ePub 版

of, and a splendid chick with marked jaundice, "the youngest of a family of thirteen. Six were addled, one blew up at the age of seven months, destroying the sight of the butler. Five passed away as Albumen-water. One is said to have been scrambled, and a wonderful Father Xmas made out of plaster of Paris by a In fact the show was a huge success, and everyone agreed that it should become an annual affair, and so say all of us! The following rules will hold good next year:


1. Proposed by a bachelor member of the Staff-"That the wives of all married members of the Staff be asked to make a toy for the competition."

2. Proposed by a married member of the Staff-"That all bachelor members of the Staff should themselves make a toy for the competition.'


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College House Notes.

The Conversazione was as delightful as ever, and College House men had the usual opportunities of talking to each other. The proceedings began punctually at 8.30, and were over well before 8 o'clock the next morning.

The new appointments are "out," and to all the incomers we offer our congratulations and every good wish for their term of office.

In a few weeks the inevitable exodus must come, and at so sad a moment it is some comfort to think that Dr. Wright, the popular Ophthalmologist, humourist and gazeka manufacturer, has found a new sphere of action for his many and varied talents.



The premature departure of Lieut. Thompson cast quite a gloom over College House. We all wish him every possible success in the career that he has chosen,

A. H. P.

A. H. S.

J. C. O.

J. O. H. P.
J. O. H. S.


M. A. Cassidy, M.A., M.B., B.C. Cantab, M.R.C.S.,

H. S. Sington, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.

R. J. H. Cox, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.

F. S. Hewett, B.A. Cantab, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.

A. B. Howitt. B.A., M.B., B.C. Cantab, M.R.C.S.,

W. G. Howarth, M.A., M.B., B.C. Cantab, M.R.C.S.,

F. R. E. Wright, M.B., B.S. London, M.R.C.S.,
L.R.C.P., D.P.H.

S. R. Gibbs, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.

H. E. Gotelee, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.
Clinical Assistants.

Throat Department.

S. G. Macdonald, B.A. Cantab, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.
E. C. Jones, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.

H. B. Whitehouse, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.

Skin Department.

W. O. Sankey, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.

N. R. Cunningham, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P., B.A. Cantab. Surgical Department for Children.

C. M. Page, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.

S. G. Macdonald, B.A. Cantab, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.

X-Ray Department.

G. Finch, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P..

N. R. Cunningham, B.A. Cantab, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.

Ear Department.

A. L. Lougborough, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.

Pierrot Songs.

IS IT?-A Duet.

By the courtesy of the talented authors we are enabled to publish an authorised edition of songs as sung by the Pierrots.

A. There's a story, I'm told, which has spread far and near.

B. Has it? A. Has it? of course it has.

A. Of the practical joke of a surgeon who's here. He'd announced that he'd lecture the notice read clear,

"An undescribed fracture" we all went to hear, It's still undescribed he forgot to appear.

A. Oh, has it?

B. Is he? etc.

B. Did he? etc.

B. There s a surgeon, I'm told, who's a very bright star.

Uses Petrol and Iodide in his new car.

A. I saw him to-day with a furious frown,

By the side of the road twenty miles from a town,

Despite prophylaxis the car'd broken down.
A. I'll say just a word on our dear Registrar.
Perhaps you don't know he's financed us so far.
You may see him about in the whitest of coats,
Much time to our writings he daily devotes,
But I'd love him much more if he'd not turn
my notes.

B. Now its time we'd a verse on the new R. A. S.
It is bound to be one in his praise I confess.
He's as smart as he's long; of that there's no

And he works very hard, so don't spread it

But that is the reason his hair's falling out.


Is he? etc.

A. Does he? etc.

In this land of promise fair,

A bacillus none too rare,

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Still here's to the Hospital,

Pass round the bottle,

All macules and papules forget.
For we're hoping that we
For the little one's tea,
Another occasion may get.

B. Does he? etc.

A. Is it? etc.

Is it? etc.

There's a land of promise fair,

Of space and beauty rare,

And Thomas's it name, of course you know.

Its situation too,

A. Is it? etc.

I think is known to you,

For its fame has spread where'er man tends to go.

So here's to the Hospital,

Pass round the bottle,

And drink it a bumper in state.
For there's not a disease,
On the land or the seas,
St. Thomas's can't extirpate.

Has recently postponed a children's tea.

And the spots and pimples dread,

Have attacked each little bed,

And have robbed the little inmates of their spree.

In this land of promise fair,

Up against the central stair,

The exponent of the knee jerk may be found.

And his wily stethoscope,

Can with rales and rhonchi cope,

As each morning in the wards he does his round.

So here's to the Hospital,

Pass round the bottle,

And drink to Babinski's adept.

For there's not a disease,

Or a cough, or a sneeze,

Which can from his knowledge be kept.

How Wild Beasts Die.




T is a dark night in the Gir Forest. Silence, deep unbroken silence, reigns around the village Rest house. No sound is heard in our living-room save the soft pit-pit-tack of tarantulas dropping from the openwork ceiling on to the earthen floor, the sonorous breathing of the stray cobra in the corner-its restless eye making fiery circles in the gloom, the shrill ping of the blood-mosquito scenting food, the dissatisfied moans of the he-tiger without as he turns over the meatless body of our faithful Puggaree or native servant, and the occasional note of a vox humana calling to its mate. All is still.

The neighbouring jungle is spattered for miles with the slumbering forms of tethered goats-bait to lure the dusky feline from his langourous lair. Midnight approaches and passes on. All is stiller.

Suddenly, with a rapidity unheard of in colder climes, a noisewithout and far away-strikes the pricked ears of the expectant hunters; the sound of a coldblooded horse galloping along the dusty road, its hoofmarks echoing loudly on the tepid soil. Nearer and yet nearer they come-pass by, and die away in the distance; sound nearer again, only to fade away once more. An inexperienced rider on a

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