“Lady, I bid thee to a sunny dome, Ringing with echoes of Italian song; Henceforth to thee these magic halls belong, And all the pleasant place is like a home.” “Not very appropriate, are they?” commented the curate smiling. “Darning is more in your line than Italian poetry.” He could not know that Miss Colbourne had with the money transferred all her own hopes and aspirations to the invalid. CECIL VINCENT. OUR MEDICINE CHEST. BY “THE NEW DOCTOR.” PART I. THE SURGICAL DRAWER. A fair critic asked us the other day why all our articles were written for Londoners—why we had never addressed our remarks to girls living in out-of-the-way districts at home or in the colonies? Truly we do not know what difference it makes if these papers are written in London or for Londoners. Health and sickness are much the same all over the world, and the chief difference between England and the Gold Coast as regards disease is the prevalence in the latter of maladies which are peculiar to the land. And the discussion of these would not afford interest to any save such as are living there. But we will address this article chiefly to persons living in remote parts where medical aid is not always easy to obtain. We were buying some drugs yesterday, and when we had finished our purchases, the chemist showed us a wonderful “new toy” which had just been sent to him. It was called “The Patients’ _Vade Mecum_.” _Vade Mecum_—go with me—evidently something to be carried about with one—a pocket-case, in fact. Oh, but this was not a pocket-case! It was a great chest—like a family deed-box. It was bound and studded with brass nails, and was a very tolerable load for a strong man to carry. Not at all what we should call a _Vade Mecum_. Let us describe this chest. Follow it carefully, for we are describing the exact reverse to what any sensible person would have in her house! There was a grand brass lock and two keys. Unfortunately, neither of the keys fitted the lock, so that it was at least half a minute before we could open the thing. When at length the lock yielded, the interior of the box presented a sight which we shall never forget. There was quite a forest of clean little corks. There were in the upper compartment one hundred and forty-four clean, sweet, little one-ounce bottles, all neatly labelled and fitted with the pretty little corks which were the first things that attracted our attention. These bottles were arranged in rows of twelve abreast, and there was not a stain on any one of them. We took hold of one and tried to pull it out from amongst its fellows, but it wouldn’t come. However, a good hard tug displaced it, and with it two or three others which rolled to the ground, and we held in our hand a one-ounce bottle of—of—well, the name of the stuff slips us altogether—anyhow, it was quite new to us. Underneath the name of the preparation was written “Cure for Gout.”