This physician, with a smile on his face, but vile purpose in his heart, administered wilfully the very medicine that gave a transient gratification to the patient’s craving for narcotics, and which would finally cause the appetite to break out anew into an inward burning and gnawing, swinging a master’s sash over him. The physician told him that his taste was inherited, and it would consequently require much patience ere he could be cured. He gave him the devilish medicine, and urged him to continue using it until the bottle was drained to its dregs. At first it gave the promised relief, but the young man, now more deeply contaminated by this concoction of Hell, raged in wilder passion than ever, and verily ran to his utmost on the By-Path of intemperance until the flower of his youth and manhood was blasted to the blackest, and his sense of honor lost in the hovels of vice and corruption which, in great variety, stood along the Broad Highway. The book-keepers of Hell placed an additional mark to the credit of this doctor, while the church looked on the young man’s fall somewhat indifferently, having been hardened by the frequency of similar occurrences. At the request of Mr. World the manager conducted him back to the hospital building and proceeded to show the various departments to him. There was some commotion in one of the operating rooms just as Mr. World entered. It proved to be the preliminary work necessary for dressing a severe scalp wound. It happened that a certain woman, named Mrs. Criticiser, who belonged to an active church, attempted to injure a good and holy man by hurling stones at him. She noticed that the little stones did him no harm, so she seized one of larger size and hurled it at him with great force. He, being a pure man, and standing on a rock, was not even touched by the missile. But it struck the great rock on which he was standing, rebounded with unexpected force, and struck the head of Mrs. Criticiser with stunning effect. It was seen that the stone had made an ugly gash on her head, more severe and painful than she intended to inflict on the good Mr. Class Leader. Her friends, being acquainted with the Devil’s Hospital, naturally carried her there for necessary attention. Mr. World saw Mrs. Criticiser brought into the room in a semi-conscious condition and watched the whole operation. The surgeon declared that a scar would be carried on her head all through life. Indeed there is no balm in Hell to cure the wounded head or heart so as not to leave a scar. Had she gone to the “Great Physician,” and asked Him aright to apply the “Balm of Gilead,” her head would have been healed aright. The manager then escorted Mr. World into one of the wards which was crowded to overflowing. They tarried at the bedside of a man whose left arm and right leg were bandaged. There lay the poor fellow awaiting the slow processes of healing for his fractured bones.