‘You’re very kind, but I think I shall stop here.’ ‘No you won’t,’ said the man. He had watched the woman, and he had come to the conclusion that something was up. He had seen how she gazed at the lad on the box; how her face betrayed emotion at the sight of the actress; how she had endeavoured to speak to a swell as he was talking to the manager at the stage-door, and he had rapidly formed a conclusion in his own mind that Sal somehow or other had connections which might, in due time, be made subservient to his own interest. He was a sneak and a cur, but he had a plausible way of talking and a certain amount of cunning which he had always turned to excellent account. It was with gratification, then, that he found the woman was half persuaded to listen to his proposals. Alas! there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip. As they stood arguing the matter, a cab dashed up against them, and when he came to his senses he found his Sal, as he called her, had been taken to the accident ward of the nearest hospital. ‘That’s just like my ill-luck,’ said he, with an angry oath, as he turned away in search of cheap lodgings for what was left of the night. Happily it did not much matter to him if he went to bed late. He was under no necessity to rise early the next morning. The tramp in old times led a merry life. In London, at the present time, he certainly leads an idle one. Let us follow our Sal to the hospital, one of those noble institutions which are the glory and pride of London, the money to support which had been left long ago by pious founders, and which have been the means of saving many a life, of setting many a broken limb, and of curing many a foul disease. Under its august wall and in its studious cloisters many generations of medical students had been trained up for a profession which has done much to make life worth living, to stay the advance of disease, to battle with grim death. Gibbon tells us the world is more ready to honour its destroyers than its saviours. The taunt is too true. When it ceases to be that, the medical profession will receive its due homage and reward. The courage of the medical man is quite equal to that of the hero on the battle-field. His ardour in the pursuit of his vocation is greater, and the good he does, what tongue can adequately tell? in generosity, in readiness to relieve human suffering, where is the equal of the medical man? The more illustrious he is, the more ready he is to give of his time and money to the poor. There is no truer Samaritan than a medical man. The hospital was over London Bridge, as the tourist who rushes to Brighton is well aware. It stands a lasting monument to the charitable London publisher known as Guy. It covers a considerable extent of ground, and consists of several buildings more or less detached. Little of the original building remains, as, like the British Constitution, it has grown considerably beyond the general design.