THE DEVIL’S HOSPITAL.
1. Miss Church-Member, suddenly attacked with heart trouble, is hurried
away to the Hospital.
2. She receives the attention of Satan’s fiendish surgical operators.
3. A visit through the various wings of the Hospital and sub-offices.
The horrifying work described.
The travelers of the Broad Highway pushed onward by millions, seemingly
unconscious of their end. Miss Church-Member had become so well
accustomed to the ways of the world that she could now adapt herself
with more ease to all the exigencies of the journey.
In the midst of her favorable circumstances she was nursing the germs
of an insidious disease which rendered her heart weaker and weaker.
At times short, but sharp pains were felt; and more than once her hand
flew to her breast in evidence of the inward struggle.
Her disease reached a climax after she had gone not far beyond the
Valley of Conviction. She was walking along in a happy mood, when she
suddenly felt a pang in her heart and mentioned the circumstance to
Mr. World who was still her faithful companion.
“What can it be that has been giving you this trouble for so long a
time?” he asked.
“I know not,” she faintly replied as she stood still and pressed both
hands to her heart.
Thoroughly alarmed, Mr. World called for help while he supported her
with his arm.
“It seems strange,” gasped Miss Church-Member in a brief interval of
relief, “that, with all the pure air along this way and the variety
of things to engage my attention, I should be seized, at shortening
intervals, with these cruel and unbearable heart-pangs. Oh, that I
might be free from this intruder’s grasp! What shall I do? Where shall
I go? I feel again the edge of the invisible blade!”
At this she threw her arms upward and, shrieking in agony, was about
to fall as she was caught by Mr. World.
“Let us hurry her off to the nearest hospital,” promptly suggested one
of the bystanders who had responded to the call for help. An ambulance
carried the fainting Miss Church-Member to one of Satan’s hospitals
near by.
[Illustration: An ambulance carried the fainting Miss Church-Member to
one of Satan’s hospitals near by.]
The chief physician ordered the apparently lifeless form to be taken
at once to an examination room, granting Mr. World the privilege of
remaining by the side of his suffering friend. A quick investigation
disclosed the fact that Miss Church-Member had been overcome by a
partial paralysis of the heart, induced by intense mental anxiety
dating from the time when she had passed through the Valley of
Conviction.
“Not a serious case,” said the suave doctor in reply to a question
from the anxious Mr. World. “An operation will take away, almost
entirely, the cause of this trouble.”
“Will you not explain to me the trouble, and the nature of the
operation?” nervously asked Mr. World.
“Certain nerves which ramify through the human heart have been affected
emotionally by the nonsensical teachings of the King’s Highway. These
teachings are commonly known us ‘Narrow-Gauge Ideas.’ If these nerves
are rendered insensible, there is scarcely any trouble of that kind
again. We can, by an intricate operation, paralyze the mother-nerve
leading to the heart, and thereafter you may expect to find the heart
of this woman almost dead to the foolish influences that needlessly
send conviction and remorse into so many lives.”
While the physician was rapidly speaking these words, the surgeon had
arrived, and they forthwith proceeded to the operating room.
Mr. World watched the attendants as they carried Miss Church-Member
away. He saw her no more that day, but heard that the operation was
successful, and that the patient was resting quietly.
One of the managers of the institution, knowing that Mr. World was
companionless, offered to escort him through the various departments
of the Hospital. To this he gave his hearty consent.
They first went to the tower which proved to be a magnificent point
of view. Here he could see far and wide, for the building itself was
situated on elevated ground, and the tower rose far into the air.
On one side of the Hospital stretched away the Broad Highway more
pleasing at this point of the route than at many others, and far away
it seemed to lead into pleasant woodland realms.
On the other side of the building passed the King’s Highway, which,
at this point, was exceedingly rough and uninviting to the view.
Thus I saw how the shrewdness of Hell was exercised in locating
hospitals at such places.
“Ignorance is the mother of all that folly,” said Mr. World with a
feeling of self-satisfaction, “I see a long line of separate buildings
just below us--there along the King’s Highway. What purpose do they
serve?”
“Those are medical offices under the supervision of this hospital-
staff. Any one traveling on the Narrow Path, and falling sick there,
may enter for help and restoration. If the case be difficult, or
requiring an operation, or even special nursing, the patient is brought
to the hospital.”
“Are you successful in most of your operations, especially with those
patients who come from such a rugged path?”
“Fortunately we succeed in effecting a cure in almost every case. We
can only deal with those who voluntarily come to our medical staff.
Many, in sad need of our help, pass by all our special offices without
ever seeking advice.”
“Are your patients foolish enough, after having been treated, to go
back to that jolting road, and thus again invite their ills?”
“Most of our patients go hence on the more delightful way which you
see, and on which you have come hither.”
“What diseases most commonly affect those who come to your physicians
and hospitals for help?”
“Let me answer your question by taking you down to those offices. You
may there observe for yourself.”
I saw Mr. World and his escort enter a physician’s office which stood
as near the King’s Highway as Satan could build it.
The doctor was examining a church deacon who, by reason of his disease,
found it hard to travel on a way so narrow and rugged. He was given
a vial of medicine with specific directions.
After the patient had left, the doctor smiled derisively and pocketed
his fee with ghoulish delight.
“What ailed that man asked?” Mr. World. “Can you tell me the cause of
his malady?” “He has been eating and eating sermons, exhortations, and
pious literature, and has done scarcely any work for his so-called
Master. Eating much and working little generally results in gout or
rheumatic diseases. There are large numbers in the church coming here
for treatment who are similarly affected. I suppose such Christians
enjoy eating better than they enjoy working.”
“Do you prepare them for better service on the King’s Highway?”
“Never! My business is to give them such medicine as will make all
kinds of spiritual food repulsive to them. Then, rather than starve,
they go to the fat lands on the Broad Highway for which my medicine
prepares them. There they eat of the fruit forbidden by their former
Master, for it is sweet-tasting withal. Some go on in the forbidden
kingdoms until death, and hold an honorable place in their first church.
Others are dealt with more summarily on account of the radical views
entertained by certain bigots who wage warfare against a man who finds
delight in gardens other than his own.”
The electric bell summoned the doctor to the door. He opened it, and
there stood a pilgrim from the King’s Highway.
She entered and, fully exhausted, sank into a chair.
“What is the difficulty?” asked the physician in a cool manner.
“Something terrible indeed, or else my comrades accuse me unjustly.”
“With what do they charge you, Miss Goodly-Minded?” he questioned, as
he felt her pulse.
“I am accused of being out of order just because I do not run all the
time to prayer-meeting and to other services of the church. They say
I am not fit to travel this way, and therefore I have found it very
difficult to get over some of the obstacles. Weariness and fatigue
have almost dragged me to the earth. My persecution will prove to be
my death unless you can give me some medicine to relieve me.”
“Let me see your tongue,” the physician requested. This done, he
continued: “Ah! I can easily see, by your coated tongue, that you have
already eaten more good things than you could digest. If there is any
error, it is because you have already gone to church too much. I have
medicine to cure you.”
At that he walked into another room and opened a secret door. I saw
him pour a liquid from a large bottle labeled, “Satan’s Malaria Cure.”
It contained a mixture of unbelief, ridicule, and self-righteousness.
He filled a small vial with sugar pellets and saturated them with the
mixture from the large bottle.
“Take four globules every hour,” he directed, as he gave her the
medicine, “and I would further advise that you travel for your health.”
“What climate would be most helpful to me?” she asked, for she was a
lady of considerable means and could go where she wished.
“A colder climate where you will be free from the noonday sun, and
breathe in a new atmosphere. This medicine will do the rest.”
She passed out of the door just as a feeble man was entering. He was
an old pilgrim and evidently suffering much.
The doctor seized him by the hand with a strange vigor not even
understood by Mr. World.
“So you are under the power of ‘La Grippe,’” saluted the doctor.
“Under the power of something, I am sure, for everything is wrong with
me, and everything seems wrong to me,” was the slow answer.
The doctor soon diagnosed his case, and gave him powders with
directions.
“It did not take you very long to attend to him,” said Mr. World, after
the aged man left the office.
“I deal with so many of that class that I keep the medicine ready. La
Grippe is a splendid thing for my trade. It is affecting more pilgrims
just now than any other disease. Some churches are more than decimated
by the ravages of this plague.”
The manager then conducted Mr. World into another office where the
doctor was just giving medical attention to a young lady who was
suffering with spiritual quinsy. It was so severe that she could not
testify for Christ, and she wilfully passed by the “Great Physician”
who could have healed her blessedly. She also passed by all the angels
of mercy who throng the King’s Highway. She turned a deaf ear to all
the singers who sang, “Then why will ye die?” Finally she was heavily
pressed by her disease and, seeing a physician’s office which she could
enter without climbing a step, she went in and chose rather to be
treated by a doctor of the Devil, as if dead to all the offers of mercy
which she had rejected.
She accepted his treatment without question, and even felt at ease in
conscience, thinking that the easy, bland method of this physician was
in every way preferable to the searching methods adopted by the Healer
Divine.
She regained her voice, but it lost that sweet accent of heaven which
once had characterized it. It was now difficult and embarrassing for
her to pronounce the name of Jesus.
All this proved painful and intolerable, so she took a by-path to the
left called “Unchastity” where she found a whole vocabulary of speech
more suited to her utterance.
She spent the rest of her days in the habitations of immorality along
the Broad Highway, unmindful of the tears and kindly solicitude of her
entreating friends.
Into the third medical wing the two went only to see the fiendish
program carried on there as in the other offices. The first patient
they saw was a young man who, through the misguidance of a weakling,
was persuaded to enter the office.
This physician, with a smile on his face, but vile purpose in his
heart, administered wilfully the very medicine that gave a transient
gratification to the patient’s craving for narcotics, and which would
finally cause the appetite to break out anew into an inward burning
and gnawing, swinging a master’s sash over him.
The physician told him that his taste was inherited, and it would
consequently require much patience ere he could be cured. He gave him
the devilish medicine, and urged him to continue using it until the
bottle was drained to its dregs.
At first it gave the promised relief, but the young man, now more
deeply contaminated by this concoction of Hell, raged in wilder passion
than ever, and verily ran to his utmost on the By-Path of intemperance
until the flower of his youth and manhood was blasted to the blackest,
and his sense of honor lost in the hovels of vice and corruption which,
in great variety, stood along the Broad Highway.
The book-keepers of Hell placed an additional mark to the credit of
this doctor, while the church looked on the young man’s fall somewhat
indifferently, having been hardened by the frequency of similar
occurrences.
At the request of Mr. World the manager conducted him back to the
hospital building and proceeded to show the various departments to him.
There was some commotion in one of the operating rooms just as Mr.
World entered. It proved to be the preliminary work necessary for
dressing a severe scalp wound.
It happened that a certain woman, named Mrs. Criticiser, who belonged
to an active church, attempted to injure a good and holy man by hurling
stones at him.
She noticed that the little stones did him no harm, so she seized one
of larger size and hurled it at him with great force. He, being a pure
man, and standing on a rock, was not even touched by the missile. But
it struck the great rock on which he was standing, rebounded with
unexpected force, and struck the head of Mrs. Criticiser with stunning
effect.
It was seen that the stone had made an ugly gash on her head, more
severe and painful than she intended to inflict on the good Mr. Class
Leader. Her friends, being acquainted with the Devil’s Hospital,
naturally carried her there for necessary attention.
Mr. World saw Mrs. Criticiser brought into the room in a semi-conscious
condition and watched the whole operation.
The surgeon declared that a scar would be carried on her head all
through life. Indeed there is no balm in Hell to cure the wounded head
or heart so as not to leave a scar. Had she gone to the “Great
Physician,” and asked Him aright to apply the “Balm of Gilead,” her
head would have been healed aright.
The manager then escorted Mr. World into one of the wards which was
crowded to overflowing.
They tarried at the bedside of a man whose left arm and right leg were
bandaged. There lay the poor fellow awaiting the slow processes of
healing for his fractured bones.
It was on this wise that this man, a certain Mr. Treacherous, came to
this sorry plight.
He was an ambitious member of the church, and aimed to be elected to
an office therein. His admirers were too few, so the majority vote was
given for another, named Mr. Wisdom.
This so aroused the jealousy of Mr. Treacherous that he was moved to
seek amends for what he considered a stinging and crushing defeat.
“This will I do,” said he, “I will dig a deep ditch across Mr. Wisdom’s
path of success, and will shrewdly cover it from view, and as he chances
along that way, in the course of his service, he will surely fall into
this ditch to his hurt. Then will I glory in his downfall, so that the
stings of this, my defeat, will not prick me so sharply.”
So Mr. Treacherous, in the blackness of the night, digged the ditch
and covered it ingeniously. Then he waited day after day to hear of
Mr. Wisdom’s injury or death, that he might have cause for rejoicing.
Now Mr. Treacherous, since his defeat, was so heavily weighed down
with envy and a desire for revenge that he could not sleep soundly,
and was wont to walk about the house in a somnambulistic manner.
One night, under the influence of one of these strange spells, he went
from the house and walked over the path that led to the ditch.
To his great dismay and double disgrace he waked not until his body
struck the bottom of the ditch. He was bruised and some of his bones
were broken. Thus he lay there in agony and cried all night long for
help.
Ere the morning broke he wished a thousand times that he had not dug
the ditch so deep, or rather, had not dug it at all.
A band of searchers found him and, lifting him from his disgrace, they
hurried him to this hospital, for he was not minded to humble himself
still more by going to another place where Mr. Wisdom and his kind
found relief in time of trouble.
It is likely that Mr. Treacherous will never be able to walk again as
perfectly as he did before, for it is the reputation of surgeons and
physicians of this hospital, in dealing with cases of such extreme
folly, that they so manipulate an operation as to render the patient
incapable of complete recovery.
Mr. World and his congenial escort moved on from patient to patient,
passing many hundreds who had met with accidents on the Broad Highway.
Many had been wounded by the “sword of the Spirit” and were now hoping
to be cured by the processes here in vogue.
In passing on through another ward their attention was called to a
woman who lay on a couch and seemed to be suffering more than she was
able to bear.
Mr. World inquired concerning her, and was told that she was one Miss
Busy-Body, a member in good standing of a radical church. She came to
her grief in this strange manner: she had a special aptitude for
sweeping before other people’s doors, and could always find dirt, even
if she could not find anything better.
She had been told repeatedly to sweep before her own door, but she did
not heed this wise counsel, for she often said that there was no dirt
visible about her own home.
One day she went forth as usually, broom in hand, and swept the dirt
from other doors than her own, much to the annoyance and provocation
of her neighbors, for she always raised the dust incontinently.
Now by her continual neglect at home the filth had accumulated to such
an extent that when she returned home and attempted to enter the door,
her foot slipped on the greasy step, and she fell, breaking her collar
bone, two of her ribs, and otherwise injuring herself.
The manager told Mr. World that many such cases came to them for help
every day--some from the King’s Highway and still more from the Broad
Highway.
They soon came to the bedside of one named Mr. Jealousy who occupied
a private room. He was somewhat convalescent when Mr. World saw him.
Mr. Jealousy at one time was an active member of the church, but he
undertook to stab Mr. Stability in the back. But Mr. Stability had a
good back-bone so strong that no knife that Mr. Jealousy could handle
was able to penetrate it.
One time in desperation Mr. Jealousy flung himself violently upon his
imaginary foe. But his blade broke, and he himself fell upon it, cutting
a terrible gash in his side. He was taken to this hospital for help.
Thus did Mr. Jealousy bring upon himself the disfavor of his church
and he was forthwith expelled, for he refused to give the required
promise of reformation.
Mr. World and the manager now came to a large door.
“In this room,” said the manager, “we keep all our cancer patients.
We have a large number of them and, since they require special
treatment, we keep them separate to facilitate the work of the
physicians and nurses.”
I saw them enter the room, and heard the words of surprise that fell
from the lips of Mr. World as he saw the magnitude of this department.
“These are they,” explained the chief of the division, “who came here
through ‘profane and vain babblings.’”
Mr. World then passed through the leprosy ward where he saw quite a
few who were once cleansed by the Divine Healer, but who, failing to
give thanks for their recovery, suffered fatal relapse and were now
in the last stages of this dread disease.
This place was so loathsome to him that he was hastened into the General
Department where he saw all manner of patients, each in his particular
dilemma.
A great number of this section were suffering from disordered livers,
and of these not a few came from the church.
One such, who was a wealthy man, had so far protruded his
disagreeableness upon the community that the church officials
voluntarily gave him medicine for his liver. This was of no avail. He
still grew more irritable and complained about the preacher, the sexton,
the choir, and even his own wife. The weather never suited him, and
when he gave any testimony about religion it was always a partial
outline of the supposed or real sorrows and troubles of the Christian
pilgrimage.
While suffering from one of his morbid spells, he listened to the voice
of the tempter who persuaded him to seek help at the hands of the
physicians under the control of this Hospital. These doctors dosed him
until they persuaded him to submit to an operation, and the wicked
surgeon knew how to render him still more liable to trouble after his
imaginary restoration toward which he was looking when Mr. World saw
him.
When he leaves this Hospital he can never be cured from the fiercer
subsequent attacks unless he be born again, and such an event Satan
knows is very unlikely to occur.
Mr. World, in passing, spoke to quite a few who were suffering from
spiritual dyspepsia, consumption, and a great number of other ailments
which had developed into chronic form, or had made necessary the
surgeon’s cruel knife, and then, turning to his obliging friend, asked
if he could not now see Miss Church-Member.
He was taken into a special department arranged for those who were
convalescent.
When she saw her faithful and loving friend, Miss Church-Member smiled
for the first time since the operation.
The pleasant interview soon ended at the behest of the nurse, and Mr.
World was asked if he wished to enter the secret departments
underground. This question aroused his curiosity and led to a lengthy
conversation after which he expressed a desire to visit the secret
chambers.
He was conducted into a dark office and asked to sign a pledge that
lay on a desk.