opinions, or ^renouncing all hope of marriage, or 
 taking any life-long vows. How many a young 
 lady, as she reads the last new novel, sighs over 
 the dulness and flatness of her own existence, and 
 wishes that she could find a place in some of the 
 romances of real life. How many another, as she 
 hears of missionary enterprises at home or abroad, 
 — the moving incidents of Christian chivalry, — 
 — deplores the apparent idleness and unprofitable- 
 ness of her life, and wishes that she might come 
 to the front, if only as a vivandiere^ to strengthen 
 the hands of the fighters, and to succour the 
 wounded. Well, here is just the opening that 
 such an one desires ; just the niche that she may 
 fill, provided there are no family ties that have 
 a prior claim upon her. She may here find a 
 passage into the thickest of the fray, and she may 
 here come into almost daily contact with the 
 tragedies of real life. If only she inquires a little 
 into their circumstances, she will find many a hero 
 among the patients entrusted to her care. Each 
 one of them is called upon to exercise high qual- 
 ities, patience, endurance, fortitude ; and if she will 
 enter into their griefs, and give them the help of 
 her counsel and the comfort of her sympathy, 
 she will no longer find her life dull and uninterest- 
 ing. Only wait a little, brave heart. By and by, 
 
The Sick-Ntirse. 1 1 1 
 
 when you are a few years older, you shall be right 
 welcome ; and meanwhile, there is much to learn 
 that will be useful to you when the proper time 
 comes for you to enter a hospital. Any branch 
 of study for which you have a taste — poetry, his- 
 tory, languages — any accomplishment in which you 
 may excel, such as music or drawing — may help 
 you to do your work, or may serve to amuse your 
 invalids, or enable you to win their confidence. 
 But, most of all, you have yourself to learn those 
 habits of patience and forbearance, of prompt 
 decision and self-reliance, of gentleness and tact, 
 which will be constantly called for when you enter 
 on the duties of a sick-nurse. 
 
 But enough of this. Now for my story. 
 
 It was when I was house-surgeon to one of the 
 metropolitan hospitals, that I was summoned early 
 one morning to see a man who had just been 
 brought in, having met with an accident. I found 
 the entrance hall occupied by a noisy crew, who 
 were supporting a still noisier patient. He was 
 shrieking and laughing by turns ; at one time 
 cursing his companions, and at another bantering 
 them in a careless kind of a way. As I saw at 
 a glance that he had evidently met with a severe 
 accident, and as it was quite clear that the whole 
 party were tipsy, I ordered the porters to carry 
 the patient up to the surgical ward, and thus I 
 got rid of his companions. I followed the patient 
 
112 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 up-stairs, assisted in getting him into bed, and 
 proceeded to examine his leg, which was broken. 
 But this was no easy matter, for he was so rest- 
 less, he threw himself about in so many directions, 
 he abused me so roundly, he made such successful 
 efforts to hinder us from carrying out our wishes, 
 that to make a thorough examination of the 
 injury was out of the question. It was evident, 
 however, even without any such minute inspection, 
 that he had met with a fracture of the very worst 
 description, — what is called in surgery a com- 
 pound fracture ; and that his present state of 
 drunkenness added not a little to the risk of a 
 fatal issue. So there was nothing for it but just 
 to put his leg in the splints which are usually 
 employed in such cases, and to keep him quiet as 
 we best could. On inquiry I learnt that he was 
 a public-house keeper in the neighbourhood, that 
 he had long been a man of intemperate habits, 
 and that for the last fortnight he had been drink- 
 ing incessantly. This course had brought him 
 into a state verging upon delirium tremens ; and 
 while in that condition he had attempted to get 
 out of a window some eight or ten feet from the 
 ground, had fallen and injured himself in the 
 severe manner that has been described. I have 
 said that we did our best to quiet him, and to keep 
 his leg at rest. But in truth it was no easy matter 
 to do either the one or the other. He was so 
 
The Sick- Nurse. 113 
 
 noisy, so abusive ; he threw off the bedclothes, 
 he undid the apparatus, he flung himself about in 
 such a way, and was so boisterous and unruly, that 
 he was a nuisance to every one else in the ward, 
 so I had to have him removed into a small 
 separate room, and a special watch was set over 
 him. This duty was undertaken by one of the 
 lady sisters and one of the nurses ; and I myself 
 spent as much time as I could afford [by his bedside. 
 If his removal to a separate room had a soothing 
 influence upon those whom he left behind, it had 
 no such effect on himself. He seemed to consider 
 it an insult that he had been treated as refractory, 
 and this made him more angry than before. 
 Indeed, he was now perfectly furious, talking fast, 
 and gesticulating wildly, and using the most awful 
 imprecations, ever and anon, after the manner of 
 one in delirium tremens. He searched first on 
 one side of the bed and then on the other for 
 imaginary objects, — snakes, scorpions, centipedes, 
 and the like, — with which his fancy filled the room. 
 At an early period of his life he had been in South 
 America, and thus it was that he was familiar with 
 these venomous reptiles which now haunted his 
 imagination. All this time he was tossing himself 
 about, and moving his leg as far as the splints 
 would allow, as if it were quite insensible to pain. 
 Indeed, it was with great difficulty that he was 
 restrained from getting out of bed and trying to 
 
 H 
 
114 Memoir of Williafn Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 walk. Meanwhile, the good lady and the nurse 
 were unwearied in their efforts. Quietly and 
 patiently, with wonderful forbearance, they did 
 everything that could be done, either by gentle 
 expostulation or by management, to calm him, 
 but all to no purpose. 
 
 Suddenly, after he had been throwing his limb 
 about with more than his usual violence, I noticed 
 that the sheet which covered him was saturated 
 with blood. I threw it off, and found that his leg 
 was bleeding fast. At once I placed a pad of lint 
 on the bleeding point, and said to the lady sister, 
 'Press that hard, and, whatever the man does, do 
 not let go your hold.' I hurriedly desired the 
 nurse to redouble her efforts to keep the patient 
 still, while I ran for such things as were necessary 
 in order to stop the haemorrhage. In a crisis like 
 this the value of education becomes apparent. 
 I well knew that I could rely on the presence of 
 mind and determination of the lady sister in 
 carrying out my instructions. No weak fears of 
 responsibility, no nervous alarm, nothing short of 
 actual violence would, I felt quite sure, make her 
 quit her hold. 
 
 I was only absent from the room for a minute. 
 When I came back, the patient was as furious as 
 ever. He was sitting up in bed, using the most 
 awful language, with which I dare not sully my 
 page, and trying by main force to drag his leg 
 
The Sick- Nurse. 115 
 
 out of the grasp of the sister. Suddenly his voice 
 ceased, his hands relaxed their hold, and he fell 
 back on the pillows dead. He had died of his 
 drunken fit. Anything more awful it has never 
 been my lot to witness. One minute he was 
 employing the most terrible imprecations, and 
 the next minute he was dead. A horror of great 
 darkness seemed to have come over the scene. 
 
 The patient was hardly dead when a rap came 
 at the door. His wife had come to the hospital 
 to see him, and to learn how he was. She had 
 brought with her their child, a little girl of about 
 five years old. The lady sister went to meet 
 them at the door, and, without letting them know 
 at once what had taken place, she led them to an 
 adjoining room, that she might gradually break 
 to the poor woman the news of her husband's 
 death. 
 
 Between the husband, as we had seen him in 
 the morning, and the wife, the contrast, even at 
 first sight, was very striking. He had been a 
 coarse-featured man, with a red and sensual- 
 looking countenance, and every word he said 
 testified that his face did him no injustice. 
 About his wife, on the contrary, there was an air 
 of great refinement. Not that she was hand- 
 somely dressed ; far from it. Though neatly and 
 tidily dressed, her clothes were as simple as 
 possible, and evidently preserved with studied 
 
1 16 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 care and economy. It was her face which at 
 
 once attracted one's attention and enlisted one's 
 
 sympathies. She was prematurely grey, — indeed, 
 
 her hair was almost white, — though she did not 
 
 look over forty years of age. Her cheek was 
 
 pallid and wan. Her features were well defined 
 
 and regular, with a great deal of character and 
 
 firmness about them, but it was with the firmness 
 
 of one accustomed to restrain herself, and not of 
 
 one accustomed to command. Her eye was clear 
 
 and open, but tHe fire of youthful hopes had left 
 
 it, and its only expression was one of gentle and 
 
 forbearing tenderness. Altogether one would 
 
 have seen at a glance that she had suffered much, 
 
 not, perhaps, in the way of great shocks or losses, 
 
 but what is infinitely more heart-breaking, m the 
 
 way of daily and hourly neglect and brutality, in 
 
 constant forbearance with vices which her pure 
 
 soul loathed and detested, but which she could 
 
 not restrain, and which she was obliged to meet 
 
 as best she could. She had long since found that 
 
 the best way to meet them was by a gentleness 
 
 and tenderness which no excesses could disturb, 
 
 and no ill-treatment could ruffle. 
 
 When the lady sister had explained to her the 
 severity of her husband's injury, the great danger 
 which had attended it from the first, and had at 
 last made known to her its fatal issue, the poor 
 woman's grief was silent and tearless, but not 
 
The Sick-Nurse. 1 1 7 
 
 therefore the less profound. Her little girl, who 
 only perceived that something dreadful had 
 happened to her father, who had always been a 
 very fond and indulgent parent to her, kept 
 asking where he was gone, what they were going 
 to do with him, why she might not go to him. 
 These simple questions — so unfathomable, so 
 agonizing to the poor wife's heart — the lady 
 sister parried with exquisite grace and tact, and 
 presently the new-made widow was sufficiently 
 composed to speak of her past life, and to look 
 the awful realities of her present situation 
 steadily in the face. Her life had long since lost 
 its romance. All sentiment had been crushed 
 out of it. She had been too much habituated for 
 years past to loneliness, neglect, and misery to be 
 overpowered by even such a blow as this. Her 
 history was a sad, but, alas ! not an uncommon 
 one. Ten years before the time of which I am 
 now speaking, she had been lady's maid in a 
 family of some consideration. She was a clever 
 and faithful servant, and a woman of a sweet, 
 amiable, and pious disposition. 
 
 These qualities endeared her to her mistress, 
 and she was a general favourite in the house. 
 Her future husband was butler in the same 
 family. He, too, was a good servant, but his 
 goodness depended upon the restraint and control 
 which was exercised over him by his master. He 
 
1 1 8 Memoir of Williafn Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 ' had no root in himself, and in time of tempta- 
 tion fell away.' He did his work well enough 
 when it was regularly assigned to him, when his 
 wages depended upon it, when temptation was 
 kept out of his way, and when it would have 
 become at once evident if his duty was neglected. 
 But when he was married, when he became his 
 own master, and had set up a public-house, much 
 against the advice of his former employer and the 
 entreaties of his wife, all the weakness and self- 
 indulgence of his character became apparent. It 
 was now his turn to rule. He thought it beneath 
 him to do any household work. Everything 
 must be done for him by the pot-boy, or the 
 maid-of-all-work, or most probably by his wife. 
 He spent his time idling among his friends, or 
 gossiping in the parlour with those who frequented 
 his house. Of course this led to his drinking 
 many glasses of ale and spirits in the course of 
 the day ; the quantum which he took one day 
 was slightly increased the next, and so on he 
 went from little to more, and from bad to worse 
 It is not wonderful that after this career had con- 
 tinued for seven or eight years, it should have 
 come to pass that he was almost constantly in a 
 semi-intoxicated state, and always on the verge 
 of an attack of deliriutn tremens. From having 
 been a smart, active, intelligent servant, he had 
 become a very sot, weak, trembling, and bloated 
 
The Sick-Nurse. 119 
 
 in body, and irritable, indolent, and selfish in 
 mind ; while in his wife the change, at least in 
 outward appearance, was not less sad, though her 
 spirit rose nobly above her circumstances, and 
 seemed to have become more truthful and more 
 refined as her trials increased, and her grief 
 became more poignant. She had once had a 
 large share of good looks, a fresh colour, a bright 
 smile, and an elastic step, which, added to the 
 regularity of her features, went far to make her 
 very prepossessing. But the fresh colour was 
 faded now, the bright smile rested on no one but 
 her little girl, and the elastic step had given place 
 to a feeble and weary gait. 
 
 Her features still retained their former outline ; 
 there was the same thoughtfulness on her brow, 
 the same calmness in her eye, the same firmness 
 in her mouth and chin, but these qualities were 
 all subdued by the prevailing meekness and 
 resignation of her demeanour. She had learnt in 
 a school of long and painful discipline that her 
 thoughtfulness must be constantly exercised in 
 trying to lead her husband to a better Life ; that 
 her calmness was needed to quiet the tempest of 
 her own troubled heart ; and that all her firmness 
 was called into play in bearing the ill-usage of 
 her husband, not answering word for word, or 
 blow for blow, but contrariwise blessing. 
 
 The evils of our public-house system and of 
 
I20 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 our drinking customs have been often dwelt upon. 
 At the present moment they are attracting the 
 serious consideration of all thoughtful persons as 
 well as of the Legislature ; and I should be glad if 
 anything I could say might help to swell the cry 
 which is raised on behalf of minimizing the traffic 
 in strong drink, and placing it under stringent 
 regulations. 
 
 There are, in this country, three main sources 
 of disease and death ; and of these drinking — 
 alcoholic poisoning — is perhaps the chief. This 
 is just as much as to say that the amount of 
 alcohol consumed is not merely so much as is 
 good and beneficial, but what is hurtful and even 
 deadly. In many cases, such as that of this 
 publican whose end we have described, it brings 
 about a speedy death ; and in many others the 
 habitual and continued use of a larger quantity of 
 beer, or wine, or spirits than the system requires, 
 induces what are known as senile changes, and in 
 one way or another leads to premature decay. 
 
 But to return to my narrative. When the lady 
 sister had gently announced to the poor woman 
 the death of her husband, and when time had 
 been allowed her to recover the blow, she was led 
 into the chamber of death. There she knelt by 
 the bed, with her little girl beside her, and 
 remained some minutes in silent prayer. What 
 was the burden of her petitions we need not 
 
The Sick-Nurse. 121 
 
 inquire, God knows. It may be that, though to 
 the eye of man her conduct towards her husband 
 had seemed exemplary, yet she knew there had 
 been failures and shortcomings for which she 
 desired to be forgiven. It may be she thought 
 that if her behaviour had been different the result 
 might not have been so disastrous. None of us 
 are perfect, and such self-reproaches could scarcely 
 fail to arise at such a moment. Possibly they 
 had a foundation in fact, and this added to the 
 poignancy of her grief It was not for herself she 
 mourned ; to her, personally, her husband's death 
 could not fail to be in a certain sense a relief ; but 
 she recollected the promise of his early manhood, 
 and now had come this terrible end ; and the 
 words kept ringing in her ears, ' The drunkard 
 shall not inherit the kingdom of God.' After a 
 few minutes the widow rose from her knees, 
 kissed her husband's forehead, and turned to 
 leave the room. 
 
 Hers was a calm and unobtrusive grief. 
 Love, the romance of love, had long since been 
 stamped out by her husband's brutal conduct. 
 It had been hard even for affection to struggle on 
 under such provocations, and it had well-nigh 
 come to this, that for duty's sake she tolerated 
 her husband, and bore with his ill-treatment as 
 patiently as she could. Now that he was gone it 
 would be idle to pretend that she felt the loss 
 
12 2 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 very acutely ; perhaps it would be more correct to 
 say that a weight was lifted from her heart. The 
 husband who had been the direct cause of her 
 greatest trials, who had brought her into a line of 
 life that she hated, and surrounded her with 
 influences which were sure to involve grave peril 
 for her little girl as she grew up, — the husband 
 whose bad conduct had marred the bright 
 prospects with which their married life had 
 opened only nine years before, who had alienated 
 their best friends, and had brought discord, 
 poverty, and misery into their home, — -was gone, 
 and it would be vain to say that she was unpre- 
 pared for the blow, or that she felt it to be a very 
 heavy one. 
 
 When she got home, and when the duties 
 which more immediately pressed upon her had 
 been discharged, her first thought was how to 
 wind up the business and to get out of a trade 
 which she utterly detested. When her husband's 
 affairs were looked into, they were found in the 
 greatest confusion. His accounts had been kept 
 in the most slovenly manner. He was deeply 
 in debt to the firm of brewers who were his land- 
 lords, and there was little enough left to pay 
 either them or any of his numerous creditors. 
 
 During this trying time, while things were 
 being wound up in a way which constantly re- 
 minded the poor woman of her husband's reckless, 
 
The Sick-Ntirse. 123 
 
 almost dishonest neglect of business, the lady 
 nurse from the neighbouring hospital often came 
 to see her, and no small help was she to the 
 lonely woman, not merely by the comfort and 
 support which her sympathy afforded, but also by 
 her practical experience, and the wisdom of her 
 advice. The tragic death of the publican, and 
 the humble resignation of his wife, touched and 
 interested her deeply. Here, at least, she was 
 brought in contact with the realities of life, and 
 she rejoiced in being able to help the widow and 
 the fatherless. 
 
 After the lapse of a couple of months the public- 
 house was duly transferred to other hands, and 
 the widow betook herself to a distant country 
 village, where her own relatives had kindly under- 
 taken to provide her with a home. There, in 
 course of time, some of her former brightness and 
 cheerfulness returned, as her little girl, surrounded 
 by favourable circumstances, and under the 
 happiest influences, grew up to be a help and 
 comfort to her mother. 
 
THE MEDICAL STUDENT. 
 
 Time was — and that not very long ago — when 
 the name of a medical student was a synonym 
 for coarseness and vulgarity, if not for profanity 
 and licentiousness. But happily that time has 
 passed away, we may hope for ever. The 
 medical student of the present day has only him- 
 self to blame if he finds that his pursuits are a 
 mark for unfavourable criticism. It may not be 
 uninteresting to inquire how the change has been 
 brought about. In doing so we shall be led to 
 speak both of what the student of medicine was 
 two or three generations ago, and of what he is 
 now. It will also afford an opportunity for indi- 
 cating the different modes of entering the medical 
 profession, the best course of study for a young 
 man who wishes to be a doctor, the examinations 
 that must be passed, and the various lines of 
 practice that are open to the junior members of 
 the profession. In the course of these inquiries 
 we may, I trust, be able to give some hints, some 
 advice that may be useful to those who are 
 anxious to devote themselves to the healing art. 
 
 .124 
 
The Medical Student. 125 
 
 Strange it is that a profession, which in its aims 
 and objects is confessedly one of the noblest, 
 should ever have been regarded with anything 
 but admiration ! Strange that to be the student 
 of such a profession should ever have been a 
 reproach ! Yet such was the case but a few 
 years ago. Though in the metropolis there were 
 always a few medical men who held a dis- 
 tinguished social position, on account of their 
 professional abilities or their remarkable success 
 in practice, yet, as a rule, doctors did not take 
 equal rank with the members of the other 
 ' learned professions,' and the name of a medical 
 student was almost a byword. 
 
 If we were to trace to their origin the causes of 
 this prejudice, we should, I apprehend, find that 
 they were various. A century ago little thought 
 was bestowed on the alleviation of sickness and 
 suffering. Those who occupied themselves in any 
 way with the care of the sick poor were but few. 
 The great majority stood aloof from any such 
 employment. The hospitals were left to the 
 management of two or three individuals, who, 
 together with the medical staff, were the only 
 persons who took any interest in them. At the 
 same time the nursing department was suffered 
 to fall into the hands of a very inferior class of 
 women. Politicians were occupied with revolu- 
 tions and wars, the Church was in a torpid and 
 
126 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 lifeless condition, and no one cared to trouble 
 himself with the provision made for the sick. 
 Thus the medical profession, the hospitals, the 
 poor law medical service, and, in fact, everything 
 that had to do with the sick and suffering 
 members of the community, fell into neglect. It 
 was altogether a distasteful subject, and it was 
 thrust as far as possible out of sight. Few gentle- 
 men were willing to take any part in managing 
 charitable institutions, ladies had not found out 
 how usefully they could employ themselves in 
 superintending hospitals, or in training nurses; 
 and as for the inmates of the workhouse in- 
 firmaries, the provision that was made for them 
 was of the most niggardly kind. 
 
 When this was the state of public feeling, it is not 
 wonderful that the medical profession was lightly 
 esteemed. It is not wonderful that our public 
 schools and universities sent but few students into 
 its ranks. They were for the most part recruited 
 from a somewhat lower grade of society. Thus 
 cause and effect acted and reacted upon one 
 another. Public attention was turned away 
 from the sick poor, and they were relegated to 
 the care of an inferior class of men ; and because 
 medical men were of an inferior grade the public 
 attention continued to be so turned away. But 
 there was another reason why medical students 
 were disesteemed. This was because no general 
 
The Medical Student. 127 
 
 interest was taken in the physical sciences. 
 These branches of learning were studied only by 
 those who had a special taste or aptitude for 
 them. They formed no part of the education 
 given at schools and colleges. The public had 
 not then awaked to an interest in the phenomena 
 of nature. No facilities were given for the study 
 of those sciences upon which the practice of 
 medicine rests ; and, indeed, strange fears were 
 entertained lest by familiarizing youthful minds 
 with the works of the Creator we might rob them 
 of their faith, and make them atheists and 
 materialists. Thus neither the beneficent nor 
 the scientific aspect of the medical profession 
 was appreciated ; the natural sciences were 
 almost unstudied ; and because medicine and 
 surgery had but a vague scientific basis, they had 
 fallen a prey to the devices of quacks and 
 charlatans. 
 
 Perhaps another reason, arising out of the fore- 
 going, was that medical education was more 
 laborious than the easy-going spirits of a bygone 
 age recognised as gentlemanly. There was too 
 much drudgery about it to suit the luxurious 
 times of Louis XIV. or George IV. Again, the? 
 common mode of entering the profession was by 
 an apprenticeship to an apothecary ; and this 
 introduced an element of trade which was 
 thought beneath the dignity of a liberal and 
 
128 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 learned vocation. For these reasons among 
 others, the medical profession had fallen in the 
 public estimation. Is it strange, then, that the 
 medical student, drawn from an inferior grade of 
 society, following studies which were looked upon 
 with aversion, and dealing with a class of the 
 community in whose sufferings no interest was 
 felt, is it strange that his conduct should some- 
 times have been such as to bring a reproach upon 
 the name he bore .-* 
 
 But, happily, all this is changed now. The 
 Churches are awaking to the fact that the care of 
 the sick poor is one of the most important duties 
 that can devolve upon a Christian community. The 
 sympathies of society at large have been drawn 
 out in favour of their suffering fellow-creatures, 
 while all are now alive to the interest of the 
 physical sciences, and almost every school and 
 college has made arrangements for giving special 
 instruction in them. Every boy who has a taste 
 for chemistry or natural history can now find 
 plenty of opportunities for cultivating his favourite 
 studies and for turning them to account in his 
 after life, and for such lads one of the most 
 natural outlets is the medical profession. Now, 
 at least among thoughtful people, the healing art 
 is appreciated both in its beneficent and in its 
 scientific features ; and if a medical student finds 
 that he is regarded unfavourably, the fault pro- 
 
The Medical Student. 129 
 
 bably lies in himself. It is not because his 
 studies are anatomy and physiology, nor because 
 his work lies in the hospital wards, nor because 
 he is constantly engaged in relieving human 
 suffering, that his friends look upon him askance. 
 If there are any who still regard the pursuits of a 
 medical man with disfavour, they are probably 
 idlers and triflers, whose opinion is of no weight, 
 and is not worthy of consideration. Like Shake- 
 speare's fop, they are more affected by the sights 
 and smells of the battlefield, than by the grand 
 issues of the contest. It may be taken for 
 granted that there is no real earnest work to be 
 done in the world without encountering some- 
 thing that is disagreeable ; and no sensible person 
 will think the worse of a young man who is 
 engaged in learning anatomy, or in tending the 
 poor in hospitals, when he has in view the grand 
 object of ministering to the sick, and relieving 
 the sum of human misery. But as no boy who 
 has a taste for the medical profession should be 
 hindered from entering it because others have no 
 fancy for the work, or because they think it 
 degrading, so, on the other hand, no lad ought 
 to be sent into the profession against his will. It 
 is a profession which, more than most, requires 
 special tastes and special aptitudes ; and a parent 
 ought no more to think of making his son a 
 doctor against his inclination, than he would of 
 
 I 
 
1 30 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 making. him a clergyman under similar circum- 
 stances. 
 
 I have known a few young men who have 
 abandoned the medical profession after having 
 made a short trial of it ; but, on the other hand, 
 I have known a much larger number who have 
 shrunk from their studies a little at first, and 
 have afterwards become absorbed and engrossed 
 by them. I suppose there is no master who has 
 so many enthusiastic disciples as Esculapius. 
 His lessons are so varied, his work so many-sided, 
 that it offers attractions to men of very different 
 habits of mind. Is a young man anxious to 
 spend his life in doing good, bodily as well as 
 spiritual, to his fellow-men ? Where can he find 
 a wider field than in the medical profession ? Is 
 he desirous of an active and practical employ- 
 ment ? The business of a doctor will be enough 
 to occupy all his energies. Is he fond of science, 
 of chemistry and physiology ? He will find that 
 the chemistry and physiology of the human body 
 offer problems that baffle the keenest intellects. 
 
 If a lad, after giving medical study a fair trial, 
 finds that he has no taste for it, that he cannot get 
 over the disagreeables which lie on its threshold, 
 then he had better give it up at once, and turn 
 his attention to something else ; and he may 
 carry with him this consolation, that many a man 
 who has changed his line early in life, has risen 
 
The Medical Student. 131 
 
 to fame and fortune in the end. There are 
 notable instances of this upon record. Perhaps 
 the reason is that the boy's first profession was 
 chosen for him ; the second he chooses for 
 himself ; it is the profession of his heart, and he 
 works at it con amove. Or perhaps it may be that, 
 having abandoned the profession which his friends 
 had selected for him, he feels that everything now 
 depends upon his own exertions, and thus he is 
 stimulated to greater diligence. 
 
 But supposing that a lad has a decided preference 
 for the medical profession, and wishes to enter it, 
 what is the best preliminary education for him } 
 That is a question that I have often been asked. 
 I reply, let him go to a good school, — a public 
 school, — and then, if possible, to a university. Let 
 him have, in fact, the best general education that 
 his friends can afford to give him ; and if, during 
 the course of it, he can pay some attention to 
 chemistry, botany, or natural history, so much 
 the better ; but I would not advise him to omit 
 any part of his general education for the sake of 
 these special studies. He will have plenty of 
 time for them afterwards. 
 
 When his general education has been com- 
 pleted, let him be entered at a metropolitan 
 hospital. If he comes up to London straight 
 from school, he will probably be about seventeen 
 or eighteen; if he has been to a university, he will 
 
132 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 be a few years older. But this is no disadvantage. 
 
 It is not desirable to commence the study of 
 
 medicine very young. A generation ago, lads 
 
 used to be bound apprentice to an apothecary at 
 
 the age of fifteen or sixteen. Instead of carrying 
 
 on their general education, they were sent to 
 
 serve their time in a surgery. When they 
 
 ought to have been studying Latin and Greek, 
 
 Mathematics and French, they were employed in 
 
 compounding medicines of whose nature and 
 
 uses they knew nothing. But happily that mode 
 
 of entering the profession is fast dying out. 
 
 Every, medical student has now to pass an entrance 
 
 examination in general knowledge ; and it is felt 
 
 that it is of much more importance that he should 
 
 spend his time at school than that he should be 
 
 compounding pills and draughts. When he has 
 
 learned something of chemistry and botany, as 
 
 well as of the nature and uses of drugs, he may 
 
 easily, in a short course of practical pharmacy, 
 
 obtain all the information that he need possess 
 
 about the dispensing of medicines. The choice 
 
 of a hospital is a matter of great importance, 
 
 and also of some difficulty. There are in the 
 
 metropolis about a dozen medical schools, which 
 
 vary in size and reputation, much in the same 
 
 way that the colleges in a university differ from 
 
 one another. Some number their students by 
 
 hundreds, others only by tens. Some of the old 
 
The Medical Student, 133 
 
 and richly-endowed hospitals have as many as 
 three or four hundred pupils upon their roll, 
 while others have not more than a sixth of that 
 number. The wealthy foundations have no doubt 
 great advantages. At these the students see an 
 enormous variety of cases in the comparatively 
 short time that their medical education lasts. 
 But this is not an unmixed good. Young men 
 who are just beginning their professional studies, 
 and to whom the whole nomenclature of disease 
 is new, are apt to be bewildered among the 
 multiplicity of cases. It is better for them to 
 see a smaller number, and to have leisure to 
 watch them carefully ; and, without disparage- 
 ment to the munificence of our forefathers, we 
 may safely say that a hospital which can 
 accommodate a couple of hundred in-patients 
 affords ample opportunities for a young man to 
 become thoroughly acquainted with his profes- 
 sional duties. Moreover, at the larger schools, 
 notwithstanding the command of money which 
 their endowments give them, it is difficult to 
 suppose that there can be the same individual 
 attention given to each student that there is 
 at the smaller ones, or that the pupils can 
 be brought into the same close and intimate 
 association with their teachers. 
 
 Again, at the smaller schools some work can 
 be found for each of the pupils, — each can have 
 
134 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 definite duties assigned to him under one of the 
 physicians or surgeons, — he can have a few 
 patients put provisionally under his charge ; and 
 this not only tends to interest him in his work, 
 but it is the only way in which such a practical 
 profession as that of medicine can be learned. 
 These considerations ought not to be lost sight 
 of in selecting a boy's place of study. If he is 
 naturally studious, he will probably make a full 
 use of the great advantages which the large 
 hospitals and rich foundations offer him ; but if he 
 is less disposed to work, perhaps he will do better 
 at a smaller school, just as one boy will derive 
 the utmost benefit from Eton or Harrow, while 
 the education of another will go on more prosper- 
 ously under the eye of a private tutor. But in 
 most cases convenience, or personal friendship, 
 or some other special reason, will rule the choice 
 of the hospital ; and it may be safely said that if 
 the larger hospitals have their advantages, so 
 also have the smaller ones, and a parent cannot 
 go far wrong if he sends his son to one of the 
 hospital-schools which has the best reputation at 
 the time, be it large or be it small. Some of 
 the hospitals have colleges attached to them, — 
 that is to say, there are sets of rooms where the 
 students can reside under the general super- 
 intendence of a tutor ; and at most of the hospitals 
 some of the medical men are authorized to 
 
The Medical Student. 135 
 
 receive pupils into their houses as boarders. 
 This is a better arrangement to make for a 
 young lad than the former, for it is not well 
 that he should reside always in the immediate 
 neighbourhood of the hospital. It is better 
 that he should have a walk to and from his 
 work every day. Moreover, it is very desirable 
 that, when a boy first comes up to London, he 
 should be put under the care of some one who 
 will look after him, and shield him, as far as 
 possible, from the dangers and temptations of the 
 great metropolis. But if a young man is a few 
 years older when he enters upon the study of his 
 profession, particularly if he has passed through 
 a university, he will probably prefer the freedom 
 and independence of lodgings to any other mode 
 of life. 
 
 The cost of a medical student's career depends 
 much upon himself, and the way in which he 
 regulates his personal expenses. The fees for 
 medical education do not vary greatly at the 
 different schools. From ninety to a hundred 
 guineas covers all charges for the necessary 
 lectures, hospital practice, etc., that are required 
 by the examining bodies ; and perhaps another 
 £^0 ought to be allowed for books, instruments, 
 and fees on passing examinations. Thus ;^I50 
 spread over three or four years, in addition to 
 the ordinary expenses of living, indicates the 
 
136 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 entire outlay that a parent will have to reckon 
 upon, in starting his son as a medical student. 
 
 When he has once entered a rnedical school, 
 the student will find that his curriculum of studies 
 is clearly marked out for him. There is a certain 
 definite order in which the different branches of 
 medical education are taken, and these are ac- 
 commodated to the examinations that have to 
 be passed. Thus, anatomy, physiology, and 
 chemistry will claim the pupil's attention dur- 
 ing his first year. In the second year he will 
 have to follow up his anatomical and physiological 
 studies, and also to attend lectures upon medicine 
 and surgery ; while in his third year he will have 
 to enter more fully into these latter subjects, for 
 with them he must make himself thoroughly 
 conversant before he can receive a licence to 
 practise. Besides these subjects that I have 
 enumerated, there are others that must find a 
 place among his studies, — namely, botany, materia 
 medica, pharmacy, and so forth. Each year he 
 will be expected to spend more and more of his 
 time in watching the treatment of the sick, for 
 his reading ought ever to go hand in hand with 
 clinical study and observation. During his first 
 year he will be chiefly occupied in the out-patient 
 department, where the slighter cases are seen. 
 But afterwards, as he becomes better acquainted 
 with the names of diseases, he will be expected 
 
The Medical Student. 137 
 
 to visit the wards every afternoon. And not only- 
 will he be required to attend the physician or 
 surgeon of the day, and to listen to his remarks 
 upon the nature and treatment of the cases which 
 pass before him, but he will be expected himself 
 to undertake the care of some of the patients, 
 subject to the direction of one of the visiting 
 m.edical officers. 
 
 At the present time there are about twenty 
 different bodies in Great Britain who have the 
 power of granting diplomas or degrees in 
 medicine ; and some of these bodies, in their 
 anxiety to obtain graduates, have done much 
 harm by offering loop-holes through which ill- 
 qualified men could creep into the profession. 
 But there is every reason to think that these 
 doors of entrance will soon be much reduced in 
 number, and that the few that are allowed to 
 remain will be constrained to adopt a uniform 
 standard of examination. Then probably every 
 student will be examined in the scientific part of 
 his studies in the course of his second year, and 
 in the practice of medicine and surgery in the 
 course of his fourth year. This second examina- 
 tion would constitute him a Bachelor of Medicine, 
 and would entitle him to practise his profession. 
 Then, if he were desirous of attaining a higher 
 standing, he might be encouraged to proceed, 
 after the lapse of a couple of years, to a third 
 
138 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 examination, which would make him a Doctor of 
 Medicine. Speaking generally, this is the plan 
 adopted at the present time by the best of the 
 universities, and probably something of this sort 
 will ere long be sanctioned by the Legislature as 
 the one and only way of receiving a qualification 
 to practise the healing art. 
 
 The best degrees and diplomas in medicine are 
 those of the universities and of the Colleges of 
 Physicians and Surgeons. Among the uni- 
 versities those of London and Edinburgh are 
 second to none, in the weight which their degrees 
 carry with them, though they have not the 
 prestige which belongs to Oxford and Cambridge. 
 Most young men take the diploma of the College 
 of Surgeons in addition to that of one of the 
 universities, or of the College of Physicians. 
 When they are fresh from their studies, it adds 
 very little to their labours to pass a second 
 examination in kindred subjects, and then they 
 are fully qualified for whatever line of practice 
 may open up to them in after life. When the 
 student has finished his career in London, and 
 has successfully passed his examinations, he will 
 be inclined to ask what is to be his next step. I 
 reply, if he can afford it, by all means let him 
 betake himself to the Continent for a year. Two 
 or three centuries ago our young medical men 
 used to go to Italy to complete their education, 
 
The Medical Student, 139 
 
 but just now more benefit will be derived from a 
 visit to France and Germany. I would re- 
 commend any young man who can manage it to 
 spend six months in Paris, and another like 
 period in Berlin or Vienna. Let him enter 
 heartily into the work of the place, attending 
 lectures and hospital practice regularly, and 
 endeavouring not only to get all the medical 
 knowledge that he can, but also to make himself 
 familiar with the language. The medical litera- 
 ture of France and Germany is of high value, and 
 it will be a life-long advantage to him to be able 
 to read French and German fluently. So much 
 is this the case, that, in making some hospital 
 appointments, a preference is given to those who 
 have an acquaintance with Continental languages. 
 And now the important question arises. In what 
 line of practice is a young man to set out ? What 
 are the different openings that the medical 
 profession presents, and what advantages will 
 each offer? First, there are the medical de- 
 partments of the army and navy. Examinations 
 are held periodically for admission into these 
 services, and any one who has the necessary 
 diploma may offer himself To a young man 
 who has a fancy for the military or naval life, 
 these appointments hold out great attractions. 
 They give him an immediate income ; they 
 place him in the society of gentlemen ; they 
 
1 40 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 enable him to travel and see foreign countries ; 
 and if after a few years he becomes desirous of 
 settling, he can at any time leave the service, or 
 he may even retire with a pension while he is 
 yet in the vigour of life. But, notwithstanding 
 these advantages, * the services ' are not popular, 
 and there is often difficulty in finding a sufficient 
 number of candidates to fill the vacancies. 
 
 But if a young man has no fancy for the 
 uniform of an assistant-surgeon, if he prefers the 
 quieter but more arduous labours of civil practice, 
 there are two main lines that lie before him. 
 The one is what is called consulting practice ; the 
 other is known as general practice. These two 
 branches of the profession differ from one another 
 very much in the same way that the business of 
 a barrister differs from that of a solicitor, and 
 they are divided by almost as sharp a line of 
 demarcation. 
 
 It is only London and the large towns that 
 can support consultants. The great body of 
 medical men scattered throughout the country 
 are general practitioners. The consultant selects 
 one particular line and confines himself to it. He 
 determines to be either a physician or a surgeon ; 
 or perhaps he may be contented with a narrower 
 field of study, and gives his whole attention to 
 the diseases of a single organ, as the eye or the 
 ear. But if a physician or surgeon is to be called 
 
The Medical Student. 141 
 
 in consultation to decide upon the nature of 
 difficult cases, and to direct the treatment which 
 should be followed, he must have a stock of ex- 
 perience in order to give weight and value to his 
 opinion. It is not reasonable to suppose that 
 a young and inexperienced man will be consulted 
 in this way. He must lay up stores of informa- 
 tion ; he must see a large number of cases ; and 
 then he will be able to speak with authority. 
 The young man, therefore, who determines to be 
 a consultant, takes up his abode in London or in 
 one of the large cities ; he becomes connected 
 with a hospital, and there he sees a vast amount 
 of practice in the particular line that he has 
 chosen, so that in a few months a larger number 
 of cases of a given kind pass under his observation 
 than the general practitioner sees in as many 
 years. If there is a medical school attached to 
 the hospital, he may hold a lectureship, and 
 while he is teaching others he will be learning 
 himself. 
 
 At the same time he has leisure to study 
 medical literature, ancient and modern, and 
 perhaps he may be able, by original investigation 
 and research, to advance our knowledge in the 
 particular department that occupies his attention. 
 Thus, if he is active and diligent, there will be no 
 lack of work for him to do, for the healing art in all 
 its various branches is a limitless field of study. 
 
142 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 But at the outset he must not expect much 
 private practice. It may be ten years or more 
 before he finds that his opinion is regularly 
 and constantly required in consultation. At 
 first he must be prepared to live altogether apart 
 from his professional income, and he must be 
 contented to see it grow very slowly. But in due 
 time he will reap his reward, if he faint not. His 
 scientific research will become known, his per- 
 severing study will be appreciated ; he will 
 find that patients seek his advice in increasing 
 numbers, and then the honours and prizes of the 
 profession will be before him. 
 
 A practice of this kind, like the business of a 
 barrister, cannot be bought or sold — cannot be 
 transferred from one to another. It has to be 
 built up by the labours of the individual ; it 
 depends upon his personal character and merits. 
 It is his skill and ability which keep it together, 
 and if he dies or retires it falls to pieces immedi- 
 ately. But the general practitioner undertakes 
 the charge of cases of all sorts. Indeed, he is 
 frequently the only medical man in the neighbour- 
 hood, so that people would have no one at all to 
 resort to unless he gave them his advice. Thus 
 it happens that he has his eye directed to the 
 entire circle of disease, and he has the advantage 
 of studying the healing art as a whole ; but, on 
 the other hand, the demands upon his time and 
 
The Medical Student. 143 
 
 energies are so incessant, that he has little leisure 
 for reading. 
 
 But it is time for us to bring this paper to a 
 close. We have now traced our medical student 
 to the end of his career. When he has taken his 
 degree, and is beginning to consider what is to be 
 the line of his future practice, he is no longer in 
 statu pupillari. 
 
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 A SHORT LIFE WELL SPENT. 
 
 * Give unto me, made lowly wise, 
 The spirit of self-sacrifice. ' 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 I HAD been studying medicine for about two 
 years, when I was asked by some friends to make 
 the acquaintance of a fresh-man who had just 
 entered at our school, and to give him such help 
 and encouragement as I could. It is but little 
 that one can generally do under such circum- 
 stances. With every desire to be helpful, it is 
 not easy to know how to assist a man who is 
 separated from one by the many lines of demar- 
 cation which at all colleges and schools divide 
 the students of one year from those of another. 
 However, I gladly consented to do what I could 
 
 for H. D , and arranged that he should come 
 
 to my rooms the following evening. 
 
 When he presented himself, I soon perceived 
 that he was no ordinary fellow, but one whose 
 acquaintance w^as well worth making. In 
 stature he was rather above the middle height, 
 
 144 
 
A Short Life well Spent. 145 
 
 his shoulders were broad, his chest was deep, and 
 his figure was well and firmly compacted. Al- 
 together he gave one the impression that, if the 
 occasion required it, he could put forth great 
 strength, though it would probably be with a slow 
 and measured activity. His countenance was 
 open and engaging, his eye clear and stedfast, his 
 expression pure and sweet, and his features firm 
 and well defined. There was a resolution about 
 the mouth, and a force about the square promi- 
 nent chin, which, coupled with the calm thought- 
 fulness of the eye, and the frankness of the 
 general expression, would go far to form the 
 outlines of a noble and attractive character. 
 His manner was modest and quiet and gentle, 
 but quite collected, and free from all embarrass- 
 ment. In conversation he spoke slowly, and in 
 rather a studied and deliberate way, apparently 
 anxious to convey the truth and nothing but the 
 truth, as one might speak before a judge, or in 
 the presence-chamber of a king. When he was 
 animated his face was bright and cheerful, full of 
 benevolence, often melting into a smile, though 
 rarely breaking into a laugh ; but when at rest he 
 wore an expression of gravity and sober-minded- 
 ness which not only pervaded his countenance, but 
 also made itself felt throughout his whole demean- 
 our, and gave him an air of thoughtfulness and 
 dignity which is seldom seen in a lad of eighteen. 
 
 K 
 
146 Meinoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 Before he had entered upon the study of 
 medicine he had already spent some years at 
 school in London, and I had been told that even 
 at that time he had been remarkable for the con- 
 sistency of his conduct, and the piety of his 
 life. 
 
 We spoke of our medical studies, of their 
 peculiar attractions and their special dangers, of 
 the difficulties and temptations that beset a 
 young man's life in the metropolis, of the best 
 way to deal with them, and of a number of other 
 subjects in which we were both interested ; and 
 before he left me I invited him to come to my 
 lodgings on Sunday evenings, and join a few of 
 us who were in the habit of spending an hour 
 in studying the Bible together. He gladly 
 accepted my invitation, and promised to come on 
 the following Sunday ; and from that time 
 forward, I do not think there was any more 
 regular attender at our little gatherings than H. 
 
 D . Whenever they were held he was sure to 
 
 be present, and to take part in the conversation ; 
 not that he said much, for his thoughts did not 
 travel fast, and he was slow of speech ; but he 
 followed what was said by others with an intelli- 
 gent appreciation, and he would often refer us to 
 some passage of Scripture which threw light upon 
 the subject, and helped us to study our texts in 
 the best possible way, — namely, by comparing one 
 
A Short Life well Spent. 147 
 
 part of the Word of God with another. His 
 knowledge of the Bible was considerable, and it 
 was that priceless sort of knowledge which is 
 learnt at a mother's knee, and which is understood 
 and remembered because it has found an entrance 
 into the heart, and has laid hold of the affections. 
 His remarks, too, were always listened to with 
 attention, for there was a reality and an earnest- 
 ness about them which gave them weight ; and 
 often they would serve to bring us back from 
 some discussion in abstract theology, to the vital 
 questions of personal religion and practical piety 
 and holy living; for he seemed always anxious 
 that our thoughts should revolve consciously 
 round the central figure in the Christian system, 
 and that every scriptural truth should be brought 
 into its proper relation to the cross of Christ. It 
 was of such an one that Dr. Arnold said, ' I would 
 stand hat in hand to that boy.' These little 
 gatherings of ours were begun in the most 
 informal way. Two or three friends agreed to 
 meet together on Sunday evenings at the lodgings 
 of one of the party, to speak of their common 
 hopes, and to encourage one another in their 
 Christian course. And what basis could be so 
 appropriate for such conversation as the Word of 
 God ? Accordingly, we determined to go through 
 some book of the Bible, and our choice fell upon 
 one of the Epistles of St. Paul. In this choice 
 
148 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke, 
 
 we were guided chiefly by the fact that we had in 
 our scanty libraries one or two commentaries 
 which would help us in reading St. Paul's writings, 
 while we were not equally fortunate in possessing 
 books which bore upon other parts of the Bible. 
 
 But we were of the number of those who hold 
 that unless God will vouchsafe to teach us out of 
 His Word we may read it and re-read it to very 
 little purpose, so far as our soul's health is con- 
 cerned ; and so we determined that, before we 
 began our studies, we would pray that as our 
 Saviour opened the Scriptures to the two disciples 
 travelling to Emmaus, so He would give us grace 
 to understand them aright, and to receive them 
 with meekness and pure affection, and to bring 
 forth the fruits of the Spirit. Accordingly, we 
 always began by using the collect for the second 
 Sunday in Advent, or some other similar prayer. 
 Then we took our Bibles and read one chapter 
 straight through, each reading a verse in turn, so 
 as to learn the general scope and tenor of the 
 whole passage. Then we fell back upon the 
 beginning again, and went over it in detail, using 
 the references in our Bibles and the notes in our 
 commentaries to help us towards a right under- 
 standing of it. In the company of Conybeare and 
 Howson, of Ellicott, and, Alford, the time passed 
 both pleasantly and profitably. 
 
 After we had spent an hour or an hour and a 
 
A Short Life well Spent. 149 
 
 half in this way, we knelt down and offered a 
 prayer which had been prepared for the occasion, 
 and which was intended to express our own 
 particular wants — our wants as young men living 
 in the great metropolis, our wants as medical 
 students beset with peculiar dangers and temp- 
 tations. This brought our little meeting to a 
 close, and, as it was now about ten o'clock, our 
 party soon began to break up. Some went home 
 to their lodgings at once, some stayed to chat or 
 read over their favourite hymns, or to enjoy a 
 little sacred music, for one or two of our number 
 played the piano ; and when we met at their 
 rooms we used to sing a few hymns together before 
 we parted. I daresay the singing was not very 
 harmonious, but it was a rare pleasure, and did us 
 a great deal of good. We were lonely, hard- 
 worked men, separated from family and kindred, 
 and the hymns we sang carried our thoughts to 
 distant homes and loved faces and familiar 
 voices, and served to strengthen in our minds the 
 claims of affection and of duty. In particular, I 
 
 doubt not that H. D — was often reminded of 
 
 the Suffolk rectory where he had been brought 
 up, and of the circle of brothers and sisters who 
 were wont to gather round the piano on a Sunday 
 evening, while his mother played and led the 
 chant. 
 
 All the members of our little society are 
 
1 50 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 scattered now. Two at least, Deane and 
 Streglitz, have already ceased from their labours. 
 Of the rest two or three are abroad, and the 
 remainder are dispersed in various parts of 
 England. But I am sure that from time to time 
 we all look back upon those hours spent in study- 
 ing the Bible as not only very instructive, but 
 also very enjoyable. They are full of happy 
 memories, and I am persuaded that they will 
 yet bring forth fruit unto life eternal. 
 
 Our party was not altogether composed of 
 medical students ; one was preparing for holy 
 orders, another for the army ; but we were all 
 members of the same college, and we were all 
 united by the common desire to walk in newness 
 of life, and to work while the day lasts. With this 
 view, most of us undertook some religious work 
 on Sundays, and our favourite employment was 
 visiting the sick poor. This was an occupation 
 which fell in well with the line of our studies ; 
 and the sights which might have been painful to 
 others made no deep impression upon us, we were 
 so used to them. 
 
 When my acquaintance with H. D had 
 
 ripened into friendship, when I saw what manner 
 of man he was, how stedfast, how trustworthy, I 
 asked him to go with me on a Sunday afternoon 
 to a neighbouring workhouse, where I was in the 
 habit of visiting the sick wards. This he gladly 
 
A Short Life well Spent. 151 
 
 consented to do, and accordingly he went with 
 me two or three times to see the plan that I 
 followed, and then he undertook the charge of a 
 couple of wards that the chaplain put under his 
 care. Here our method was to repeat some of 
 the collects from the evening service, then to read 
 a passage of the Scripture, and to explain it as 
 we best could. After having done this, we would 
 go round the room and say a few kind words to 
 each patient, asking them about their ailments, 
 their occupations, their families, and endeavouring 
 to draw some comfort or instruction for each 
 from the passage which we had just read. 
 
 As we went week after week, we soon made 
 acquaintance with the patients, many of whom 
 stayed months and even years in the sick and 
 infirm wards. In this way we spent an hour or 
 so every Sunday afternoon at the workhouse ; 
 and many a strange character did we meet, many 
 a heart-rending story did we hear, and many an 
 incident occurred to show us that our visits were 
 valued by the inmates. But if we felt for the sick 
 poor in the workhouses, and if it seemed appro- 
 priate for us to visit them, we felt even more for 
 the sick in the hospital where we were carrying 
 on our studies, for we met them every day ; their 
 cases were intimately known to us, and they were 
 in some measure under our care : was there no- 
 thing that we could do for them ? They were too 
 
152 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 ill to attend the hospital chapel, and the chaplain 
 was too busy on Sunday to hold a separate 
 service in each of the wards. An excellent 
 arrangement had been made, that the theological 
 students of the college should read prayers in the 
 wards, but the number of the students who were 
 able to undertake this work was small, and several 
 of the wards were left altogether unvisited upon 
 Sundays. Could we do anything to supply this 
 want ? Might we follow in the path which had 
 been assigned for the theological students, and 
 hold a short service here, such as we were in the 
 habit of holding at the workhouse ? We would 
 speak to the chaplain about it, and hear what he 
 said. Accordingly, we did so, and he gladly gave 
 us permission, and assigned us our wards. 
 
 One of the theological students, the same who 
 formed one of our little party for the critical 
 study of the Bible, took us under his wing, showed 
 us the plan he followed, and set us going in our 
 
 new work. H. D had been asked to take 
 
 charge of the men's medical ward, a ward with 
 which his name has ever since been associated. 
 It was a large double ward, a ward composed of 
 two long narrow rooms placed side by side, and 
 connected at each end by an open archway. In 
 it there were some thirty or forty beds. This was, 
 
 as it were, the parish assigned to H. D , and 
 
 here for two years he used to read prayers on the 
 
A Short Life well Spent. 153 
 
 Sunday evenings. Our plan was to reach the 
 hospital about half past six, at which time the 
 chapel service was held, and then we found the 
 place quiet and the patients ready to receive us. 
 Following the example which had been set us by 
 the theological students, we used first to go round 
 the ward and see that all were provided with 
 prayer-books, that they knew what were the 
 psalms for the day, and that they were prepared to 
 join in the service. Then, taking our stand in a 
 commanding position, so that all could hear, we 
 used to read part of the evening prayers, with the 
 
 psalms, and the second lesson. H. D was in 
 
 the habit of standing in one of the open archways 
 uniting the two long rooms which together formed 
 the men's medical ward ; and here, in his deliber- 
 ate way, with his deep sonorous voice, he would 
 read the service, the patients taking up the alter- 
 nate verses of the psalms, and adding their 
 emphatic ' iVmen ' at the end of the prayers. 
 
 When this little service was concluded, we 
 would go round the room and say a few kind 
 words to each of the patients : ' How do you feel 
 this evening, my man } ' ' Have you much pain 
 to-night } ' ' Are you suffering much from this 
 symptom or that t ' for we knew the particulars 
 of each case, and could direct our inquiries accord- 
 ingly. Or we might perhaps go a step further 
 than this, and quote some verse from the lesson 
 
154 Memoir of Willia7n Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 we had just read, some word of exhortation or of 
 comfort, which might serve to strengthen a weak 
 faith, or to soothe a restless spirit. Sometimes, 
 when the nurse in the ward happened to have a 
 good voice, or when there was any one present 
 who could ' raise the tune,' we would sing one or 
 two hymns, and this was a thing which the 
 patients always enjoyed extremely, and in which 
 they joined very heartily. When we had spent 
 an hour or an hour and half in this way at the 
 hospital, it was time for us to think of turning our 
 steps to the lodgings of our friend, where our 
 little gathering was held for the study of the 
 Scriptures ; and so our Sunday drew to a close. It 
 was a busy but a happy day. The forenoon we 
 spent at church, the afternoon was given at the 
 workhouse, and the evening we divided between 
 the hospital and our Bible meeting. 
 
 The life of a medical student is a laborious one. 
 He has a great many subjects to study in the 
 short space of three or four years, but his Sundays 
 are almost entirely at his own disposal. I say 
 almost, because if he happens to hold any appoint- 
 ment at his hospital he may have to go and see 
 some patient who is urgently ill, and to take 
 notes of his case even on that holy day. But as a 
 general rule he is his own master, and most young 
 men will find that they have time to do some work 
 for God, if only they are disposed to undertake it. 
 
A Short Life well Spent. 155 
 
 To those who are in the vigour of health, and 
 whose minds are fresh and active, it is a change 
 of employment and not mere idleness that gives 
 rest and refreshment ; and I am sure no one will 
 do his week-day work the less well because he 
 spends an hour or two on Sundays in trying to 
 promote the moral and spiritual good of his 
 fellow-men. 
 
 In this way time passed, the week-days being 
 spent in our studies in the hospital, and our 
 Sunday employments being carried on as re- 
 gularly as we could, though they were not un- 
 frequently interrupted by the nature of our 
 professional engagements, by the vacations, and 
 
 by incidental causes. H. D had now been at 
 
 the college three years, and was well advanced in 
 his medical education. I was at that time living 
 in the hospital as house-surgeon ; and one Sunday 
 afternoon, as I was going to the workhouse, I 
 called for my friend as usual. He was not well, 
 confined to his room ; but would I go up and 
 see him ? Accordingly I went up to the top of 
 the house, where his room was, and there I found 
 him in bed. He appeared only slightly ill, with 
 nothing very definite the matter, so that there 
 was not much that I could do for him. After 
 staying a short time I went on my way ; but 
 during my brief visit I had ample opportunity of 
 observing the economy and self-denial in which 
 
156 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 he lived. I had not been in his lodgings often 
 before, and when my friend was in high health 
 the Spartan simplicity of his arrangements had 
 not struck me as it now did. 
 
 A few days later, when I was going about my 
 duties as house-surgeon, I was startled by being 
 
 asked, * Have you heard that D has got 
 
 typhus, and is to be brought into the hospital this 
 evening ? ' No, I had not heard it, and it gave me 
 a pang to think that an ailment which seemed so 
 slight and trivial two or three days before, had 
 now developed into one so serious. But if it 
 really were so, it was far better that he should be 
 brought into the hospital at once, than that he 
 should be left in his solitary lodging. In the 
 hospital he would have the best and most vigilant 
 attendance, the most skilful nursing, and, if not 
 luxuries, at least everything that was necessary to 
 the treatment of his case. Whereas in lodgings 
 he could hardly have these advantages without 
 considerable inconvenience and expense. But 
 where had he caught the fever ? I asked. * Oh,' 
 replied my informant, ' So-and-so has been down 
 
 in the country for a fortnight, and D has 
 
 been looking after his cases, and I suppose he 
 caught it from that man who died last week in 
 the men's medical ward.' 
 
 So it appeared that D had been doing a 
 
 kind office for a friend when he caught the infec- 
 
A Short Life well Spent. 157 
 
 tion. At that time there was an epidemic of 
 fever in London, and there were several cases in 
 
 the hospital ; and H. D , in undertaking to 
 
 supply the place of one of the 'clinical clerks,' 
 who had gone away for a short holiday, had to 
 watch some of these cases, and record their 
 progress from day to day. Accordingly, the same 
 evening he was brought to the hospital, and 
 placed in the men's medical ward. As soon as he 
 had had time to recover from the fatigue of being 
 moved, I went up to see him, and there I found 
 him lying in the end bed on the left-hand side, in 
 the far corner of the ward. He had been placed 
 here, because, by putting a couple of screens on 
 the near side of his bed, it could be shut off from 
 the rest of the ward, and the patient enabled to 
 have a little privacy. When I went up to him I 
 put out my hand, and as he took it he said, ' Are 
 you not afraid to shake hands with me } ' And 
 certainly he was very ill. There could be no 
 doubt about it. A glance told me that he had got 
 the fever in its most virulent form. I stayed with 
 him a few minutes, and then, before I left the 
 ward, I arranged with the nurse that if anything 
 was required for his comfort I would see to it, at 
 any rate until his father, who had been sent for, 
 should arrive. 
 
 The next morning I found myself so unwell 
 that I was unable to leave my bed. And my 
 
158 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 friends thought — and to say truth, I thought 
 myself — that I had caught the fever. But it was 
 not so ; and under the kind care of my colleague, 
 the house physician, I soon began to amend, so 
 much so, that on the third day I was well enough 
 to come down to dinner. We were sitting after 
 dinner, a party of some four or five of us, who 
 were responsible for different departments of the 
 hospital, we were sitting sipping coffee, smoking, 
 chatting, when there came a rap at the door, 
 and the nurse from the men's medical ward pre- 
 sented herself, with a very grave face, and holding 
 a paper in her hand. We knew in a moment 
 
 what had happened. H. D had died — had 
 
 just died, and the nurse had come, according to 
 custom, to report the fact, and to have his paper 
 — the paper which hung at the head of his bed, and 
 which contained a brief record of his case — filled 
 up with the words, ' Died June 10, 1862.' Strange 
 association of life and death ! While we were at 
 dinner in one part of the building, in another our 
 friend was breathing his last. 
 
 But it was not merely in the house-surgeon's 
 room that there were heavy hearts that evening. 
 The sad event of the day touched many others 
 besides ; and among the officials of the hospital, 
 the servants and nurses, there were not a few who 
 mourned for the loss of the gentle, generous spirit, 
 whose influence had always been used on the side 
 
A Short Life well Spent. 159 
 
 of what was pure and lovely and of good report, 
 and whose holy life had been a constant rebuke to 
 evil-doers, and an encouragement to all those who 
 were trying to do well. 
 
 For many hours before he passed away H. 
 
 D had been insensible; indeed, during the 
 
 whole time that he was in the hospital, he was in 
 rather a drowsy, torpid state. I have therefore 
 nothing to relate of his death-bed conversation 
 or dying utterances. To a friend who spoke to 
 him on the subject, he expressed very quietly the 
 peace and satisfaction that he had in believing. 
 His father, who had come to him as soon as he 
 heard of the serious nature of his son's illness, was 
 unwearied in his attendance at the hospital, and 
 in his ministrations of love. But, in truth, there 
 was very little that he could do. Medically 
 speaking, the patient's every want was supplied, 
 and he was surrounded by those who were accus- 
 tomed to nurse the sick, and who had acquired a 
 skill in dealing with such cases which no love 
 could impart. And, religiously speaking, he was 
 in too lethargic a condition for any prolonged 
 devotion. A few verses of the Bible, or a short 
 prayer, were all that he could listen to at a time, 
 and then the drowsiness overcame him, and he 
 relapsed into heavy sleep. 
 
 H. D 's case is far from being a solitary one. 
 
 It is no uncommon thing for medical students to 
 
i6o Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 fall victims to the diseases which they have to 
 observe in the course of their professional studies. 
 Medical men and nurses sometimes die in the 
 same way, but medical students seem particularly 
 exposed to danger. Perhaps that arises in some 
 measure from their age ; perhaps from a predis- 
 position increased by hard work in the unhealthy 
 air of a hospital, or by late hours of study, or by 
 insufficient comforts, or by irregular habits of life. 
 But, whatever the cause may be, the fact remains, 
 and every one who is familiar with the subject can 
 recall instances of young men cut off by an un- 
 timely death, encountered in the discharge of their 
 duties in the wards. But why should we regret 
 them t If it is a noble thing to lay down a young 
 life in defence of one's country, is it less noble to 
 perish in trying to relieve the bodily sufferings of 
 one's fellow-creatures ? 
 
 ' The proper place for man to die 
 Is where he dies for man.' 
 
 And if, as in the case of H. D , an early 
 
 death assuredly means an early entrance into the 
 safe and sinless state, there is small cause for 
 regret. 
 
 On the third evening after his death they bore 
 his body away from the hospital, for ,it was to be 
 conveyed into the country, and on the following 
 day it was to be laid in a village churchyard ; and 
 there, within sight of the rectory where he had 
 
A Short Life well Spent, 1 6 r 
 
 been brought up, and under the shadow of the 
 church where he had loved to worship, he now 
 sleeps the sleep of the saints. Fare thee well, 
 true friend and tender heart, — the modest, the 
 diligent, the self-sacrificing even unto death ! 
 We bid thee adieu, we commit thee to God, in 
 sure and certain hope. 
 
 It was natural that the college should 
 wish to perpetuate the memory of a student 
 who had been so exemplary, and who had 
 met his death in the discharge of his duties. 
 Accordingly, it was proposed that a subscription 
 should be set on foot for the purpose of erecting 
 a memorial tablet in the chapel. But such was 
 the rapidity with which money was given, that the 
 amount collected far exceeded what would be 
 required for a simple tablet. The students gave 
 small sums, and the professors gave large ones, 
 and the subscription soon amounted to ;^22o, a 
 very considerable sum to be collected in such a 
 way and on such an occasion. 
 
 But what was to be done with it } that was the 
 question. It was clearly much too large to spend 
 upon a memorial tablet. In what way, then, 
 could it be employed to the best advantage in 
 carrying out the object for which it was sub- 
 scribed? Various suggestions were made, and 
 various plans were discussed, but at length it was 
 decided that £20^ should be invested for the 
 
 L 
 
1 62 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 benefit of the hospital, to defray in perpetuity 
 the expense of an additional bed, and that the 
 balance should be expended upon two memorial 
 tablets, one to be placed in the college chapel, and 
 the other over the bed which had been endowed 
 
 in memory of H. D . And there it stands to 
 
 this hour. You may see it any time you visit the 
 hospital, a simple brass plate with a brief inscrip- 
 tion. It is appropriately placed in the men's 
 medical ward, — the ward where he used to read 
 prayers on Sunday evenings, where he caught the 
 infection of his fatal illness, and where he breathed 
 his last ; and by it ' he, being dead, yet speaketh.' 
 
A DAY AMONG OUT-PATIENTS. 
 
 It is well known that there is at all hospitals an 
 out-door and an in-door department The former 
 is, so to speak, the portal to the latter, and it is 
 chiefly by selection from the out-patients that the 
 wards are filled. The room set apart for their 
 reception is daily crowded with poor people, 
 whose maladies are for the most part slight, and 
 such as can be cured by a few visits to the 
 physician or surgeon ; but every here and there is 
 to be found one whose illness is of a graver kind 
 and who requires to be admitted into the house^ 
 if it is to be adequately treated. Thus, of course, 
 those who pass through the out-door department 
 are much more numerous than those who are 
 received into the wards. For example, at the 
 London Hospital in 1869, 49,976 attended the 
 out-patients' rooms, while only 4398 were received 
 into the house. At the Middlesex Hospital dur- 
 ing the same year, the numbers were as follows : 
 21,338 out-patients and 2107 in-patients. Thus 
 it would appear that about one sufferer is admitted 
 into the wards for every ten who are treated as 
 
 163 
 
1 64 Me^noir of Willia7n Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 out-patients. It has lately been proposed on 
 high authority that the out-patient work of our 
 hospitals should be developed, and that the 
 number who are taken into the house should be 
 reduced to a minimum. This suggestion has 
 been made, because it has been thought that the 
 mortality in hospitals has been greater than it is 
 among the same class when visited in their own 
 homes. The late Sir James Simpson was the 
 greatest advocate of this doctrine. He set on 
 foot an extensive inquiry, and obtained a large 
 map of statistics, and the conclusion he drew was, 
 that a patient had three times as good a chance 
 of recovery if he were treated at his own house as 
 he would have in a public hospital. This opinion 
 has not been allowed to pass unchallenged, and 
 various considerations have been urged upon 
 the opposite side. Probably the truth is that 
 hospitals have not so great an advantage over the 
 houses of the poor as we might at first suppose ; 
 and it is tolerably certain that in some instances 
 the patient had better remain at home. There 
 clings to the very stones and walls of the hospital 
 an infection, which it is almost impossible to get 
 rid of; and in those cases in which the patient is 
 particularly prone to such influences he had 
 better not enter the wards. But it may be 
 doubted whether Sir James Simpson's statistics 
 did not over-estimate the danger. Here, as in 
 
A Day a7no7tg Otit- Patients, 165 
 
 many other circumstances, we must strike a 
 balance, and set off the danger arising from the 
 infected air of a hospital against the many 
 substantial advantages which such an institution 
 affords. These advantages it is hardly necessary 
 to enumerate : the well-warmed and comfortable 
 wards, the ample and suitable diet, the compara- 
 tive quiet and repose, the skilful nursing, the 
 general care and attention, the first-rate medical 
 advice. 
 
 Yet it is probable that Sir James Simpson's 
 inquiries will not be altogether fruitless. If they 
 do not lead to the abolition of large hospitals, it 
 is likely they will tend to modify their construc- 
 tion. The Edinburgh professor contended that 
 all our hospitals should consist either of a group 
 of detached cottages, or else of such thin and 
 slight buildings as might with ease be taken 
 down and re-built every ten or twenty years. 
 This principle has already been carried out in 
 some measure. At one of our largest metropol- 
 itan hospitals it is the custom to erect a m.arquee 
 in the garden for the reception of patients during 
 the summer months; and upon Blackwell's Island, 
 New York, a fever hospital has been established, 
 composed entirely of tents. But in such a damp 
 and variable climate as ours it would be almost 
 impossible to do without a substantial fabric of 
 some kind. The method most in vogue at the 
 
1 66 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 present time is to build in the form of two or 
 more pavilions, i.e. in separate blocks which can 
 be isolated, and any one of which could be closed 
 temporarily, without interfering with the working 
 of the rest of the hospital, if it should be deemed 
 necessary that it should undergo a thorough 
 purification after the prevalence of any epidemic. 
 Of this mode of construction the most notable 
 example in this country is the new and magnifi- 
 cent hospital of St. Thomas, now rising on the 
 banks of the Thames. In America the same 
 principle has been carried out upon a yet larger 
 scale, and there are three several hospitals which 
 consist entirely of rows of cottages grouped round 
 a central building, in which are placed the neces- 
 sary offices and residences. The Mower Hospital, 
 at Chestnut Hill, near Philadelphia, is composed 
 of fifty such ' pavilions,' and contains accommoda- 
 tion for more than 2000 patients. But we are 
 wandering away from our subject, which is the 
 out-door department. The waiting-rooms are, as 
 we have said, crowded with patients, and one by 
 one they are admitted into the surgeon's room 
 that their cases may be examined. Let us see 
 what manner of persons they are who present 
 themselves, and let us inquire a little into the 
 history of some of them. 
 
 For the most part, no doubt, they are just those 
 whom one would expect to find applying for relief 
 
A Day among Out-Patients. 167 
 
 at such an institution. There are among them 
 
 day-labourers, artisans, and the inferior order of 
 
 journeymen, with their wives and children. There 
 
 are the poor needlewomen and the hapless maids- 
 
 of-all-work. There are, moreover, examples of 
 
 broken-down gentility, men and women who have 
 
 seen better days, and who still have a certain air 
 
 of refinement and superiority about them, but 
 
 who are in fact more needy and destitute than 
 
 the labourer or the needlewoman, inasmuch as 
 
 their former circumstances have unfitted them to 
 
 bear the privations of poverty. All these may 
 
 truly be considered fit objects for charitable relief. 
 
 But the same cannot be said of every one who 
 
 applies. It not unfrequently happens that we 
 
 meet with individuals who ought never to have 
 
 come to a hospital, since they do not belong to 
 
 the indig-ent class for whose benefit it is intended. 
 
 But it is no easy matter to discriminate between 
 
 those who are and those who are not able to pay 
 
 for medical attendance, and the physicians and 
 
 suigeons have not time, even if it were any part 
 
 of their duty, to enter into the inquiry ; and hence 
 
 it happens that many persons get relief at our 
 
 hospitals who are really quite in a position to 
 
 consult some practitioner living in their own 
 
 neighbourhood. Every medical man who has 
 
 had any experience in hospital practice has met 
 
 with instances of this abuse. We have heard of 
 
1 68 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 a lady leaving her carnage at the corner of the 
 street and taking her place among the out- 
 patients, in order that she might obtain gratuitous 
 advice. One day, when I was myself seeing out- 
 patients, I was witness of a striking example of 
 the same thing. Two men presented themselves, 
 the one a poor, half-starved weaver, who had 
 walked up all the way from Lancashire, the other 
 a well-to-do Leicestershire farmer. I was ex- 
 plaining to the poor weaver that what he wanted 
 most of all was a roof over his head and proper 
 food to eat, and that for these necessaries he had 
 better apply at the workhouse ; and I was direct- 
 ing him how to proceed, when the young farmer, 
 turning to him, said in a tone of commiseration, 
 ' Here, my poor man, here is half-a-sovereign for 
 you ! ' When the weaver had v/ithdrawn, with 
 the gift in his hand, I pointed out to the generous 
 donor that if he were in a position to give away 
 money in that way he was not one of the 'indigent 
 poor ' for whom the hospital was intended. To 
 his credit I may add, that he took my remon- 
 strances in good part, and, carrying off with him 
 a list of the surgeons of the hospital, said that 
 hereafter he would apply to one of them at his 
 own house, if he needed further advice. But to 
 put a stop to this evil is, as we have remarked, no 
 easy matter. It is an abuse of our charities, and 
 an injustice to our medical men, which has long 
 
A Day among Out-Patients. 169 
 
 been felt, but the difficulty is to suggest a remedy. 
 Various plans have been tried, but none of them 
 have been found satisfactory. We can only hope 
 that in time good sense and right feeling will 
 keep those persons from applying to a hospital 
 who are well able to pay for medical advice. 
 Perhaps, if it were generally known that in all but 
 a few endowed hospitals the medical men receive 
 no remuneration whatever for their attendance 
 upon the sick poor, many persons who now do 
 not scruple to apply would hesitate before doing 
 so. At most hospitals the physicians and 
 surgeons are required to attend two or three 
 times a week; on each occasion they are occupied 
 seeing patients for two, or it may be three hours, 
 in the busiest time of the day, and yet for all this 
 they receive no fee or payment of any kind. 
 But, after all, and making all necessary deductions 
 for unsuitable applicants, by far the greater 
 number of those who present themselves are fit 
 objects for the exercise of Christian charity. 
 
 Of course, in the out-patients' department, as 
 has already been hinted, most of the cases are of 
 a slight or chronic character, and afford but little 
 interest to the surgeon. It would almost appear 
 that patients came by way of a lounge, or to 
 gossip with their friends, or to have a little cheap 
 excitement ; and to deal with such cases often 
 taxes the forbearance of the medical man. Pro- 
 
1 70 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke, 
 
 bably, when the poor are better educated, and 
 when the simple rules of health are more generally 
 understood by them, they will know how to 
 manage themselves in slight illness, as the classes 
 above them now do, and will not apply to the 
 hospitals without good cause. But, though the 
 majority of cases may be of a slight or trivial 
 character, there occur now and then some of a 
 very different kind, — cases full of scientific and 
 practical interest, cases, too, which are full of 
 human interest, and which can hardly fail to call 
 forth sympathy when the personal history of the 
 patients becomes known. We are often surprised 
 to discover the manifold risks and dangers to 
 which our working classes are exposed, and still 
 more to observe the courage with which they are 
 encountered ; and, when unhappily they meet with 
 some terrible accident, one cannot but admire the 
 patience and calm endurance with which their 
 suffering is borne, especially when we remember 
 that such suffering usually brings with it the 
 stoppage of wages, and all the attendant evils of 
 debt and poverty. I would gladly enlist the 
 interest of the reader in the cause of the suffering 
 poor, for their need is great, and there are few to 
 help them. Perhaps I may be the better able to 
 do this if I give some account of a few of the 
 patients who presented themselves one afternoon. 
 There may not seem to be much that is very 
 
A Day among Out-Patients. 1 7 1 
 
 remarkable in the cases themselves, but if we 
 endeavour to place ourselves in the position of 
 the sufferers, and to consider how manifold and 
 how far-reaching are the consequences of their 
 maladies, it will be seen how many opportunities 
 there are for the exercise of human sympathy; 
 and any who will give the subject serious thought 
 will find out many ways in which they will be 
 able materially to assist their poorer brethren. 
 The first to whom I shall call attention is an 
 elderly man, who comes hobbling in upon two 
 crutches. He is an old friend of mine, and greets 
 me with a benevolent smile. Observe him care- 
 fully, and I will tell you the particulars of his 
 case. He is a fine specimen of an English 
 ' navvy,' and when he was young he must have 
 been a tall, stalwart fellow. He is now sixty-two 
 years of age, and time has told somewhat upon 
 him ; but his mild and gentle manner, and the 
 patience and fortitude which he has displayed 
 throughout a long illness, have always made 
 me feel a peculiar interest in him. His history 
 is this : He was employed, a year ago last 
 November, as a navvy upon the Metropolitan 
 railway at Hammersmith. He was standing 
 between the rails working with a pickaxe, when 
 suddenly he heard a train approaching ; he looked 
 up and found it was almost upon him. The after- 
 noon was foggy, and his senses, I daresay, were 
 
172 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 not so acute as they had been, so that he had no 
 warning of the approaching danger till it was 
 almost too late to escape from it. What was to 
 be done ? There was no time, he thought, to get 
 out of the way, but he had the presence of mind 
 to throw himself on his back, in the hope that 
 the train would pass over him and leave him un- 
 hurt. But in this hope he was disappointed. 
 The firebox of the engine struck him on the fore- 
 head, inflicting a severe wound, and rolled him 
 over on his side, so that his left foot got under 
 the wheels of the carriages. He was immediately 
 brought to the hospital, and everything was done 
 that could be done in such a case. His progress 
 was slow, but very favourable, and at the end of 
 four months he left the hospital to go to the con- 
 valescent institution at Walton. From that time 
 to the present he has gone on improving ; and 
 now, thanks to the kindness of a lady friend, he 
 has been supplied with a boot from the Surgical 
 Aid Society, so that you could hardly tell from 
 his appearance which foot it was that had suffered. 
 By and by I hope he may be able to discard his 
 crutches altogether and walk about with the help 
 of a stick. 
 
 The next patient who enters is not less interest- 
 ing, but much less encouraging to the surgeon. 
 If we could cure his case we should have solved 
 one of the most difficult problems in surgery, and 
 
A Day among Out-Patients. 173 
 
 robbed one of the most formidable diseases of its 
 sting. He, too, is a fine specimen of a man, 
 though he belongs to quite a different class from 
 the navvy who has just left the room. He is a 
 gardener, and a gardener of a very high order. 
 Like so many others of his trade, he is a Scotch- 
 man, and spent his earlier days in Ayrshire. His 
 first acquaintance with flowers was made under 
 the genial influence of the Gulf Stream, and not 
 very far from where Culzean Castle looks forth 
 upon Ailsa Craig. In early manhood he came to 
 England, and until recently he has been in the 
 employment of the Royal Horticultural Society. 
 A year ago he would have scorned the idea of 
 applying to a hospital in forma pauperis^ but 
 some months since he was obliged to give up his 
 work ; the money he had saved soon melted away, 
 and for the last six weeks he has been glad 
 to come here, and get advice and medicine 
 gratuitously. It is clear, from his careworn, 
 anxious look, and his restless eye, that he has 
 suffered much both in mind and body. He is 
 only forty-two years of age ; he has a wife and 
 two little children ; he has been employed in the 
 highest department of gardening, and he has been 
 in the receipt of good wages. Life may well have 
 been sweet and enjoyable to him ! But alas ! its 
 sweetness is gone now. His joy is turned into 
 mourning. He has had to give up his work, his 
 
1 74 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke, 
 
 wages have ceased, his earnings have been spent, 
 and his sufferings increase. What is to become 
 of him ? What is to become of his wife and 
 children ? When he first came to the hospital we 
 took a very serious view of his case. Since then 
 we have tried two or three different plans of treat- 
 ment, but without any beneficial effect, and to-day 
 I must tell him that his complaint is a mortal one, 
 that his case is hopeless, and the only thing we 
 can do for him is to mitigate his sufferings. 
 
 After him comes a man of yet another type. 
 He is ill-favoured, and has the appearance of a 
 decayed gamekeeper. There is a spice of the 
 sportsman about his blue birds'-eye necktie, his 
 threadbare velveteen jacket, his cord breeches and 
 his worn-out gaiters, but it is evident that, what- 
 ever kind of sport he follows, it is not a lucrative 
 trade. The fact is that he is a rat-catcher, and he 
 has applied to the hospital because of an accident 
 that he met with a short time ago. He had 
 caught a cageful of rats, and these he was 
 letting out one by one for a gentleman to shoot at ; 
 but unfortunately the gentleman shot him ! As 
 he was stretching out his hand to open the door 
 of the cage, the gentleman fired, and part of the 
 charge entered his arm just in front of the elbow. 
 The man was at once brought to the hospital, and 
 as the injury was a severe one, and not altogether 
 free from danger, we kept him in the house till the 
 
A Dry among Out-Patients. 175 
 
 wound was healed, and then we made him an out- 
 patient He now comes to show himself once a 
 week. He has recovered the use of his elbow, 
 and can move it with tolerable ease, but some of 
 the nerves which supply the hand must have been 
 injured by the accident, for he has no power over 
 his fingers; they stick out stiff and straight, 
 reminding one of the wooden hands that are used 
 for stretching gloves. Though his occupation is 
 not one that is held in much esteem, he is a 
 worthy fellow, and takes a sensible view of his 
 case. The gentleman who was the unintentional 
 cause of the injury has been very kind and 
 attentive to him, but I fear he will never regain 
 the full use of his hand and arm. Surgery can 
 do no more for him, but time may bring some 
 amendment. 
 
 A little boy next enters the room. You are 
 at once struck with the look of care on so young 
 a face. His brows are knit, his features are 
 pinched, and there is a painful air of depression 
 and anxiety about his whole countenance which 
 it is sad to see in a child. He is only eleven 
 years old, and was just beginning to earn his own 
 livelihood. He w^as in the habit of going in the 
 morning to a gentleman's house to clean boots 
 and knives, and the servants frequently allowed 
 him to have whatever might happen to be left in 
 the glasses overnight. One day a tumbler was 
 
176 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 given him which was supposed to contain a little 
 brandy and water. He took it, and swallowed 
 the contents, but he was immediately aware that 
 it was something very different, for it burned his 
 mouth and throat, and made him violently ill. 
 He ran straight home, but such was the swelling 
 and inflammation that he could scarcely speak 
 when he reached his mother's cottage. For 
 several days he was in a most precarious state, 
 and it seemed doubtful whether he would get 
 over the immediate effects of the accident. 
 However, he rallied, and got a good deal better ; 
 so well, indeed, as to be almost able to return to 
 his ordinary mode of life. But the amendment 
 was of short duration, and was speedily followed 
 by the most alarming symptoms. It was soon 
 apparent that some permanent injury had been 
 done to his throat, and that it was becoming a 
 difficult matter for him to swallow food. At first 
 it was only solids that gave him any trouble, but 
 by the time he came to the hospital it was as 
 much as he could do to swallow even a mouthful 
 of water. His mother has brought him to-day 
 to hear what hope there is of his recovery. She 
 has been told that there is nothing before him 
 but starvation, for that the time must soon arrive 
 when he will no longer be able to take enough 
 nourishment to sustain life. She anxiously waits 
 for our opinion. Alas ! we can hold out no hope. 
 
A Day among Out- Patients, 177 
 
 It is but too true that a painful death must soon 
 close the little fellow's sufferings. The mother 
 has never been able to ascertain exactly what was 
 the cause of her child's illness, but it seems 
 probable that the tumbler that was given 
 him contained, not brandy and water, as was 
 supposed, but oxalic or some other strong 
 acid which had been used for household 
 purposes. 
 
 Of the female patients, the first who enters is a 
 girl upon crutches, and it is evident from her 
 beaming face and pleasant smile that a visit to 
 the hospital is by no means disagreeable to her. 
 And yet she has suffered severely, and will be a 
 cripple for life. The history of her case is this : 
 Her father is employed on the Metropolitan Rail- 
 way, as a labourer. About nine months ago he 
 was working on a distant part of the line, and his 
 family had a free pass, and were allowed to take 
 him his dinner every day by train. It was his 
 daughter's birthday. She had just completed her 
 fifteenth year, and she was to be the bearer of 
 her father's dinner on the happy occasion. When 
 she reached the station she found a train just on 
 the point of starting, so she laid hold of one of 
 the door handles, with the intention of jumping 
 into the carriage ; but this she was unable to do, 
 the train was moving too fast, and she was 
 obliged to run along by the side, still holding 
 
 M 
 
178 Memoir of William Fair lie Cla7'ke. 
 
 the handle and watching for an opportunity to 
 jump in. But the opportunity never arrived, and 
 when she got to the end of the platform the 
 impetus that she had attained was such that in 
 attempting to jump down to the ground she fell, 
 and her left foot came under the wheels of the 
 hindmost carriage. She was brought to the 
 hospital, and everything that was needful was 
 done for her. For a couple of months she re- 
 mained in the house, and while she was there 
 became a general favourite. She was always 
 busy, — reading, sewing, crocheting, — and that 
 served to pass the time, and made her cheerful 
 and happy. When she was well enough to leave 
 she went to her grandfather, who was a farmer in 
 Kent, and under his roof she stayed three months. 
 This carried on the recovery, which had been 
 well advanced in the hospital, and now she has 
 returned to her home, and comes occasionally to 
 show herself and to report progress. A gentle- 
 man who witnessed the accident, and who helped 
 to bring her to the hospital in the first instance, 
 kindly promised to give her an artificial foot when 
 she was ready for it, and she will soon be well 
 enough to claim the fulfilment of his promise, and 
 there will then be hardly any outward sign of the 
 severe injury she has met with. 
 
 I had now been seeing out-patients for more than 
 two hours, and was beginning to be rather tired, for 
 
A Day among Out-Patients. 179 
 
 it is no light work to transfer one's thoughts rapidly 
 from case to case, and to enter thoroughly into the 
 peculiarities of each ; but still the waiting-room was 
 not empty, still the stream of applicants continued 
 to advance, and to present themselves one by one 
 at my desk. Here is a poor woman who has 
 come for advice about her eyesight She advances 
 with a smile, hoping relief may be at hand ; but 
 still she is very anxious, for she has some fears 
 that she may become totally blind. And her 
 fears are only too well grounded ; her condition is 
 a most unpromising one, and I tell her so. Perhaps 
 I have dashed her hopes too 'rudely ; it might 
 have been better to lead her up gradually to a 
 knowledge of her sad state. Anyhow, I touched 
 the wrong chord, and she burst into tears. Of 
 course I was full of regret at the thought that any 
 abruptness or hastiness on my part had given her 
 unnecessary pain. She was weary with waiting 
 three long hours, and I was weary with working, 
 and when I told her, without any preface or 
 preparation, the whole truth about her eyesight, 
 the shock was too much for her overstrained 
 feelings. As I walked home that day I mused 
 upon her case. I reflected upon the hard, the 
 terribly hard lot of the poor, of which the casual 
 observer knows so little, and upon the con- 
 sideration with which they ought to be treated 
 when sickness adds to their troubles. It was such 
 
1 80 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 thoughts as these that suggested the following 
 lines : — 
 
 Welcome her kindly and tenderly, 
 
 Speak to her softly and low ; 
 Though her eye looks bright, and her spirit seems light. 
 
 Her heart may be breaking now. 
 
 Perhaps she is weary, perhaps she is faint, 
 
 Or thinly and scantily clad ; 
 Or perhaps the fear of what may be near 
 
 Is making her mournful and sad. 
 
 Or it may be some sorer trial still 
 
 Is pressing upon her heart, — 
 Some loved one may lie, sick and ready to die, 
 
 And that makes the tear-drops start. 
 
 Then bear with her tale of sorrow and pain. 
 Though her speech be broken and slow ; 
 
 Let her sob, let her weep, her grief is so deep 
 That her tears they must overflow. 
 
 To her story of need give kindly heed. 
 
 With patient thought and care ; 
 Her friends are few, she depends upon you, 
 
 As she stands in her loneliness there. 
 
 The work of her house she has- left undone, 
 
 She is so anxious and ill ; 
 Trembling and weak, she has come to seek 
 
 The help of your knowledge and skill. 
 
A Day among Ottt-Patients, i8i 
 
 Then deal with her gently and lovingly ; 
 
 Counsel her wisely and well ; 
 The good that you do may be known to few, 
 
 But the comfort to her — who can tell ? 
 
 And grudge not time, or toil, or thought ; 
 
 The reward you shall surely see ; 
 For what you have done to this suffering one 
 
 ' You have done it,' He 'saith, unto Me.' 
 
 Of course the cases which I have just related 
 are only specimens of those which come before us 
 constantly, but it is not always that we learn so 
 much of the personal history of the patients ; for, 
 when many others are waiting for advice, it is 
 impossible to linger over each case, and there is 
 often no necessity for inquiring into more than 
 its medical or surgical features. It would indeed be 
 well if we could learn more about the home life and 
 the family circumstances of our patients. Could 
 we do so, we might no doubt exercise a greater 
 influence on their habits, and might be better able 
 than we now are to secure that the directions we 
 give were really carried out But for this some- 
 thing more is needed than the personal attendance 
 of the patients once or twice at the hospital. It 
 would be one of the many advantages which 
 would arise if it were possible for the poor to be 
 visited in their own homes, as their richer neigh- 
 bours are. At most of the provincial hospitals 
 
1 82 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 this is done when occasion requires it, but in 
 London it is not so. Here the home visiting is 
 left almost entirely to the dispensaries and to the 
 medical officers of the poor law service. Almost 
 all the metropolitan hospitals have, however, a 
 'maternity department,' which undertakes to 
 attend poor women at their own houses ; and one 
 or two go further than this, and visit medical and 
 surgical cases generally when there is a necessity 
 for it. Of this kind is the West London Hospital, 
 and I cannot but think the plan it follows is a 
 wise and beneficent one. According to the last 
 report, the number of in-patients during the year 
 1869 was 264, the number of out-patients, 18,124, 
 while 5608 visits were paid to poor sick people at 
 their own homes by the house-surgeons. Those 
 who superintend this department are careful to 
 limit the home visitation to such as are not well 
 enough to attend the hospital. But if it is evident 
 that a patient would be benefited by residence in 
 the hospital, if the nature of his illness is such as 
 to require it, if his circumstances are so narrow 
 that he cannot otherwise have his necessary wants 
 supplied, or if his surroundings are altogether 
 unfavourable, he is at once admitted as an in- 
 patient. 
 
 A glance at the figures I have given will 
 show that but a small number are received 
 into the wards compared with those who are 
 
A Day among Out- Patients. 183 
 
 treated at home, while the great majority of the 
 patients are able to attend the out-door depart- 
 ment. And this I believe to be the way in which 
 a hospital can best meet the wants of the sick 
 poor. The tendency of recent statistical inquiry 
 goes to show, as we have already seen, that the 
 mortality is less, at least in some classes of 
 complaints, when patients are treated at their 
 own homes than it is when they are taken into 
 hospital. If this be so, ought we not to try and 
 develope the out-patient department .'' ought we 
 not to try and make it more like a dispensary ? — 
 a place where out-patients are seen, and where 
 arrangements are made for attending them at 
 their own houses ; while the wards should be 
 reserved for such cases as could not be properly 
 treated elsewhere. I should not be surprised if 
 public opinion, speaking in the physical, social, 
 and moral interests of the poor, were to force us 
 to adopt some such plan as this, rather than to 
 add to the number of our palatial hospitals. It is 
 on such a system that the poor-law medical service 
 has been arranged, and it is not the fault of the 
 system that it has failed in some measure to meet 
 the requirements of the sick poor. We are some- 
 times told that the remedy for the crying evils of 
 pauperism is a thorough and cordial understanding 
 between the poor-law and the voluntary charities, 
 so that they should work hand in hand for the 
 
184 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 relief of the necessitous poor. And similarly, 
 I believe that in no way could the wants of 
 the sick be so effectually met as by united 
 action between the poor-law medical service and 
 the voluntary and endowed hospitals. If our 
 hospitals, like the dispensaries, could undertake 
 home visiting, if every parish was provided with 
 its trained nurses, and if each and all of these 
 agencies were in alliance with the poor-law 
 medical officers, I believe the eff"ect v/ould be to 
 diminish mortality, to promote the social and 
 moral well-being of the poor, and consequently to 
 decrease pauperism and to lessen the rates. 
 
 At present the voluntary hospitals and dis- 
 pensaries on the one hand, and the poor-law 
 medical service on the other, are doing very much 
 the same work without any concert or arrange- 
 ment. The class for whose benefit they exist is 
 substantially the same in each case; and if patients 
 of a higher grade find their way to the hospitals, 
 it is only by reason of the abuse to which we have 
 already alluded. Hospitals, dispensaries, and the 
 poor-law medical service have all alike been 
 established, in order that those who are too poor 
 to pay for proper medical advice may receive it 
 as a matter of Christian charity. For the classes 
 who are raised a little above this level in the 
 social scale, there are, as I shall explain presently, 
 other means of obtaining skilful attendance. But 
 
A Day among Out- Patients. 185 
 
 supposing that I am right in the view which I 
 have taken, would it not be better that, instead 
 of acting entirely independently of one another, 
 there should be some organized co-operation 
 among these different agencies ? If they were all 
 in alliance with one another, could they not reach 
 the sick poor more effectually ? Could they not 
 better guard themselves against imposition? 
 Could they not do their work at less cost ? These 
 are questions which it behoves those who have the 
 administration of our poor-law service to consider 
 carefully, for from them, we apprehend, must come 
 any definite proposal for organization. For my 
 own part, I cannot help thinking that some plan 
 might be easily devised to supplement the provision 
 the law makes for the sick poor, by the efforts 
 which human sympathy and benevolence have 
 voluntarily put forth. The poor-law service seems 
 best able to provide for the wants of that large 
 class of the population whose state is one of 
 chronic, I might almost say of hopeless, poverty ; 
 while those who are merely in temporary distress, 
 or whose cases require for a time more attention 
 than they can receive in a workhouse infirmary, 
 might look to the hospitals for assistance ; and the 
 dispensaries might then be affiliated to the hospitals 
 and help them in undertaking the home visitation. 
 If now we turn from the lowest class, for whom, 
 in my opinion, the poor-law medical service and the 
 
1 86 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 voluntary hospitals were alike established, and 
 look to the grade immediately above them, it may 
 be asked. How are they to obtain proper attendance 
 during illness ? Are they not justified in applying 
 to the hospitals and dispensaries ? Are not these 
 institutions carried on in a great measure for their 
 benefit? Is there not a large class who are just 
 above the level of parochial relief, and who are 
 struggling to maintain their independence, and to 
 whom the hospital is intended to hold out a help- 
 ing hand ? True, there is such a class, and they are 
 deserving of all encouragement, but to assist these 
 there is no need of the numerous large hospitals 
 that now exist. The great bulk of the labouring 
 classes, those who are in regular work and receiv- 
 ing regular wages, ought to look for assistance in 
 time of illness to the provident dispensary, and 
 not to the hospital. They should be encouraged 
 to join some such dispensary, or some trustworthy 
 and well-managed sick club, so that, by a small 
 weekly payment while in health, they might secure 
 for themselves and their families requisite medical 
 attendance in time of sickness. If, unhappily, 
 from prolonged illness they are reduced to poverty, 
 or if their malady were of an infectious character, 
 or such as to require an operation, then they 
 might expect the hospital to receive them. But 
 as a rule, and in all slight or ordinary complaints, 
 their recourse should be to the medical man 
 
A Day among Out-Patients. 187 
 
 connected with their sick club. By this means the 
 self-respect and independence of the poor could 
 be maintained, while at the same time the hospitals 
 would no longer be abused, but the services of the 
 medical staff and the contributions of the charitable 
 would be expended only on the really indigent. 
 
 It has lately been proposed to extend the 
 principle of the sick club, and to encourage persons 
 of a somewhat higher class to enrol themselves in 
 associations, where, by a small subscription, they 
 would ensure to themselves better medical attend- 
 ance than they could otherwise afford. The 
 necessity for such medical co-operative societies 
 has become more urgent of late years, in con- 
 sequence of the improvements which have taken 
 place in the medical profession. The standard of 
 examination has been gradually raised during the 
 last twenty years, which have been years of rapid 
 progress in our knowledge of the physical sciences ; 
 the education has become more thorough and 
 more scientific, and consequently more expensive ; 
 a higher class of men have been induced to enter 
 the ranks of the profession, and the number of 
 those who could be contented with very small 
 remuneration has diminished. Hence the * doctor's 
 shop ' is less frequently met with, and those who 
 would formerly have had recourse to it are tempted 
 to apply instead to the hospital. 
 
 The treatment of the sick poor, the medical 
 
1 88 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 aspect of pauperism, is a question which is forcing 
 itself on the attention of the public at the present 
 time. The aim of this paper has been to bring 
 before the reader a picture of what is going on 
 day by day in all our great hospitals, in order to 
 put him in possession of some of the salient 
 features of the case, so that he may be the better 
 able to enter into the discussions on the subject, 
 and to judge for himself wherein the present 
 system bears hardly upon the medical men, and 
 upon charitable institutions, while it does not by 
 any means confer an unmixed benefit on the poor 
 themselves. 
 
AN HOUR AMONG IN-PATIENTS. 
 
 We have already in a former paper given a 
 sketch of the out-patient department of a London 
 hospital ; to-day we propose to speak of the in- 
 patients. 
 
 As we have explained, the in-patients are 
 much less numerous than the out-patients, in 
 the proportion of about one to ten ; but they are 
 all serious cases which require special and prompt 
 attention. There are very few hospitals, at least 
 in the metropolis, which are able to spare room 
 for chronic maladies. A few of the endowed 
 hospitals may indeed be able to do this, but in 
 most the number of beds is so limited, and the 
 succession of urgent cases so constant, that those 
 who are afflicted with chronic ailments must look 
 elsewhere for assistance ; they must either be 
 visited at their own homes, or they must seek 
 admittance at the workhouse infirmary. Not 
 only do the hospitals do the greatest amount of 
 good by thus reserving their beds for acute cases, 
 but it must be remembered that they have also 
 another duty to perform : they have to advance 
 
 189 
 
1 90 Memoir of Willimn Fairlie Clarke, 
 
 medical and surgical knowledge, they have to 
 teach medicine and surgery, and it is impossible 
 to give the students anything like a complete 
 training in the comparatively brief space of three 
 or four years, unless there is constantly passing 
 through the wards a rapid succession of acute 
 cases which can be made available for purposes 
 of instruction. Hence it happens that at most 
 hospitals every bed is occupied by a patient who, 
 for some reason or another, could not be ade- 
 quately treated elsewhere. One is dangerously 
 ill, another has met with a severe accident, a third 
 is about to undergo an operation, a fourth needs 
 the most careful nursing, a fifth requires a re- 
 gulated diet, and so on. It is curious to reflect 
 that in many hospitals there is a population as 
 large as that of an agricultural village, by far the 
 greater number of whom are seriously ill. Of this 
 little community all the members are more or less 
 concerned with disease. Sickness may almost be 
 said to be their business. It is the subject round 
 which all the thoughts and energies of the place 
 are grouped. For its relief the committee provide, 
 the medical men labour, the nurses watch night 
 and day; it calls forth the prayers of the chaplain, 
 it excites the hopes and fears of the patients. 
 What a contrast there is between such a com- 
 munity and most villages and towns ! What a 
 contrast there is between it and a bright smiling 
 
An Hour among In-Patients, 191 
 
 village, with its rosy children and sturdy plough- 
 men ! What a contrast there is between it and 
 the busy town, where the pursuit of commerce is 
 the absorbing topic ! What a contrast between 
 it and the gay and magnificent capital, where 
 wealth and fashion are the ruling powers ! How- 
 different it is with the inmates of the hospital ! 
 Their health is in jeopardy, their joy is turned 
 into mourning, their trafficking is all in abeyance. 
 Poverty has taken the place of competence, and 
 fashion has been set aside by stern necessity. 
 We are here brought face to face with one of the 
 primary needs of our nature, the need of health, 
 without which life is but weariness and sorrow ; 
 and it is to the search after health that hospitals 
 owe their origin and that all their energies are 
 directed. It seems to me strange that there 
 should be so much difficulty in obtaining the 
 necessary support for these institutions. There 
 are scarcely any who do not know from sad 
 experience, either in their own persons or in their 
 families, the many wants that sickness brings in 
 its train ; and a moment's reflection must make it 
 apparent that those wants are just as much felt 
 by their poor neighbours, whose circumstances 
 prevent any possibility of supplying them. 
 Human sympathy alone, then, should lead to 
 efforts for their relief. But in a Christian country 
 like this, a higher motive than sympathy ought to 
 
192 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 prevail, for the care of the sick poor is a duty so 
 clearly enjoined, that one would think all would 
 be ready to acknowledge it. There is only one 
 other duty which seems to me to be of greater 
 importance, and that is the instruction of the 
 ignorant poor. He who said, ' Go, teach all 
 nations,' said also with commendation, •' I was 
 sick, and ye visited Me.' If this be so, ought 
 not every one to support both the schools and the 
 hospitals in his immediate neighbourhood, as God 
 hath prospered him? Were this done syste- 
 matically, we should not hear on all sides the 
 complaint that funds are urgently needed. And 
 thus many who are not able to assist the poor by 
 personal service and ministration, would yet be 
 acting in the spirit which called forth the Saviour's 
 words of approval. It is true that all who con- 
 tribute to the rates help to support the poor-law 
 medical service ; but however right it may be for 
 the country to make provision for its sick poor, 
 the payment of a tax, enforced by penalties, 
 cannot surely be considered as fulfilling the 
 requirements of Christian charity. No one can 
 desire more than I do to see the poor-law medical 
 service developed, and the hands of the poor-law 
 surgeons strengthened ; but if everything were 
 done that one could wish, there would still remain 
 a large class whose wants could only be supplied 
 by voluntary efforts. It is true that some few 
 
An Hour among In-Patients. 193 
 
 hospitals, both in London and in the provinces, 
 are amply endowed, and are able to do everything 
 that is needful for their patients without making 
 any appeal to the public. But these monuments 
 of the liberality of our forefathers are few in 
 number. The greater part of our hospitals are 
 dependent upon voluntary contributions, and 
 perhaps it is well that it should be so. We would 
 hardly wish it otherwise ; for when an institution 
 has to look for support to those living around it, 
 it is obliged to keep pace with the scientific 
 progress of the day, to maintain a high standard 
 of efficiency, and to guard against any abuses 
 that might creep into its administration. If, 
 therefore, every one were to make a point of 
 subscribing according to his means to the nearest 
 hospital, and if, besides this, he were to pay it 
 an occasional visit, and inquire into its working, 
 he would exercise a salutary influence upon the 
 managers, a more general interest would be 
 aroused, and we should hear much less than we 
 now do of urgent appeals for help. But this by 
 the way. It is not our business to plead for the 
 voluntary hospitals. We were speaking of the 
 in-patients' department, and the severe cases 
 which are received into it. Let us walk through 
 these wards and observe the arrangements, and 
 take a glance at the invalids, and then we shall be 
 better able to understand the life which is led here, 
 
 N 
 
1 94 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke. 
 
 We enter first the men's part of the house : 
 the women are on the other side of the central 
 staircase. On the ground floor is the accident 
 ward ; let us turn into it. It is a long room with 
 windows on each side, and it contains some 
 eighteen or twenty beds ranged at equal distances 
 along the wall. The small iron bedsteads, with 
 snow-white coverlets, are a picture of cleanliness 
 and comfort, but there are no curtains which 
 might harbour infection, and prevent the free 
 circulation of air. The tables are decked with 
 ferns and flowers ; the fireplaces are brilliant with 
 encaustic tiles ; upon the walls are hung a few 
 engravings and chromo-lithographs, and over the 
 mantelpiece and in other convenient situations 
 are scrolls with appropriate texts. As the sun 
 streams into the room this fine forenoon, every- 
 thing looks so bright and cheerful, it seems as if 
 it would be almost a pleasure to be ill. The lady 
 in the simple white cap and grey dress trimmed 
 with blue is in charge of the ward. At this 
 moment she is engaged in writing a letter for one 
 of the patients. Her duty is to take a general 
 superintendence of the ward, and to assist, to cheer, 
 to comfort the patients in any way that she can. 
 She does not do any of the heavy part of the 
 work. That is left to the nurse and the pro- 
 bationer-nurse, who act under her orders, and 
 who are better suited for it than she would be. 
 
All Hour among In-Palients. 195 
 
 This particular lady has had a great deal of 
 experience in hospitals, especially in surgical 
 hospitals. She is one of those who went out to 
 the Crimea with Miss Nightingale, and ever since 
 her return she has given us her valuable services. 
 She is admirably suited for her self-imposed 
 duties, and her bright smile, her ready sympathy, 
 and her sound judgment, have made her a 
 favourite with the patients, the nurses, and the 
 hospital staff. Under her orders is the nurse, an 
 active woman of middle age, who has been regu- 
 larly trained to her duties, and understands them 
 thoroughly. She wears a neat uniform, a light 
 checked print dress, a long white apron, and a 
 simple net cap. Under her again is the pro- 
 bationer, a young woman who has lately entered 
 the service of the hospital, and who is making 
 trial of the work, to see whether she likes it, or 
 whether she has strength for it. Both these 
 women are at this moment busy in carrying out the 
 instructions which the house-surgeon left when he 
 made his morning round, and in getting every- 
 thing ready for the patients' dinner, and for the 
 visit of the principal surgeon, which will 
 follow soon after. The ward is quite full, and the 
 patients themselves present a variety of aspects. 
 Some three or four are seated by the fireside. 
 A boy of about twelve years of age is hobbling 
 about upon crutches. A few are sitting up in 
 
196 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 bed reading the newspapers or the books that 
 have been lent to them from the hospital library. 
 The old man with the bronzed face, the scarlet 
 nightcap and the blue striped shirt, by whose 
 bedside the lady is now sitting, is a stevedore, 
 and it is a business letter that he is dictating. 
 His occupation was to superintend the lading of 
 merchant ships, and his appearance at once 
 suggests the idea that he has lived among sea- 
 faring people. A few are lying flat on their 
 backs, condemned to spend a month or more in 
 the recumbent posture. One of these, a lad of 
 about seventeen, is quietly knitting. To look at 
 him now you would never imagine that a short 
 time ago he was a wild city Arab. But pain and 
 suffering have tamed him. For many weary 
 months^ he has lain on that little iron bed. The 
 lady-superintendent has treated him with the 
 greatest kindness. She has taught him to read 
 and to work, and now he is one of the best 
 behaved and most tractable patients in the ward. 
 There are, however, none who seem to be either 
 very dangerously ill or in very severe pain, and a 
 general air of quiet cheerfulness pervades the 
 room. But if the aspect which the accident ward 
 presents this morning is bright and happy, it 
 must not be supposed that such is always the 
 case. The present inmates are a particularly 
 quiet and orderly set ; but sometimes we have to 
 
An Hottr among In-Patients. 197 
 
 deal with very rough and troublesome characters, 
 and it occasionally happens, for example, when 
 there has been a railway accident in the neigh- 
 bourhood, that the ward is filled with the most 
 painful and anxious cases. I think some of the 
 most harrowing scenes I have ever witnessed, 
 some of the most distressing cases I have ever 
 known, have been in this ward. Let me detail a 
 few of them, not as examples of the generality of 
 patients, — God forbid ! — but as instances of the 
 misspent lives, the lost opportunities, the squan- 
 dered talents, which I have met with in the 
 course of my medical experience. 
 
 I think the most horrible scene I ever witnessed 
 was this : A publican had been brought into the 
 hospital with his leg badly broken. He had 
 been drinking hard for a length of time, and for 
 several weeks he had been on the verge of an 
 attack of delirium tremens. While he was in 
 this state, he was one day attempting to get out 
 of a window, which was some few feet above the 
 ground, when he fell and broke his leg in the 
 manner that I have just mentioned. He was 
 brought to the hospital, and everything was done 
 for him that such a severe case demanded. But 
 there was no inducing him to keep himself quiet. 
 The more he was advised to lie still, the more he 
 tossed about. It was in vain that we endeavoured 
 to set his leg. He kicked off all the apparatus 
 
198 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 that we applied, and showed the most extra- 
 ordinary callousness and insensibility to pain in 
 the way that he threw himself about. We tried 
 every means to quiet him, but all to no purpose. 
 Neither medicine, nor argument, nor persuasion 
 appeared to have any effect upon him. He sat 
 up in bed, gesticulating, scolding, swearing. In- 
 deed, it seemed as if he went out of his way to 
 invent new oaths, for anything more fearful than 
 the use which he made of that holy Name, ' which 
 is above every name,' it is impossible to imagine. 
 While he was going on in this way, I was standing 
 at his bedside, vainly endeavouring to calm him, 
 when suddenly, without a single premonitory 
 symptom, he fell back on his pillow and died. I 
 do not think one could have counted ten between 
 the time the most awful imprecations were rising 
 from his lips and the moment when he lay before 
 me a lifeless corpse ; so fearfully sudden was the 
 summons which called him into eternity ! 
 
 The next scene I shall describe is scarcely less 
 mournful. Who is that ill-favoured looking man 
 lying therei with a policeman sitting on each side 
 of his bed .-* His heavy face, and low, narrow 
 forehead indicated a degraded type of human 
 nature. He must surely belong to the brutal- 
 ized class of the community. And so it is. He 
 is, in truth, a murderer. A fortnight ago, on a 
 Saturday evening, when they were probably both 
 
An Hour among In-Patients. 199 
 
 intoxicated, he cut his wife's throat, and then 
 attempted to cut his own. But the wound which 
 he inflicted upon himself was not fatal ; it merely 
 disabled him. The police took him in charge, 
 and brought him to the hospital, and there he 
 now lies, propped up with pillows. This man 
 remained in the hospital about six weeks, strictly 
 watched and guarded by the police by night as 
 well as by day. At the end of that time, the 
 wound in his neck being healed, he was removed 
 to Newgate, there to await his trial, and in less 
 than three months he was executed. Such was 
 the miserable end of a patient whom we tended 
 anxiously from day to day. It was our simple 
 duty to cure him, and that as speedily as possible, 
 just as it was the duty of others to bring him to 
 trial, and to see the extreme penalty of the law 
 carried out. 
 
 Another strange and sad story I recollect of a 
 young man who once occupied a bed in this 
 ward. He was a Welshman by birth, and when 
 he was at the national school of his native 
 village his unusual ability gave him a distin- 
 guished position among his companions, and 
 brought him under the notice of the rich people 
 of the neighbourhood. They were proud of his 
 talents, and determined to give them full scope. 
 Accordingly, they arranged to carry on his 
 education at a grammar school, and in due time 
 
200 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 to send him to Cambridge. When he reached 
 the university he was well able to hold his own 
 even among men who had greater advantages, 
 and at his final examination he took a high place 
 in the classical tripos, and subsequently obtained 
 other distinctions. He then came up to town, 
 entered himself at one of the Inns of Court, and 
 began to study law. But the temptations of 
 London were too great for him. In Cambridge 
 he was a man of some mark ; in London he was 
 nothing. In Cambridge he was working under 
 the eye of his tutor, and of others who took an 
 interest in him; in London he was lost in the 
 vast crowd. In Cambridge the honours he 
 sought might be gained in two or three years ; 
 but the prizes of the legal profession could only 
 be won after a long course of labour. He had 
 not strength of principle to resist temptation ; he 
 fell into dissipated habits, and became the victim 
 of strong drink. In no very long time he began 
 to suffer from delirium tremens ; and it was for an 
 attack of this kind, coupled with a slight accident, 
 that he had been admitted into the hospital at 
 the date of which I am speaking. When he was 
 recovering from his illness, he one day gave me 
 a paper, which he begged me to read at my 
 leisure. It proved to be the narrative of his past 
 life, written in the most graceful and classical 
 Latin, and containing many touching expressions 
 
An Hour among In- Patients. 201 
 
 of regret. During the time that he remained in 
 the hospital a good deal of sympathy was 
 awakened in his favour, and a subscription was 
 opened by the medical students for his benefit. 
 The chaplain undertook to write to several of 
 those who had known him in his better days at 
 Cambridge, to tell them of his sad plight, and to 
 solicit their assistance in the effort that was being 
 made to give him a fresh start. In this way a 
 considerable sum of money was collected, and it 
 was determined that it should remain in the hands 
 of the chaplain, and that he should give the 
 patient a weekly allowance so long as it lasted. 
 But alas 1 our charitable endeavours were of little 
 avail. One evening, a few days after he had left 
 the hospital, the poor Welsh scholar came back 
 furiously drunk, and accompanied by two or 
 three of his dissipated companions. In this state 
 he made his way into the chaplain's room, and 
 threatened his life unless he gave him there and 
 then the whole of the money that had been 
 subscribed for his benefit. Other kind exertions 
 that were made to put a little literary work in 
 his hands turned out equally ill ; and I fear it 
 happened to him according to the old proverb, 
 ' The dog is returned to his vomit again, and the 
 sow that was washed to her wallowing in the 
 mire.' I never heard of him afterwards, but I 
 should think his intemperate habits must long 
 
202 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 since have put an end to his promising 
 career. 
 
 In the foregoing cases the misery and crime 
 owed its origin to strong drink. But, terrible as 
 is the sin of drunkenness, and fearful as are its 
 consequences, there are other vices which lead to 
 results almost as degrading. I remember a man 
 who, by self-indulgence of another kind, had 
 brought himself into a condition nearly as de- 
 plorable as the one I have just mentioned. He too 
 occupied a bed in this ward. Let me try and 
 set before you the main features of his history. 
 He was a repulsive-looking man, with a bloated, 
 unhealthy aspect ; his hair was unkempt, his eye 
 was heavy and languid, his mouth was weak and 
 sensual ; and if you had spoken to him you would 
 have found that he was a prey to the most pro- 
 found melancholy and despair. His past life he 
 viewed with shame and regret ; the present was 
 irksome and intolerable to him ; and he had no 
 hope in the future. In a word, he was a hypo- 
 chondriac, who was a burden to himself and a 
 trial to every one about him. But what, you may 
 ask, had brought him into this wretched condition ? 
 Were his circumstances very distressing? Had 
 he been particularly unfortunate in business? 
 Had he had very bad health } Not at all. He 
 had not had more to bear either in body or in 
 mind than the majority of his fellows, and not 
 
An Hour among In- Patients. 203 
 
 nearly so much as many of them ; but he had 
 reduced himself to this miserable state by opium- 
 eating. He was only about forty-five years of 
 age, but if you had judged by his appearance, 
 you would have thought that he was ten years 
 older. He was a plumber and glazier by trade, and, 
 notwithstanding his evil habits, he had managed 
 to get enough work to keep him. If only he had 
 continued steady, he might have done very well 
 in his business, for he was an excellent workman. 
 But about five years before the time he came 
 under my notice, in consequence of an attack of 
 the colic, he began to take laudanum ; and, though 
 his illness was of short duration, and the neces- 
 sity for the drug soon ceased, he has gone on 
 taking it ever since. What he took in the first 
 instance to allay pain, subsequently became a 
 pleasant indulgence, and he gradually went on 
 from less to more until he could not pass a day 
 without two or three large doses. In fact, he 
 became a regular dram-drinker, but the drams 
 that he drank were of the juice of the poppy. 
 As it always happens in such cases, his appetite 
 failed, he became disinclined for exertion, and he 
 could not sleep except under the influence of his 
 favourite drug. Lately the lethargy and indolence 
 had grown upon him so much that he spent most 
 of his time indoors, only creeping out after night- 
 fall to take a short stroll. In one of these evening 
 
204 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 walks he stumbled, fell, and broke his thigh bone. 
 It was on account of this accident that he was 
 brought to the hospital. A more troublesome, 
 discontented fellow it would be difficult to find. 
 In order to give the broken bone a fair chance 
 of uniting, it was necessary that he should lie 
 tolerably still, but nothing would induce him to 
 do so. Large doses of opium were given him, 
 but they produced no effect ; they did not even 
 give him the brief intervals of dreamy happiness 
 which his own indulgence had afforded him ; and 
 there remained only the horrible depression, the 
 ghastly visions, the deep despair, the querulous 
 discontent, and the insuperable lassitude of the 
 confirmed opium-eater. It was with great dif- 
 ficulty that he could be kept sufficiently quiet, 
 but his sighs and groans, his complaints, and his 
 irritable temper, made him a nuisance to all the 
 other patients in the ward, while the nurses who 
 attended him had their forbearance sorely tried. 
 
 I rem.ember once when I came into this room. 
 I was surprised to see a young man sitting up in 
 bed and showing signs of great distress. He was 
 clasping his hands, wringing them, pressing them 
 to his head ; then he threw himself down and 
 hid his face in the pillow, and anon he sat up as 
 before, uttering suppressed cries and groans, while 
 the tears ran down his cheeks. I knew that his ill- 
 ness, though a very serious one, was not attended 
 
An Hour among In- Patients. 205 
 
 by much suffering, and I could not understand 
 a degree of emotion which seemed to indicate 
 a paroxysm of the most violent pain. But the 
 mystery was soon explained. The lady-superin- 
 tendent told me that the surgeon had just been 
 making his round, that he took a very serious 
 view of the young man's case, and that he had 
 given him a hint of the danger he was in. The 
 thought of death had never entered his mind ; he 
 was horror-struck ; and when he asked himself 
 if he were prepared to die, the answer was the 
 burst of mental agony which I now witnessed. I 
 approached his bed-side, and tried, as best I could, 
 to calm him. He had been a waiter, he told me, 
 at a small restaurant. He had had to work early 
 and late in an atmosphere that was very un- 
 favourable to morality and religion, and he had 
 so far imitated the reckless, dissipated habits of 
 those around him, that, when sickness overtook 
 him, it found him physically unable to resist its 
 attack. What could I say to comfort him in his 
 .trouble ? I could only point him to that Saviour 
 who came to seek the lost ; I could only repeat, 
 * Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners ; ' 
 these and similar words of Scripture appeared to 
 have a soothing effect upon him, and he became 
 calmer. After this I saw him several times, and 
 it seemed as if the agony he had passed through had 
 made a permanent and beneficial impression upon 
 
2o6 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 him. His case progressed more favourably than 
 had been expected, and he soon began to amend. 
 At the end of three or four weeks he left the 
 hospital, and returned to his former occupation. 
 Whether he was able to resist its temptations, to 
 ' keep himself unspotted from the world,' and to 
 carry out the good intentions he had formed 
 during his illness, I never had an opportunity 
 of learning. 
 
 This incident was doubly interesting, because 
 one so rarely sees any apparent anxiety about 
 spiritual things. Far be it from me to say that 
 such anxiety may not exist where the eye of man 
 cannot discern it, still it is a fact that indifference 
 upon religious subjects is the prevailing tone of 
 mind even among those who are dangerously ill. 
 In the course of my experience I have met with 
 a few who were openly hostile to Christianity, and 
 a few who had a faith ' sublimed to ecstasy,' but, 
 as I have said, the majority of patients showed 
 little or no interest in the things which belong to 
 their eternal welfare. It seems the more import- 
 ant to notice this, because it is so often said that 
 it will be time enough to think about religion 
 when sickness overtakes us ; and it is well that 
 we should be reminded that sickness does not 
 make such thoughts more easy, but rather that 
 the pain and suffering which accompany it pre- 
 occupy the mind, and unfit it for serious reflec- 
 
An Hour among In- Patients. 207 
 
 tion. It is a remark of Thomas a Kempis, that 
 there are few whom pilgrimage benefits, as there 
 are few whom sickness really improves ; and Dr. 
 Arnold says that it is sad to observe how much 
 suffering there is in the world, and how little of 
 it seems to exert a salutary influence. 
 
 The histories which I have related above may 
 appear to be exaggerated, but they are truthful 
 sketches from life, and I might add many others 
 of a like kind. The experience of every medical 
 man would supply narratives almost as thrilling 
 as those contained in The Diary of a Late Phy- 
 sician. But such cases do not form the generality 
 of those with which we have to deal ; the vast 
 majority of our patients are quiet, respectable 
 people, who have been overtaken by sickness 
 through no fault of their own. This leads me to 
 speak of the mode of admission into hospitals. 
 How are the patients selected ? How have all 
 these poor people found their way here ? How 
 comes it that such different characters are brought 
 together under one roof? It has become a pro- 
 verb that 'adversity makes strange bedfellows,' 
 and these are all in adversity. Some have met 
 with accidents, and have been brought by their 
 friends, or by the police ; some have applied to 
 the out-patient department, the doors of which 
 are open to all, and have been admitted by the 
 assistant-surgeons ; some have brought letters of 
 
2o8 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 recommendation from governors or subscribers. 
 It not unfrequently happens that persons received 
 in this latter way are not fit subjects for a hospital 
 at all, and ought never to have been allowed to 
 occupy beds which might be wanted for more 
 urgent cases. But what are the authorities to 
 do .'' Unless they grant their supporters some 
 privileges their subscription lists will fall off, and 
 these privileges are sure sometimes to be abused. 
 Thus a governor will send in his servant for some 
 chronic ailment, and insist upon his being kept 
 for the full term to which his recommendation 
 entitles him. Or another will give an order of 
 admission to the first applicant, without inquiring 
 into the worthiness of the recipient, or the suit- 
 ableness of the case. I knew an instance in which 
 an old man used at the commencement of every 
 winter to get a letter from an influential governor, 
 and spend three months in a county hospital. 
 As he was an 'old soldier,' and knew how to 
 make himself comfortable, his time used to pass 
 pleasantly enough. I have no doubt that in 
 this case the recommendation was given in ignor- 
 ance ; but it would be well if those who have no 
 personal acquaintance with the wants of the poor 
 were to give their letters to the clergyman of the 
 parish, or to some charitable society, to be dis- 
 tributed where there is a real necessity. Those 
 who subscribe to hospitals should do so from 
 
An Hour among In-Patients. 209 
 
 motives of real benevolence, and should be careful 
 to bestow their letters with discrimination, and of 
 course they ought not to use them to save their 
 own pockets. The man who subscribes a guinea, 
 and then sends his servant into the hospital for a 
 couple of months, has made a good bargain, and 
 cannot be said to have done a very charitable act. 
 His subscription to the hospital was supposed to 
 be for the benefit of the poor and needy, and the 
 members of his household can hardly be said to 
 belong to that class. Perhaps hospitals would be 
 less frequently subjected to this abuse, if it were 
 generally known that there are some institutions 
 which, like the Maisons de Sante in Paris, receive 
 patients who are in better circumstances on pay- 
 ment of a small sum weekly. The payment in 
 these cases varies from six or eight shillings to a 
 guinea, and for this the patient is not only 
 boarded and lodged, but receives also the best 
 medical attendance and nursing. We are well 
 aware that many circumstances may arise in 
 which it becomes necessary on account of illness 
 to send away servants as speedily as possible, and 
 it is a convenient thing to have a public institution 
 at hand to which they may be conveyed. But 
 the duty of their employer towards them does 
 not cease because they are ill. He is still surely 
 bound to care for them, and may well be content 
 to pay a small sum for their maintenance during 
 
 O 
 
2IO Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke, 
 
 sickness, remembering how much their services, 
 while in health, have contributed to his comfort. 
 If they were 111 under his roof he would provide 
 for them, and why should he not do the same 
 when they have to be sent elsewhere ? 
 
 Hitherto we have spoken only of a single ward, 
 and the cases we have detailed occurred In it; 
 but It must be remembered that this forms only a 
 small part of the hospital. Besides the accident 
 ward, there are several other rooms reserved for 
 men, and there is a whole department of equal 
 extent for women. The ward we have visited 
 does not contain a tenth part of the in-patients. 
 
 In some hospitals there are special apartments 
 for children, but this Is not the case in all. Here 
 they are distributed in the women's wards. This 
 seems the better plan, for their bright smiles and 
 playful ways have a cheering effect upon the 
 other patients ; their kindly feelings are called 
 forth, and they are led for a while to forget their 
 own sufferings. The object of this paper has 
 been to draw attention to our hospitals, and to 
 give some information respecting their internal 
 arrangements, and the class of persons who 
 frequent them, in the hope that It may help to 
 awaken an interest in them. They have been too 
 long left to themselves. Few have cared for 
 them, and as a natural consequence many of 
 them have fallen below the standard which they 
 
An Hour among In- Patients. 211 
 
 ought to maintain. But happily this state of 
 things is fast passing away. The apathy of the 
 public is changing into sympathy, and medical 
 men find to their joy that their efforts after an 
 improved management, a superior system of 
 nursing, and a better classification of patients, 
 now meet with an encouraging response. This is 
 not merely a doctor's question, it is a question for 
 all. It is a matter of no small importance to 
 society at large that hospitals should be as 
 efificient as possible, in order that the wasting 
 effects of sickness may be reduced to a minimum, 
 and that when the labouring man or the artisan 
 is ill, the best skill and the most prompt attention 
 may be brought to bear upon his recovery. The 
 sickness of her members is the weakness of the 
 state, and the death of her members is the loss of 
 the state, and a well-organized system of medical 
 relief for those who are too poor to provide it for 
 themselves is no small element in the strength 
 and the prosperity of the country. 
 
A SURGICAL OPERATION. 
 
 A SKETCH IN HOSPITAL. 
 
 A SURGICAL operation is viewed very differently 
 by the patient and the surgeon. To the patient 
 it is a source of anxiety and dread. Though it 
 holds out the hope of ultimate benefit, though in 
 many cases it is the only thing which can prolong 
 or save life, still the sufferer knows well that in 
 order to obtain these advantages he must incur a 
 certain risk, and undergo more or less pain. It is 
 true that chloroform has done much to remove 
 the immediate pain of the knife, but it is a 
 question whether it has diminished the risk ; 
 while it must be admitted that it has introduced 
 a fresh, though a very slight element of danger, 
 namely, the inhalation of the narcotic vapour 
 itself All this is well known to the public, and 
 hence it happens that the very word operation fills 
 the patient with alarm. But with the surgeon it 
 is otherwise. He has for months, or perhaps for 
 years, been combating the disease with every 
 remedy that science or experience could suggest, 
 
 212 
 
A Surgical Operation. 213 
 
 but without success. His efforts have at the best 
 only served to retard the progress of the malady, 
 and he has had the disappointment of seeing his 
 patient getting gradually worse. The disease, like 
 an insidious enemy, has always escaped his grasp, 
 and has even contrived to make head against 
 him ; until at length — encouraged, as it were, 
 by a successful resistance — the foe has become 
 bolder and more aggressive. After having con- 
 tented himself for a length of time with acting on 
 the defensive and securing a firm footing, he has 
 now begun to sally forth. He has left his hiding- 
 place among the hills, and has descended into 
 the plain. The tedious manoeuvring, the march- 
 ing and countermarching, is at an end. The time 
 has come for striking a great blow, and to-morrow 
 the battle is to take place. Is it wonderful, then, 
 that the surgeon, who has, as it were, to plan the 
 attack, and lead the assault himself, should feel 
 something of the excitement which the soldier 
 feels on going into action ? Is it wonderful 
 that a crisis which brings with it so much re- 
 sponsibility, which requires the exercise of so 
 many great qualities, and which gives the 
 surgeon so much scope for distinguishing himself, 
 should be regarded with no small professional 
 interest ? 
 
 But the patient looks at the operation from a 
 very different point of view. To him it is a 
 
2 1 4 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 subject of interest, but interest of a most painful 
 kind ; and, notwithstanding all the alleviations 
 that modern science has introduced, he antici- 
 pates the event with anxiety and alarm. So far 
 as he himself is concerned, he would gladly accept 
 the prospect of present ease and future recovery 
 which an operation holds out ; but it may be that 
 there are others whose fortunes are so closely 
 linked with his own that they rise and fall 
 together. It may be that he has a wife and 
 children who are dependent upon him, and he 
 cannot help asking himself what is likely to be 
 their future position. How will they be affected 
 by the issue of the operation ? Shall he ever be 
 restored to them } Shall he once more have the 
 happiness of earning their bread by the labour of 
 his head or of his hands } It is uncertain ; for 
 between him and the land of his hopes there is a 
 sea to cross, and the waters may be stormy and 
 rough. His frail bark may have to encounter 
 many dangers ; it may be tossed upon the waves, 
 or swept away by the tide, and dashed against 
 the rocks. But in the navigation of that sea the 
 surgeon is in his element. If it should prove to 
 be a calm, and the voyage is prosperous, he is 
 well pleased ; but if the billows rise his skill is 
 called forth, and there is the more interest and 
 excitement in managing the vessel. 
 
 It was soon after I began to study medicine 
 
A Surgical Operation. 2 1 5 
 
 that Robert A was admitted into the hospital 
 
 He had been working as a navvy on one of the 
 new lines of railway near London, 'and had met 
 with a severe injury to his right knee. After 
 trying all the remedies that he could think of, 
 and a great many more that were suggested 
 to him, and after exhausting all his savings, 
 he was at length obliged to seek admission 
 into one of the metropolitan hospitals. He was 
 twenty-three years of age, tall and well built, with 
 broad shoulders and a deep chest. His counte- 
 nance was open and pleasant, with a large clear 
 eye and a winning smile. When he came to us 
 he had already been laid up some weeks, and had 
 suffered intense pain in his knee. These things 
 had not been without their effect upon him. His 
 face was pale and thin ; his expression grave and 
 thoughtful ; his hands soft and white, and his 
 fingers so delicate that one would hardly suppose 
 they had been accustomed to handle the spade 
 and pickaxe. He was obliged to keep his bed 
 constantly, — in itself a very trying thing for a 
 man who had been in the habit of living a great 
 deal in the open air. He could not move without 
 causing severe pain in his knee ; he had to lie 
 always in one position ; and, as he was no scholar, 
 he was cut off from many of the resources by 
 which invalids beguile their time. The scrap- 
 books which had been sent to the hospital for the 
 
2 1 6 Memoir of William Fairlie Clarke, 
 
 use of the children were his delight, and from 
 them he derived no little entertainment. The 
 chaplain gave him such simple religious instruc- 
 tion as he was able to receive, while the excellent 
 lady who presided in the ward was never tired of 
 reading to him ; and the nurse took good care to 
 have some bandages for him to roll up, or some 
 other light employment to occupy his hands 
 when he was disposed for it 
 
 In this way weeks passed, but no improvement 
 took place. On the contrary, the symptoms 
 slowly and gradually increased. The patient 
 was evidently losing ground ; his strength was 
 giving way under the protracted confinement, 
 his face was getting thinner, his cheek-bones be- 
 coming more prominent, and his eyes more deeply 
 sunk, while the pain was growing more intense, 
 and the condition of the knee more hopeless. 
 
 What was to be done 1 The present treatment 
 was clearly inadequate. Here was a fine young 
 fellow sinking into the grave, notwithstanding 
 the efforts which were being made to save him. 
 Could surgery do nothing more } Was there no 
 hope left ? Was there nothing now to be done 
 but to smooth the pathway of death? These 
 questions were anxiously asked by his surgeon, 
 and by many others connected with the hospital, 
 who took an interest in the brave, patient, gentle 
 sufferer. At length, after long observation and 
 
A Surgical Operation. 2 1 7 
 
 the most careful inquiry, it was agreed that 
 nothing could save his life or give him a chance 
 of recovery but an operation. When this was 
 communicated to him, he readily consented to 
 undergo whatever was thought best for him ; and 
 he left himself with perfect confidence in the 
 hands of those from whom he had already received 
 so much kind attention. 
 
 People sometimes talk as if surgery consisted 
 almost entirely in large operations, — in amputa- 
 tions and the like. There cannot be a greater 
 mistake. It is the boast of modern surgery that 
 it is ' conservative,' — that is to say, that no part 
 of the body, however small, is to be removed, 
 except under absolute necessity. To take away 
 the disease, while we preserve the limb, is the 
 perfection of surgical skill ; and this is the direc- 
 tion in which all our efforts have tended of late 
 years, and that with no small success. Many 
 years ago, that great surgeon and anatomist, John 
 Hunter, said, speaking of operations, ' This part 
 of surgery is a reflection on the healing art ; it is 
 a tacit acknowledgment of the insufficiency of 
 surgery ; it is like an armed savage who attempts 
 to get that by force which a civilised man would 
 get by stratagem.' This principle which Hunter 
 laid down, and which he himself helped, in a 
 notable degree, to carry out, has been followed 
 up with great success since his time. Many cases 
 
2 1 8 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 which were invariably submitted to operation at 
 the close of the last century, are now cured — and 
 effectually cured — without the use of the knife, 
 without the loss of a single drop of blood, and 
 with little or no pain. It is often said that 
 our means of distinguishing and discriminating 
 diseases has made much more progress during 
 the last half-century than our means of curing 
 them. This remark is very true, I believe, of 
 medicine^ but it does not hold equally good of 
 surgery. On the contrary, in that department 
 of the healing art there can, I think, be very 
 little doubt that we have made fully as much 
 progress in treatment as in diagnosis. 
 
 But to return to our story. On the morrow, a 
 goodly number of young men — some two hundred 
 — were assembled to witness the operations ; for 
 
 Robert A 's case was only one of several that 
 
 were to be treated at that time. It is the custom 
 at our large hospitals to perform operations, as far 
 as possible, upon a stated and regular day ; and a 
 very wise and beneficial custom it is : for it is for 
 the interests of science that operations should be 
 performed in public ; and it is for the interests of 
 the pupils that they should have an opportunity of 
 seeing what is done ; and it is for the interest of 
 the patient himself that he may have, if need be, 
 the benefit of a consultation at the time when all 
 the surgeons are assembled together. These im- 
 
A Sitrgical Operation. 219 
 
 portant objects can in no way be obtained so 
 conveniently as by having a stated day in the 
 week for the operations, and throwing the theatre 
 open to all. No doubt the publicity is very trying 
 and painful to many patients, and adds to the 
 anxiety with which they look forward to the 
 occasion ; but after all this is a small price to pay 
 for the substantial advantages which a hospital 
 affords. 
 
 On the occasion to which we allude there was 
 an unusual number of spectators, and the tiers of 
 benches which curved round the theatre were 
 crowded with medical students, an earnest, hard- 
 working set. But there was no loud talking or 
 laughing, only a murmur of conversation. It 
 would seem that the dangerous operations which 
 were performed here from week to week had left 
 a permanent impression behind them, which showed 
 itself in the quiet and subdued tone that pervaded 
 the place. If you were to judge of the students 
 by what you here see, I think you could hardly 
 fail to be favourably impressed by their orderly 
 conduct, and by the keen interest which they take 
 in their professional studies. It has been the 
 custom to speak of them in disparaging terms, as 
 if they were worse than other students. Whether 
 this was the case fifty years ago or not I am unable 
 to say ; probably an improvement has taken place 
 during the last half-century. But at present I believe 
 
2 20 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 it would not be easy to find a steadier, a kinder, a 
 more diligent set of young men among the alumni 
 of any profession. 
 
 It is true there are black sheep among them, 
 but what society is free from these ? Where will 
 you find a body of 1200 or 1500 young men 
 between the ages of sixteen and twenty-two, which 
 does not include some mauvais stijets f Medical 
 students are for the most part comparatively poor 
 men. They have not such large allowances as the 
 undergraduates at Oxford and Cambridge, and it is 
 possible that their vices take a lower form than 
 those which prevail at the ' old universities.' But 
 are they on that account worse in the sight of God ? 
 I trow not. While, on the other hand, the great 
 mass of medical students are steady, hard-working 
 fellows who take an earnest and serious view of 
 life. They cannot afford to trifle. Their path is 
 clear before them, and they must push on as fast 
 as they can. Most of them know full well that at 
 the age of twenty-one or twenty-two they will 
 have to enter on the practice of an anxious and 
 arduous profession, by which they must earn their 
 bread ; and they are well aware that their future 
 success depends, in a great degree, upon the use 
 which they make of the three or four years that 
 they spend in London. 
 
 They have no time to waste. With a great 
 variety of subjects to study, — with the day mapped 
 
A Surgical Operation. 221 
 
 out for lectures, hospital practice, etc., from nine 
 in the morning till six in the afternoon, and with 
 •work to prepare in the evening besides, — what 
 leisure have they to be idle? And the only- 
 holidays that they are able to take are few and far 
 between. For, although there are regular vacations, 
 during which the lectures are suspended, yet the 
 ordinary business of the hospital goes on just the 
 same all the year round. There is no gap in the 
 long line of invalids who are constantly seeking 
 admission to the wards ; there is no abatement 
 in the numbers that daily crowd the out-door 
 department. And as the students are employed 
 in looking after the patients, subject to the orders 
 of the physicians and surgeons, it not unfrequently 
 happens that their long vacation dwindles down 
 to a fortnight. 
 
 Some writers have done a great deal of harm 
 by representing only the worst types of medical 
 students. It is true they have not intended to 
 injure any one. Their only object has been to 
 amuse their readers, but we cannot help regretting 
 that they should have done it at the expense of an 
 honourable profession. Could they not have found 
 some example of modest worth, of unassuming 
 industry, of youthful heroism and self-sacrifice, 
 instead of the coarse, vulgar, sensual characters 
 that they have sketched ? Why should we collect 
 and preserve the scum which floats on the surface 
 
222 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 when there is so much pure, rich metal beneath ? 
 And even with regard to the black sheep there is 
 great allowance to be made, and you must not* 
 judge them harshly or hastily. Remember that, 
 under the present system of medical education, 
 they often come up to London at the early age of 
 sixteen, — that they are separated, perhaps for the 
 first time in their lives, from home with its ties of 
 affection and of duty, — that, young, inexperienced, 
 and alone, they are exposed to all the temptations 
 of this great metropolis — temptations which are 
 heightened and influenced by the peculiar nature 
 of their studies. Is it wonderful, then, that some 
 yield to these temptations ? Is it wonderful that 
 some go astray ? Is it wonderful that some fall 
 into great and grievous sin ? And yet I have 
 noticed that in the course of a few years the black 
 sheep not unfrequently undergo a change, and 
 become once more respectable members of the 
 flock. To be plucked for an examination is a 
 serious thing for a man who has nothing to look 
 to but his profession ; to be rusticated from his 
 college is a still graver matter ; and to be expelled 
 is almost ruin. Hence it happens that the black 
 sheep, under the severe discipline of life, first 
 become, as it were, grey — grey with anxiety and 
 distress ; and next white — white, as it were, with 
 a premature old age ; and then they are welcomed 
 back to the flock, no longer black sheep but white ; 
 
A Surgical Operation. 223 
 
 and no one whispers a word against them, for who 
 shall undertake to decide between the whiteness 
 of innocence and purity and the whiteness of a 
 repentant and sorrowful spirit ? 
 
 But we are wandering away again from the 
 operating theatre. The benches which rise tier 
 above tier, to the number of some eight or ten 
 rows, are now well-nigh filled. The upper rows 
 are occupied by the pupils, while the two lower 
 are reserved for the staff of the hospital, and for 
 strangers. Here you may see surgeons from the 
 country, who are anxious to compare their own 
 practice with that which prevails in the metropolis. 
 Here you may see army surgeons, worn and 
 weather-beaten men who are at home on furlough 
 or sick leave, and who have come to pay a visit to 
 their ahna mater. Here you may see distinguished 
 medical men from various parts of the Continent, 
 from Paris, from Vienna, from Berlin, from Copen- 
 hagen, — men of European celebrity, who have 
 taken advantage of a summer holiday to judge for 
 themselves of the state of English surgery. 
 
 Here you may see surgeons from the other side 
 of the Atlantic, full of the freshness and vigour of 
 the New World. Here you may see men of 
 colour from Africa, from Hindostan, from China, 
 or from Japan, who have been sent over to this 
 country to be instructed in the divine art of healing. 
 Here I have seen an elderly Parsee gentleman 
 
2 24 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 sitting, in his high mitre-like hat. Here I have 
 even seen a strong-minded American lady doctor, 
 sitting in the front, and taking an intelligent interest 
 in everything that was done. This is one of those 
 touches of nature which makes the whole world 
 kin, and brings human kindness from the ends of 
 the earth to study how it may alleviate human 
 suffering. 
 
 The area of the theatre is occupied by the 
 surgeons to the hospital, and by the pupils in 
 immediate attendance upon them, while in the 
 middle is placed the high wooden couch upon 
 which the patient will be laid, and which stands 
 full in the light that streams down upon it through 
 the large cupola in the roof, on this brilliant after- 
 noon in July. In one corner a couple of porters 
 are wringing out sponges, and preparing the cloths 
 and towels that will be required. In another 
 corner the house-surgeon is arranging on a small 
 table such instruments and dressings as are likely 
 to be wanted. But with all this there is very 
 little noise, and no disorder, no confusion. This 
 is only what takes place every week, and hence it 
 happens that each individual is well acquainted 
 with his duty, and does it quietly. 
 
 In this busy scene of active workers and 
 interested spectators, the surgeon who is about to 
 operate appears the most unconcerned of all. His 
 calmness is not easily disturbed. He is a man of 
 
A Surgical Operation. 225 
 
 great natural coolness and courage, cautious in 
 determining, but prompt and resolute to perform. 
 He is very dexterous and skilful ; few can use 
 their fingers so neatly as he can, or handle a knife 
 with the same firmness and ease. He is an 
 accomplished anatomist, and thoroughly versed 
 in the science of his profession. He has had 
 abundant experience as an operator, and what he 
 is going to do to-day he has done twenty times 
 before, so that it is nothing more to him than a 
 skirmish is to an old campaigner. Moreover, his 
 plans have been laid and his orders given long ago. 
 He has explained to the house-surgeon what he 
 intends to do, what instruments he will require, 
 and so forth, and now he can spare a few minutes 
 to talk to his friends, to ask his former pupils of 
 their welfare, or to inquire into the state of 
 surgery abroad. Presently the folding-doors are 
 thrown open, and the patient, wrapped in blankets 
 and laid upon a canvas litter, which is supported 
 on poles and carried by a couple of porters, is 
 brought into the theatre. He is attended by the 
 nurse who has had the charge of him while he has 
 been in the hospital, and upon whose intelligence 
 and skill his future prospects in a great measure 
 depend. Gently and carefully the litter is laid 
 upon the couch, the poles are withdrawn, the 
 porters retire, the nurse falls into the background, 
 and the patient is left with his face turned towards 
 
 P 
 
2 26 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 the benches, with the two hundred pairs of eyes 
 converging upon him. A trying moment, indeed, 
 and one that is Hkely to show what stuff a man 
 
 is made of! But Robert A bears the scrutiny 
 
 well. He seems to be made of one of the better 
 descriptions of clay. As he lies there, calm and 
 collected, fully aware of the danger he is about 
 to incur, but meeting it quietly and bravely, you 
 would say that a more likely man to recover 
 well from an operation could not easily be found. 
 The surgeon who is about to operate takes his 
 hand and greets him kindly ; the house-surgeon 
 says a few comforting and reassuring words, while 
 the pupil who has had the special charge of his 
 case inquires after his welfare. Though he is in 
 a very trying position, and surrounded by strange 
 faces, — though to the great majority of those 
 present he is nothing more than the subject of an 
 important operation, — it is clear that he has many 
 friends at hand who are deeply interested in his 
 case, and who will take good care of him. 
 
 And now the pupil who is to give the chloro- 
 form, and whose whole and sole business it will be 
 to watch its effect upon the patient, approaches, 
 and .is proceeding to explain how it is to be 
 inhaled. ' Give me one moment, if you please, sir,' 
 
 said Robert A ; and then, with his hands 
 
 folded palm to palm, like a child, he remained 
 motionless for a few seconds, with his large, clear, 
 
A Sttrgical Operation. 227 
 
 calm eyes looking upward, gazing through the 
 cupola, and penetrating the blue depths beyond. 
 Very touching it was to see his simplicity and his 
 earnestness. We all knew what he was doing, — 
 praying. Immediately the hum of conversation 
 ceased, every voice was hushed, while the poor 
 navvy told us by deed and gesture the secret of his 
 patience and the source of his confidence and trust. 
 ' Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind 
 is stayed on Thee : because he trusteth in Thee.' 
 
 Then he turned to the pupil, and said, ' I am 
 ready now, sir,' and immediately he began to in- 
 hale the chloroform. But while it was being given, 
 his thoughts seemed still to be in that far-off 
 region beyond the cupola and beyond the blue 
 sky ; for in his rambling talk he spoke of such 
 delightsome things, — of green pastures, of palm 
 trees, of crystal rivers, and the like, — that, as 
 Bunyan says, ' I wished myself among them.' 
 
 A few minutes sufficed to bring him fully under 
 the influence of the chloroform. The operating 
 surgeon then removed the blankets, and uncovered 
 the knee. The two hundred pairs of eyes were at 
 once directed upon it, and there was a slight 
 rustling and movement among the spectators, 
 as they adjusted themselves so as to get a good 
 view, and then all was still. 
 
 A sheet of crimson baize was laid under the 
 limb, and arranged so as to cover the other leg 
 
2 28 Me^noir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 and protect the patient's clothing. The surgeon 
 then steadied the knee with his left hand, and in 
 his right he took the knife which was handed to 
 him by one of the pupils who was stationed at his 
 elbow ; while the house-surgeon stood opposite 
 him, on the other side of the couch, ready to give 
 such assistance as might be necessary from time 
 to time during the progress of the operation. 
 Steadily and deliberately, without hurry and 
 without delay, each step of the operation was per- 
 formed. There was no fuss, no confusion, and 
 little or nothing was said, for a word or a gesture 
 from the surgeon was enough to indicate what 
 was wanted or what was to be done. The well- 
 being, the very life of a fellow-creature was at 
 stake. The occasion was a grave and serious one; 
 and gravely and seriously must it be treated. At 
 any moment some unexpected difficulty might 
 arise, which it would require all the self-possession 
 and ingenuity and skill of the surgeon to over- 
 come. But happily in Robert A 's case no 
 
 such complication arose. It was a simple, straight- 
 forward case of its kind. In a few minutes the 
 diseased knee-joint had been removed. In a few 
 more the vessels were tied and the wound closed. 
 The leg was then laid upon a hollow splint, which 
 kept it perfectly steady, the line of the incision 
 was covered with a few folds of wet lint ; and in 
 about twenty minutes from the time when the 
 
A Surgical Operation. 229 
 
 patient had been brought into the theatre the 
 whole operation was completed. The hum of 
 conversation recommenced ; the patient was 
 allowed to recover from the chloroform, and with 
 a bewildered stare he looked around on the scene 
 before him, so different from the dreamland he 
 had just left ! 
 
 The blankets were replaced, the poles again 
 attached to the canvas litter ; and gently and 
 
 carefully Robert A was lifted off the couch 
 
 and carried back to his ward, attended by the 
 pupil in charge of the case, who went to see that 
 the leg was not injured in the transit, and that the 
 patient was properly placed in bed. 
 
 The surgeon then came forward again, and, 
 standing by the wooden couch, he gave a brief 
 account of the case ; explained why it had become 
 necessary to perform an operation, justified the 
 particular proceeding which he had adopted, — a 
 proceeding, by the way, which was then on its 
 trial, — and finally he invited his auditors to observe 
 for themselves the nature and extent of the disease 
 which had been removed, and to say whether or 
 not he had been right in the course which he had 
 
 taken. The rest of Robert A 's story is soon 
 
 told. For a few days he was in great jeopardy, 
 and much anxiety was felt on his behalf, for he 
 had been in the hospital now four months, and his 
 patience, his gentleness, and his gratitude had 
 
230 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 earned him many friends. We often have 
 occasion to observe that a patient who has been a 
 long time ill, and who has been reduced to a very 
 low state,. bears a severe operation better than one 
 who is much stronger and more robust. The 
 history of Robert A 's convalescence illus- 
 trated the truth of this observation. After a few 
 days he began to amend ; and from that time for- 
 ward his progress was uninterrupted. In about 
 six weeks he was able to get up and hobble about 
 the ward upon crutches, — his right leg being stiff 
 and straight, and only a little shorter than its 
 fellow. At the end of three months he was well 
 enough to say ' good-bye ' to his friends in the 
 hospital, and go down to his home in the country. 
 He had now grown quite stout, and looked more 
 robust than he had ever done since he came under 
 our care. His eye was still calm and clear, his 
 expression still grave and thoughtful, but there 
 was superadded a cheerfulness which was some- 
 thing new. He was now like a sunbeam in the 
 ward, gleaming and glancing across everybody's 
 path. For a great change had come over him 
 while he had been in the hospital. Before he was 
 afflicted he never thought about his soul. He was 
 so busy providing for the wants of the body, 
 rising up early and working till late, that it was 
 easy to find an excuse for neglecting the things of 
 the spirit. But it is only when the ground is soft 
 
A Surgical Operation, 231 
 
 that the husbandman can plough and sow his seed. 
 
 And Robert A came to the hospital after 
 
 weeks of sickness and suffering had softened and 
 prepared his heart, and when the good seed was 
 sown in it, it sprang up and bore fruit 
 
 ' I'm leaving the hospital, sir,' he said to me, 
 ' a very different man from what I was when I 
 coomed here, and I hope by the grace of God I 
 shall never sro back/ 
 
THE VISITORS' HOUR AND THE 
 CHILDREN'S WARD : A SKETCH IN 
 HOSPITAL. 
 
 ' I have learned 
 To look on nature, not as in the hour 
 Of thoughtless youth ; but hearing often-times 
 The still, sad music of humanity, 
 Now harsh, now grating, though of ample power 
 To chasten and subdue.' 
 
 IVordswori/i' s ' River Wye. ' 
 
 At all hospitals there are certain fixed times 
 when the patients' friends are allowed to visit 
 them. It is obvious that such an arrangement is 
 necessary, for without it the business of the place 
 would be subject to constant interruptions. In 
 an institution containing perhaps two or three 
 hundred invalids, it would be impossible to permit 
 their friends to come and go just as they pleased. 
 Of course, when a patient is very ill, or when 
 there is any special reason, the rule is relaxed, 
 and his relations are offered every facility for 
 seeing him, and are allowed, if need be, to remain 
 with him while life lasts. But for all ordinary 
 
 232 
 
Visitors Hour and Children s Ward. 233 
 
 cases it is imperative that visitors must come on 
 certain days at certain hours. At these times the 
 porters are on duty, the medical men and students 
 are out of the way, and the patients can enjoy 
 the society of their friends with as little restraint 
 as the circumstances of the case permit. 
 
 The time which is usually set apart for the 
 visitors' hour is in the afternoon from three till 
 four o'clock, or from four till five, when the busi- 
 ness of the day is over, when the work of the 
 wards is finished, and when all parties about the 
 place are most at liberty to welcome strangers. 
 
 I was one day prevented from paying my 
 regular visit to the hospital till a later time than 
 usual, and it was already the 'visitors' hour' when 
 I entered the wards. What a strange sight they 
 presented ! The wide extent of the rooms, usually 
 so calm and still, was now crowded with busy 
 life, and disturbed by the sound of many voices. 
 The order and harmony which generally prevailed, 
 arising from the strict routine observed in the 
 wards, from the exact similarity of all the beds 
 and the uniform costume of the nurses, now 
 seemed entirely broken up. What a scene for a 
 painter was here ! The Derby day, the railway 
 station, the gambling table, have not a deeper or 
 more touching interest, do not exhibit more 
 thrilling incidents, than does the ' visitors' hour ' at 
 a large hospital. I wonder that the subject has 
 
2 34 Memoir oj Willia7n Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 never attracted the attention of a Royal Academ- 
 ician. Here is a stalwart blacksmith, 'a hard- 
 handed man/ sitting beside his wife, and brushing 
 away the tears with his coat sleeve. He has 
 marked but too truly, at the first glance, how 
 much she has altered since last visiting day, and 
 he wonders how she will be on the next, and the 
 next. Here is a wrinkled old crone, with a 
 twinkling eye and a broad Irish brogue. A party 
 of her gossips, each much like herself, have come 
 to visit her, and are telling her, with much 
 laughter, of their last merry-making. Here is a 
 girl, * sweet seventeen ; ' she is in service in London, 
 but her home is in the country, and she has no 
 friends to come and visit her. Alone in London, 
 and with no friends ! God help her ! But she is 
 not forgotten ; the lady superintendent of the 
 ward keeps lingering near her bed, that she may 
 not feel herself lonely or neglected. 
 
 These and many other similar scenes I witnessed 
 as I passed hastily through the ward. As I had 
 come at an inconvenient hour, I examined only 
 those cases upon which it was absolutely necessary 
 that I should give an opinion ; and for the rest I 
 contented myself with directing the house-surgeon 
 what to do. In each of the rooms that I visited 
 in turn, much the same thing was going on. 
 Round each bed was a party of two or three who 
 had come to see the patient, to relieve his 
 
Visitors Hour mid Child7^ens Ward. 235 
 
 monotony, to inquire how he was getting on, or 
 to bring some of those simple luxuries which the 
 rules of the institution permitted. Last of all I 
 came to the children's ward. It was at the top of 
 the house, and it had a glass door which opened 
 out upon the roof of an adjoining portion of the 
 building. This open space upon ' the leads ' 
 served the little convalescents for a playground, 
 where they could enjoy the air of heaven, and 
 bask in the sunlight at any time, without the 
 fatigue of going up or down stairs. It was a 
 valuable addition to the ward. It commanded a 
 distant view of one of the most crowded thorough- 
 fares in London, where the passing cabs and 
 omnibuses formed a constant panorama ; while 
 immediately below, a fountain in the centre of the 
 square, which threw up a column, of sparkling water, 
 afforded an endless source of amusement to the 
 little sufferers. A few hardy evergreens in pots 
 were now arranged round the parapet, which in 
 summer v/ould be replaced by bright-coloured 
 flowers. There were about a couple of dozen 
 cots ranged round the walls of the children's 
 ward, each with straight railed sides, upon which 
 rested a board, which served both as a table and 
 as a depository for playthings, scrap-books, etc. 
 Each bed was covered with a blue-and-white 
 checked coverlet, and each contained a tiny 
 figure with a shrewd face and thin bony arms. 
 
236 Me^noir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 Here and there on the window-sills were placed 
 fern-cases full of fresh green plants, and on the 
 walls were a few bright pictures and illuminated 
 texts. All the little patients were under eight 
 years of age, for that was the limit of admission 
 into this ward. Almost all had visitors ; in most 
 instances their mothers had -come to see them, 
 and had brought some trifling article — some toy 
 or sweetmeat — to keep alive in their minds a 
 pleasant recollection of home. 
 
 But there was one cot which particularly 
 arrested my attention, and excited ,my curiosity. 
 It was plain that the little patient's visitors 
 belonged to two very different grades of society. 
 On one side of the bed sat a poor woman, 
 evidently very poor, but withal clean and tidy. 
 She clearly belonged to what are called the 
 struggling poor. She wore a dress which had 
 once been black, but which was now of an 
 olive-brown colour, and which had been fre- 
 quently patched and repaired. Her bonnet and 
 shawl and her widow's cap were likewise of 
 the simplest materials and of the homeliest kind. 
 On her knee she held a little boy of about four 
 years of age, who did not at all understand where 
 he was, and who was very anxious to go and play 
 with the bright toys which he saw in the hands of 
 other children in various parts of the room. In 
 particular, he wanted to be allowed to go and 
 
Visitors Hour and Children's Ward. 237 
 
 help a little fellow about his own age, who was 
 laying out upon the floor in long rows the whole 
 contents of an old ' Noah's ark,' which had been 
 recently sent by some richer children as a present 
 to the ward. On the other side of the cot stood 
 two ladies, apparently a mother and her daughter, 
 who belonged to the affluent class of society. 
 They were handsomely though plainly dressed, 
 and, to judge by the earnest looks which they 
 directed to the little sufferer, and by the eager 
 questions which they put to the poor woman, as 
 well as to the lady superintendent and the nurse, 
 it was certain that they felt a great interest in the 
 poor child. As the case was one which I had not 
 yet seen, and as it was one of a serious kind, I 
 approached the bedside with the view of examin- 
 ing it, and the visitors with becoming delicacy 
 all moved to a distant part of the ward. I had 
 then an opportunity of hearing from the house- 
 surgeon some particulars of the case. It appeared 
 that on the previous day, about five o'clock in the 
 afternoon, the child had been brought to the 
 hospital in a carriage by the two ladies whom I 
 had just seen standing by the bedside. They 
 were very much agitated, and could hardly give a 
 coherent account of what had happened ; but 
 they said that they were afraid the child had been 
 knocked over by their horses, and that one wheel 
 of the carriage had gone over him. It was 
 
238 Alemoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 winter, the days were dark and foggy, the little 
 boy had run suddenly across in front of the 
 horses, had tripped, fallen, and, before the coach- 
 man could pull up, one of the fore-wheels had 
 gone over him. He was at once picked up and 
 put into the carriage, but, as he was stunned and 
 insensible, there was no use in trying to ascertain 
 where his home was. The shortest and safest 
 plan was to take him to the hospital. Accordingly, 
 to the hospital he was brought. The house- 
 surgeon, in reply to the eager questions which 
 were put to him by the distressed ladies, said that 
 most probably the boy would be well in a few 
 days; — such accidents were of frequent occurrence, 
 and it was astonishing how much the elasticity 
 of a child's bones would bear. He himself had 
 known a little boy who had been run over by a 
 hansom cab get up and shake himself, and then 
 scamper away none the worse. In this manner 
 he consoled the ladies who had been the innocent 
 cause of a sad accident, and they took their 
 departure, after seeing the child carried up-stairs, 
 and promising to come and look after him the 
 next day. 
 
 When this little boy had been picked up from 
 underneath the wheels of the carriage, insensible 
 as he was, he clutched in one hand a penny, 
 and in the other a small parcel. The parcel 
 had been wrapped up in brown paper, but it had 
 
Visitors Hour tmd Children s Ward. 239 
 
 suffered so much from the mud, and from the 
 wheels of the carriage, that the paper was not 
 only torn, but its tissue was literally destroyed. 
 It was therefore impossible to decipher the address, 
 
 but the words, * Mr. Pawn — , Strand,' could 
 
 with difficulty be made out, written in what 
 seemed to be an old-fashioned but lady-like hand- 
 writing-. Underneath the shreds of brown paper 
 there appeared to be a cotton cloth, now stained 
 and dabbled with mud, in which the contents of 
 the parcel had been wrapped. 
 
 When the child was first brought to the 
 hospital, as there was no clue to his name or 
 address, the porter had shaken him somewhat 
 roughly, and asked in a loud and authoritative 
 tone what his name was, and where he lived. 
 Thus aroused, he had opened his eyes slowly, 
 stared round him, and said very deliberately, 
 'Jemmy Smith, 21 Percy Street, Westminster,' 
 and then he immediately relapsed into the heavy 
 stupor from which he had been aroused for the 
 moment. Of course a messenger was sent at 
 once to let his friends know what had happened 
 to him, and where he was ; and it was not long 
 before his mother came to the hospital to see 
 him. It will easily be believed that it was a 
 terrible shock to her to find her little one lying 
 in profound unconsciousness. The uncertainty 
 attending such a state seemed even worse than if 
 
240 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. ' 
 
 he had met with some accident, such as a torn 
 hand or a broken leg. She cried bitterly, passing 
 from one paroxysm of tears to another, and it 
 was long before she could speak of the child 
 with any degree of composure. At length she 
 said that he had gone to school that afternoon 
 as usual. His school was at some little distance 
 from his home, and she could only suppose, from 
 the circumstances of the accident, that he had 
 been induced to go on an errand, in order to earn 
 the penny that was found in his hand. He had 
 been known to do such a thing before, for he was 
 thoughtful beyond his years, and was always 
 anxious to bring home some trifle which he might 
 give to his mother to eke out their scanty living. 
 All through the evening the mother sat by her 
 child, every moment expecting him to wake up 
 and recognise her. But he awoke not ; and at 
 length she was obliged to go home to look after 
 her other child, the little one whom we have 
 already seen on her knee. Next day she came 
 to the hospital as early as she could, bringing 
 her younger child with her, and when I saw her 
 there at the visitors' hour, she had already been 
 keeping watch by the side of that little cot ever 
 since nine o'clock. And still the patient slept 
 heavily ; no word had he spoken, no movement 
 had he made ; if anything, the stupor became 
 more and more profound. This was what I 
 
Visitors Hour and Children s Ward, 241 
 
 learned from the house-surgeon, and what I 
 observed for myself at the time of my visit. But 
 it was necessary that I should try and arouse 
 the slumberer, that I might measure the depth 
 of the stupor in which he lay, so as to form some 
 opinion of its cause, and of its probable termina- 
 tion. I therefore applied strong smelling-salts 
 to his nostrils, and sprinkled cold water on his 
 face. Then I took hold of his shoulder and shook 
 him, and at the same moment I shouted in his 
 ear, ' Smith ! Jemmy Smith ! ' But it was all of 
 little avail. A groan, and a restless, impatient 
 movement was the only response. However, 
 before I desisted altogether, I thought I would 
 try once more in a somewhat different manner ; 
 so I beckoned to the mother, and desired her to 
 speak to the child, after I had first endeavoured to 
 rouse him by repeating the measures I had before 
 used. She bent over her little one, and said 
 gently in his ear, 'Jemmy darling, do you know 
 me ? ' There was magic in the mother's voice. 
 It made its way to the oppressed brain. Slowly 
 the child opened his eyes, vacantly he looked up, 
 and, with a pause between each word, he said, ' I 
 was running as fast as I could, but before I 
 reached the shop ... I don't know where I am,' 
 and then his eyes closed once more, and he 
 relapsed into a heavy and unconscious sleep. 
 The examination which I made of my little 
 
 Q 
 
242 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 patient led me to take a very serious view of his 
 case. It was clear that he was not merely 
 stunned ; he had evidently sustained a very 
 severe injury. Accordingly, I expressed to the 
 poor mother, as well as to the ladies, the un- 
 favourable anticipations that I had formed. Then 
 I drew the house-surgeon aside, and explained to 
 him precisely the opinion that I entertained of 
 the nature and extent of the injury, and gave 
 orders with regard to the treatment I wished to 
 be pursued until I saw the child again. But at 
 the time I was giving my directions, I had a fore- 
 boding that I should never see him again alive. 
 He seemed so very ill now, and the stupor 
 appeared to be growing every hour more pro- 
 found. How will it fare with him, I thought to 
 myself, in the midnight watches ? That is always 
 a trying time for the sick. The sun is then 
 farthest from us, the darkness and cold are at 
 their height, the powers of life, even of healthy 
 life, are then depressed ; how will the poor, weak, 
 half-starved little one fare then } As I prepared 
 to leave the ward, the widowed mother resumed 
 her place by the side of the cot, the two ladies 
 standing near her, and the lady superintendent 
 and nurses began to busy themselves in carrying 
 out the orders I had given. The ladies stayed a 
 little longer, and then left, promising to return on 
 the morrow. A couple of screens were drawn 
 
Visitors Hour and Children s Ward. 243 
 
 round the little bed, and there, in comparative 
 privacy, the poor mother kept her watch far into 
 the night. But what could even a mother's love 
 do in such a case, where the tenderest and most 
 skilful nursing could be of no avail. She wanted 
 very much to go home with her youngest child, 
 but it was so evident that the lamp of life was 
 rapidly dying out, that she dared not leave. Her 
 younger child had been put to bed in one of the 
 adjoining cots, and was by this time fast asleep, 
 so she determined to stay to the end. Nor had 
 she long to wait. About two o'clock in the 
 morning, without even an uneasy movement, 
 without the slightest sign of consciousness, her 
 little Jemmy passed away. Next day the two 
 ladies called at the hospital, and heard the sad 
 result of the accident with which they had been 
 so unwittingly associated. From the lady who 
 presided over the children's ward they learned 
 all the particulars of what had occurred after their 
 last visit ; and then they drove straight to West- 
 minster, to find out the poor mother, and to offer 
 her such material assistance as their position 
 enabled them to give. From the first they had 
 done everything that could be done in such 
 painful circumstances ; and I have the best 
 reason for knowing that the same right feeling 
 led them to make the poor widow an annual 
 allowance during the rest of her life, and induced 
 
244 Memoir of Willia7n Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 them also to see that her younger child, now her 
 only one, was properly educated, and started in a 
 suitable occupation. 
 
 Of course, in due time, an inquest was held ; 
 but very little information, beyond what is already 
 before the reader, was elicited. Only one man 
 had witnessed the accident, and he said that no 
 blame could be attached to the coachman, that he 
 was not driving too fast, and that it was the little 
 boy's own eagerness and imprudence which led to 
 his death. The medical evidence showed that 
 the wheel of the carriage had passed over his left 
 leg ; but this, strange as it may seem, was not 
 broken, only severely bruised. But, besides this, 
 he had sustained the most formidable injuries to 
 the interior of the head — injuries which revealed 
 themselves by no outward mark except a slight 
 cut, but which were far more than sufficient to 
 account for the fatal issue of the accident. It 
 appeared probable that in his fall he had received 
 a kick from one of the horses, and that this had 
 produced the extensive fracture of the skull, 
 which only became apparent after his death. Of 
 course the small brown paper parcel was men- 
 tioned, and produced at the inquest. The coroner 
 and each of the jury looked at it in turn, and 
 tried to decipher the address, but to no purpose. 
 The paper had been so torn and twisted, that, 
 beyond the words, or portions of words, which I 
 
Visitors Hour and Children s Ward. 245 
 
 have already mentioned, nothing could be dis- 
 tinguished. When it had made the circuit of the 
 table and come round to the coroner again, he 
 proceeded to open it, in the hope of throwing 
 some light upon the errand in which the poor boy 
 was engaged at the time he met with his accident, 
 or upon the person who had induced him to 
 undertake it. 
 
 When the string and the shred of paper which 
 enveloped the parcel had been removed, the 
 contents were not yet visible, for they were 
 wrapped in what seemed to be a portion of an 
 old pocket-handkerchief, — at least, it was a piece 
 of fine cambric, with a deep lace border, and 
 embroidered in one corner were the letters ' I. T.' 
 It was a mere tattered fragment, and it was now 
 discoloured with age, but it had evidently been 
 handsome in its day. Had it been a bridal 
 handkerchief, I wonder ? Perhaps ; I know not. 
 If it had, what changes of fortune must the fair 
 owner have seen since she first carried it ! When 
 it was unfolded, it was found to envelope a small 
 old-fashioned silver-gilt mug, such as is not 
 unfrequently given to children as a christening 
 present. It had been much flattened and injured 
 at the time of the accident, still it was easy to 
 read upon it the inscription, ' Richard Martyn 
 Trevathick, April 5th, 181 1.' Inside the mug, 
 carefully wrapped up in silver paper, were two rings : 
 
246 Memoir of William Fahdie Clarke. 
 
 the one a large and handsome mourning ring, 
 inscribed with the words, * In Memoriam, Richard 
 Trevathick, Dec. 14th, 1823;' the other a plain 
 worked ring, such as is usually worn as a 
 guard, and on the inside was engraved, ' Richard 
 Trevathick, Jane Martyn, May loth, 18 10,' and 
 between the names was the old-fashioned emblem 
 of two right hands clasping each other. 
 
 By the coroner's order an inquiry was instituted 
 at all the pawnbrokers' shops in the Strand 
 or its neighbourhood, to try and ascertain if any 
 person of the name of Trevathick had arranged 
 to pawn any articles. The ladies, whose carriage 
 had caused the poor little boy's death, were most 
 anxious to have the mystery cleared up, and 
 spared neither money nor exertion. But no clue 
 was ever discovered. The pawnbrokers had no 
 such name as Trevathick on their books, but they 
 said it was no uncommon thing for trifling articles 
 to be sent to them by youthful messengers, by 
 people who shrank from coming themselves to 
 convert their trinkets into money. 
 
 The police used their utmost endeavours, and 
 said they felt confident that no person of the name 
 of Trevathick was living in that district of London. 
 If there were such a person, she must be passing 
 under another name. And so no clue to the mys- 
 tery could be obtained. Who can tell the agonies 
 of broken-down gentility which this great city 
 
Visitors Hour and Children s Ward. 247 
 
 hides within its bosom ? Of its physical distress, 
 its squalor, its sickness, its starvation, we can 
 indeed form some imperfect idea ; but who can 
 reckon up the tale of its reversed fortunes, its dis- 
 appointed hopes, its faded ambitions ? Who can 
 tell the noble courage with which trials have been 
 faced ? Who can tell the patient endurance with 
 which sufferings have been borne ? Who can tell 
 the antique virtue which has led many a one, who 
 began life gaily in the sunshine of wealth, to give 
 up one by one the most sacred and treasured 
 relics, rather than depart from the simple honesty, 
 the gentle high-mindedness, the quiet independ- 
 ence, which are of more value than even the most 
 precious mem^orials of love ? 
 
A NIGHT IN HOSPITAL. 
 
 The internal arrangements of a hospital are but 
 little understood by the public at large. Most 
 people are contented to know that there are such 
 institutions for the relief of the sick poor, but they 
 themselves rather shrink from visiting them or 
 taking any part in their management. They 
 have an exaggerated fear of the painful sights 
 which they might witness, or of the risk of infec- 
 tion which they might run. And hence they are 
 satisfied with giving a donation to the funds, 
 while they bestow no further thought or care on 
 the subject. There are others, again, who have 
 a more genuine interest in the sufferings of their 
 poorer neighbours, but are prevented by the pres- 
 sure of business from assisting them personally, 
 and yet who would, no doubt, be glad to hear 
 what was being done for their benefit. It will be 
 my endeavour in this paper to arouse the former 
 class to a deeper sympathy, and to supply in 
 some degree the information desired by the 
 latter. 
 
 The work of hospitals, unlike that of many 
 
 248 
 
A Night in Hospital. 249 
 
 public institutions, does not cease at the close of 
 the day. The doors are always open ; at any hour 
 applicants may obtain admission ; and whether 
 they come at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, it 
 is necessary that there should be officials on the 
 alert to attend to cases of emergency. A night 
 porter must always be at the door ; night nurses 
 must always be on the watch ; and the resident 
 medical men must be ready to rise at the first 
 summons ; indeed, I have known the succession of 
 applications to be such that the house-surgeon 
 was kept out of bed the whole night. It was a 
 Saturday night, when there are always an unusual 
 number of brawls and cut heads, and in addition 
 a fire had late at night broken out in the upper 
 part of a house in a neighbouring street. Several 
 persons who were asleep at the time had been 
 badly injured before they could make their escape 
 from the flames, and in consequence were brought 
 by the police to the hospital. Thus it was that 
 the house-surgeon was kept busy the whole night. 
 No sooner had he attended to one poor sufferer, 
 than the police arrived with another. 
 
 Well do I remember my own feelings the first 
 time that I was so called, I was weary with a 
 heavy day's work, all the heavier to me because of 
 its novelty, and had sunk into a deep sleep, when 
 I was aroused by the knock of the night porter, 
 who had come to tell me that a man with a 
 
250 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 broken leg had been brought to the hospital by 
 the police. Being so thoroughly tired, I foolishly 
 contented myself with giving directions as to 
 where he should be taken, and what should be 
 done for him, and then settled myself again to 
 sleep. But I was not to escape so easily ; about 
 an hour afterwards I was again aroused by the un- 
 welcome knock. The policemen had returned, 
 with orders from their sergeant, that as no medical 
 man had seen the patient they should remove 
 him at once to another hospital. There was 
 nothing for it, therefore, but for me to get up, 
 visit the patient, and, having ascertained that his 
 case had been properly attended to, go down 
 and assure the policemen that such was the fact. 
 This was what I ought to have done in the first 
 instance, for, as house-surgeon, I was responsible 
 for the treatment of all such cases during the 
 interval between the visits of the surgeon-in-chief. 
 It is the custom at most large hospitals for the 
 resident medical men to make a regular round of 
 the wards every morning and evening, and that in 
 addition to the visits of the principal physicians 
 and surgeons. In the London hospitals — and it 
 is with them that I am best acquainted — there 
 are always at least two resident medical officers, 
 a house physician and a house surgeon. Gene- 
 rally there are more ; in some instances there are 
 five or six who are responsible for the different 
 
A Night in Hospital. 251 
 
 departments of the hospital. These resident 
 officials are usually young men, who have lately 
 received their diplomas, and are anxious to per- 
 fect their professional education by the experience 
 which such positions afford. At those hospitals 
 which have a medical school attached to them, it 
 is usually the senior students who are appointed 
 to these posts, and in many instances they are 
 awarded according to merit, after a com- 
 petitive examination, free board and lodging for 
 three or six months being the reward of their 
 success. The duties of the resident medical 
 officers are to look after the patients of their 
 several departments, to arrange their admissions 
 and discharges, to carry out the instructions of 
 the visiting physicians and surgeons, and to 
 attend to casualties. I know no more responsible 
 task that can be put upon the shoulders of a 
 young man than that of house-surgeon at a large 
 hospital. It frequently happens that a youth of 
 not more than twenty-one years of age — and that 
 is the earliest date at which he can receive a 
 diploma — is appointed resident medical officer to 
 a metropolitan hospital. He may there have the 
 charge of eighty or a hundred patients, all seriously 
 ill, and many of them sick unto death. In his wards 
 he may have the care of those who have met with 
 terrible accidents, or who have undergone serious 
 operations, or are suffering from dangerous ill- 
 
252 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 nesses ; besides having to attend to the casualty 
 cases which are constantly presenting themselves 
 every hour of the day and night, and which often 
 call for prompt, energetic, and difficult treatment. 
 Those who are not familiar with the subject can 
 have no idea of the strange variety of accidents 
 which come before our notice. The house-surgeon 
 may be summoned to see some one who has taken 
 poison, or who has laid violent hands upon him- 
 self, some one who has met with an accident in 
 the street, or on the railway, or who has got a cut 
 head ' in a midnight brawl,' some child who has 
 fallen into the fire, or who has scalded itself in 
 attempting to drink out of the tea-kettle. I 
 remember once, when I was house-surgeon, a 
 young man was brought to the hospital by his 
 friends, with a fish-bone in his throat. He was in 
 great pain, and in great alarm. He could hardly 
 breathe, and, as he threw himself about in agony, 
 it appeared every moment as if he were going to 
 be suffocated. Fortunately, at the first attempt I 
 succeeded in removing the cause of his distress. 
 It was a piece, about three-quarters of an inch 
 square, of a bone of one of the coarser kinds of 
 flat fish, so it had not only a considerable size, but 
 it also presented four sharp corners, and it had 
 become fixed in the poor fellow's throat in such a 
 manner that it almost closed the entrance to the 
 windpipe, while it caused him exquisite pain. I 
 
A Night in Hospital. 253 
 
 shall never forget his delight when it was removed. 
 The effect was magical. From having been in 
 intense suffering and in imminent danger of life, 
 he was in a moment restored to ease and comfort 
 and safety. He literally danced round me, and, 
 taking me by the hand, he shook it warmly and 
 violently in token of his gratitude. Again, I have 
 been called up in the middle of the night to see a 
 poor woman of the lowest class, who had been 
 brought to the hospital in a state of the most pro- 
 found intoxication ; but, notwithstanding every- 
 thing that could be done for her, the stupor 
 became more and more complete, until at the end 
 of an hour she died. In fact, there is no end to 
 the variety of cases to which the resident medical 
 officers have to attend, and that by night as well 
 as by day. And what makes the night work 
 heavier than it otherwise would be, is the fact that 
 the poor so often postpone bringing their sick to 
 the hospital till a late hour. 
 
 During the day they cannot perhaps afford the 
 time to leave their work and accompany their 
 sick friends ; or, while daylight lasts, they are able 
 to manage for themselves, and it is only when 
 night approaches that they feel the need of help ; 
 Or they go on from hour to hour, hoping the 
 malady will get well by itself; and it is only when 
 darkness closes in that hope gives place to 
 despondency, and they at length entertain the 
 
2 54 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 idea of applying to the hospital. Whatever may 
 be the explanation, certain it is that this habit 
 prevails, and that it tends not only to the incon- 
 venience of medical men by calling on them to 
 do at night what might be equally well or much 
 better done by day, but it is also prejudicial 
 to the patients themselves, for many lives are 
 undoubtedly lost which might have been saved if 
 proper advice had been obtained at an earlier 
 period of the case. But it is not only casualties 
 and fresh arrivals which occasion night work in 
 a hospital. Sometimes there occur among the 
 in-patients cases of special interest or of a pecu- 
 liarly critical nature, which require close attention 
 by some one with more medical knowledge than 
 is possessed by the ordinary nurses. In such 
 cases it is not unusual for the junior medical 
 students to be employed to watch by the bed- 
 side of the patient. One such occasion is especially 
 impressed on my memory ; an operation which is 
 rarely required had been performed, and the 
 utmost vigilance was needed to guard against 
 serious consequences. Several students, of whom 
 I was one, were appointed watchers. We were to 
 take it in turns to sit beside the patient. Never 
 by night or day was she to be left untended. 
 The night-watch lasted from twelve o'clock to 
 six, and this I had occasionally to take. The 
 house-surgeon finished his round about ten o'clock, 
 
A Night in Hospital. 255 
 
 and gave his final instructions for the night. The 
 nurses who had been on duty during the day 
 were succeeded by those who had to sit up during 
 the night. The gas was lowered. The patients 
 composed themselves to sleep. The attendants 
 walked upon tiptoe, and spoke with bated breath. 
 Gradually every sound was hushed, and in the 
 spacious ward there was profound silence, broken 
 only by the occasional tossing of a restless patient, 
 or the low moan of one in pain, or the muttering 
 of another who was talking in her sleep. 
 
 The scene which the hospital presented, the 
 first time that I went to take up my midnight 
 watch, struck me much. It was in the height of 
 summer : the hot and restless day had passed into 
 a cool and quiet night. The cloudless sky, which 
 seems to descend so low, and the sun, which 
 beats with such relentless violence on the streets 
 and alleys of the city, had changed into the 
 distant sky of night, deep blue, streaked with 
 fleecy clouds, moonlit and set with stars. If 
 during the day a haze of smoke hangs over the 
 great metropolis, which destroys the clearness of 
 the atmosphere and dulls the lustre of the sky, 
 when night comes, and chimneys cease to pour 
 forth their murky contents, the moon and stars 
 often seem to shine forth ^with peculiar beauty. 
 It was against such a brilliant midnight sky that 
 the hospital stood forth, half visible in the clear 
 
256 Memoir of William Fair lie Cla7^ke. 
 
 moonlight, and half lost in deep shadow as I 
 approached it. There were a few lights in some 
 of the windows, but for the most part the whole 
 appeared to be in darkness. When I entered I 
 found the night porter sitting in his great arm- 
 chair behind a glass screen, reading the newspaper 
 and discussing his midnight meal of bread and 
 cheese. I passed on through the hall and up the 
 great central staircase till I reached the women's 
 surgical ward. Here it was that I was to keep 
 my six hours' watch. The student who had been 
 on duty since nine was looking for me anxiously. 
 In a few sentences he told me the state of the 
 patient, and then he hurried off that he might go 
 home to bed. 
 
 My first business was to make myself acquainted 
 with the condition of the woman who was placed 
 under my care, and to ascertain that everything 
 was at hand that might be wanted on an 
 emergency. Then I had a talk with the nurse, 
 first about the patient, and then about things in 
 general ; and we became so friendly that she 
 offered to make me a cup of tea, an offer that I 
 was by no means disposed to decline, for tea is a 
 capital thing in the chill hours of the night, when 
 one has a long watch before one. 
 
 Big Ben had just struck one o'clock. In the 
 stillness of night, and with half the windows in 
 the ward open, we distinctly heard his melodious 
 
A Night in Hospital. 257 
 
 tones as he chimed the four quarters and then 
 struck the hour. The last notes had hardly died 
 away when I heard a heavy step in the passage. 
 I recognised it as that of the porter. He passed 
 the ward I was in, and I knew he must have gone 
 to the house-surgeon's room. Some urgent case 
 no doubt had been brought to the hospital, and 
 the house-surgeon was required to attend to it 
 at once. After that there was a frequent sound 
 of footsteps passing and repassing the women's 
 surgical ward, and presently the house-surgeon 
 came in and told me the particulars, adding that 
 he did not feel competent to deal with the case, 
 and that, as there was evidently no time to be 
 
 lost, he had sent off at once for Mr. B -, 
 
 naming the principal surgeon. 
 
 Once more there was silence ; the sounds of 
 coming and going died away, and again my 
 attention was devoted to the woman by whose 
 side I sat. 
 
 At the end of about an hour the stir in the 
 house was renewed ; doors opening and shutting, 
 footsteps passing hither and thither, and voices 
 giving hurried orders. Ere long the house- 
 surgeon came to tell me that Mr. B had 
 
 arrived, and that he was going to operate at once. 
 I called the nurse quickly to me, gave her precise 
 orders as to how she was to watch and what she 
 was to do, telling her at the same time that if she 
 
258 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 had any cause for anxiety she would find me in 
 the men's surgical ward, which was only on the 
 other side of the central staircase. I then hastened 
 away to give what assistance I could, and to 
 profit as far as possible by the instruction which 
 the occasion afforded. The scene which I wit- 
 nessed was a striking one. The patient was 
 lying in the corner bed of a long ward, which 
 was full of sufferers, who had been suddenly 
 awakened out of sleep by the unusual disturbance. 
 
 Mr. B had just returned from a party when he 
 
 received the summons to the hospital, and had come 
 off at once in full evening costume. Around him 
 were gathered the house-surgeon and some few 
 students who lived in the immediate neighbour- 
 hood of the hospital, and who had been hastily 
 called, and now appeared in all sorts of deshabille. 
 As the lights in the ward were not sufficient, two 
 of the students leant over the bed, holding candles, 
 whilst a third brought the patient rapidly under 
 
 the influence of chloroform, and then Mr. B 
 
 in a few moments performed an operation which 
 extricated the sufferer from the danger he was in, 
 and put him in a fair way of recovery. In a few 
 minutes more everything had been done, and 
 
 Mr. B , promising to explain all at his lecture 
 
 on the morrow, wished us good-night ; and, after 
 giving a few additional directions to the house- 
 surgeon, he left the hospital He had not been 
 
A Night in Hospital, 259 
 
 in the house half an hour, and in that brief space 
 of time he had had the satisfaction of saving the 
 life of a fellow-creature. This is only what is 
 happening constantly in our large hospitals, and 
 it is such incidents as these which make the work 
 of a medical man so full of real human interest, 
 for he is habitually dealing with those questions 
 of health and sickness, of life and death, which 
 have for man a supreme value and importance. 
 As soon as the operation was over I returned to 
 my post. Everything had gone on well during my 
 brief absence, and nothing further occurred to 
 disturb my watch. It was now three o'clock : in 
 the stillness of the night, with open windows on 
 all sides of me, I could distinctly hear the various 
 clocks ring out the hour, and I could clearly see 
 that the dawn had commenced, and that the 
 coming day had already given some signs of his 
 approach. To the eastward the dome of St. 
 Paul's began to be visible, a graceful outline and 
 an imposing mass, which stood forth in grand 
 and solemn majesty against the brightening sky 
 beyond. To the west, and at a greater distance, 
 were the towers of the Houses of Parliament, dimly 
 seen in the grey light. To the south was the ' 
 long and lofty spire of a railway terminus. Not 
 far off were the spires of several churches which 
 are among the best specimens of Sir Christopher 
 Wren's handiwork, and nearer still were the high 
 
26o Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 roofs of a neighbouring theatre and opera-house. 
 These were the most conspicuous objects which 
 met my view as I leant at an open window near 
 the side of my patient's bed, and looked forth 
 from the upper storey of the hospital, watching 
 the first indication of dawn on a beautiful morn- 
 ing in June. But beneath the level of these more 
 prominent objects was the vast expanse of brick 
 chimneys and tiled roofs which characterize the 
 small old crowded houses that occupy the central 
 portions of the metropolis. Gradually, as the 
 light increased, I could see more clearly the 
 outlines of the larger buildings around me, and I 
 could discern a multitude of details which had 
 previously been hidden from sight. I could make 
 out the narrow streets and alleys and courts, 
 many of which were quite familiar to me, for I had 
 often had to visit the sick poor of the neighbour- 
 hood at their own houses. I could therefore 
 picture to myself something of the wretchedness 
 and misery and squalor of the human beings who 
 were crowded together under those dreary roofs. 
 Many a scene that I had witnessed of poverty 
 and distress rose up before my memory. In 
 one house I fancied I saw the working man out 
 of employment, and reduced to extreme want, 
 approaching to starvation, his room destitute of 
 all furniture save a heap of shavings, which served 
 as a bed for the whole family ; in another I 
 
A Night m Hospital, 261 
 
 pictured to myself a sick wife lying in a dark corner 
 of the room, while her husband and sons are busy 
 at work beside her, but have no time to give her a 
 cup of cold water, or to smooth her pillow ; in a 
 third a dead child lying in its coffin, while the 
 father and mother are going about their usual 
 employments, and brothers and sisters are playing 
 around. But over all these scenes of poverty and 
 woe night had for some hours drawn her veil, 
 and sleep, nature's soft music, had caused the 
 famished, the broken-hearted, and the bereaved 
 for a while to forget their troubles. Their respite, 
 however, was but of short duration. Already the 
 dawn was far advanced, already the sun was 
 giving tokens of his approach, and the gilded 
 pinnacles of cathedral and palace were touched 
 by his rising beams. How calm and majestic 
 is the scene — 
 
 ' As on some city's cheerless night 
 The tide of sunrise swells, 
 Till tower, and dome, and bridgeway proud 
 Are mantled with a golden cloud ; 
 And to wise hearts this certain hope is given, 
 No mist that man may raise shall hide 
 The eye of heaven.' 
 
 What a contrast there is between the crowded 
 haunts of sin and misery, and the pure, bright, 
 invigorating approach of day ! This seems to 
 come like a messenger from the land where all 
 
262 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 things are made new, calling us morning by 
 morning to gratitude, holiness, and patient, unob- 
 trusive exertion for * the evil and the good.' 
 
 All this time the poor woman over whom I had 
 been set to watch was sleeping quietly ; she was 
 naturally of a placid, easy-going temperament, and 
 the imminent danger in which she lay was un- 
 known to her. She was, of course, aware that 
 the operation she had undergone could not but be 
 attended by some risk, but of the critical nature 
 of the case, which led us to take unusual pre- 
 cautions, she was in happy ignorance. So she 
 slept on from hour to hour as calmly and peace- 
 fully as if she had been in her own cottage home 
 in Herefordshire ; for she was not a Londoner, 
 but, like many of those who find their way into 
 the metropolitan hospitals, she had come from a 
 distance in order to benefit by the skill and 
 experience which a great capital affords. 
 
 The hospital, like the streets and houses around 
 it, now gave some slight signs of life. The nurse 
 began to move about and make preparations for 
 her morning work, and the patients one by one 
 awoke. My night watch was drawing to a close. 
 The church clocks in the neighbourhood struck 
 six, and shortly afterwards the student who 
 was to take my place entered the ward, and I was 
 glad to make the best of my way to my lodgings, 
 to get such sleep as the broad daylight and the 
 
A Night in Hospital, 263 
 
 varied sounds of the already crowded thorough- 
 fare would allow. 
 
 The object of this short sketch has been to 
 show the constant and varied interest that there 
 is about the business of a hospital, — an interest 
 which is almost as vivid by night as it is by day. 
 
 But some may be inclined to say, ' True, but it 
 carries with it a great deal of hard and harassing 
 work, and it seems that neither the surgeons-in- 
 chief, nor the house-surgeons, nor the students, 
 can call their time their own. At any hour they 
 may be summoned to these "interesting cases," 
 and required to take upon themselves the re- 
 sponsibility of dealing with a crisis involving life 
 or death.' 
 
 And so, no doubt, it is. But no one has the 
 making of a doctor in him who has not some of 
 the ' enthusiasm of humanity,' who is not willing 
 to sacrifice in some degree his own personal com- 
 fort and ease for the benefit of his fellow- 
 creatures. 
 
 And is not this the case more or less in all pro- 
 fessions and in all departments of life 1 What 
 real work can be done in the world without self- 
 sacrifice, and without coming in contact with the 
 dark side of human nature? The clergyman is 
 constantly dealing with sin, the lawyer is con- 
 stantly dealing with crime, and the medical man 
 is constantly dealing with disease. The fact is 
 
264 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 that we are here placed in a world which is out of 
 joint, morally and physically, and our unceasing 
 efifort is to reduce the evil to the lowest possible 
 point, and to mitigate its consequences. To this 
 end all earnest endeavour is ultimately directed. 
 To this end we legislate ; to this end we make 
 war ; to this end we study ; to this end we work ; 
 and human exertion is noble just in proportion as 
 it tends to this result. When Christ would set us 
 the example of a noble life, sustained by divine 
 energy and guided by divine wisdom, it was as 
 a Preacher and a Healer that He came. It was to 
 the two most urgent necessities of our nature that 
 He addressed Himself ; for there is nothing that 
 men need so much as virtue and health. They 
 may be happy in the most opposite climates, 
 under the most different governments, surrounded 
 by the most varied social conditions, — but they 
 cannot long be happy without virtue and without 
 health. If, therefore, we may be permitted to 
 follow in some slight measure in the steps of our 
 divine Master, — if we may be allowed to minister 
 to some of the most pressing wants of our fellow 
 men ; if we can cause the lame to walk, the blind 
 to see ; if we can put strength in the place of 
 weakness, health in the place of sickness, and 
 reason in the place of insanity, — we may well be 
 contented to put up with work which is hard and 
 oftentimes harassing. 
 
CHRISTMAS DAY IN HOSPITAL. 
 
 Before this month has expired, we shall have 
 had another visit from old Father Christmas. 
 The season will have come round again which 
 speaks of peace on earth and good-will among 
 men. The short days, the long nights, the frost, 
 the snow, will have returned, and by the inclement 
 weather the thoughts of many will be carried to 
 the sufferings of the poor. John Bull is a kind- 
 hearted man after all. He likes to grumble, it is 
 true, and he always fancies that he is being 
 cheated and ruined ; but still, whenever a case of 
 distress arises, he is ready to put his hand into his 
 pocket, and he generally finds plenty of money 
 there. In a very short time we shall see the daily 
 newspapers opening their columns to appeals of 
 all sorts. There will be appeals from night 
 refuges, ragged schools, soup kitchens, and a score 
 of other charitable institutions ; and perchance 
 some one may be bold enough to ask for aid in 
 buying the plum-pudding for a Christmas dinner, 
 or the presents for a Christmas tree. In the 
 midst of these kind thoughts it is tolerably certain 
 
266 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 that the sick poor will not be forgotten. The 
 voluntary hospitals will put forward their claims. 
 They will remind us of the amount of sickness 
 which the winter always brings along with it, in a 
 climate such as ours. They will tell us of their 
 wards, which are full to overflowing ; and they 
 will point to their exhausted treasuries. With 
 such claims upon our sympathy, they will ask 
 how they are to meet their current expenses, to 
 say nothing of providing some extra good cheer 
 for the patients at Christmas-time ; and they will 
 not appeal in vain. John Bull will send a five- 
 pound note, and his wife and daughters will set to 
 work to prepare a parcel of warm clothing, in 
 order that the convalescents who are discharged 
 from the wards may be better enabled to with- 
 stand the severity of the weather. In parti- 
 cular will the kindly feeling of the Bull family be 
 drawn forth towards the poor sick children. It 
 seems doubly hard for them to have to spend 
 their Christmas Day in hospital, — for them who 
 are yet in the spring-time of their lives, and who 
 ought to be brightening some happy home with 
 their rosy faces and their ringing peals of laughter. 
 That they should be lying ill in bed when all 
 the world is keeping its ' merry Christmas,' is so 
 very sad. It appears but natural that the old 
 folks should be ill, for infirmity is incidental to 
 their time of life ; but that the young should be 
 
Christmas Day in Hospital. 267 
 
 obliged to lie in bed, perhaps even to keep one 
 constrained position, — this is so unnatural that 
 we cannot fail to be touched by it. So it happens 
 that, when our medical charities call upon the 
 public for special assistance at Christmas-time, 
 they always meet with a ready response. Many 
 of those who cannot minister personally to the 
 poor- sufferers, — who cannot do anything to 
 alleviate their pain or to shorten the weary days 
 and weeks that they must remain in the hospital, 
 — are glad to help the committee of management 
 to enliven the wards with decorations, to pro- 
 vide some better fare for the patients, or even 
 to 'plant' a Christmas tree. There are few 
 hospitals, I apprehend, at the present day which 
 do not make some effort to mark this festive 
 season, and to let the patients feel that though 
 they are sick and destitute, they are not beyond 
 the reach of that universal benevolence which all 
 Christendom delights to practise on the. birthday 
 of the Saviour. 
 
 Let it not be supposed that the approach of 
 Christmas is unheeded even within the walls of 
 the hospital itself For weeks before it arrives it 
 is a subject of thought and interest. The wards 
 must be decorated ; and if this is to be done with 
 due regard to good taste and picturesque effect, 
 no small amount of time must be devoted to it. 
 The lady who presides over the ward, or the 
 
268 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 head nurse, has to consider where she can get the 
 necessary materials, — the holly, the everlastings, 
 the scrolls with appropriate texts, the coloured 
 paper, and all the other things that may be 
 requisite. Perhaps she may have some friend in 
 the country who will send her a supply of ever- 
 greens, or perhaps some of the gentlemen who 
 take part in the direction of the institution may 
 order their gardeners to forward what is needed. 
 If no such source of supply is available, a sub- 
 scription may be set on foot, and the necessary 
 materials ordered from Covent Garden. But 
 when everything has been obtained only the first 
 step has been taken : it still remains to form 
 devices, to cut out patterns ; and it is a point of 
 laudable ambition with the nurses, that there 
 shall be something of originality about their 
 designs, that the arrangement of their decoration 
 shall not be borrowed from each other's wards, 
 and that it shall differ notably from the plan 
 which they themselves followed on previous 
 years. The lines of the windows, of the doors, 
 and even of the clock, must be differently treated 
 from what they have ever been before. The 
 walls must be differently festooned ; and to do all 
 this in a way that will reflect credit upon them 
 requires both forethought and ingenuity. 
 
 The forms which the decorations are to take 
 having been selected, preparations are begun in 
 
Christmas Day in Hospital. 269 
 
 right earnest. The texts and mottoes which are 
 to adorn the walls are chosen, the letters are cut 
 out in brilliant blue and red paper, and stitched 
 or pasted on calico. In this and future stages of 
 the work the patients can assist, and it generally 
 happens that both in the men's and women's 
 wards there are some who are well enough to 
 lend a hand, and whose previous occupations 
 enable them to afford efficient help. I recollect 
 on one occasion there were in one of the wards 
 two men, the one a bricklayer, the other a 
 painter, both of whom were entirely crippled 
 and bedridden, but who, nevertheless, gave most 
 valuable assistance by the ingenious devices they 
 made. When the legends are finished, a fancy 
 border of some kind must be put round them, 
 and this is frequently executed in some wonder- 
 ful combination of colours and forms, which 
 would astonish Owen Jones. Then a basketful of 
 roses, red, white, and yellow, has to be made 
 ready to intersperse with the evergreens when 
 the proper time arrives. Finally, chains of tissue 
 paper have to be prepared by looping a strip of 
 blue paper through a strip of white, and this 
 again through a strip of red, and so on. 
 
 All this, as I have said, is the subject of thought 
 and care for some weeks before Christmas comes. 
 During the short December days it supplies 
 plenty of work, and for the long December even- 
 
270 Memoir of Willia7n Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 ings it affords an endless topic of conversation. 
 The preliminaries are now well advanced, and 
 everything that can be done before the evergreens 
 arrive has been prepared. The evergreens them- 
 selves do not reach their destination till a day or 
 two before the 25 th. Then a cart, loaded like a 
 harvest waggon, drives up to the hospital door. 
 This is the signal for great excitement throughout 
 the house. ' The holly has come ! the holly has 
 come ! ' is echoed from ward to ward. In a brief 
 space the porters may be seen hurrying about, 
 their arms full of * greenery,' which is duly appor- 
 tioned to the different rooms. Then the business 
 of putting up the decorations begins. Every 
 available hand is pressed into the service, for there 
 is much to be done, and all must be completed by 
 Christmas Eve. Those who are well enough to 
 use their hands, but who are yet unable to leave 
 their beds, are set to make long ropes of ever- 
 greens with the tissue paper flowers interspersed ; 
 while those who can move about the room are 
 helping the nurses to put up the legends, or even 
 doing it for them. The presiding lady is busy 
 everywhere, encouraging the garland-makers, 
 advising and assisting the more active workers. 
 For all she has a bright smile and a cheery word. 
 She is in her element on an occasion like this, 
 when her own holy joy can find expression in 
 making others happy. A few hours of such 
 
Christmas Day in Hospital. 271 
 
 zealous labour produces a wonderful change in 
 the appearance of the wards. The rounded 
 arches of the windows are traced in evergreen 
 lines. Along the walls are hung festoons, ending 
 over each bed in a pretty device ; on the panels 
 and over the fireplace are texts and mottoes. The 
 clock and the gasaliers have each their share of 
 decoration, while here and there are placed 
 emblematic designs, which are such intricate 
 combinations of green leaves and everlastings 
 that I cannot undertake to describe them. By 
 eight o'clock on Christmas Eve the work has been 
 completed, and the wards carefully swept out ; 
 and when the house-surgeon makes his rounds 
 he finds the usual quiet and order everywhere 
 restored, though he cannot fail to be struck, as he 
 goes from room to room, by the variety and beauty 
 of the decorations. And so the long looked-for 
 day dawns, and even within the walls of the 
 hospital there are many who greet one another 
 with a ' merry Christmas.' And surely, if there 
 are some there in whose ears the word * merry ' 
 sounds like a mockery, some whose mirth has all 
 departed under the pressure of sickness and pain, 
 yet to all alike we may not inappropriately wish a 
 ' happy Christmas ' — happy in the best sense — 
 happy in possessing that heavenly peace of which 
 the angels sang. When ten o'clock arrives, all 
 who are able to do so betake themselves to the 
 
272 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 chapel, and there the chaplain — ^with Christ's own 
 congregation before him, ' the poor, the maimed, 
 the lame, the blind ' — in a few simple and forcible 
 sentences speaks to them of the day, points out 
 to them why they have been assembled for wor- 
 ship, explains why we decorate our churches and 
 houses, and tells them the true source and signi- 
 ficance of all this peace and good-will among men. 
 A At noon there is dinner, the old English Christ- 
 mas dinner of roast beef and plum-pudding, for 
 those who are well enough to eat it ; and for the 
 rest who are too ill to partake of such substantial 
 food, fowls, or perhaps even a turkey, have been 
 provided. Sometimes a member of the managing 
 committee may send a present of game or a little 
 light wine, to crown the feast ; and there is 
 generally some fruit by way of dessert. A great 
 deal of quiet fun there is over the meal ; many 
 good wishes are expressed, many healths are 
 drunk, — the health of the lady superintendent, of 
 the nurses, of the surgeons, of the chairman of the 
 committee, and so on. 
 
 Thus the Christmas dinner is ended, and, almost 
 before the plates and dishes have been cleared 
 away, visitors' hour arrives, — the hour at which 
 the patients' friends are allowed to come and see 
 them. Of course on a public holiday like this 
 the number of such visitors is unusually great. 
 They come streaming in, one or two at a time, 
 
Christmas Day in Hospital. 273 
 
 until, there is hardly a bed in the ward which has 
 not a little group gathered round it. Only two of 
 the patients appear to be altogether friendless. 
 One is an elderly man who has been sent up from 
 a distant part of the country, and who has literally 
 no acquaintance of any sort or kind in the metro- 
 polis. The other is a boy of about fourteen, who 
 is one of the waifs and strays of society ; whether 
 he has any relations anywhere is extremely doubt-- 
 ful ; at any rate, if he has, he has forsaken them, 
 and they have quite lost sight of him. Three 
 years ago he ran away from his home in North- 
 umberland, left his aged and widowed mother, 
 and got employment on board a collier. In this 
 vessel he came to London, and he might have con- 
 tinued to serve in her, but that would not have 
 suited him. He had no fancy for accompanying 
 her back to Tynemouth. He was ashamed to go 
 so near his old home and the mother he had 
 treated so badly, so he bound himself to the cap- 
 tain of a ship engaged in the coal trade between 
 London and Havre. And in that employment he 
 remained for more than two years. But a terrible 
 accident befell him. He was standing one day on 
 the docks, watching a crane which was lifting a 
 heavy weight out of the hold of a merchantman, 
 when suddenly the chain snapped, swung round, 
 and struck him a violent blow on the side of the 
 head. When he was brought to the hospital he 
 
 s 
 
2 74 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 was quite insensible, and very little hope was 
 entertained of his recovery. But it is astonishing 
 what the young will go through. Gradually his 
 consciousness returned, and he began to amend. 
 It seemed no longer impossible that he should re- 
 cover. That injury that he had sustained was of 
 the most formidable kind, affecting the brain 
 itself, and thus giving rise to many interesting 
 physiological questions. Could such an amount 
 of damage to the citadel of life be repaired? If 
 so, would reason still exercise her full sway ? 
 Would the patient still retain the full use of his 
 senses } Would his nervous system remain as 
 vigorous as before } In fact, the broken chain had 
 given us an opportunity of witnessing an im- 
 portant experiment in physiology. His case was 
 therefore watched with special interest, and he 
 received a large share of care and attention. As 
 his progress was very slow, and he remained 
 many weeks in the hospital, he became quite at 
 home, and when he was well enough he was con- 
 stantly employed in assisting the nurses, or in 
 doing little offices for the other patients. In fact, 
 ' Gyp,' for that was the name he went by, was 
 quite a pet. His bright face, his easy good- 
 nature, his perfect contentment, and his readiness 
 to help others, had made him a general favourite ; 
 so that, if he had no friends outside the hospital, 
 he had many within its walls. 
 
Chi'istmas Day in Hospital. 275 
 
 With the two exceptions that we liave men- 
 tioned, all the patients have relations or friends 
 who come and pay them a Christmas visit, and 
 many are the interesting and picturesque groups 
 which may be seen gathered around the beds. 
 There is the old man, with his children by his side, 
 and his grandchildren in his arms ; the young man, 
 with his brothers and sisters, or perhaps his shop- 
 mates around him ; the lad, with his parents 
 beside him, inquiring anxiously after his welfare. 
 And in almost every instance the visitors have 
 brought the invalids some little present, — gene- 
 rally in the form of tea or sugar, or something of 
 that kind, which the rules allow them to give, 
 and which they hope will add variety to the 
 hospital diet, and perhaps tempt the sick man's 
 appetite. 
 
 In this way the visiting time is soon spent, 
 the moment of departure arrives ; a bell sounds 
 loudly in the central hall, the farewells are said, 
 and the visitors hurry away. I daresay the 
 nurses are not sorry to see them take their leave, 
 for much remains to be done, and the day is wear- 
 ing on apace. The great event of the evening, 
 the Christmas tree, is to come off in this ward, 
 and until the visitors are gone it is impossible to 
 make the final arrangements. But now all is life 
 and stir. A great box, something like that in 
 which orange trees are planted, is brought in by 
 
276 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 the porters ; then they speedily return, bearing a 
 handsome young fir-tree, nine or ten feet high. 
 There is some difficulty in getting it in at the 
 door, and no small labour is required to fix it up- 
 right and firm in its great wooden tub. All this 
 consumes much time, and the tree has scarcely 
 been 'planted' before the patients' tea-hour has 
 arrived. But it is only a scrambling kind of tea 
 that they get to-night. The nurses are too busy 
 to attend to them in detail. They must for once 
 shift for themselves, and help one another. The 
 superintending ladies, the nurses, the resident 
 medical officers, and a few of the students, are all 
 occupied in preparing and decorating the tree, 
 and hanging the bright-coloured fruit upon its 
 branches. This fruit consists of a multitude of 
 small articles, which the kind ladies of the hospital 
 and their friends have been preparing for weeks 
 past, and each present has been selected with 
 special reference to the person for whom it is in- 
 tended. There are comforters, muffatees, neck- 
 ties, braces, socks, and so forth, for the men ; there 
 are small shawls, knitted vests, handkerchiefs, 
 scissors, thimbles, etc., for the women ; there are 
 hymn-books, pictures, toys, 'pure sweets,' and 
 many other trifles, for the children. Very soon, 
 thanks to the activity of a dozen pair of feet and 
 hands, the tree is in full fruitage, and it is difficult 
 to understand how the candles can have room to 
 
Christmas Day in Hospital. 277 
 
 burn without setting fire to the branches or to the 
 presents. 
 
 The helpers are busy trying to make space for 
 all the pretty things, when nurses come dropping 
 in from different departments to say that, as it is 
 nearly seven o'clock, they are anxious to know 
 whether the tree is ready, and how soon they may 
 bring their detachments, of patients ; others, with- 
 out making any such preliminary inquiry, come 
 at the appointed time, perhaps carrying some 
 invalid child wrapped up in blankets, or perhaps 
 leading a couple of little ones, and followed by 
 two or three of the convalescents from their wards. 
 Then a place must be found for the poor sick 
 children. They must be safely deposited in some 
 vacant bed, where they can see everything, and 
 wonder and enjoy, without being exposed to any 
 draught or other danger. 
 
 The beds are now a little out of their places, 
 and ranged so that the greatest number of invalids 
 may have a view of the magnificent tree. All 
 the patients who are well enough to sit up have 
 been provided with chairs or benches. Many 
 have come from other parts of the house, women 
 walking with feeble steps, men supporting them- 
 selves upon crutches. In this way a goodly 
 number are gathered together, and the men's 
 surgical ward is rapidly filled. But these are not 
 the only spectators. Some former patients who 
 
278 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 had been a long time in the hospital, so as to 
 become thoroughly known, and who had been 
 lately discharged, have been invited to join the 
 party. Then there are a number of the medical 
 students, nurses, and hospital servants, as well as 
 many of the friends and supporters of the institu- 
 tion. In some instances ladies have come on 
 purpose to take the place of the nurses for an 
 hour or two, so as to set them free to leave their 
 wards and enjoy the treat. From all these 
 sources a company of nearly two hundred persons 
 is assembled, and a very lively and animated scene 
 the ward presents. 
 
 At first there is a great deal of talk about the 
 tree itself, its beauty, the number and variety of 
 the things upon it, and so forth, mingled with 
 many expressions of admiration and much pleasant 
 laughter. As for the children, they sit and gaze 
 open-mouthed at the brilliant spectacle. 
 
 But the candles are fast burning away. It is 
 clear that some steps must be taken for the 
 distribution of the pretty presents. What is to 
 be done ? The house-surgeon — the man of action, 
 who is always called upon to take the lead 
 within the hospital — is requested to act as distri- 
 butor. Accordingly, being a humorous fellow, 
 he mounts upon a chair and holds a sort of mock 
 auction ; and a great deal of fun and pleasantry 
 there is before the various gifts are all assigned 
 
Christmas Day in Hospital. 279 
 
 to those for whom they were intended. Our friend 
 Gyp is kept in constant employment, fetching 
 and carrying. His name is often heard above the 
 general hum of conversation, and his bright face 
 is seen everywhere. Now he is taking a pair of 
 warm gloves to an old man, now he is delivering 
 a simple worked collar to a girl, now he is giving a 
 fancy box of sweetmeats to a little child. The looks 
 of surprise and pleasure with which the presents are 
 received, the unfeigned delight they afford, must 
 go far to repay those who have kindly provided 
 them, and who have taken all the trouble of 
 arranging this evening's amusement. Meanwhile 
 the children are beginning to show signs of 
 weariness. It is already long after their usual 
 bed-time, and the little eyes that have looked so 
 long and so stedfastly at the gay illumination 
 are beginning to close. 
 
 Some of the visitors, too, are preparing to take 
 their leave, so that it is clear that this happy 
 evening cannot be much prolonged. 
 
 But the entertainment which has been arranged 
 is not yet concluded. It has been proposed that 
 there should be a few carols and hymns by way 
 of a finale. The resident ladies, the nurses, and 
 a few of the medical students, who have formed 
 themselves into a sort of choir, have been practis- 
 ing a selection of suitable pieces for some weeks 
 past, and now the time has come for their per- 
 
28o Me^noir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 formance. Silently and unobserved, they have 
 been drawing together at one end of the room ; 
 and now — the mock auction being over and the 
 presents all distributed — they commence their 
 softest and most tender air. In a moment all 
 other sounds are hushed. Music has special 
 charms for invalids, the chorus of voices is well 
 arranged, they are accustomed to sing together, 
 their notes blend most harmoniously, their 
 execution is excellent, and the parts are taken 
 up with promptness and precision. Altogether 
 the effect is admirable, and a round of well-earned 
 applause greets the conclusion of the first carol. 
 Thus encouraged, they proceed to a second and 
 a third, both the subject and the strain assuming 
 a more confident and jubilant tone as they 
 advance, and, last of all, an evening hymn brings 
 the little concert to an end. After this the party 
 very rapidly disperses. The visitors say good- 
 night. The nurses from the other wards collect 
 their patients, wrap up the children, and carry 
 them off in their arms. The few remaining 
 ornaments of the tree are hastily collected and 
 put away, the tapers are extinguished, the beds 
 are pushed back to their proper places, the 
 patients prepare themselves for sleep, and there 
 is little left beyond the bare fir-tree, standing in 
 the middle of the room, to indicate that anything 
 unusual has been going on. 
 
Christmas Day in Hospital. 281 
 
 Thus Christmas Day closes. But the gladness 
 and mirth that it has caused in the hospital will 
 long be remembered. Peace and good-will have 
 indeed accompanied it. It has brought together 
 in the happiest way the rich and the poor, the 
 strong and the weak, the healthy and the sick. 
 Some young eyes, too early accustomed to sights 
 of misery, have been gladdened by a vision of 
 Fairyland. Some hearts, embittered by the 
 struggle of life, have been soothed and softened. 
 Some sad and sorrowful spirits have been cheered 
 by the kindness they have received. And many 
 have had their hopes raised and their faith con- 
 firmed by the religious services of the morning, 
 and by the bright and happy celebration of the 
 great Christmas festival. 
 
POEMS 
 
 WRITTEN BY DR. W. FAIRLIE CLARKE. 
 
 283 
 
I. 
 
 ' The Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, 
 Fearnot, I will help thee.' — IsA. xli. 13. 
 
 Through the duties of the day, 
 
 'Mid the dangers that beset me, 
 Uphold my goings in Thy way ; 
 
 Jesus, do not Thou forget me ! 
 When my mind is full of care 
 
 And anxious feelings, that demand 
 Earnest thought and frequent prayer, 
 
 Jesus, hold me by Thy hand ! 
 
 And when I lay my work aside, 
 
 And seek awhile some change of scene ; 
 And when I climb the mountain side, 
 
 Or wander by the wooded stream ; 
 Or when I sail the summer sea, 
 
 Or loiter by the rocky strand, — 
 Let me know that Thou art with me : 
 
 Jesus, hold me by the hand ! 
 
 Jesus, when I'm called to part 
 Here from those I love so dearly, 
 
 When fondest heart is torn from heart. 
 Draw me to Thyself more nearly. 
 
 284 
 
Poems. 285 
 
 Send Thy sweet Spirit from above, 
 
 And give me grace to understand 
 The counsels of Thy chastening love : 
 
 Jesus, hold me by Thy hand ! 
 
 Jesus, when Thou would'st have me bear 
 
 The cross of suffering or pain. 
 Thy cup to taste, Thy grief to share. 
 
 Let me not murmur or complain. 
 But only give me faith to see 
 
 That trials come by Thy command ; 
 Only let me have Thee near me : 
 
 Jesus, hold me by the hand ! 
 
 Jesus, when my strength is failing, 
 
 When flickering life is on the wane, 
 When human arts are unavailing, 
 
 And all the help of man is vain ; 
 Then in that hour of agony, 
 
 O Holy Saviour, near me stand ; 
 Let me know that Thou art with me : 
 
 Jesus, hold me by the hand ! 
 
 i860. 
 
 II. 
 JUDGE NOT. (Matt. vii. 1-5.) 
 ' Let thy garments be always white.' — Eccles. ix. 8. 
 
 Judge not another's conduct, 
 
 However strange it be ; 
 The secret strivings of his heart 
 
 Are little known to thee. 
 
286 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 Judge not a doubting brother, 
 
 Judge not, but let him see 
 The value of a living faith, 
 
 And the power of grace in thee ! 
 
 Judge not an erring sister, 
 
 For thy wit cannot tell 
 The temptations and the hardships 
 
 That lure her and impel. 
 
 Look not upon thy neighbour, 
 
 But turn thine eye within ; 
 Take a true and humbling measure 
 
 Of the countless forms of sin. 
 
 And judge thyself severely ; 
 
 Bid thine own heart declare 
 The indolence, the selfishness, 
 
 The pride that's lurking there. 
 
 Be thine own life pure and holy. 
 Thine own faith bright and clear, 
 
 So that no stain of wilful sin 
 On thy robe of white appear. 
 
 Be thine own heart ever open, 
 
 And a warm love within ; 
 Have a welcome for the sinner, 
 
 But no fellowship with sin. 
 
 Pray for the weak and tempted. 
 
 And pray for those that fall ; 
 Pray for the doubting and faithless, 
 
 And pray for thyself withal. 
 
Poems. 287 
 
 III. 
 
 MAY I LOVE THEE ? 
 
 May I love Thee, Holy Saviour, 
 Though I have done Thee wrong, 
 
 And Thou hast waited, waiting, watching, 
 Patiently and long ? 
 
 May I love Thee, Holy Saviour, 
 Though I have grieved Thee sore, 
 
 Departing from Thy guiding hand. 
 And wandering more and more ? 
 
 May I love Thee, Holy Saviour, 
 May I love Thee, though my heart 
 
 Is defiled with all uncleanness, 
 That penetrates its inmost part ? 
 
 Yes, I know that I may love Thee, 
 
 Yes, I know Thou wilt allow 
 The offering of a contrite heart 
 
 I bring before Thee now. 
 
 Yes, I know that I may love Thee, 
 
 Yes, I know Thou wilt forgive 
 The erring steps, the frequent fall, 
 
 And bid me rise and live ! 
 
 Only teach me how to love Thee 
 
 With a purer, holier flame ; 
 Loving on through joy and sorrow, 
 
 Through cloud and sunshine still the sam^ 
 
288 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 Only show me of Thy beauty, 
 
 Only give me eyes to see, 
 Only let me cease from self, 
 
 Be absorbed, lost in Thee. 
 
 IV. 
 LITTLE LILY! 
 
 Lily, Lily ! little Lily ! 
 
 Pattering on the nursery floor ! 
 Lily, Lily ! little Lily ! 
 
 Tapping at the study door. 
 
 Lily, Lily ! let me kiss you, 
 Let me press you to my heart. 
 
 Lily, darhng, how I'd miss you 
 If— but no, I could not part ! 
 
 Lily, Lily ! little Lily ! 
 
 Lying uncomplaining there ; 
 Lily, Lily! little Lily! 
 
 Is it very hard to bear.^ 
 
 Tossing on a painful bed, 
 
 Catching for a shallow breath, 
 
 Drops of sweat upon her forehead, 
 O my God, can this be Death ! 
 
Poems. 289 
 
 Lily, Lily ! little Lily ! 
 
 Beautifully bright and fair ; 
 Lily, Lily ! little Lily ! 
 
 Are you very happy there ? 
 
 Clapping hands, and weaving flowers, 
 Tripping o'er the meadows gay, 
 
 Singing through the endless hours. 
 With your little friends at play ? 
 
 Yes, I know my thoughts are earthly, 
 But your ways I cannot tell ; 
 
 So I think of you as happy. 
 By the signs I loved so well. 
 
 1870. 
 
 V. 
 THE OUT-PATIENT. 
 
 Welcome her kindly and tenderly, 
 
 Speak to her softly and low ; 
 Though her eye looks bright and her spirit seems light, 
 
 Her heart may be breaking below. 
 
 Perhaps she is weary, perhaps she is faint, 
 
 Or thinly and scantily clad ; 
 Perhaps it is fear of what may be near 
 
 Makes her so mournful and sad. 
 T 
 
290 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 Or perhaps some trial that's sorer still 
 
 Is pressing upon her heart,— 
 Some loved one may lie, sick and ready to die, 
 
 And that makes the tear-drops start. 
 
 Then bear with her tale of trouble, 
 
 Though her speech is broken and slow ; 
 
 Let her sob, let her weep, her grief is so deep 
 That her tears they must overflow. 
 
 Give heed to all that she has to say 
 
 With patient thought and care : 
 She knows not what to do ! she depends upon you 
 
 As she stands in her loneliness there. 
 
 She has had to leave her wonted work, 
 
 She is so anxious and ill ; 
 Trembling and weak, she comes to seek 
 
 The help of your knowledge and skill. 
 
 Then deal with her gently and lovingly, 
 
 Counsel her wisely and well ; 
 The good that you do may be known to few, 
 
 But the comfort to her — who can tell ? 
 
 And grudge not time, or toil, or thought ; 
 
 The reward you shall surely see : 
 For what you have done to the suffering one, 
 
 ' You have done it,' He saith, ' unto Me ! ' 
 
 1869. 
 
Poems. 291 
 
 VI. 
 THE VOICE OF THE SEASONS. 
 
 Speak to me, O ye seasons, speak, 
 
 As ye flit in beauty by ; 
 Let your changing forms, through sunshine and storms. 
 
 Bring messages from on high. 
 
 What do ye say, fresh leaves of Spring, 
 With your tints of various green ? — 
 
 Be active and bright, and with all your might 
 Let your living faith be seen. 
 
 What do ye say, fair Summer flowers, 
 
 As dewdrops tenderly fall ? — 
 Look ever above, and with breadth of love 
 
 Be gentle and sweet to all. 
 
 What do ye say, rich Autumn fruits. 
 When droopeth the laden bough ?-^ 
 
 Redeeming the day, work hard while you may 
 For the reaping-time is now. 
 
 What do ye say, bare leafless trees. 
 
 As ye meet the wintry blast ? — 
 Let the winds roar and rave, be patient and brave, 
 
 The sun will break forth at last, 
 
 1878. 
 
292 Meinoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 VII. 
 A NEW YEAR'S GREETING. 
 
 'Tis gone, and now another year 
 
 Has opened on our sight ; 
 'Tis gone, with all its hopes and fears, 
 
 Its dark days and its bright ; 
 And now a new and untried year 
 
 Dawns with the morning light. 
 
 New and untried ! And yet methinks 
 
 There is no cause to fear ; 
 He who has led us hitherto 
 
 Will still be always near ; 
 The Shepherd's guiding, cheering voice, 
 
 Will still be in our ear. 
 
 Only let faith and active love 
 Be yours, my friend, and mine ; 
 
 So clearer light upon our path 
 From day to day will shine ; 
 
 So blessings from our Father- God 
 Shall hallow ' Seventy-nine.' 
 
 January I, 1879. 
 
 VIII. 
 MY WISH FOR MY BOYS. 
 
 My little boys, my little boys, 
 May happy days be yours, 
 
 While playing on the golden sands 
 That fringe our southern shores. 
 
Poems. 293 
 
 With sparkling eyes and active steps 
 
 Methinks I see you run, 
 With wooden spade and tiny pail, 
 
 All eager for the fun. 
 And as you dig the mimic trench, 
 
 Or rear the mimic tower, 
 May freshening breezes of the sea 
 
 Bring health, and strength, and power. 
 And when you lay aside your sport, 
 
 And homeward take your way, 
 To where the gardens of the Steyne 
 
 Their grateful shade display. 
 Bring with you from the pleasant shore 
 
 These lessons, trite but true, — 
 You will have need of them, my boys, 
 
 To calm and strengthen you. 
 You see the rocks, the solid rocks, 
 
 So massive, grand, and still ; 
 Like sentinels they stand, resolved 
 
 Their duty to fulfil. 
 While at their base the eager waves 
 
 In constant motion play ; 
 They swell and surge, then onward rush. 
 
 And break in showers of spray. 
 Yet, diverse as these are, they each 
 
 Obey their Lord's command : 
 The restless waves, the solid rocks, 
 
 By His design were planned. 
 And we too have a task assigned, 
 
 A task life-long and great. 
 And sometimes we must run the race. 
 
 And sometimes stand and wait. 
 O happy souls, who, taught of God, 
 
 Can ponder, watch, and pray, 
 
294 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke, 
 
 And thus can ever read aright 
 
 The duty of the day. 
 May wisdom such as this, my boys, 
 
 From heaven be poured on you, — 
 That each may see his path, and tread 
 
 With footsteps firm and true. 
 With high resolve and constant toil, 
 
 Each doing what he can. 
 By grace J)ivine may each grow up 
 
 A noble Christian man. 
 
 June 1879. 
 
 IX. 
 A SONG FOR MY BOYS. 
 
 Come, my boys, and have a walk. 
 And we'll beguile the road with talk 
 
 About the places and things that we see — 
 That's the way for my boys and me ! 
 
 Where the Rusthall rocks are steepest. 
 Where the Medway pools are deepest. 
 
 Where Penshurst Place o'erlooks the lea — 
 That's the way for Charlie and me ! 
 
 Where Speldhurst tower crowns the hill, 
 By Bedborough Church, and past the mill, 
 
 Where primroses grow 'neath the ilex tree — 
 That's the way for Ally and me ! 
 
Poems. 295 
 
 Over the common, and down the dell, 
 To where the rock o'erhangs the well, 
 
 To feed the geese that are roaming free — 
 That's the way for Willie and me ! 
 
 Over the stile, and down the glade, 
 
 Where hyacinths bloom in the hazel shade, 
 
 As birds are singing their blithest song, 
 Hand in hand we'll march along, 
 
 With his toddling footsteps, one, two, three — 
 That's the way for Baby and me ! 
 
 Southborough, 1 879. 
 
 X. 
 
 A NEW YEAR'S GREETING. 
 
 As year is following year, my friend, 
 
 And mingling with the past. 
 We'll plight our love anew to-day. 
 
 And bind our friendship fast ; 
 Then, side by side, press on to win 
 
 The victor's crown at last. 
 
 As comrades fall on either hand. 
 
 And fiercer grows the fight, 
 We'll close the ranks, and pass the word. 
 
 And keep the watch-fires bright ; 
 Each brother cheering brother on 
 
 To gain the heavenly height. 
 
296 Memoir of William Fair lie Clarke. 
 
 Then will you pray for us, my friend, 
 
 As we will pray for you, 
 That come what may, with humble faith, 
 
 We may be brave and true ; 
 Still ever striving to redeem 
 
 The new year, eighty-two ! 
 
 January I, 1 882. 
 
 XI. 
 CHRISTMAS GREETING. 
 
 SENT WITH A HEARTSEASE DRAWN BY HIMSELF. 
 
 A HAPPY Christmas ! May this Heartsease be 
 
 Fit emblem of the peace it brings to thee ! 
 May purest joys and highest hopes attend 
 
 Your home, your plans, your work, my own dear friend ! 
 May holy thoughts surround the closing year, 
 
 A sunset calm and bright, serenely clear ; 
 Then may the dawning light of eighty-three 
 
 Shed heaven's own sunshine over thine and thee. 
 
 December 25, 1882. 
 
 XII. 
 THE LAST NEW YEAR'S GREETING. 
 
 Another year is ending : once more, my friend, we 
 
 stand. 
 And gaze with wondering outlook from this the border 
 
 land. — 
 
Poems. 297 
 
 We glance behind : with thankful hearts we trace the 
 lengthening track 
 
 Of mingled shade and sunshine through the years that 
 stretch far back ; 
 
 Then, turning to the Shepherd who goeth on before, 
 
 With humble faith and stedfast hope we enter eighty- 
 four. 
 
 It may be that the pathway will lie through pastures 
 green, 
 
 Where sparkling rills and brilliant flowers reflect the 
 summer sheen ; 
 
 It may be that our weary feet, through shadows damp and 
 chill, 
 
 Shall tread a rough and thorny path along some moor- 
 land hill : 
 
 But, looking to the Shepherd who goeth on before, 
 
 With humble faith and stedfast hope we enter eighty- 
 four. 
 
 But come what may, with heartsome words we'll cheer each 
 
 other on, 
 And, looking upward, onward press till the sunny heights 
 
 are won \ 
 W^hen, mists and darkness ended, we pass into the light, 
 Where hope is changed to certainty, and faith is lost in 
 
 sight : 
 Then, following the Shepherd who goeth on before, 
 With humble faith and stedfast hope we enter eighty- 
 four. 
 
 London: William Hunt & Co., 12 Paternoster Row, 
 
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