woman "who professed to treat all comers," her he held to be an "abomination."
Then the world turned in its orbit and came to 1914. And Elizabeth Anderson's eyes looked on the glory of Endel Street. Do you happen to be of that woman movement which but yesterday moved upward toward the top in any of the professions so laboriously and so heavily handicapped? Then for you also, Endel Street is the shining citadel that today marks the final capitulation of the medical profession to the woman's cause, as surely as the New York Infirmary in Livingston Place still stands as the early outpost established by the brave pioneers. But the ordinary chance traveller who may search out the unique war hospital in the parish of St. Giles in High Holborn, I suppose may miss some of this spiritual significance to which a woman thrills. The buildings which have been converted from an ancient almshouse to the uses of a hospital are as dismal and as dingy as any can be in London. They are surrounded by a fifteen foot high brick wall covered with war placards, a red one "Air Raid Warning," a blue one "Join the Royal Marines," and a black one "Why More Men are Needed. This is going to be a long drawn out struggle. We shall not sheathe the sword until—" and the rest is torn off where it flapped loose in the winter wind.
In a corner of this wall is set Christ Church, beside which a porter opens a gate to admit you to the courtyard. Here where the ambulances come through in the dark, the bands play on visitors' day.
