, bandagings, and minor surgery,
takes us to nearly eleven o'clock, when we assemble in Horton's room to
make out the list. All the names of patients under treatment are pinned
upon a big board. We sit round with note books open, and distribute
those who must be seen between us. By the time this is done and the
horses in, it is half-past eleven. Then away we all FLY upon our several
tasks: Horton in a carriage and pair to see the employers; I in a dog
cart to see the employed; and McCarthy on his good Irish legs to see
those chronic cases to which a qualified man can do no good, and an
unqualified no harm.

Well, we all work back again by two o'clock, when we find dinner waiting
for us. We may or may not have finished our rounds. If not away we go
again. If we have, Horton dictates his prescriptions, and strides off
to bed with his black clay pipe in his mouth. He is the most abandoned
smoker I have ever met with, collecting the dottles of his pipes in
the evening, and smoking them the next morning before breakfast in the
stable yard. When he has departed for his nap, McCarthy and I get to
work on the medicine. There are, perhaps, fifty bottles to put up, with
pills, ointment, etc. It is quite half-past four before we have them all
laid out on the shelf addressed to the respective invalids. Then we have
an hour or so of quiet, when we smoke or read, or box with the coachman
in the harness room. After tea the evening's work commences. From six to
nine people are coming in for their medicine, or fresh patients wishing
advice. When these are settled we have to see again any very grave cases
which may be on the list; and so, about ten o'clock, we may hope to have
another smoke, and perhaps a game of cards. Then it is a rare thing for
a night to pass without one or other of us having to trudge off to a
case which may take us two hours, or may take us ten. Hard work, as you
see; but Horton is such a good chap, and works so hard himself, that one
does not mind what one does. And then we are all like brothers in the
house; our talk is just a rattle of chaff, and the patients are as
homely as ourselves, so that the work becomes quite a pleasure to all of
us.

Yes, Horton is a real right-down good fellow. His heart is broad and
kind and generous. There is nothing petty in the man. He loves to see
those around him happy; and the sight of his sturdy figure and jolly red
face goes far to make them so. Nature meant him to be a heale