And birds that always went to roost before the shades of night
Now hopped around upon the ground until the morning light.
And people long will call to mind the scene on Beaver Flat
The night on which the hooting owl was wedded to the bat.
HIS FIRST LETTER.
OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.
We have very great pleasure in publishing a letter from the kind lady who has charge of the ward in which our Young People's Cot will be placed when sufficient money shall have been contributed to endow it. We think that perhaps after reading this letter, with its touching description of the ward, and suggestive account of the manner in which the little sick children play at nursing their dolls, some of you who have not yet done so may like to give a Christmas offering to aid this good work. When we shall be so happy as to hear that the cot is really ours, we will take a special interest in the little ones who may occupy it.
St. Mary's Free Hospital for Children,
407 West Thirty-fourth Street, New York,
November, 1881.
My dear Young People,—It has been suggested to me that you would like to hear something of the "Holy Innocents' Ward" from one who knows all about it. Now I certainly "know all about it," for I see it at almost every hour of the day, and very often at different hours of the night. But whether I can say what will be of interest to you is to me a very doubtful question. You have already been told who furnished the ward; but I wonder how many have really seen it, and know just what it is like? I am sure that some of you have, but for the benefit of those who live far away, I will give a little description; and when We come to tell of your own cot, you will have perhaps a better understanding as to its place in the ward, etc., etc.
The "Holy Innocents' Ward," then, is a long room, with two large windows at either end reaching almost from the ceiling to the floor. Outside of these windows are piazzas, where in warm weather the little ones can sit in their tiny rocking or arm chairs, and listen to the "moosic man" or shake hands with a favorite monkey who climbs up on the outside of the house, and to whom they always give a few pennies, and a drink from one of their own mugs.
In cold weather the children—those who are able to be up, of course—can sit close to the windows inside, and see all that is taking place in the street. On either side of the ward are rows of blue cribs with brass knobs on the corners, and hanging over each crib is a little blue frame holding a card, on which is written the name of the child who sleeps in the cot. Between each crib is a small square table with a shelf underneath. The shelves of these tables are for toys, and the tops are used for a great many different purposes. Sometimes you would find on one of them a tiny red tray holding a cup of milk-punch, on another a glass of flowers, or at times a queer-looking deep tray, in which are kept lint, bandages, plaster, etc. In addition to the tables beside the beds, each crib has a little table that stands on it—something like a butler's tray, with four legs, only the little ledge is around three sides instead of four. These "bed-tables," as they are called, can be put close up to the children, and were intended to hold the toys, scrap-books, and the blocks out of which are built most marvellous houses, that come down with a terrible "bang"—the louder the better, (Occasionally a small child has been discovered sitting on one of these little tables; but that, of course, is "out of order," although it may be a good symptom of returning health.)
There is still another table, that stands on the floor, and around which several children can sit and play together; sometimes—in fact, often-times—the favorite play is "Hospital"; and I have often seen very sick dolls, who are treated in the most skillful manner. They are probed and bandaged, have their pulses and temperatures taken, are given "mick-punce" and "q'nine," have weights tied to their feet, and poultices on their chests. The ward also contains a small organ and a large music-box, and around the walls are several pretty pictures. Now can you see it all?—the long room; the blue cribs with brass knobs; the little ones in bed with bright red jackets on; those able to be up sitting in the tiny chairs, and wearing gray wrappers bound with red, and fastened with red buttons; the sun shining through the long windows on the little ones sitting near or at the "play table," and perhaps just lighting up "Young People's Cot"; the little organ, the music-box, and the pictures? I hope so; and when I write again, I will tell you just where your own cot is.