safe anchorage. There are no lights to
guide sailors on this coast at all, and yet during September, October,
and November, three of the most dangerous months in the year, hundreds
of schooners and thousands of men, women, and children are coming into
or passing through this harbour on their way to the southward. By a
nice arrangement the little east window points to the north--if that
is not Irish--and two large bracket lamps can be turned on a pivot, so
that the lamps and their reflectors throw a light out to sea. The
good planter, at his own expense, often maintains a light here on
stormy or dark nights, and "steering straight for it" brings one to
safety.

While cruising near Cape Chidley, a schooner signalling with flag at
half-mast attracted our attention. On going aboard we found a young
man with the globe of one eye ruptured by a gun accident, in great
pain, and in danger of losing the other eye sympathetically. Having
excised the globe, we allowed him to go back to his vessel, intensely
grateful, but full of apprehension as to how his girl would regard him
on his return South. It so happened that we had had a gift of false
eyes, and we therefore told him to call in at hospital on his way home
and take his chance on getting a blue one. While walking over the hill
near the hospital that fall I ran into a crowd of young fishermen,
whose schooner was wind-bound in the harbour, and who had been into
the country for an hour's trouting. One asked me to look at his eye,
as something was wrong with it. Being in a hurry, I simply remarked,
"Come to hospital, and I'll examine it for you"; whereupon he burst
out into a merry laugh, "Why, Doctor, I'm the boy whose eye you
removed. This is the glass one you promised. Do you think it will suit
her?"

Another time I was called to a large schooner in the same region.
There were two young girls on board doing the cooking and cleaning, as
was the wont in Newfoundland vessels. One, alas, was seriously ill,
having given birth to a premature child, and having lain absolutely
helpless, with only a crew of kind but strange men anywhere near.
Rolling her up in blankets, we transferred her to the Sir Donald, and
steamed for the nearest Moravian station. Here the necessary
treatment was possible, and when we left for the South a Moravian's
good wife accompanied us as nurse. The girl, however, had no wish to
live. "I want to die, Doctor; I can never go home again." Her physical
troubl