health? No one. We think of supper, of the theatre, of the band concert,
of the church, of the lecture--but who thinks of the stars they are
walking under. It is given to the sick to remember them, and in return
they remember the sick. Whoever else fails us the Stars are there.
Steady, faithful, unchanging, always waiting. Shall I remember them
after this? Ah, I can't tell, I am like the rest and will soon forget
them in the busy street. But to-night while all is still, I look with
reverence and curiosity on our future homes, my newest friends, the
Stars.

* * * * *

Another new friend is the News Gatherer. I give you my word that one
sick man gets more news--political, gossip, scandal--than any twenty
well ones. You see he is always there and easy to find. Human nature
can't keep news long and it always hunts up the man that is easy to
find and unloads on him. There is a sense of security in talking to
a man flat of his back--he can't get out to repeat it. Many things
combine to make the News Gatherer the sick man's friend. He is helpless,
weak and can't talk back. That secures a good listener. He is sick and
wants to be entertained. That makes him an eager listener. And finally
being confined and unable to get out he is presumably an empty vessel
waiting to be filled. And with this inviting prospect the News Gatherer
moves his machine up to the side of the bed and monotonously pumps,
pumps, pumps. It is well for that kindly hearted man that the patient
is not only stretched out on his bed, but also unarmed. Ah! how many
men earn sudden death and yet in the mystery of Providence escape it!
I have often wondered at the persistency with which habit has fixed
on women the exclusive reputation of gossipers. For I say unto you,
brethren, that Woman, who with empty head and silly tongue toys with