A CHARACTER SKETCH.

Globe, Volume II, Issue 123, 22 October 1874, Page 3

A CHARACTER SKETCH.

A writer in the West Coast, Times, while giving a description of the Hokitika Hospital, gives an amusing character sketch of one of the local medical men, which, from its truthfulness, deserves to be reproduced. We are introduced to a patient named “ Crutch,” and the writer continues : —“ By this time we had reached the long ward of the institution, and, relieving old Crutch of

his wooden supports, he safely seated himself in front of the large fires, 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 for their benefit. 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 Moricc of the Grey regularly put me through. I remember the day well. I was brought into the hospital there on a stretcher, with a severe touch of rheumatic fever. I had not been long in when the doctor came to me. You know Morice, I daresay ? He is an active old young man. Bald as a badger, uncouth as a bear, and yet as kind and gentle as a lamb. I did not know him then, but I do now, and think he is one of the finest fellows out.’ After acquainting him that I had known the medical attendant he described for many years, I left the story in Crutch’s hands to proceed with his reminiscences, which were of a recent date. ‘Talk of hospitals,’ he then continued—‘ if ever the moral was taught me that I should contribute less to the support of the 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 many orphan children. My reply being in the

negative, he next recommended that my life insurance policy might ho transferred to the Grey River Hospital. Acquainting him that I had neglected that step and consequently held no policy, he again placed his forefinger over my wrist, extracting his time-keeper, I think from his breeches pocket, with the view of distinguishing the exact rate of pulsation. ‘Am 1 very bad, doctor,’ I inquired, as by this time I 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 reflecting on my fate only for the space of ten 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 may as well have that. I sewed it up in the lining of my vest, now lying on that chair. It’s the last of many a one I have spent foolishly enough. Give it to the hospital when I’m dead and gone.’ ‘When I spoke these words,’ continued Crutch, ‘I meant it, and I thought he meant it, but he soon told me not to be a blubbering fool, and he’d have me out of that in a fortnight; and he had me out within that time. As I was going down the steps after receiving my discharge, whom should I meet but Morice, the last time I saw him, and his last inquiry of me was—“ Did you leave the vest in the hospital Being the last note I had, I did not then subscribe, but I have since, as the subscription list will show, and here I am again with a broken leg; but I’ll never forget Morice.’ ”