in-patients, that is, the people taken into the
house, are recruited. Diseases have their
seasons here, in Smithfield, just as fruits and
flowers have theirs in Covent Garden, and
are expected with almost the same punctuality;
the two great staple facts being that winter
enormously increases the coughs and chest
affections, whilst summer brings diarrhoea, and
other affections of the bowels.

During rapid examination of patients in the
reception-room, those who require something
more than an off-hand physic ticket, or a
trifling operation, are kept back to be prescribed
for by the surgeon or apothecary; the
worst cases of all receiving letters, and being
sent to another apartment, called the
admission-room, in which they undergo another and
more deliberate examination, after which the
worst of all are admitted to the wards, to be
there kept till they are well. One ingenious
plan, amongst many adopted in this hospital,
may be here named. The letters are printed
in different coloured inks. Some are yellow,
some black, some red, some green, brown, and
blue. These six colours indicate, at a glance,
to the officials the name of the medical officer
under whose charge the patient is; and simple
as such a matter may at first seem to be, its
practical value is really very great. Thus,
suppose red, blue, and black, are physician's
colours, and yellow, green, and brown,
surgeon's colours, the general character of the
disease of the patients is known at once. But
more than this, red means a particular physician,
say Dr. Roupell, then blue may mean
Dr. Burrows, whilst yellow means, not only
surgeon's case, but Mr. Lawrence's case, and
green Mr. Stanley's or Mr. Lloyd's. With a
dozen or a hundred sick people such distinctions
may be unnecessary, but where, as in
Bartholomew's Hospital in 1849, seventy-
seven thousand seven hundred and ten
patients ask relief in one year, all and every
means for obtaining rapid modes of classification
become most important.

But the clock says it wants but a quarter
to twelve, and the receiving, or casualty
rooms, being cleared of the crowd that
thronged it an hour ago, let us pass to the
Admission-Room—the second stage of the
patient's progress into hospital. Here the
more serious aspects of disease begin to pre-
sent themselves. The large, and rather noble
looking old room has forms like the other,
but they have backs to them, against which
the sick and weary may lean. The gaping
look that was manifest amongst the "casuals"
is not seen here. The very sick have little
time for curiosity. Pale-faced women are
seated on the one side; men, with heads
bandaged and arms in slings, on the other.
Moans come out from what seem to be mere
masses of clothes, great coats, wrapping hand-
kerchiefs and shawls; crumpled-up forms lie
on the seat, still and silent, oblivious of all
save the constant pain that brings them here;
up in the corner yonder is a young girl with

a cheek blooming like peach blossom, and eye
bright as that of the fabled Houri; but the long
thin fingers, with their filbert shaped nails—
and, hark! the cough—tell plainly enough
that she is blooming only for the grave. Near
her see that girl's shawl rise on her breast—
you may count the pulses of her heart. Go
near her, and listen, and you may hear them.
She too, cheerful as she seems, in her youth
and her sin, is sure to pass away suddenly
and soon, and without the time for thought
and preparation vouchsafed to her
consumptive neighbour, for she has disease of
the heart—the most frightful, perhaps, of all
the diseases of our modern civilisation, because
so sure to slay with little warning.
But the almoners and the doctors are coming,
and, as they approach, we have just time for
a glance at the arrangements made for them.
The room is large, with heavy panneled sides,
looking old and solid. The walls are well
dotted about with scripture texts, speaking of
religion and charity. On the shelf is an old
carved wooden figure of a cripple, in the
costume of two or three centuries ago; and
in one comer of the room another and larger
wooden model of a cripple, painted in imita-
tion of life. This, in former days, when each
house had its sign, was hung out in front of
the hospital in Smithfield, to tell the
unlettered crowd the nature of the building, and
probably to excite, in favour of its inmates, the
charitable feelings of passers by. One corner
of the room has a portion converted into
a small distinct apartment, or large closet,
into which patients are, when needful, taken
for private examination; whilst opposite this,
and on the other side of a noble sized fireplace
(with fire enough in it, in winter time,
to roast a sheep), is a portion partitioned off
and enclosing desks for the almoner and me-
dical officers employed in admitting patients.
It is soon evident that the absolute presence
of serious disease is sufficient to secure a bed,
at all times, for those who greatly need it,
though an ancient form of petition is still
kept up—and it is but a form. This the
sufferer is supposed to fill up and present.
It runs as follows:—

"To the Worshipful the President, Trea-
surer, and Governors of St. Bartholomew's
Hospital. The humble Petition of——, residing
at——, in the parish of——, and
belonging to the parish of——, showeth, that
your petitioner is afflicted with——, and is
likely to perish without the charitable
assistance of this house; therefore humbly
prays to be admitted into the said Hospital
for cure, and, as in duty bound, will ever
pray."

A note in the corner says, " Here state the
name and address of any relation or friend of
the petitioner; "—but this signature is not
insisted iipon.

At twelve o'clock the ceremony of wry faces
and physic swallowing goes forward in all
directions, and precisely at that hour on these