CHARACTERISTIC SKETCH.

Dunstan Times, Issue 638, 10 July 1874, Page 3

CHARACTERISTIC SKETCH.

The following remarks, written l«ya correspondent to tho West Coast Times after a visit to tlie Hokitika Hospital will, without doubt, prove of interest to many of our readers. Having described the Hospital, the writer goes on to say he was in trudueed to a patient known as “ Crutch,” ami continues:— “By this time we had readied the long ward of the Institution, and relieving old 1 Crutch’ of his wooden supports, he safely seated himself in front of out of the laage tires, and proceeded with his West Coast Hospital experience. ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘the miners do not half support this establishment, which is mainly upheld fur their bene tit. There arc hundreds of miners who never give a shilling towards a hospital. I was one of that kind up to last winter, when old M nice, of the Grey, regularly nut me through. I remember the day well. I was brought into the Hospital there on a stretcher, with a severe touch of rheumatic fever. 1 had nut been long in when the doctor came to me. You know ?.Iprice, I daresay ! Ho is an active old young man ; bald as a badger, uncouth as a bear, and yet as kind and jgentle as a lamb. I did not know him then, but I do now, and think he is one of the finest fellows cut. After acquainting him that I had known the medical attendant he described, 1 left the story in Crutch's hands to proceed with his reminiscences, which were of a recent date. ‘Talk of hospitals,’ho then continued, ‘if ever the moral was taught me that I si cu d contribute less to the support of tuu New Zealand Distillery, and a trifle more to the Hospital, it was then. After examining my tongue and feeling my

pulse, Morice had the kind curiosity to inquire if I was leaving a widow or manyorphan children, My reply being in the negative, ho next recommended that my life insurance policy might bo transferred to the Grey llivor Hospital- Acquainting him that I had neglected that stop, and consequently had no policy, lie again placed his forefingers over my wrist, extracting his time-keeper --I think from Ids breeches pocket—with the view of distinguishing the exact rate of pulsation. “Am I very bad, doctor ?” 1 inquired, as by this time 1 confess I was getting somewhat uneasy. “Bad.” said the doctor, “You’re as rotten as a carrot. You might as well leave a donation to the Hospital when you are making your will.” With this the doctor left, and I was left reflecting on my fate, but only for the space of ton minutes, when the doctor returned, after having administered in the meantime to some of my fellow-sufferers. “ Well," said he, “have you made your will ?” ‘I have, doctor,’ 1 replied ; ‘ 1 have only a five-pound note in the world, and the Institution might as well have that. 1 sewed it up in the lining of my vest, now lying on that chair. Its the last of many an one I have spent foolishly enough. Give it to the Hospital when I’m dead and gone. When I spoke those words, continued Crutch, 1 meant it, and I thought he meant it ; but he soon told me not to he a blubbering fool, and he’d have me out of there in a fortnight; and he had mo out within that time. As 1 was going down the steps, after receiving my discharge, who should 1 meet but Morice, the last time I saw him, and his last inquiry of mo was : “ Did you leave the vest in the Hospital ?” Being the last note L had, I did not then subscribe ; but I have since, as the subscription lists will show. And here I am again, with a broksn log ; but I’ll never forget Morice. ’ ”