Notes from the Journal.

June 1849.My Friends, one and all,—I closed my last letter apparently on the eve of a great insurrection. I went out with E. G. quickly to put it in the post, not knowing how soon we might be prisoners in the house or stirring out at the risk of life. We passed through hurrying crowds full of excitement. Through the night heavy waggons of ammunition and provisions, escorted by soldiers, had rumbled through the streets. The public squares were shut and filled with soldiers. The Democratic press was destroyed; and the next morning thecity was declared in a state of siege, and a proclamation was published by the President calling on all good citizens to maintain the authority of the law.But nothing occurred, the commotion subsided, and the Conservative press congratulated the country on its preservation from the dangerous conspiracy of a few seditious demagogues.It is difficult to get at the truth in a country where everybody lies upon principle; but it is now commonly believed that the whole affair was a trick of the Government to get rid of Ledru Rollin, Considérant, and other troublesome members of the Montagne, who were determined to call the President to account for his infamous conduct to the poor Romans.I do not know whether American papers give these particulars—you must tell me if I repeat what you can get better elsewhere—but we have taken deep interest in these events passing round us. Our indignation is much roused against the Conservative tyranny; and the belief in the Government trick shows, curiously enough, of what it may be capable.A manifestation meeting was called, to support by general feeling the attack which had been made by the advanced party in the Assembly on the unconstitutional measures of the President in suppressing popular gatherings. Two hundred thousand men were passing quietly to the place of meeting, some of the most respectable and distinguished citizens of Paris amongst them, not the slightest disturbance, not even one ‘Vive la Constitution!’ was heard; but a proclamation had been stuck about the streets, of the most inflammatory character, calling the citizens to arms, and signed by Considérant and Ledru Rollin. On the strength of that proclamation, which is fully believed to have been a forgery, the ‘meeting’ was dispersed and proceedings instituted against themembers. The Government is proceeding with a high hand. I see that to-day even the Conservative press is putting in a feeble protest.You would be amused to see how universally politics are discussed: the boy who arranged our rooms, the market-women at their stalls, everyone finds time to read a journal and give some opinion about it.On June 30 I entered La Maternité; my residence there was an invaluable one at that stage of the medical campaign, when no hospitals, dispensaries, or practicalcliniqueswere open to women. La Maternité was a great State institution, where young women to be trained as midwives were sent up from every department of France. The system of instruction, both theoretical and practical, was a remarkable illustration of that genius for organisation which belongs to the French. Every moment of time was appropriated; no distraction of books, newspapers, or other than medical works were allowed; lectures, wardwork, drills, andcliniqueswere arranged from morning to night with no confusion, but no pause; and the comprehension and progress of each pupil was constantly tested by examination.The institution occupied the old convent of Port Royal, and the discipline was monastic in simplicity, regularity, and seclusion.Stirring events were occurring in Paris during my residence in the Maternité, but only vague rumours reached us, as no newspapers were allowed within the old grey convent walls.The following letters give curious pictures of life in this remarkable French institution.July 1, 1849: à la Maternité.Dear Mother,—I have now entered upon a strange phase of life, which I must try and describe, that you may imagine me running about in my great white apron, in which respectable article of apparel I expect to figure for the next three months. I had a good many obstacles to encounter from my ignorance of French customs; and the physicians of Paris, as far as I can judge, are determined not to grant the slightest favour to a feminine M.D. I could not obtain from any persons connected with the Maternité the smallest modification to suit the very different status with which I enter from the young Frenchsages-femmes; but I was determined to enter on whatever conditions, and enter, too, by the first of July, to habituate myself a little to the ways of the place before the annual lectures commenced. I find now that nothing would have been easier than to have given me a little room to myself, permission to go out occasionally, and similar favours, which need have occasioned no jealousy or inconvenience; for the very fact of my being a foreigner impresses the French girls, and they would freely have accepted any claim made for me. But everything was obstinately refused to all the representations of myself or the Consul, Mr. Walsh, and I was only too glad to enter as a young, ignorant French girl. On June 30 I drove down with Anna to the hospital. A high stone wall, with the tops of old buildings peeping above, extends nearly the whole length of a little street. A very small door led into a dark little entrance, theportièreon one side, and a long room, called by courtesy theparloir, on the other. You must notice theparloir, for it is there I shall receive myvisitors, if I ever have any, at two o’clock, in common with the otherélèves; and there in one corner, in a sort of little glass box, sits the good dame who attends to the letters and transacts all the outdoor business for theélèves. The ceiling is very low, the floor of brick, rows of wooden benches ranged one before the other—the most uninteresting room you can possibly conceive; the only pretty thing being the vine leaves which peep through the diamond-shaped windows. This room forms part of a row of old buildings standing against the wall, which contain the director’s bureau, theInterne’srooms, &c. It was too late for me to see M. Boivin, the director, so an old woman took me into the central buildings, through a labyrinth of little passages and long galleries, and all manner of rooms and queer places, to Madame Charrier, thesage-femmein chief, who has her own rooms in a particular part of the building. Her parlour is the funniest little cabinet of curiosities, with a carpet on the floor, as it is of brick instead of waxed wood. Little chintz sofas, mosaic tables, boxes, china and figures, crucifixes, pictures and embroideries, and curtains everywhere. Madame Charrier is a little deformed woman, elderly, but with a fresh colour still, and kind blue eyes. I like what I have seen of her; she seems generally loved by the pupils, and though I do not imagine her of any particular amount of intellect, she seems to have good sense, and after twelve years in such an establishment as this she ought to have much valuable experience. Madame Charrier conducted me by unknown ways to Madame Blockel, the superintendent of thedortoirs, who took me into the infirmary, and said I must sleep there until I had arranged my affairs with the director. I did not much admire the idea of passing the night in the infirmary. There was a large wood fire on the hearth, and the air felt warm and somewhatclose. I looked suspiciously at the long rows of beds extending on each side, their white curtains closely drawn; I did not know what undesirable emanations might be proceeding from them. However, I said nothing, but determined to investigate the contents of the beds as soon as the observers had withdrawn. My trunk was brought up, my bed pointed out, a little lamp placed on the table, and I was left alone. I proceeded then to make my observations, and found to my great relief that every bed was empty, except one, in which one of theélèves, who happened to have a headache, was lying, and from her I found that the place is healthy and no epidemic has prevailed there for a long time. I found her, like all the other French girls, full of those light kindnesses which are so pleasant. She asked me eagerly if I was from her province, and seemed to regard me with much interest when she found I was a stranger from New York, which was the only part of the United States she had heard of, and which she took to be an island near Havannah. I have since found that the pupils are much disappointed that I am not black, as they supposed all persons from America were! After talking a little with her I took out my writing materials, and sat down to the table determining to pay a little visit across the water before going to rest in my new home; but I had no sooner seated myself than Madame Charrier entered with a crowd ofélèves, to know if I would pass the night in thesalle d’accouchements, it being an optional matter the first night. Of course I expressed the utmost willingness. I put up my letter with a sigh, dressed myself for duty, and accompanied anancienne élève(that is, one who has already studied a year, and who always has one or more of thenouvelles élèvesunder her care for initiation) to the room where the children are born. A large apron of coarse towelling was given me, with theinjunction not to lose it, or I should have to pay three francs. It was a large upper room, rather dimly lighted, beds all round, a fire on the hearth, cupboards full of linen in the corners, heaps of shining copper and tin utensils, several rush-bottomed chairs and wooden tables, and in the centre a large wooden stand with sides, on which the little new-comers, tightly swathed and ticketed, are ranged side by side. In the course of the night we had the pleasure of arrangingeightin this way, and the next morning when Madame Charrier made her appearance the cloth was removed and the sight shown with much triumph. It was really very droll. Each little shapeless red visage peeped from under a coarse peaked cap, on the front of which was a large label with the name and sex; a black serge jacket with a white handkerchief pinned across, and a small blanket tightly folded round the rest of the body, completed the appearance of the little mummy. Their behaviour certainly realised Fourier’s supposition, for there was very little crying all the time they lay there together. There were four young French girls sitting up with me, besides the girl who makes the beds and does the roughest work. They were all pretty and pleasant, of no education except their studies in the institution; but those had been evidently carefully attended to, and it sounded not a little droll to hear the scientific terms flowing so glibly from their laughing lips, which were busily employed in talking nonsense all the time that their duties did not call them to the bedside. The next morning at ten o’clock we were discharged from duty; it was Sunday, a comparatively leisure day, and I being a Protestant was excused from the religious services, but I was too sleepy to do much. I wrote, walked in the garden and read a little there, retired early, and had a most welcome sleep and very pleasant dreams.Ourdortoiris a large airy room, with a row of windows and beds on each side, divided into two by a large archway; it contains sixteen beds, occupied mostly byanciennes élèves. I have a window behind my bed; I have shoved the bed forward, fitted in a chair behind, hung up my dressing-gown, and put a few books on the floor by my side, and call it my room. I am now sitting there writing to you. I have just room enough to move my right arm freely, but I am out of the way, I am breathing fresh air, so I consider myself very well off. An old crucifix ornamented by gilded leaves hangs at one end of thedortoir, two little lamps are suspended from the ceiling, an iron bedstead and a chair are appropriated to each individual. The floor is formed of little hexagon bricks, which in some of the rooms are so terribly polished that I walk on them with difficulty. Thedortoiris seldom quiet; the girls sit there a good deal, and some who have watched through the night are generally there in bed; and how French girls do chatter! How they do go into sudden fits of ecstasy or rage! Once at least in the day we have a grand storm, Madame Blockel coming in for some trouble or other, in which she and the accused out-scream each other, and appear to be mortal enemies for a few minutes, and the best of friends immediately after. At twelve o’clock we receive our supply of bread for the day, which we keep in our bedroom and take backwards and forwards to meals. I have frequently wished that you could see me walking gravely along the gallery with my loaf of bread wrapped in a napkin under my arm. The dining-room is a large hall full of round tables, only three of which are occupied at present, as theélèvesonly number thirty, instead of ninety, the usual number. At dinner I saw them all together for the first time; some very pretty and graceful, some very rough. I am learning to take wine; everyone advises me to do so, and I shall soon be able to drink my bottle a day.There seems to be an admirable organisation of work here in every department. I have been much amused to-day by the lessons in theory that I have received from myancienne élèveorchef. The pupils all sat round, and the young instructress, furnished with some bones, gave out an explanatory sentence, which was repeated by each one in turn; I found it an excellent plan of learning French. Of course, the repetition would have been intolerable without the language, but to listen to a dozen different voices and to repeat myself I found to be admirable practice; indeed, being cut off from all English communication is a great advantage in learning French.July 3.—This morning I finish my letter in another situation. I wrote last night till it was dark, and the little lamp in ourdortoirgave so much darkness that I went to bed for want of light. To-day I amen service—that is to say, I shall spend the day from eight in the morning till eight in the evening in superintending the six rooms of the infirmary. I have been handling leeches for the first time (disgusting little things). I enter with anancienne élève, who shows me all the ways of the house. At present the lectures have not commenced, but the visits of Madame Charrier and the physician take place every day; and nature is always here in great abundance to be studied. I feel I shall gain a great deal, and hitherto it has really not proved nearly so formidable an imprisonment as I supposed. The air is delightful this beautiful summer weather, the girls pleasant. There is much to interest in so large an establishment, and I suppose the three months will soon slip away, for I have entered, in my own mind, only for the three months, though I have been asked so often if I am going to stay two years that I have had to tell a great many—evasions. I shall have, doubtless, many weary moments, but I want you all to know that it will not be so utterly miserable asmy former letters may have represented it. And great will be the reward! So send a welcome greeting to the Voluntary Prisoner.July 1849.Dear M.,—I last wrote to you when I was my own mistress; now in some measure I have given up my liberty, and I must give you a little sketch of my prison life, that you may be able to picture the surroundings of your sister M.D. Imagine a large square of old buildings, formerly a convent, set down in the centre of a great court with a wood and garden behind, and many little separate buildings all around, the whole enclosed by very high walls, over the tops of which, shining out beautifully against the clear sky, may be seen the dome of the Panthéon, the Hôtel des Invalides, and the whole building of the observatory which is close adjoining. The inner court is surrounded byles cloîtres, a most convenient arched passage which gives a covered communication to the whole building, and which I suppose was formerly traversed by shaven monks on their way to the church, whose great painted window looks out into the court, but which now echoes the laughter of many merry girls, and across which at half-past seven every morning you may see your humble servant with her coarsetablier de serviceand little white pot in hand hurrying to get some coffee. At half-past five every morning I start up in bed, roused by the bustle of theélèves, who are up before me. I make violent efforts to drive away sleep, which are only partially successful, and then follow the example of twenty girls who inhabit the same longdortoir, and who are busy each by her own iron bedstead dressing hastily to be ready for the visit. I hasten upstairs to the long corridor, the ‘Sainte-Elisabeth,’ where my patients lie. I inquire carefully their condition, wash them, and see that the beds have been properly arranged. By that time it is a quarter past six;Madame Charrier makes her appearance and goes the rounds, accompanied by theélèves, each one giving a short report of the patients under her care. It is a funny group: fifty women or more of all ages, wide awake from the hurry of their duties, but dressed mostly in haste with little white caps, coloured handkerchiefs, and the coarser ones in short bed-gowns, their faces browned by the sun, their hands red with hard work, but all good-tempered, with a kind word always ready, and their black eyes sparkling with life. We pass through the Salles Sainte-Marguerite, Sainte-Elisabeth, Sainte-Anne, visiting each patient in her alcove—it is seven when we finish. I hasten back to mydortoir, make my bed, &c., fetch my coffee, which I procure for two sous a morning from the superintendent of the infirmary, eat it hastily with my bread, which is always supplied for the day at noon, and then hurry off to the Salles Sainte-Marie and Sainte-Marthe, where the more sick patients are placed, whom the attending physicians visit every morning at eight. At this visit are present M. Girardin, the chief physician, a tall, dry, grey-haired man, full of pomposity; theinterne, M. Blot, a very handsome, somewhat dignified young physician, with, I fancy, rather a cross temper; Madame Charrier, theaide-sage-femme, and as many of theélèvesas choose to be present. This over, I make some independent visits to cases which interest me, to the nursery, &c., and try to pick up a little here and there; then I return to thedortoirand read or write a little. Afterwards I join the class instruction in the wood, a preparatory lesson which the elderélèvesgive to the younger ones, and which I attend for the sake of the French. It is a very pretty method of instruction: the young teacher seated on the grass, all the pupils grouped around under the thick shade of some fine tree, the atmosphere being of an elastic purity which is truly charming. The Frenchgirls have a natural talent for instruction; they are so in the habit of talking that they never find the slightest difficulty in expressing what they know, and their lively perceptions give them a peculiar power for superficial instruction. Our poor country girls find it very hard at first to catch scientific words that they do not understand, but in a surprisingly short time they roll them off smoothly and to a certain extent understand well what is taught them.At twelve the bell sounds for the first meal, only milk being given at seven o’clock. We enter a large hall, full of round tables, each holding twelve; to each are furnished a couple of white plates, a tumbler and small bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, a spoon and fork. The meal consists of soup, boiled meat, and vegetables; it is eaten in haste to the music of Madame Blockel’s voice, which keeps up a storm the whole time. She is a somewhat important personage, superintending our meals and ourdortoirs; she is a little red-faced, squint-eyed being, with tremendous projecting teeth, and dressed always in rusty black with a black cap. She is good-natured, liked by the girls, but has a tremendous vocal organ, which is always sounding forth at its highest pitch. Morning, noon, and night good Madame Blockel’s voice drowns all opposing sounds; and really now I am getting as used to it as to a noisy street, and would not care if only she would keep out of thedortoirat night when I am sleepy, for, like a barking dog, she sets all the girls going, and I don’t know when the storm subsides, for I sink to sleep in spite of it. When the meal is over we present a funny sight, each carrying off her loaf, napkin, knife, and various bottles and remnants of dinner. I return to thedortoir, do up little matters, read or attend the class again, visit my patients in the corridor, and from two to three go to theparloirto see my friends, if they are so good as to come at that hot hour to see me. Thisparloiris a funny affair—a plain room, filled with woodenbenches, where all manner of rough people are assembled to visit theélèves. On certain days, also, in one corner a woman establishes a little shop, where she supplies all the small wants of the girls in the way of haberdashery, stationery, perfumery, &c.; and in another corner sits the old lady,la dame du bureau, observing everything, and giving the signal precisely at three for the departure of everybody. At six a second meal is served, consisting of roast meat and some little kind of cake, and another bottle of wine; afterwards we are free to do as we choose. I generally sit a little in the wood and write till it is dark; in a few days, however, the lectures commence, and four or five hours will be occupied in that way. I have described my idle, or rather my free days. When I amen serviceI spend the whole day in the ward where I am placed; or the night, if I happen to be on night service. About three or four days are thus spent, and after passing the night in watching I am not worth much the next day, for I am not yet accustomed to the duty. Then little extra touches come in to diversify the day. I pay a visit to Madame Charrier or to Mlle. Mallet, one of theaides-sage-femmes, whom I like very much, or some difficult operation calls us to the amphitheatre. Next week I shall be able to tell you how I like the lectures; we shall have several each day, and I hope they will supply the want which I now feel of an intelligent explanation of the phenomena which I observe.August.—The lectures have now commenced. From seven to eight Madame Charrier gives her lesson every morning; I occupy a chair beside her in consideration of my foreignness, she being anxious that I should understand thoroughly. I wish I could describe that lesson to you; it is the most curious spurring-up of pupils I ever saw, and really it makes some of them gallop admirably, though many tumble down in the effort. Three pupils are called down every morning, seated on a longbench in front of Madame Charrier’s table, and undergo an hour’s examination on what they have heard from the teachers. If they answer promptly and well, her satisfaction is extreme, her face grows beautiful, and her ‘Bien! très bien!’ really does me good, it is so hearty; but if an unlucky pupil hesitate, if she speak too low, if intelligence or attention be wanting, then breaks forth the most admirable scolding I ever listened to. Alternately satirical and furious, she becomes perfectly on fire, rises upon her chair, claps her hands, looks up to heaven, and the next moment, if a good answer has redeemed the fault, all is forgotten, her satisfaction is as great as her anger. There is not the slightest wickedness about her; she puts her whole soul into her lesson, and does not realise how very difficult it is for ignorant girls to study a science. At first I was a little shocked at this stormy instruction, but really it seems almost necessary now, and produces wonderful results. If the girls only keep their temper under it and do not cry, it comes right at last; but a tear is an unpardonable offence, and considered an insult and a total misunderstanding. Madame Charrier is a woman of great experience and always speaks to the point, and her lessons are often very useful. From nine till ten we listen to M. Paul Dubois. I like his lectures exceedingly. A little, bald, grey-haired man, with a clear, gentle voice and a very benevolent face, he thoroughly understands his subject, and expresses himself with precision and completeness.At a little after twelve our dinner-bell rings, and right glad I always am to hear it. The large round tables are speedily encircled, all stand up, and a grace is said with such rapidity that to this day I can make out no words butsaint usage, and the sign of the cross made with wonderful dexterity on the forehead and breast. At the conclusion of the meal another prayer rocket is sent up, amidst laughing and bustle, and all crowd out of the hall,with their loaves of bread under their arms and all manner of odd little pots full of eatables in their hands. From one till two another lesson in the amphitheatre—which, fortunately, is a pleasant room—from the secondaide-sage-femme, a lesson useful on the whole, but sometimes a little wearisome. From two to three is the hour for receiving visitors, but if I am not expecting a visit, and if I have sat up the preceding night, I take a bath—for there are six baths prepared every day at that hour for theélèves. The same communism exists in the baths as in everything else. They are side by side, in a double row, down the middle of the room; and the withered genius of the bath-room stands, observing every movement, and talking an incomprehensiblepatoisthe whole time. I try to imagine it is only the bubbling of water that I hear; I shut my eyes, lie quietly for half an hour, and fancy that I am deliciously reposing on the heaving waters of some soft summer lake; then I spring up, take a cold dash, to the horror of my companions, and hurry off as fast as possible, really the better for the divine element....Were I a good Catholic I should find my time filled with visits to the chapel—morning and evening prayers, vespers, and the daily baptisms are regular services, with numerous extras on saints’ days, &c.; but most happily I am Protestant, and again and again I have blessed Heaven for the fact. The great fat, red-faced priest occasionally leaves the retirement of his clerical dwelling and strolls in the wood, or makes a visit to the infirmary; he always gives me long stares of excessive curiosity when I pass him, but I have taken a great dislike to his sensual-looking worship, and will not give him the slightest opportunity to make my acquaintance....After dinner, when fine, I generally go into our wood, and, seating myself under my favourite tree, I write tillit grows dark; or I stroll up and down the broad alleys, sending my thoughts far off into the past or the future. It is very pleasant in our wood; outside the walls are large gardens and public walks, so that the air is very fresh, and the beauty of the Parisian summer climate is extreme. Sometimes my friendlyaidejoins me, for she cannot bear to see me alone; it seems to the French a sign of deplorable melancholy. She walks with me, chatting gaily, and bearing my clumsy French with great patience; for, as I said, she has taken a fancy to me, and I have to welcome with a good grace the pinches, shakes, and similar tokens of French affection. Fortunately, however, it shows itself in more satisfactory ways also, and I owe many an opportunity for interesting observation to her kindness. The girls look picturesque in the wood by the sunset light. Sometimes a group is seated on the grass round its chief, eagerly taking in the instruction that may aid it in the next day’s examination; others are singing or playing; but I think I have never seen one engaged by herself in meditation or work. Their character is eminently social, communicative. Mr. Doherty remarked wisely that vanity, in its widest sense, is their ruling spirit, which makes it impossible for them to understand the English, where pride rules. There is one young girl I like to talk with. I have never seen anything more graceful, lively, and finished than the little pictures of life which she throws off with perfect ease; every motion of her pretty little head, every gesture and intonation is perfect, and occasionally I am really startled by a profound view of life that she just glances at, and then is off again. I would give much to be able to note down some of her narrations, but when I try to turn them into another language their exquisite spirit seems to vanish....You must not be surprised if my letter contains animmense number of perplexed parentheses, and has a tendency to return always to the same subject. If you could only hear ‘what hideous sounds salute mine ear,’ you would not wonder. The girls are singing hymns to the Virgin in an adjoining room, and really, if the Virgin be a lady of as much taste as beauty according to the representations of Raphael, she must be considerably annoyed by the zeal without knowledge displayed by her admirers. Our secondaide-sage-femmeis a very pious young Catholic, of really a sweet disposition. A week or two ago, on the commencement of the month of Mary, she assembled the girls together, reminded them of the season, and proposed to meet frequently in the evening and sing canticles in honour of the Lady, adding that undoubtedly the object of their attention would be gratified by this demonstration and would not be unmindful of those who offered the homage. The proposition was received with enthusiasm, and since that unlucky day Mlle. Boisonnet and her followers have exercised their lungs in season and out of season, to the horror of all my nerves and, I fear, to the serious displeasure of the Virgin. They have numerous little books of canticles. I looked over the index the other day—‘Who so pure as she,’ ‘The brightness of her presence,’ ‘Mary, pray for us,’ and all such titles filled the pages. The tunes have a striking resemblance to American camp-meeting hymns. There is one which was certainly the original of ‘Oh, let us be joyful.’ I often think, if H. were only here, how he would join in honouring the Virgin....I must give you a few more sketches of my present life. Imagine, then, that you have retired early to bed, after a night spent in hard work, and the day in that nervous mystification that follows loss of rest. You have taken a refreshing bath and laid yourself down, encircledby dear memories that fan you to sleep with their gentle dreams; you have just entered that beautiful dreamland, when you are suddenly startled by a scream, a burst of laughter, and then the vision of one white-robed form darting past in the twilight, pursued by a similar form, mysterious to your veiled senses. The chase continues over beds and boxes, while shouts of laughter, followed by a shower of small articles, proceed from the other beds; then a loud smack is heard, whose nature is easily divined by those who are at all familiar with juvenile offenders, a spring from the bed and a rush by the injured party follow; but still you resolutely shut your eyes and will yourself asleep, in the fond hope that nature is really too tired to keep awake, when a sudden rolling sound, followed by a violent shock, at once convinces you of the vanity of your efforts, and you resign yourself to wakefulness, for a favourite amusement has commenced—they are ‘promenading the bedsteads’! You must know that our bedsteads are of iron, and placed on rollers so movable that a slight impulsion will speed them a considerable distance. Often in stepping into bed the slight movement has caused the mercurial article to describe a sudden semicircle. This property of these usually sober pieces of furniture is taken advantage of by the girls, who are now in a frolic and exercising in the most ingenious way, to the unspeakable annoyance of a quiet individual. An impulsion is given to one end of a long row of beds, which is quickly communicated to the whole row, or a simultaneous shock is given to the two extremities and their force brought to bear on the unfortunate centre. But the favourite freak is to place a bedstead at the end of the room and drive it with great violence down the centre. The rolling noise over the brick floor is tremendous, and accompanied by a regular Babel of laughter, shouting, and jokes of every description. Some get ontop of their beds, which consist of three thick mattresses, and jump up and down like mad things; others get up a wild dance in one corner of the room, which grows continually faster and noisier, and the strife of tongues is truly astonishing. Their jokes are really amusing occasionally; the scientific terms that they hear daily play a conspicuous part. The frolic ends as suddenly as it began, when, fairly full of fun, they suddenly jump into bed, say good-night, and in five minutes all are sound asleep. The first night I was thus rudely awakened I was much inclined to be angry, but I philosophised a little and came to the conclusion that it was my voluntary action to be there, and that youthful spirits must have free play. I pitied the poor children in their undeveloped life and the restrictions they suffer here too much to be disturbed by their little outburst, and the next morning they begged me to excuse them because they wereso young!My time is very fully occupied; my former leisure moments are now employed in writing compositions and taking observations. These last I willingly consent to; they will be records to me of French practice. They consist of a little history of the patient and a daily account of her condition and treatment. But as they are in French, I am somewhat longer in noting them down than I should be if I could employ my own noble language. I have made two ‘observations’ of surgical cases that have been very much approved of. I was quite amused with one of them. I was directed to note the case down under the direction of my chief in that department. As usual, I did promptly and cheerfully what was required; I wrote all she dictated, and then I made a private memorandum for my own satisfaction. This latter was seen by the Superior, and immediately the ‘chief’ was directed to copy it; she did it willingly, for she is a good little being,and has a profound respect for the stranger. The other day two of our chiefs begged me to give them a private lesson on the circulation of the blood, which I willingly complied with. We seated ourselves in the wood, and I explained to them what they did not know; they were very grateful, and have come to me several times since to beg me to continue my lesson—indeed, the girls here have a sweet nature in many respects. There are little jealousies and excitements amongst themselves, but they take the right relationship to me; they think me singularly grave and self-sufficing, but they show me continually the utmost respect, and are always glad to do me any little service. I frequently enter thesalle d’accouchements, when the other divisions are engaged there, to see what is going on, and I always meet a pleasant welcome. One evening I phrenologised them, to their unbounded delight; for some time after I could never enter the room without being surrounded by a small mob eagerly demanding an examination. Everything delights them; they are perfect children in their full, unthinking enjoyment of the present. A little English lesson is a never-failing source of merriment, and I am continually saluted with some oddly pronounced English word, followed by a burst of merriment. We have girls from all parts of France; some are remarkable for their stupidity, which is generally explained by the province from which they arrive. Madame Charrier’s morning lesson is an ordeal through which all have to pass, and seated by her, every morning, I have a fine opportunity for studying the various departments of France. When some singularly obtuse intellect has exhausted all the patience and all the impatience of the teacher, she folds her hands and asks in a subdued voice, ‘Mademoiselle, from what department do you come?’ and on receiving the answer, adds, ‘Ah, then it is all accounted for; the case is a hopeless one;’ which announcementgreatly delights the rest of the class who belong to more enlightened departments.We have oneélèvewho goes by the name of ‘La Normande;’ she is one of mypictures. A fresh, healthy complexion, browned by the sun and the sea air of her beautiful home, regular features, a stout, vigorous frame that has never known a touch of sickness, she walks about with a step that feels the ground; in her white quilled cap, and handkerchief pinned over her bosom, she looks with her clear blue eyes right into your face, and has a frank, loyal manner that marks her honest, independent nature. On Sunday she dresses in the short full petticoat, the silk-laced jacket, and the lace cap, with its towering pyramidal crown and circular ray-like border, that I think I have already described to you. She sometimes visits ourdortoirand forms the centre of a group, whom she entertains with her constantly overflowing life, sometimes singing, in a deep contralto voice, her peasant hymns to the Virgin—simple pathetic melodies chanted under the lindens when the day’s labours are finished—or dancing vigorously the figures, more gay than graceful, of her country, while she sings some lively air. I admire her vigorous life, I like to see her in the infirmary; she tends the sick with such an honest awkwardness, such a kind heart, and lifts them like babies in her strong arms, that I see the green fields and smell the sweet country air as I watch her. Then I have a little Parisian that I hang up beside her, as plump as a partridge, with merry black eyes, glossy hair always arrangedà la mode, and full of little coquettish ways. Her temper is like a lucifer match, the slightest friction fires it; the smile and the tear are equally ready, though the sunshine generally prevails. She has spent several years in business in Paris, in cigar stores and similar employments, where she has had much to do with gentlemen, and sherepeats to me the compliments they paid her, the offers they made, and her own witty, contemptuous replies, with the utmostnaïveté. Poor child! she has been thrown on her own simple instincts for protection, for her mother was soon jealous of the attractions of her daughter, and removed her to a distance; but the real innocence of her heart, and a true attachment to a young ship’s surgeon, seem to have supplied the place of her natural protectors. But true to her Parisian blood, she has coquetted from first to last, and she never talks to me now but I find it playing in every dimple. Think of it! she was given me as my ‘Chief of Theory’! Now she asks me in the sweetest manner if I will come sometimes to her lessons, and explain to the girls what she does not understand. Poor child! I willingly oblige her.But I must not weary you with my portrait gallery, my walls are covered with curious figures; let me sketch for you our ‘vaccinations,’ which take place every Tuesday at one o’clock. The numbers of the babies are distributed beforehand amongst theélèveswho are to perform the operations; thus, 25 Ste. Marie to one, 32 Ste. Marthe to another, and so on. Theélèvesseek their babies and bring them into the Hall of the Nurses, a large upper room, full already of women and babies. A space is cleared by one of the windows, chairs placed; in the centre sits M. Blot, the director of the operation; I occupy a chair beside him. Mademoiselle, who superintends another division, stands beside, and then baby after baby is subjected to the awkward manœuvres of theélèves, to their utmost dissatisfaction. The babies are very ugly in their coarse hospital swaddling clothes; I never saw the little beings so enveloped before. They are just like mummies, but they perform a terrible concert altogether, with the voices of theélèvesto help them. I sit a quiet spectator of the operation, occasionally addressing aquestion to M. Blot as he touches knife after knife on the arm of the infant before him; which question seems rather to embarrass the handsomeinterne, for he colours, or passes his hand through his hair and looks intently at the baby, in a very un-Frenchmanlike manner. I think he must be veryyoung, or very much in awe of me, for he never ventures to give me a direct look, and seems so troubled when I address him that I very rarely disturb his life in that way.I think I have given you enough of my external hospital life to enable you to picture me somewhat in my surroundings; do you want to know how the spirit feels in its curious home? Then know, dear friends, that it is strong and hopeful, that it has moments of weariness, of intense yearning for its true related life, but that it lives ever in the great presence of the Eternal, and feels the angels always near.The difficult breaking-in to the practical work of the obstetrician is noted in the journal of those days; and also the pleasant comradeship which gradually sprang up with the very intelligent young physician who served asinterneat that time; this companionship was a great relief to my imprisonment in La Maternité.Notes from the Journal.July 4.—Attended lessons by theaides-sages-femmes; very clever instruction. Spent the day in thesalle d’accouchements, but was disgusted by the treatment of aprimipara. With all the instruction they have received, the very first principles of humane treatment seem too often neglected. They are still ignorant midwives with their mischievous interference.... The version seemed to me horrible. I almost fainted.... Spent the night in the infirmary—weary work. I cannot bearthis loss of sleep.... To-day, three operations; much interested in the morning, but grew weary and disgusted in the afternoon.July 22.—Attended theinterne’svisit and spoke to him about one of the patients; he replied so pleasantly that I said a little more, and he promised to lend me a medical journal to look over, and see how I liked it. The little friendliness encouraged me....August 12.—The poor woman whom I have attended as my first complete patient gave me a littleprie-dieuwhich she had made. Her humble heart longs to express its gratitude. I put it in my Bible where my friends are reading to-day.... M. Dubois again waited after the lecture to say a few pleasant words. He wished I would stay a year and gain the gold medal; said I should be the best obstetrician, male or female, in America! Had quite a pleasant visit to the infirmary, where M. Blot made me observe several interesting points, and answered my questions intelligently and frankly....August 24.—Quite taken by surprise at the infirmary visit this afternoon. M. Blot met me so pleasantly, and asked me to give him some lessons in English. I think he must have been meditating this request for some time; it had hardly the air of a spontaneous thought. I like him. I hope we may come a little more closely together....September 2.—I have been quite happy for three hours. I must note down what I’ve learned. M. Blot brought his microscope to the Infirmerie des Élèves. I was exceedingly interested in his microscopic lecture. He showed us in a work of M. Hébert’s the difference between the epithélium pavimenteux, such as covers the tongue, skin, &c., and the epithélium vibratile, as in other parts, and the fibro-plastic formations in the reparation of tissues, showing specimens of each kind. The first species was represented by a cellule full of little cellules,anoyauin the centre containing a nucleolus—thus.... The second was of elongated form, thus.... The third represented the growth of fibre from cells, which cells are distinguished from the first by the relatively smaller size of thenoyau, thus.... By such examination different formations can be distinguished from each other; thus cancer possesses very distinctive elements. It is necessary to examine bodies of varying shapes under different foci of the microscope, otherwise illusions may be created. In illustration he placed some blood globules, and showed us that what appeared a central spot in each globule was owing to the convexity not being in focus, and it disappeared when the focus was a little lengthened. He spoke also of a paper read before a society yesterday by a young physician, which proved that the azote, which in the ox is voided by the excrement, in the cow is absorbed into the milk; and that the difference in the manure of the two is great.He is busy himself now in preparing for an examination ofinternes; if he gain the gold medal, he has the right to enter any hospital he chooses asinternefor a second term, and receive also his M.D., not otherwise granted to aninterne. What chance have women, shut out from these instructions? Work on, Elizabeth!...To-day M. Blot spoke of a friend, Claude Bernard, a distinguished young inquirer, who is now, he thinks, on the eve of a discovery that will immortalise him—viz. the discovery of an accessory circulation, by which substances are sent directly to the kidneys without traversing the general circulation, which will explain, for instance, the rapid effect of champagne on the kidneys. This second heart is situated in the ascending vena cava, close by the liver; strong muscular fibres are evident in the human subject, but in the horse are as large as quills. He does not perceive yet what veins return the blood, ifhis supposition be true. He also spoke of the power which the liver has of secreting sugar in a normal state, when animals are fed on certain substances which can be so converted; also of the curious experiment by which a dog was made, in his presence, to secrete albuminous or diabetic urine, according to the pricking of one or another point of the pneumogastric nerve near its origin....[6]At the afternoon visit we had quite a philosophical discussion on society, &c. Mlle. Mallet was delighted with abon motof M. Blot. She remarked that she understood thatles demoiselleshad answered likeanges. ‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘en ôtant le g.’ They had been unusually stupid! She asked me if M. Blot were not rathermoqueur. I said I did not know, but that I had discovered that he was very ambitious. His sentiments seem to be good, but his character is certainly not French.September 21.—M. Dubois stopped to speak to me after the lecture, and again expressed his great desire that I should remain a year in the institution. I told him I had determined to remain another three months; but I had many other branches to study. He replied that anything else I might learn elsewhere as well as inParis, but that the opportunity of seeing all that was remarkable in three thousand deliveries in that space of time could be met with nowhere else in the world; that it equalled the whole practice of most physicians, and he was persuaded that I should regret it if I did not remain. He parted saying he would talk the matter over again with me. If it be pure interest that makes him urge this, I am glad; but it seems to me now an impossible endurance.October 4.—Another midnight scene—a strange spectacle of suffering and of science. As I stood on the crowded benches of the amphitheatre I heard the clock strike one, the holy noon of night. I wondered how long our sins would thus be fearfully visited upon us. The rain beat in torrents on the skylight, the wind shook the building, and I could look with intense interest on that rare and dangerous accident submitted to our investigation—lithotomy, the only way to save life; a tedious operation lasting, I should think, an hour, for in the hurry of midnight dressing I had forgotten my watch....To-night I have been walking in the wood; the wind blows fresh under the clear starlight. I am happier now that my mind is clearly determined to leave at the end of six months, with the conviction that my work here is thoroughly done....October 30.—Madame Charrier sent for me this afternoon to present me withmy portrait. It was a lithograph picture of Elizabeth Blackwell, taken from a history ofsages-femmes célèbres. This lady, about 1737, published a work on medical botany in two large folio volumes, in order to get her husband, a medical man, out of prison, where he was confined for debt.I imagined a whole romance out of the picture, and a little biography—a romance of a beautiful, true spirit,struggling with a society too strong to be turned from its ancient habits of evil. But the pure spirit is not lost, it is working bravely still.A Sortie from La Maternité.

June 1849.My Friends, one and all,—I closed my last letter apparently on the eve of a great insurrection. I went out with E. G. quickly to put it in the post, not knowing how soon we might be prisoners in the house or stirring out at the risk of life. We passed through hurrying crowds full of excitement. Through the night heavy waggons of ammunition and provisions, escorted by soldiers, had rumbled through the streets. The public squares were shut and filled with soldiers. The Democratic press was destroyed; and the next morning thecity was declared in a state of siege, and a proclamation was published by the President calling on all good citizens to maintain the authority of the law.But nothing occurred, the commotion subsided, and the Conservative press congratulated the country on its preservation from the dangerous conspiracy of a few seditious demagogues.It is difficult to get at the truth in a country where everybody lies upon principle; but it is now commonly believed that the whole affair was a trick of the Government to get rid of Ledru Rollin, Considérant, and other troublesome members of the Montagne, who were determined to call the President to account for his infamous conduct to the poor Romans.I do not know whether American papers give these particulars—you must tell me if I repeat what you can get better elsewhere—but we have taken deep interest in these events passing round us. Our indignation is much roused against the Conservative tyranny; and the belief in the Government trick shows, curiously enough, of what it may be capable.A manifestation meeting was called, to support by general feeling the attack which had been made by the advanced party in the Assembly on the unconstitutional measures of the President in suppressing popular gatherings. Two hundred thousand men were passing quietly to the place of meeting, some of the most respectable and distinguished citizens of Paris amongst them, not the slightest disturbance, not even one ‘Vive la Constitution!’ was heard; but a proclamation had been stuck about the streets, of the most inflammatory character, calling the citizens to arms, and signed by Considérant and Ledru Rollin. On the strength of that proclamation, which is fully believed to have been a forgery, the ‘meeting’ was dispersed and proceedings instituted against themembers. The Government is proceeding with a high hand. I see that to-day even the Conservative press is putting in a feeble protest.You would be amused to see how universally politics are discussed: the boy who arranged our rooms, the market-women at their stalls, everyone finds time to read a journal and give some opinion about it.

June 1849.

My Friends, one and all,—I closed my last letter apparently on the eve of a great insurrection. I went out with E. G. quickly to put it in the post, not knowing how soon we might be prisoners in the house or stirring out at the risk of life. We passed through hurrying crowds full of excitement. Through the night heavy waggons of ammunition and provisions, escorted by soldiers, had rumbled through the streets. The public squares were shut and filled with soldiers. The Democratic press was destroyed; and the next morning thecity was declared in a state of siege, and a proclamation was published by the President calling on all good citizens to maintain the authority of the law.

But nothing occurred, the commotion subsided, and the Conservative press congratulated the country on its preservation from the dangerous conspiracy of a few seditious demagogues.

It is difficult to get at the truth in a country where everybody lies upon principle; but it is now commonly believed that the whole affair was a trick of the Government to get rid of Ledru Rollin, Considérant, and other troublesome members of the Montagne, who were determined to call the President to account for his infamous conduct to the poor Romans.

I do not know whether American papers give these particulars—you must tell me if I repeat what you can get better elsewhere—but we have taken deep interest in these events passing round us. Our indignation is much roused against the Conservative tyranny; and the belief in the Government trick shows, curiously enough, of what it may be capable.

A manifestation meeting was called, to support by general feeling the attack which had been made by the advanced party in the Assembly on the unconstitutional measures of the President in suppressing popular gatherings. Two hundred thousand men were passing quietly to the place of meeting, some of the most respectable and distinguished citizens of Paris amongst them, not the slightest disturbance, not even one ‘Vive la Constitution!’ was heard; but a proclamation had been stuck about the streets, of the most inflammatory character, calling the citizens to arms, and signed by Considérant and Ledru Rollin. On the strength of that proclamation, which is fully believed to have been a forgery, the ‘meeting’ was dispersed and proceedings instituted against themembers. The Government is proceeding with a high hand. I see that to-day even the Conservative press is putting in a feeble protest.

You would be amused to see how universally politics are discussed: the boy who arranged our rooms, the market-women at their stalls, everyone finds time to read a journal and give some opinion about it.

On June 30 I entered La Maternité; my residence there was an invaluable one at that stage of the medical campaign, when no hospitals, dispensaries, or practicalcliniqueswere open to women. La Maternité was a great State institution, where young women to be trained as midwives were sent up from every department of France. The system of instruction, both theoretical and practical, was a remarkable illustration of that genius for organisation which belongs to the French. Every moment of time was appropriated; no distraction of books, newspapers, or other than medical works were allowed; lectures, wardwork, drills, andcliniqueswere arranged from morning to night with no confusion, but no pause; and the comprehension and progress of each pupil was constantly tested by examination.

The institution occupied the old convent of Port Royal, and the discipline was monastic in simplicity, regularity, and seclusion.

Stirring events were occurring in Paris during my residence in the Maternité, but only vague rumours reached us, as no newspapers were allowed within the old grey convent walls.

The following letters give curious pictures of life in this remarkable French institution.

July 1, 1849: à la Maternité.Dear Mother,—I have now entered upon a strange phase of life, which I must try and describe, that you may imagine me running about in my great white apron, in which respectable article of apparel I expect to figure for the next three months. I had a good many obstacles to encounter from my ignorance of French customs; and the physicians of Paris, as far as I can judge, are determined not to grant the slightest favour to a feminine M.D. I could not obtain from any persons connected with the Maternité the smallest modification to suit the very different status with which I enter from the young Frenchsages-femmes; but I was determined to enter on whatever conditions, and enter, too, by the first of July, to habituate myself a little to the ways of the place before the annual lectures commenced. I find now that nothing would have been easier than to have given me a little room to myself, permission to go out occasionally, and similar favours, which need have occasioned no jealousy or inconvenience; for the very fact of my being a foreigner impresses the French girls, and they would freely have accepted any claim made for me. But everything was obstinately refused to all the representations of myself or the Consul, Mr. Walsh, and I was only too glad to enter as a young, ignorant French girl. On June 30 I drove down with Anna to the hospital. A high stone wall, with the tops of old buildings peeping above, extends nearly the whole length of a little street. A very small door led into a dark little entrance, theportièreon one side, and a long room, called by courtesy theparloir, on the other. You must notice theparloir, for it is there I shall receive myvisitors, if I ever have any, at two o’clock, in common with the otherélèves; and there in one corner, in a sort of little glass box, sits the good dame who attends to the letters and transacts all the outdoor business for theélèves. The ceiling is very low, the floor of brick, rows of wooden benches ranged one before the other—the most uninteresting room you can possibly conceive; the only pretty thing being the vine leaves which peep through the diamond-shaped windows. This room forms part of a row of old buildings standing against the wall, which contain the director’s bureau, theInterne’srooms, &c. It was too late for me to see M. Boivin, the director, so an old woman took me into the central buildings, through a labyrinth of little passages and long galleries, and all manner of rooms and queer places, to Madame Charrier, thesage-femmein chief, who has her own rooms in a particular part of the building. Her parlour is the funniest little cabinet of curiosities, with a carpet on the floor, as it is of brick instead of waxed wood. Little chintz sofas, mosaic tables, boxes, china and figures, crucifixes, pictures and embroideries, and curtains everywhere. Madame Charrier is a little deformed woman, elderly, but with a fresh colour still, and kind blue eyes. I like what I have seen of her; she seems generally loved by the pupils, and though I do not imagine her of any particular amount of intellect, she seems to have good sense, and after twelve years in such an establishment as this she ought to have much valuable experience. Madame Charrier conducted me by unknown ways to Madame Blockel, the superintendent of thedortoirs, who took me into the infirmary, and said I must sleep there until I had arranged my affairs with the director. I did not much admire the idea of passing the night in the infirmary. There was a large wood fire on the hearth, and the air felt warm and somewhatclose. I looked suspiciously at the long rows of beds extending on each side, their white curtains closely drawn; I did not know what undesirable emanations might be proceeding from them. However, I said nothing, but determined to investigate the contents of the beds as soon as the observers had withdrawn. My trunk was brought up, my bed pointed out, a little lamp placed on the table, and I was left alone. I proceeded then to make my observations, and found to my great relief that every bed was empty, except one, in which one of theélèves, who happened to have a headache, was lying, and from her I found that the place is healthy and no epidemic has prevailed there for a long time. I found her, like all the other French girls, full of those light kindnesses which are so pleasant. She asked me eagerly if I was from her province, and seemed to regard me with much interest when she found I was a stranger from New York, which was the only part of the United States she had heard of, and which she took to be an island near Havannah. I have since found that the pupils are much disappointed that I am not black, as they supposed all persons from America were! After talking a little with her I took out my writing materials, and sat down to the table determining to pay a little visit across the water before going to rest in my new home; but I had no sooner seated myself than Madame Charrier entered with a crowd ofélèves, to know if I would pass the night in thesalle d’accouchements, it being an optional matter the first night. Of course I expressed the utmost willingness. I put up my letter with a sigh, dressed myself for duty, and accompanied anancienne élève(that is, one who has already studied a year, and who always has one or more of thenouvelles élèvesunder her care for initiation) to the room where the children are born. A large apron of coarse towelling was given me, with theinjunction not to lose it, or I should have to pay three francs. It was a large upper room, rather dimly lighted, beds all round, a fire on the hearth, cupboards full of linen in the corners, heaps of shining copper and tin utensils, several rush-bottomed chairs and wooden tables, and in the centre a large wooden stand with sides, on which the little new-comers, tightly swathed and ticketed, are ranged side by side. In the course of the night we had the pleasure of arrangingeightin this way, and the next morning when Madame Charrier made her appearance the cloth was removed and the sight shown with much triumph. It was really very droll. Each little shapeless red visage peeped from under a coarse peaked cap, on the front of which was a large label with the name and sex; a black serge jacket with a white handkerchief pinned across, and a small blanket tightly folded round the rest of the body, completed the appearance of the little mummy. Their behaviour certainly realised Fourier’s supposition, for there was very little crying all the time they lay there together. There were four young French girls sitting up with me, besides the girl who makes the beds and does the roughest work. They were all pretty and pleasant, of no education except their studies in the institution; but those had been evidently carefully attended to, and it sounded not a little droll to hear the scientific terms flowing so glibly from their laughing lips, which were busily employed in talking nonsense all the time that their duties did not call them to the bedside. The next morning at ten o’clock we were discharged from duty; it was Sunday, a comparatively leisure day, and I being a Protestant was excused from the religious services, but I was too sleepy to do much. I wrote, walked in the garden and read a little there, retired early, and had a most welcome sleep and very pleasant dreams.Ourdortoiris a large airy room, with a row of windows and beds on each side, divided into two by a large archway; it contains sixteen beds, occupied mostly byanciennes élèves. I have a window behind my bed; I have shoved the bed forward, fitted in a chair behind, hung up my dressing-gown, and put a few books on the floor by my side, and call it my room. I am now sitting there writing to you. I have just room enough to move my right arm freely, but I am out of the way, I am breathing fresh air, so I consider myself very well off. An old crucifix ornamented by gilded leaves hangs at one end of thedortoir, two little lamps are suspended from the ceiling, an iron bedstead and a chair are appropriated to each individual. The floor is formed of little hexagon bricks, which in some of the rooms are so terribly polished that I walk on them with difficulty. Thedortoiris seldom quiet; the girls sit there a good deal, and some who have watched through the night are generally there in bed; and how French girls do chatter! How they do go into sudden fits of ecstasy or rage! Once at least in the day we have a grand storm, Madame Blockel coming in for some trouble or other, in which she and the accused out-scream each other, and appear to be mortal enemies for a few minutes, and the best of friends immediately after. At twelve o’clock we receive our supply of bread for the day, which we keep in our bedroom and take backwards and forwards to meals. I have frequently wished that you could see me walking gravely along the gallery with my loaf of bread wrapped in a napkin under my arm. The dining-room is a large hall full of round tables, only three of which are occupied at present, as theélèvesonly number thirty, instead of ninety, the usual number. At dinner I saw them all together for the first time; some very pretty and graceful, some very rough. I am learning to take wine; everyone advises me to do so, and I shall soon be able to drink my bottle a day.There seems to be an admirable organisation of work here in every department. I have been much amused to-day by the lessons in theory that I have received from myancienne élèveorchef. The pupils all sat round, and the young instructress, furnished with some bones, gave out an explanatory sentence, which was repeated by each one in turn; I found it an excellent plan of learning French. Of course, the repetition would have been intolerable without the language, but to listen to a dozen different voices and to repeat myself I found to be admirable practice; indeed, being cut off from all English communication is a great advantage in learning French.July 3.—This morning I finish my letter in another situation. I wrote last night till it was dark, and the little lamp in ourdortoirgave so much darkness that I went to bed for want of light. To-day I amen service—that is to say, I shall spend the day from eight in the morning till eight in the evening in superintending the six rooms of the infirmary. I have been handling leeches for the first time (disgusting little things). I enter with anancienne élève, who shows me all the ways of the house. At present the lectures have not commenced, but the visits of Madame Charrier and the physician take place every day; and nature is always here in great abundance to be studied. I feel I shall gain a great deal, and hitherto it has really not proved nearly so formidable an imprisonment as I supposed. The air is delightful this beautiful summer weather, the girls pleasant. There is much to interest in so large an establishment, and I suppose the three months will soon slip away, for I have entered, in my own mind, only for the three months, though I have been asked so often if I am going to stay two years that I have had to tell a great many—evasions. I shall have, doubtless, many weary moments, but I want you all to know that it will not be so utterly miserable asmy former letters may have represented it. And great will be the reward! So send a welcome greeting to the Voluntary Prisoner.July 1849.Dear M.,—I last wrote to you when I was my own mistress; now in some measure I have given up my liberty, and I must give you a little sketch of my prison life, that you may be able to picture the surroundings of your sister M.D. Imagine a large square of old buildings, formerly a convent, set down in the centre of a great court with a wood and garden behind, and many little separate buildings all around, the whole enclosed by very high walls, over the tops of which, shining out beautifully against the clear sky, may be seen the dome of the Panthéon, the Hôtel des Invalides, and the whole building of the observatory which is close adjoining. The inner court is surrounded byles cloîtres, a most convenient arched passage which gives a covered communication to the whole building, and which I suppose was formerly traversed by shaven monks on their way to the church, whose great painted window looks out into the court, but which now echoes the laughter of many merry girls, and across which at half-past seven every morning you may see your humble servant with her coarsetablier de serviceand little white pot in hand hurrying to get some coffee. At half-past five every morning I start up in bed, roused by the bustle of theélèves, who are up before me. I make violent efforts to drive away sleep, which are only partially successful, and then follow the example of twenty girls who inhabit the same longdortoir, and who are busy each by her own iron bedstead dressing hastily to be ready for the visit. I hasten upstairs to the long corridor, the ‘Sainte-Elisabeth,’ where my patients lie. I inquire carefully their condition, wash them, and see that the beds have been properly arranged. By that time it is a quarter past six;Madame Charrier makes her appearance and goes the rounds, accompanied by theélèves, each one giving a short report of the patients under her care. It is a funny group: fifty women or more of all ages, wide awake from the hurry of their duties, but dressed mostly in haste with little white caps, coloured handkerchiefs, and the coarser ones in short bed-gowns, their faces browned by the sun, their hands red with hard work, but all good-tempered, with a kind word always ready, and their black eyes sparkling with life. We pass through the Salles Sainte-Marguerite, Sainte-Elisabeth, Sainte-Anne, visiting each patient in her alcove—it is seven when we finish. I hasten back to mydortoir, make my bed, &c., fetch my coffee, which I procure for two sous a morning from the superintendent of the infirmary, eat it hastily with my bread, which is always supplied for the day at noon, and then hurry off to the Salles Sainte-Marie and Sainte-Marthe, where the more sick patients are placed, whom the attending physicians visit every morning at eight. At this visit are present M. Girardin, the chief physician, a tall, dry, grey-haired man, full of pomposity; theinterne, M. Blot, a very handsome, somewhat dignified young physician, with, I fancy, rather a cross temper; Madame Charrier, theaide-sage-femme, and as many of theélèvesas choose to be present. This over, I make some independent visits to cases which interest me, to the nursery, &c., and try to pick up a little here and there; then I return to thedortoirand read or write a little. Afterwards I join the class instruction in the wood, a preparatory lesson which the elderélèvesgive to the younger ones, and which I attend for the sake of the French. It is a very pretty method of instruction: the young teacher seated on the grass, all the pupils grouped around under the thick shade of some fine tree, the atmosphere being of an elastic purity which is truly charming. The Frenchgirls have a natural talent for instruction; they are so in the habit of talking that they never find the slightest difficulty in expressing what they know, and their lively perceptions give them a peculiar power for superficial instruction. Our poor country girls find it very hard at first to catch scientific words that they do not understand, but in a surprisingly short time they roll them off smoothly and to a certain extent understand well what is taught them.At twelve the bell sounds for the first meal, only milk being given at seven o’clock. We enter a large hall, full of round tables, each holding twelve; to each are furnished a couple of white plates, a tumbler and small bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, a spoon and fork. The meal consists of soup, boiled meat, and vegetables; it is eaten in haste to the music of Madame Blockel’s voice, which keeps up a storm the whole time. She is a somewhat important personage, superintending our meals and ourdortoirs; she is a little red-faced, squint-eyed being, with tremendous projecting teeth, and dressed always in rusty black with a black cap. She is good-natured, liked by the girls, but has a tremendous vocal organ, which is always sounding forth at its highest pitch. Morning, noon, and night good Madame Blockel’s voice drowns all opposing sounds; and really now I am getting as used to it as to a noisy street, and would not care if only she would keep out of thedortoirat night when I am sleepy, for, like a barking dog, she sets all the girls going, and I don’t know when the storm subsides, for I sink to sleep in spite of it. When the meal is over we present a funny sight, each carrying off her loaf, napkin, knife, and various bottles and remnants of dinner. I return to thedortoir, do up little matters, read or attend the class again, visit my patients in the corridor, and from two to three go to theparloirto see my friends, if they are so good as to come at that hot hour to see me. Thisparloiris a funny affair—a plain room, filled with woodenbenches, where all manner of rough people are assembled to visit theélèves. On certain days, also, in one corner a woman establishes a little shop, where she supplies all the small wants of the girls in the way of haberdashery, stationery, perfumery, &c.; and in another corner sits the old lady,la dame du bureau, observing everything, and giving the signal precisely at three for the departure of everybody. At six a second meal is served, consisting of roast meat and some little kind of cake, and another bottle of wine; afterwards we are free to do as we choose. I generally sit a little in the wood and write till it is dark; in a few days, however, the lectures commence, and four or five hours will be occupied in that way. I have described my idle, or rather my free days. When I amen serviceI spend the whole day in the ward where I am placed; or the night, if I happen to be on night service. About three or four days are thus spent, and after passing the night in watching I am not worth much the next day, for I am not yet accustomed to the duty. Then little extra touches come in to diversify the day. I pay a visit to Madame Charrier or to Mlle. Mallet, one of theaides-sage-femmes, whom I like very much, or some difficult operation calls us to the amphitheatre. Next week I shall be able to tell you how I like the lectures; we shall have several each day, and I hope they will supply the want which I now feel of an intelligent explanation of the phenomena which I observe.August.—The lectures have now commenced. From seven to eight Madame Charrier gives her lesson every morning; I occupy a chair beside her in consideration of my foreignness, she being anxious that I should understand thoroughly. I wish I could describe that lesson to you; it is the most curious spurring-up of pupils I ever saw, and really it makes some of them gallop admirably, though many tumble down in the effort. Three pupils are called down every morning, seated on a longbench in front of Madame Charrier’s table, and undergo an hour’s examination on what they have heard from the teachers. If they answer promptly and well, her satisfaction is extreme, her face grows beautiful, and her ‘Bien! très bien!’ really does me good, it is so hearty; but if an unlucky pupil hesitate, if she speak too low, if intelligence or attention be wanting, then breaks forth the most admirable scolding I ever listened to. Alternately satirical and furious, she becomes perfectly on fire, rises upon her chair, claps her hands, looks up to heaven, and the next moment, if a good answer has redeemed the fault, all is forgotten, her satisfaction is as great as her anger. There is not the slightest wickedness about her; she puts her whole soul into her lesson, and does not realise how very difficult it is for ignorant girls to study a science. At first I was a little shocked at this stormy instruction, but really it seems almost necessary now, and produces wonderful results. If the girls only keep their temper under it and do not cry, it comes right at last; but a tear is an unpardonable offence, and considered an insult and a total misunderstanding. Madame Charrier is a woman of great experience and always speaks to the point, and her lessons are often very useful. From nine till ten we listen to M. Paul Dubois. I like his lectures exceedingly. A little, bald, grey-haired man, with a clear, gentle voice and a very benevolent face, he thoroughly understands his subject, and expresses himself with precision and completeness.At a little after twelve our dinner-bell rings, and right glad I always am to hear it. The large round tables are speedily encircled, all stand up, and a grace is said with such rapidity that to this day I can make out no words butsaint usage, and the sign of the cross made with wonderful dexterity on the forehead and breast. At the conclusion of the meal another prayer rocket is sent up, amidst laughing and bustle, and all crowd out of the hall,with their loaves of bread under their arms and all manner of odd little pots full of eatables in their hands. From one till two another lesson in the amphitheatre—which, fortunately, is a pleasant room—from the secondaide-sage-femme, a lesson useful on the whole, but sometimes a little wearisome. From two to three is the hour for receiving visitors, but if I am not expecting a visit, and if I have sat up the preceding night, I take a bath—for there are six baths prepared every day at that hour for theélèves. The same communism exists in the baths as in everything else. They are side by side, in a double row, down the middle of the room; and the withered genius of the bath-room stands, observing every movement, and talking an incomprehensiblepatoisthe whole time. I try to imagine it is only the bubbling of water that I hear; I shut my eyes, lie quietly for half an hour, and fancy that I am deliciously reposing on the heaving waters of some soft summer lake; then I spring up, take a cold dash, to the horror of my companions, and hurry off as fast as possible, really the better for the divine element....Were I a good Catholic I should find my time filled with visits to the chapel—morning and evening prayers, vespers, and the daily baptisms are regular services, with numerous extras on saints’ days, &c.; but most happily I am Protestant, and again and again I have blessed Heaven for the fact. The great fat, red-faced priest occasionally leaves the retirement of his clerical dwelling and strolls in the wood, or makes a visit to the infirmary; he always gives me long stares of excessive curiosity when I pass him, but I have taken a great dislike to his sensual-looking worship, and will not give him the slightest opportunity to make my acquaintance....After dinner, when fine, I generally go into our wood, and, seating myself under my favourite tree, I write tillit grows dark; or I stroll up and down the broad alleys, sending my thoughts far off into the past or the future. It is very pleasant in our wood; outside the walls are large gardens and public walks, so that the air is very fresh, and the beauty of the Parisian summer climate is extreme. Sometimes my friendlyaidejoins me, for she cannot bear to see me alone; it seems to the French a sign of deplorable melancholy. She walks with me, chatting gaily, and bearing my clumsy French with great patience; for, as I said, she has taken a fancy to me, and I have to welcome with a good grace the pinches, shakes, and similar tokens of French affection. Fortunately, however, it shows itself in more satisfactory ways also, and I owe many an opportunity for interesting observation to her kindness. The girls look picturesque in the wood by the sunset light. Sometimes a group is seated on the grass round its chief, eagerly taking in the instruction that may aid it in the next day’s examination; others are singing or playing; but I think I have never seen one engaged by herself in meditation or work. Their character is eminently social, communicative. Mr. Doherty remarked wisely that vanity, in its widest sense, is their ruling spirit, which makes it impossible for them to understand the English, where pride rules. There is one young girl I like to talk with. I have never seen anything more graceful, lively, and finished than the little pictures of life which she throws off with perfect ease; every motion of her pretty little head, every gesture and intonation is perfect, and occasionally I am really startled by a profound view of life that she just glances at, and then is off again. I would give much to be able to note down some of her narrations, but when I try to turn them into another language their exquisite spirit seems to vanish....You must not be surprised if my letter contains animmense number of perplexed parentheses, and has a tendency to return always to the same subject. If you could only hear ‘what hideous sounds salute mine ear,’ you would not wonder. The girls are singing hymns to the Virgin in an adjoining room, and really, if the Virgin be a lady of as much taste as beauty according to the representations of Raphael, she must be considerably annoyed by the zeal without knowledge displayed by her admirers. Our secondaide-sage-femmeis a very pious young Catholic, of really a sweet disposition. A week or two ago, on the commencement of the month of Mary, she assembled the girls together, reminded them of the season, and proposed to meet frequently in the evening and sing canticles in honour of the Lady, adding that undoubtedly the object of their attention would be gratified by this demonstration and would not be unmindful of those who offered the homage. The proposition was received with enthusiasm, and since that unlucky day Mlle. Boisonnet and her followers have exercised their lungs in season and out of season, to the horror of all my nerves and, I fear, to the serious displeasure of the Virgin. They have numerous little books of canticles. I looked over the index the other day—‘Who so pure as she,’ ‘The brightness of her presence,’ ‘Mary, pray for us,’ and all such titles filled the pages. The tunes have a striking resemblance to American camp-meeting hymns. There is one which was certainly the original of ‘Oh, let us be joyful.’ I often think, if H. were only here, how he would join in honouring the Virgin....I must give you a few more sketches of my present life. Imagine, then, that you have retired early to bed, after a night spent in hard work, and the day in that nervous mystification that follows loss of rest. You have taken a refreshing bath and laid yourself down, encircledby dear memories that fan you to sleep with their gentle dreams; you have just entered that beautiful dreamland, when you are suddenly startled by a scream, a burst of laughter, and then the vision of one white-robed form darting past in the twilight, pursued by a similar form, mysterious to your veiled senses. The chase continues over beds and boxes, while shouts of laughter, followed by a shower of small articles, proceed from the other beds; then a loud smack is heard, whose nature is easily divined by those who are at all familiar with juvenile offenders, a spring from the bed and a rush by the injured party follow; but still you resolutely shut your eyes and will yourself asleep, in the fond hope that nature is really too tired to keep awake, when a sudden rolling sound, followed by a violent shock, at once convinces you of the vanity of your efforts, and you resign yourself to wakefulness, for a favourite amusement has commenced—they are ‘promenading the bedsteads’! You must know that our bedsteads are of iron, and placed on rollers so movable that a slight impulsion will speed them a considerable distance. Often in stepping into bed the slight movement has caused the mercurial article to describe a sudden semicircle. This property of these usually sober pieces of furniture is taken advantage of by the girls, who are now in a frolic and exercising in the most ingenious way, to the unspeakable annoyance of a quiet individual. An impulsion is given to one end of a long row of beds, which is quickly communicated to the whole row, or a simultaneous shock is given to the two extremities and their force brought to bear on the unfortunate centre. But the favourite freak is to place a bedstead at the end of the room and drive it with great violence down the centre. The rolling noise over the brick floor is tremendous, and accompanied by a regular Babel of laughter, shouting, and jokes of every description. Some get ontop of their beds, which consist of three thick mattresses, and jump up and down like mad things; others get up a wild dance in one corner of the room, which grows continually faster and noisier, and the strife of tongues is truly astonishing. Their jokes are really amusing occasionally; the scientific terms that they hear daily play a conspicuous part. The frolic ends as suddenly as it began, when, fairly full of fun, they suddenly jump into bed, say good-night, and in five minutes all are sound asleep. The first night I was thus rudely awakened I was much inclined to be angry, but I philosophised a little and came to the conclusion that it was my voluntary action to be there, and that youthful spirits must have free play. I pitied the poor children in their undeveloped life and the restrictions they suffer here too much to be disturbed by their little outburst, and the next morning they begged me to excuse them because they wereso young!My time is very fully occupied; my former leisure moments are now employed in writing compositions and taking observations. These last I willingly consent to; they will be records to me of French practice. They consist of a little history of the patient and a daily account of her condition and treatment. But as they are in French, I am somewhat longer in noting them down than I should be if I could employ my own noble language. I have made two ‘observations’ of surgical cases that have been very much approved of. I was quite amused with one of them. I was directed to note the case down under the direction of my chief in that department. As usual, I did promptly and cheerfully what was required; I wrote all she dictated, and then I made a private memorandum for my own satisfaction. This latter was seen by the Superior, and immediately the ‘chief’ was directed to copy it; she did it willingly, for she is a good little being,and has a profound respect for the stranger. The other day two of our chiefs begged me to give them a private lesson on the circulation of the blood, which I willingly complied with. We seated ourselves in the wood, and I explained to them what they did not know; they were very grateful, and have come to me several times since to beg me to continue my lesson—indeed, the girls here have a sweet nature in many respects. There are little jealousies and excitements amongst themselves, but they take the right relationship to me; they think me singularly grave and self-sufficing, but they show me continually the utmost respect, and are always glad to do me any little service. I frequently enter thesalle d’accouchements, when the other divisions are engaged there, to see what is going on, and I always meet a pleasant welcome. One evening I phrenologised them, to their unbounded delight; for some time after I could never enter the room without being surrounded by a small mob eagerly demanding an examination. Everything delights them; they are perfect children in their full, unthinking enjoyment of the present. A little English lesson is a never-failing source of merriment, and I am continually saluted with some oddly pronounced English word, followed by a burst of merriment. We have girls from all parts of France; some are remarkable for their stupidity, which is generally explained by the province from which they arrive. Madame Charrier’s morning lesson is an ordeal through which all have to pass, and seated by her, every morning, I have a fine opportunity for studying the various departments of France. When some singularly obtuse intellect has exhausted all the patience and all the impatience of the teacher, she folds her hands and asks in a subdued voice, ‘Mademoiselle, from what department do you come?’ and on receiving the answer, adds, ‘Ah, then it is all accounted for; the case is a hopeless one;’ which announcementgreatly delights the rest of the class who belong to more enlightened departments.We have oneélèvewho goes by the name of ‘La Normande;’ she is one of mypictures. A fresh, healthy complexion, browned by the sun and the sea air of her beautiful home, regular features, a stout, vigorous frame that has never known a touch of sickness, she walks about with a step that feels the ground; in her white quilled cap, and handkerchief pinned over her bosom, she looks with her clear blue eyes right into your face, and has a frank, loyal manner that marks her honest, independent nature. On Sunday she dresses in the short full petticoat, the silk-laced jacket, and the lace cap, with its towering pyramidal crown and circular ray-like border, that I think I have already described to you. She sometimes visits ourdortoirand forms the centre of a group, whom she entertains with her constantly overflowing life, sometimes singing, in a deep contralto voice, her peasant hymns to the Virgin—simple pathetic melodies chanted under the lindens when the day’s labours are finished—or dancing vigorously the figures, more gay than graceful, of her country, while she sings some lively air. I admire her vigorous life, I like to see her in the infirmary; she tends the sick with such an honest awkwardness, such a kind heart, and lifts them like babies in her strong arms, that I see the green fields and smell the sweet country air as I watch her. Then I have a little Parisian that I hang up beside her, as plump as a partridge, with merry black eyes, glossy hair always arrangedà la mode, and full of little coquettish ways. Her temper is like a lucifer match, the slightest friction fires it; the smile and the tear are equally ready, though the sunshine generally prevails. She has spent several years in business in Paris, in cigar stores and similar employments, where she has had much to do with gentlemen, and sherepeats to me the compliments they paid her, the offers they made, and her own witty, contemptuous replies, with the utmostnaïveté. Poor child! she has been thrown on her own simple instincts for protection, for her mother was soon jealous of the attractions of her daughter, and removed her to a distance; but the real innocence of her heart, and a true attachment to a young ship’s surgeon, seem to have supplied the place of her natural protectors. But true to her Parisian blood, she has coquetted from first to last, and she never talks to me now but I find it playing in every dimple. Think of it! she was given me as my ‘Chief of Theory’! Now she asks me in the sweetest manner if I will come sometimes to her lessons, and explain to the girls what she does not understand. Poor child! I willingly oblige her.But I must not weary you with my portrait gallery, my walls are covered with curious figures; let me sketch for you our ‘vaccinations,’ which take place every Tuesday at one o’clock. The numbers of the babies are distributed beforehand amongst theélèveswho are to perform the operations; thus, 25 Ste. Marie to one, 32 Ste. Marthe to another, and so on. Theélèvesseek their babies and bring them into the Hall of the Nurses, a large upper room, full already of women and babies. A space is cleared by one of the windows, chairs placed; in the centre sits M. Blot, the director of the operation; I occupy a chair beside him. Mademoiselle, who superintends another division, stands beside, and then baby after baby is subjected to the awkward manœuvres of theélèves, to their utmost dissatisfaction. The babies are very ugly in their coarse hospital swaddling clothes; I never saw the little beings so enveloped before. They are just like mummies, but they perform a terrible concert altogether, with the voices of theélèvesto help them. I sit a quiet spectator of the operation, occasionally addressing aquestion to M. Blot as he touches knife after knife on the arm of the infant before him; which question seems rather to embarrass the handsomeinterne, for he colours, or passes his hand through his hair and looks intently at the baby, in a very un-Frenchmanlike manner. I think he must be veryyoung, or very much in awe of me, for he never ventures to give me a direct look, and seems so troubled when I address him that I very rarely disturb his life in that way.I think I have given you enough of my external hospital life to enable you to picture me somewhat in my surroundings; do you want to know how the spirit feels in its curious home? Then know, dear friends, that it is strong and hopeful, that it has moments of weariness, of intense yearning for its true related life, but that it lives ever in the great presence of the Eternal, and feels the angels always near.

July 1, 1849: à la Maternité.

Dear Mother,—I have now entered upon a strange phase of life, which I must try and describe, that you may imagine me running about in my great white apron, in which respectable article of apparel I expect to figure for the next three months. I had a good many obstacles to encounter from my ignorance of French customs; and the physicians of Paris, as far as I can judge, are determined not to grant the slightest favour to a feminine M.D. I could not obtain from any persons connected with the Maternité the smallest modification to suit the very different status with which I enter from the young Frenchsages-femmes; but I was determined to enter on whatever conditions, and enter, too, by the first of July, to habituate myself a little to the ways of the place before the annual lectures commenced. I find now that nothing would have been easier than to have given me a little room to myself, permission to go out occasionally, and similar favours, which need have occasioned no jealousy or inconvenience; for the very fact of my being a foreigner impresses the French girls, and they would freely have accepted any claim made for me. But everything was obstinately refused to all the representations of myself or the Consul, Mr. Walsh, and I was only too glad to enter as a young, ignorant French girl. On June 30 I drove down with Anna to the hospital. A high stone wall, with the tops of old buildings peeping above, extends nearly the whole length of a little street. A very small door led into a dark little entrance, theportièreon one side, and a long room, called by courtesy theparloir, on the other. You must notice theparloir, for it is there I shall receive myvisitors, if I ever have any, at two o’clock, in common with the otherélèves; and there in one corner, in a sort of little glass box, sits the good dame who attends to the letters and transacts all the outdoor business for theélèves. The ceiling is very low, the floor of brick, rows of wooden benches ranged one before the other—the most uninteresting room you can possibly conceive; the only pretty thing being the vine leaves which peep through the diamond-shaped windows. This room forms part of a row of old buildings standing against the wall, which contain the director’s bureau, theInterne’srooms, &c. It was too late for me to see M. Boivin, the director, so an old woman took me into the central buildings, through a labyrinth of little passages and long galleries, and all manner of rooms and queer places, to Madame Charrier, thesage-femmein chief, who has her own rooms in a particular part of the building. Her parlour is the funniest little cabinet of curiosities, with a carpet on the floor, as it is of brick instead of waxed wood. Little chintz sofas, mosaic tables, boxes, china and figures, crucifixes, pictures and embroideries, and curtains everywhere. Madame Charrier is a little deformed woman, elderly, but with a fresh colour still, and kind blue eyes. I like what I have seen of her; she seems generally loved by the pupils, and though I do not imagine her of any particular amount of intellect, she seems to have good sense, and after twelve years in such an establishment as this she ought to have much valuable experience. Madame Charrier conducted me by unknown ways to Madame Blockel, the superintendent of thedortoirs, who took me into the infirmary, and said I must sleep there until I had arranged my affairs with the director. I did not much admire the idea of passing the night in the infirmary. There was a large wood fire on the hearth, and the air felt warm and somewhatclose. I looked suspiciously at the long rows of beds extending on each side, their white curtains closely drawn; I did not know what undesirable emanations might be proceeding from them. However, I said nothing, but determined to investigate the contents of the beds as soon as the observers had withdrawn. My trunk was brought up, my bed pointed out, a little lamp placed on the table, and I was left alone. I proceeded then to make my observations, and found to my great relief that every bed was empty, except one, in which one of theélèves, who happened to have a headache, was lying, and from her I found that the place is healthy and no epidemic has prevailed there for a long time. I found her, like all the other French girls, full of those light kindnesses which are so pleasant. She asked me eagerly if I was from her province, and seemed to regard me with much interest when she found I was a stranger from New York, which was the only part of the United States she had heard of, and which she took to be an island near Havannah. I have since found that the pupils are much disappointed that I am not black, as they supposed all persons from America were! After talking a little with her I took out my writing materials, and sat down to the table determining to pay a little visit across the water before going to rest in my new home; but I had no sooner seated myself than Madame Charrier entered with a crowd ofélèves, to know if I would pass the night in thesalle d’accouchements, it being an optional matter the first night. Of course I expressed the utmost willingness. I put up my letter with a sigh, dressed myself for duty, and accompanied anancienne élève(that is, one who has already studied a year, and who always has one or more of thenouvelles élèvesunder her care for initiation) to the room where the children are born. A large apron of coarse towelling was given me, with theinjunction not to lose it, or I should have to pay three francs. It was a large upper room, rather dimly lighted, beds all round, a fire on the hearth, cupboards full of linen in the corners, heaps of shining copper and tin utensils, several rush-bottomed chairs and wooden tables, and in the centre a large wooden stand with sides, on which the little new-comers, tightly swathed and ticketed, are ranged side by side. In the course of the night we had the pleasure of arrangingeightin this way, and the next morning when Madame Charrier made her appearance the cloth was removed and the sight shown with much triumph. It was really very droll. Each little shapeless red visage peeped from under a coarse peaked cap, on the front of which was a large label with the name and sex; a black serge jacket with a white handkerchief pinned across, and a small blanket tightly folded round the rest of the body, completed the appearance of the little mummy. Their behaviour certainly realised Fourier’s supposition, for there was very little crying all the time they lay there together. There were four young French girls sitting up with me, besides the girl who makes the beds and does the roughest work. They were all pretty and pleasant, of no education except their studies in the institution; but those had been evidently carefully attended to, and it sounded not a little droll to hear the scientific terms flowing so glibly from their laughing lips, which were busily employed in talking nonsense all the time that their duties did not call them to the bedside. The next morning at ten o’clock we were discharged from duty; it was Sunday, a comparatively leisure day, and I being a Protestant was excused from the religious services, but I was too sleepy to do much. I wrote, walked in the garden and read a little there, retired early, and had a most welcome sleep and very pleasant dreams.

Ourdortoiris a large airy room, with a row of windows and beds on each side, divided into two by a large archway; it contains sixteen beds, occupied mostly byanciennes élèves. I have a window behind my bed; I have shoved the bed forward, fitted in a chair behind, hung up my dressing-gown, and put a few books on the floor by my side, and call it my room. I am now sitting there writing to you. I have just room enough to move my right arm freely, but I am out of the way, I am breathing fresh air, so I consider myself very well off. An old crucifix ornamented by gilded leaves hangs at one end of thedortoir, two little lamps are suspended from the ceiling, an iron bedstead and a chair are appropriated to each individual. The floor is formed of little hexagon bricks, which in some of the rooms are so terribly polished that I walk on them with difficulty. Thedortoiris seldom quiet; the girls sit there a good deal, and some who have watched through the night are generally there in bed; and how French girls do chatter! How they do go into sudden fits of ecstasy or rage! Once at least in the day we have a grand storm, Madame Blockel coming in for some trouble or other, in which she and the accused out-scream each other, and appear to be mortal enemies for a few minutes, and the best of friends immediately after. At twelve o’clock we receive our supply of bread for the day, which we keep in our bedroom and take backwards and forwards to meals. I have frequently wished that you could see me walking gravely along the gallery with my loaf of bread wrapped in a napkin under my arm. The dining-room is a large hall full of round tables, only three of which are occupied at present, as theélèvesonly number thirty, instead of ninety, the usual number. At dinner I saw them all together for the first time; some very pretty and graceful, some very rough. I am learning to take wine; everyone advises me to do so, and I shall soon be able to drink my bottle a day.

There seems to be an admirable organisation of work here in every department. I have been much amused to-day by the lessons in theory that I have received from myancienne élèveorchef. The pupils all sat round, and the young instructress, furnished with some bones, gave out an explanatory sentence, which was repeated by each one in turn; I found it an excellent plan of learning French. Of course, the repetition would have been intolerable without the language, but to listen to a dozen different voices and to repeat myself I found to be admirable practice; indeed, being cut off from all English communication is a great advantage in learning French.

July 3.—This morning I finish my letter in another situation. I wrote last night till it was dark, and the little lamp in ourdortoirgave so much darkness that I went to bed for want of light. To-day I amen service—that is to say, I shall spend the day from eight in the morning till eight in the evening in superintending the six rooms of the infirmary. I have been handling leeches for the first time (disgusting little things). I enter with anancienne élève, who shows me all the ways of the house. At present the lectures have not commenced, but the visits of Madame Charrier and the physician take place every day; and nature is always here in great abundance to be studied. I feel I shall gain a great deal, and hitherto it has really not proved nearly so formidable an imprisonment as I supposed. The air is delightful this beautiful summer weather, the girls pleasant. There is much to interest in so large an establishment, and I suppose the three months will soon slip away, for I have entered, in my own mind, only for the three months, though I have been asked so often if I am going to stay two years that I have had to tell a great many—evasions. I shall have, doubtless, many weary moments, but I want you all to know that it will not be so utterly miserable asmy former letters may have represented it. And great will be the reward! So send a welcome greeting to the Voluntary Prisoner.

July 1849.

Dear M.,—I last wrote to you when I was my own mistress; now in some measure I have given up my liberty, and I must give you a little sketch of my prison life, that you may be able to picture the surroundings of your sister M.D. Imagine a large square of old buildings, formerly a convent, set down in the centre of a great court with a wood and garden behind, and many little separate buildings all around, the whole enclosed by very high walls, over the tops of which, shining out beautifully against the clear sky, may be seen the dome of the Panthéon, the Hôtel des Invalides, and the whole building of the observatory which is close adjoining. The inner court is surrounded byles cloîtres, a most convenient arched passage which gives a covered communication to the whole building, and which I suppose was formerly traversed by shaven monks on their way to the church, whose great painted window looks out into the court, but which now echoes the laughter of many merry girls, and across which at half-past seven every morning you may see your humble servant with her coarsetablier de serviceand little white pot in hand hurrying to get some coffee. At half-past five every morning I start up in bed, roused by the bustle of theélèves, who are up before me. I make violent efforts to drive away sleep, which are only partially successful, and then follow the example of twenty girls who inhabit the same longdortoir, and who are busy each by her own iron bedstead dressing hastily to be ready for the visit. I hasten upstairs to the long corridor, the ‘Sainte-Elisabeth,’ where my patients lie. I inquire carefully their condition, wash them, and see that the beds have been properly arranged. By that time it is a quarter past six;Madame Charrier makes her appearance and goes the rounds, accompanied by theélèves, each one giving a short report of the patients under her care. It is a funny group: fifty women or more of all ages, wide awake from the hurry of their duties, but dressed mostly in haste with little white caps, coloured handkerchiefs, and the coarser ones in short bed-gowns, their faces browned by the sun, their hands red with hard work, but all good-tempered, with a kind word always ready, and their black eyes sparkling with life. We pass through the Salles Sainte-Marguerite, Sainte-Elisabeth, Sainte-Anne, visiting each patient in her alcove—it is seven when we finish. I hasten back to mydortoir, make my bed, &c., fetch my coffee, which I procure for two sous a morning from the superintendent of the infirmary, eat it hastily with my bread, which is always supplied for the day at noon, and then hurry off to the Salles Sainte-Marie and Sainte-Marthe, where the more sick patients are placed, whom the attending physicians visit every morning at eight. At this visit are present M. Girardin, the chief physician, a tall, dry, grey-haired man, full of pomposity; theinterne, M. Blot, a very handsome, somewhat dignified young physician, with, I fancy, rather a cross temper; Madame Charrier, theaide-sage-femme, and as many of theélèvesas choose to be present. This over, I make some independent visits to cases which interest me, to the nursery, &c., and try to pick up a little here and there; then I return to thedortoirand read or write a little. Afterwards I join the class instruction in the wood, a preparatory lesson which the elderélèvesgive to the younger ones, and which I attend for the sake of the French. It is a very pretty method of instruction: the young teacher seated on the grass, all the pupils grouped around under the thick shade of some fine tree, the atmosphere being of an elastic purity which is truly charming. The Frenchgirls have a natural talent for instruction; they are so in the habit of talking that they never find the slightest difficulty in expressing what they know, and their lively perceptions give them a peculiar power for superficial instruction. Our poor country girls find it very hard at first to catch scientific words that they do not understand, but in a surprisingly short time they roll them off smoothly and to a certain extent understand well what is taught them.

At twelve the bell sounds for the first meal, only milk being given at seven o’clock. We enter a large hall, full of round tables, each holding twelve; to each are furnished a couple of white plates, a tumbler and small bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, a spoon and fork. The meal consists of soup, boiled meat, and vegetables; it is eaten in haste to the music of Madame Blockel’s voice, which keeps up a storm the whole time. She is a somewhat important personage, superintending our meals and ourdortoirs; she is a little red-faced, squint-eyed being, with tremendous projecting teeth, and dressed always in rusty black with a black cap. She is good-natured, liked by the girls, but has a tremendous vocal organ, which is always sounding forth at its highest pitch. Morning, noon, and night good Madame Blockel’s voice drowns all opposing sounds; and really now I am getting as used to it as to a noisy street, and would not care if only she would keep out of thedortoirat night when I am sleepy, for, like a barking dog, she sets all the girls going, and I don’t know when the storm subsides, for I sink to sleep in spite of it. When the meal is over we present a funny sight, each carrying off her loaf, napkin, knife, and various bottles and remnants of dinner. I return to thedortoir, do up little matters, read or attend the class again, visit my patients in the corridor, and from two to three go to theparloirto see my friends, if they are so good as to come at that hot hour to see me. Thisparloiris a funny affair—a plain room, filled with woodenbenches, where all manner of rough people are assembled to visit theélèves. On certain days, also, in one corner a woman establishes a little shop, where she supplies all the small wants of the girls in the way of haberdashery, stationery, perfumery, &c.; and in another corner sits the old lady,la dame du bureau, observing everything, and giving the signal precisely at three for the departure of everybody. At six a second meal is served, consisting of roast meat and some little kind of cake, and another bottle of wine; afterwards we are free to do as we choose. I generally sit a little in the wood and write till it is dark; in a few days, however, the lectures commence, and four or five hours will be occupied in that way. I have described my idle, or rather my free days. When I amen serviceI spend the whole day in the ward where I am placed; or the night, if I happen to be on night service. About three or four days are thus spent, and after passing the night in watching I am not worth much the next day, for I am not yet accustomed to the duty. Then little extra touches come in to diversify the day. I pay a visit to Madame Charrier or to Mlle. Mallet, one of theaides-sage-femmes, whom I like very much, or some difficult operation calls us to the amphitheatre. Next week I shall be able to tell you how I like the lectures; we shall have several each day, and I hope they will supply the want which I now feel of an intelligent explanation of the phenomena which I observe.

August.—The lectures have now commenced. From seven to eight Madame Charrier gives her lesson every morning; I occupy a chair beside her in consideration of my foreignness, she being anxious that I should understand thoroughly. I wish I could describe that lesson to you; it is the most curious spurring-up of pupils I ever saw, and really it makes some of them gallop admirably, though many tumble down in the effort. Three pupils are called down every morning, seated on a longbench in front of Madame Charrier’s table, and undergo an hour’s examination on what they have heard from the teachers. If they answer promptly and well, her satisfaction is extreme, her face grows beautiful, and her ‘Bien! très bien!’ really does me good, it is so hearty; but if an unlucky pupil hesitate, if she speak too low, if intelligence or attention be wanting, then breaks forth the most admirable scolding I ever listened to. Alternately satirical and furious, she becomes perfectly on fire, rises upon her chair, claps her hands, looks up to heaven, and the next moment, if a good answer has redeemed the fault, all is forgotten, her satisfaction is as great as her anger. There is not the slightest wickedness about her; she puts her whole soul into her lesson, and does not realise how very difficult it is for ignorant girls to study a science. At first I was a little shocked at this stormy instruction, but really it seems almost necessary now, and produces wonderful results. If the girls only keep their temper under it and do not cry, it comes right at last; but a tear is an unpardonable offence, and considered an insult and a total misunderstanding. Madame Charrier is a woman of great experience and always speaks to the point, and her lessons are often very useful. From nine till ten we listen to M. Paul Dubois. I like his lectures exceedingly. A little, bald, grey-haired man, with a clear, gentle voice and a very benevolent face, he thoroughly understands his subject, and expresses himself with precision and completeness.

At a little after twelve our dinner-bell rings, and right glad I always am to hear it. The large round tables are speedily encircled, all stand up, and a grace is said with such rapidity that to this day I can make out no words butsaint usage, and the sign of the cross made with wonderful dexterity on the forehead and breast. At the conclusion of the meal another prayer rocket is sent up, amidst laughing and bustle, and all crowd out of the hall,with their loaves of bread under their arms and all manner of odd little pots full of eatables in their hands. From one till two another lesson in the amphitheatre—which, fortunately, is a pleasant room—from the secondaide-sage-femme, a lesson useful on the whole, but sometimes a little wearisome. From two to three is the hour for receiving visitors, but if I am not expecting a visit, and if I have sat up the preceding night, I take a bath—for there are six baths prepared every day at that hour for theélèves. The same communism exists in the baths as in everything else. They are side by side, in a double row, down the middle of the room; and the withered genius of the bath-room stands, observing every movement, and talking an incomprehensiblepatoisthe whole time. I try to imagine it is only the bubbling of water that I hear; I shut my eyes, lie quietly for half an hour, and fancy that I am deliciously reposing on the heaving waters of some soft summer lake; then I spring up, take a cold dash, to the horror of my companions, and hurry off as fast as possible, really the better for the divine element....

Were I a good Catholic I should find my time filled with visits to the chapel—morning and evening prayers, vespers, and the daily baptisms are regular services, with numerous extras on saints’ days, &c.; but most happily I am Protestant, and again and again I have blessed Heaven for the fact. The great fat, red-faced priest occasionally leaves the retirement of his clerical dwelling and strolls in the wood, or makes a visit to the infirmary; he always gives me long stares of excessive curiosity when I pass him, but I have taken a great dislike to his sensual-looking worship, and will not give him the slightest opportunity to make my acquaintance....

After dinner, when fine, I generally go into our wood, and, seating myself under my favourite tree, I write tillit grows dark; or I stroll up and down the broad alleys, sending my thoughts far off into the past or the future. It is very pleasant in our wood; outside the walls are large gardens and public walks, so that the air is very fresh, and the beauty of the Parisian summer climate is extreme. Sometimes my friendlyaidejoins me, for she cannot bear to see me alone; it seems to the French a sign of deplorable melancholy. She walks with me, chatting gaily, and bearing my clumsy French with great patience; for, as I said, she has taken a fancy to me, and I have to welcome with a good grace the pinches, shakes, and similar tokens of French affection. Fortunately, however, it shows itself in more satisfactory ways also, and I owe many an opportunity for interesting observation to her kindness. The girls look picturesque in the wood by the sunset light. Sometimes a group is seated on the grass round its chief, eagerly taking in the instruction that may aid it in the next day’s examination; others are singing or playing; but I think I have never seen one engaged by herself in meditation or work. Their character is eminently social, communicative. Mr. Doherty remarked wisely that vanity, in its widest sense, is their ruling spirit, which makes it impossible for them to understand the English, where pride rules. There is one young girl I like to talk with. I have never seen anything more graceful, lively, and finished than the little pictures of life which she throws off with perfect ease; every motion of her pretty little head, every gesture and intonation is perfect, and occasionally I am really startled by a profound view of life that she just glances at, and then is off again. I would give much to be able to note down some of her narrations, but when I try to turn them into another language their exquisite spirit seems to vanish....

You must not be surprised if my letter contains animmense number of perplexed parentheses, and has a tendency to return always to the same subject. If you could only hear ‘what hideous sounds salute mine ear,’ you would not wonder. The girls are singing hymns to the Virgin in an adjoining room, and really, if the Virgin be a lady of as much taste as beauty according to the representations of Raphael, she must be considerably annoyed by the zeal without knowledge displayed by her admirers. Our secondaide-sage-femmeis a very pious young Catholic, of really a sweet disposition. A week or two ago, on the commencement of the month of Mary, she assembled the girls together, reminded them of the season, and proposed to meet frequently in the evening and sing canticles in honour of the Lady, adding that undoubtedly the object of their attention would be gratified by this demonstration and would not be unmindful of those who offered the homage. The proposition was received with enthusiasm, and since that unlucky day Mlle. Boisonnet and her followers have exercised their lungs in season and out of season, to the horror of all my nerves and, I fear, to the serious displeasure of the Virgin. They have numerous little books of canticles. I looked over the index the other day—‘Who so pure as she,’ ‘The brightness of her presence,’ ‘Mary, pray for us,’ and all such titles filled the pages. The tunes have a striking resemblance to American camp-meeting hymns. There is one which was certainly the original of ‘Oh, let us be joyful.’ I often think, if H. were only here, how he would join in honouring the Virgin....

I must give you a few more sketches of my present life. Imagine, then, that you have retired early to bed, after a night spent in hard work, and the day in that nervous mystification that follows loss of rest. You have taken a refreshing bath and laid yourself down, encircledby dear memories that fan you to sleep with their gentle dreams; you have just entered that beautiful dreamland, when you are suddenly startled by a scream, a burst of laughter, and then the vision of one white-robed form darting past in the twilight, pursued by a similar form, mysterious to your veiled senses. The chase continues over beds and boxes, while shouts of laughter, followed by a shower of small articles, proceed from the other beds; then a loud smack is heard, whose nature is easily divined by those who are at all familiar with juvenile offenders, a spring from the bed and a rush by the injured party follow; but still you resolutely shut your eyes and will yourself asleep, in the fond hope that nature is really too tired to keep awake, when a sudden rolling sound, followed by a violent shock, at once convinces you of the vanity of your efforts, and you resign yourself to wakefulness, for a favourite amusement has commenced—they are ‘promenading the bedsteads’! You must know that our bedsteads are of iron, and placed on rollers so movable that a slight impulsion will speed them a considerable distance. Often in stepping into bed the slight movement has caused the mercurial article to describe a sudden semicircle. This property of these usually sober pieces of furniture is taken advantage of by the girls, who are now in a frolic and exercising in the most ingenious way, to the unspeakable annoyance of a quiet individual. An impulsion is given to one end of a long row of beds, which is quickly communicated to the whole row, or a simultaneous shock is given to the two extremities and their force brought to bear on the unfortunate centre. But the favourite freak is to place a bedstead at the end of the room and drive it with great violence down the centre. The rolling noise over the brick floor is tremendous, and accompanied by a regular Babel of laughter, shouting, and jokes of every description. Some get ontop of their beds, which consist of three thick mattresses, and jump up and down like mad things; others get up a wild dance in one corner of the room, which grows continually faster and noisier, and the strife of tongues is truly astonishing. Their jokes are really amusing occasionally; the scientific terms that they hear daily play a conspicuous part. The frolic ends as suddenly as it began, when, fairly full of fun, they suddenly jump into bed, say good-night, and in five minutes all are sound asleep. The first night I was thus rudely awakened I was much inclined to be angry, but I philosophised a little and came to the conclusion that it was my voluntary action to be there, and that youthful spirits must have free play. I pitied the poor children in their undeveloped life and the restrictions they suffer here too much to be disturbed by their little outburst, and the next morning they begged me to excuse them because they wereso young!

My time is very fully occupied; my former leisure moments are now employed in writing compositions and taking observations. These last I willingly consent to; they will be records to me of French practice. They consist of a little history of the patient and a daily account of her condition and treatment. But as they are in French, I am somewhat longer in noting them down than I should be if I could employ my own noble language. I have made two ‘observations’ of surgical cases that have been very much approved of. I was quite amused with one of them. I was directed to note the case down under the direction of my chief in that department. As usual, I did promptly and cheerfully what was required; I wrote all she dictated, and then I made a private memorandum for my own satisfaction. This latter was seen by the Superior, and immediately the ‘chief’ was directed to copy it; she did it willingly, for she is a good little being,and has a profound respect for the stranger. The other day two of our chiefs begged me to give them a private lesson on the circulation of the blood, which I willingly complied with. We seated ourselves in the wood, and I explained to them what they did not know; they were very grateful, and have come to me several times since to beg me to continue my lesson—indeed, the girls here have a sweet nature in many respects. There are little jealousies and excitements amongst themselves, but they take the right relationship to me; they think me singularly grave and self-sufficing, but they show me continually the utmost respect, and are always glad to do me any little service. I frequently enter thesalle d’accouchements, when the other divisions are engaged there, to see what is going on, and I always meet a pleasant welcome. One evening I phrenologised them, to their unbounded delight; for some time after I could never enter the room without being surrounded by a small mob eagerly demanding an examination. Everything delights them; they are perfect children in their full, unthinking enjoyment of the present. A little English lesson is a never-failing source of merriment, and I am continually saluted with some oddly pronounced English word, followed by a burst of merriment. We have girls from all parts of France; some are remarkable for their stupidity, which is generally explained by the province from which they arrive. Madame Charrier’s morning lesson is an ordeal through which all have to pass, and seated by her, every morning, I have a fine opportunity for studying the various departments of France. When some singularly obtuse intellect has exhausted all the patience and all the impatience of the teacher, she folds her hands and asks in a subdued voice, ‘Mademoiselle, from what department do you come?’ and on receiving the answer, adds, ‘Ah, then it is all accounted for; the case is a hopeless one;’ which announcementgreatly delights the rest of the class who belong to more enlightened departments.

We have oneélèvewho goes by the name of ‘La Normande;’ she is one of mypictures. A fresh, healthy complexion, browned by the sun and the sea air of her beautiful home, regular features, a stout, vigorous frame that has never known a touch of sickness, she walks about with a step that feels the ground; in her white quilled cap, and handkerchief pinned over her bosom, she looks with her clear blue eyes right into your face, and has a frank, loyal manner that marks her honest, independent nature. On Sunday she dresses in the short full petticoat, the silk-laced jacket, and the lace cap, with its towering pyramidal crown and circular ray-like border, that I think I have already described to you. She sometimes visits ourdortoirand forms the centre of a group, whom she entertains with her constantly overflowing life, sometimes singing, in a deep contralto voice, her peasant hymns to the Virgin—simple pathetic melodies chanted under the lindens when the day’s labours are finished—or dancing vigorously the figures, more gay than graceful, of her country, while she sings some lively air. I admire her vigorous life, I like to see her in the infirmary; she tends the sick with such an honest awkwardness, such a kind heart, and lifts them like babies in her strong arms, that I see the green fields and smell the sweet country air as I watch her. Then I have a little Parisian that I hang up beside her, as plump as a partridge, with merry black eyes, glossy hair always arrangedà la mode, and full of little coquettish ways. Her temper is like a lucifer match, the slightest friction fires it; the smile and the tear are equally ready, though the sunshine generally prevails. She has spent several years in business in Paris, in cigar stores and similar employments, where she has had much to do with gentlemen, and sherepeats to me the compliments they paid her, the offers they made, and her own witty, contemptuous replies, with the utmostnaïveté. Poor child! she has been thrown on her own simple instincts for protection, for her mother was soon jealous of the attractions of her daughter, and removed her to a distance; but the real innocence of her heart, and a true attachment to a young ship’s surgeon, seem to have supplied the place of her natural protectors. But true to her Parisian blood, she has coquetted from first to last, and she never talks to me now but I find it playing in every dimple. Think of it! she was given me as my ‘Chief of Theory’! Now she asks me in the sweetest manner if I will come sometimes to her lessons, and explain to the girls what she does not understand. Poor child! I willingly oblige her.

But I must not weary you with my portrait gallery, my walls are covered with curious figures; let me sketch for you our ‘vaccinations,’ which take place every Tuesday at one o’clock. The numbers of the babies are distributed beforehand amongst theélèveswho are to perform the operations; thus, 25 Ste. Marie to one, 32 Ste. Marthe to another, and so on. Theélèvesseek their babies and bring them into the Hall of the Nurses, a large upper room, full already of women and babies. A space is cleared by one of the windows, chairs placed; in the centre sits M. Blot, the director of the operation; I occupy a chair beside him. Mademoiselle, who superintends another division, stands beside, and then baby after baby is subjected to the awkward manœuvres of theélèves, to their utmost dissatisfaction. The babies are very ugly in their coarse hospital swaddling clothes; I never saw the little beings so enveloped before. They are just like mummies, but they perform a terrible concert altogether, with the voices of theélèvesto help them. I sit a quiet spectator of the operation, occasionally addressing aquestion to M. Blot as he touches knife after knife on the arm of the infant before him; which question seems rather to embarrass the handsomeinterne, for he colours, or passes his hand through his hair and looks intently at the baby, in a very un-Frenchmanlike manner. I think he must be veryyoung, or very much in awe of me, for he never ventures to give me a direct look, and seems so troubled when I address him that I very rarely disturb his life in that way.

I think I have given you enough of my external hospital life to enable you to picture me somewhat in my surroundings; do you want to know how the spirit feels in its curious home? Then know, dear friends, that it is strong and hopeful, that it has moments of weariness, of intense yearning for its true related life, but that it lives ever in the great presence of the Eternal, and feels the angels always near.

The difficult breaking-in to the practical work of the obstetrician is noted in the journal of those days; and also the pleasant comradeship which gradually sprang up with the very intelligent young physician who served asinterneat that time; this companionship was a great relief to my imprisonment in La Maternité.

July 4.—Attended lessons by theaides-sages-femmes; very clever instruction. Spent the day in thesalle d’accouchements, but was disgusted by the treatment of aprimipara. With all the instruction they have received, the very first principles of humane treatment seem too often neglected. They are still ignorant midwives with their mischievous interference.... The version seemed to me horrible. I almost fainted.... Spent the night in the infirmary—weary work. I cannot bearthis loss of sleep.... To-day, three operations; much interested in the morning, but grew weary and disgusted in the afternoon.July 22.—Attended theinterne’svisit and spoke to him about one of the patients; he replied so pleasantly that I said a little more, and he promised to lend me a medical journal to look over, and see how I liked it. The little friendliness encouraged me....August 12.—The poor woman whom I have attended as my first complete patient gave me a littleprie-dieuwhich she had made. Her humble heart longs to express its gratitude. I put it in my Bible where my friends are reading to-day.... M. Dubois again waited after the lecture to say a few pleasant words. He wished I would stay a year and gain the gold medal; said I should be the best obstetrician, male or female, in America! Had quite a pleasant visit to the infirmary, where M. Blot made me observe several interesting points, and answered my questions intelligently and frankly....August 24.—Quite taken by surprise at the infirmary visit this afternoon. M. Blot met me so pleasantly, and asked me to give him some lessons in English. I think he must have been meditating this request for some time; it had hardly the air of a spontaneous thought. I like him. I hope we may come a little more closely together....September 2.—I have been quite happy for three hours. I must note down what I’ve learned. M. Blot brought his microscope to the Infirmerie des Élèves. I was exceedingly interested in his microscopic lecture. He showed us in a work of M. Hébert’s the difference between the epithélium pavimenteux, such as covers the tongue, skin, &c., and the epithélium vibratile, as in other parts, and the fibro-plastic formations in the reparation of tissues, showing specimens of each kind. The first species was represented by a cellule full of little cellules,anoyauin the centre containing a nucleolus—thus.... The second was of elongated form, thus.... The third represented the growth of fibre from cells, which cells are distinguished from the first by the relatively smaller size of thenoyau, thus.... By such examination different formations can be distinguished from each other; thus cancer possesses very distinctive elements. It is necessary to examine bodies of varying shapes under different foci of the microscope, otherwise illusions may be created. In illustration he placed some blood globules, and showed us that what appeared a central spot in each globule was owing to the convexity not being in focus, and it disappeared when the focus was a little lengthened. He spoke also of a paper read before a society yesterday by a young physician, which proved that the azote, which in the ox is voided by the excrement, in the cow is absorbed into the milk; and that the difference in the manure of the two is great.He is busy himself now in preparing for an examination ofinternes; if he gain the gold medal, he has the right to enter any hospital he chooses asinternefor a second term, and receive also his M.D., not otherwise granted to aninterne. What chance have women, shut out from these instructions? Work on, Elizabeth!...To-day M. Blot spoke of a friend, Claude Bernard, a distinguished young inquirer, who is now, he thinks, on the eve of a discovery that will immortalise him—viz. the discovery of an accessory circulation, by which substances are sent directly to the kidneys without traversing the general circulation, which will explain, for instance, the rapid effect of champagne on the kidneys. This second heart is situated in the ascending vena cava, close by the liver; strong muscular fibres are evident in the human subject, but in the horse are as large as quills. He does not perceive yet what veins return the blood, ifhis supposition be true. He also spoke of the power which the liver has of secreting sugar in a normal state, when animals are fed on certain substances which can be so converted; also of the curious experiment by which a dog was made, in his presence, to secrete albuminous or diabetic urine, according to the pricking of one or another point of the pneumogastric nerve near its origin....[6]At the afternoon visit we had quite a philosophical discussion on society, &c. Mlle. Mallet was delighted with abon motof M. Blot. She remarked that she understood thatles demoiselleshad answered likeanges. ‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘en ôtant le g.’ They had been unusually stupid! She asked me if M. Blot were not rathermoqueur. I said I did not know, but that I had discovered that he was very ambitious. His sentiments seem to be good, but his character is certainly not French.September 21.—M. Dubois stopped to speak to me after the lecture, and again expressed his great desire that I should remain a year in the institution. I told him I had determined to remain another three months; but I had many other branches to study. He replied that anything else I might learn elsewhere as well as inParis, but that the opportunity of seeing all that was remarkable in three thousand deliveries in that space of time could be met with nowhere else in the world; that it equalled the whole practice of most physicians, and he was persuaded that I should regret it if I did not remain. He parted saying he would talk the matter over again with me. If it be pure interest that makes him urge this, I am glad; but it seems to me now an impossible endurance.October 4.—Another midnight scene—a strange spectacle of suffering and of science. As I stood on the crowded benches of the amphitheatre I heard the clock strike one, the holy noon of night. I wondered how long our sins would thus be fearfully visited upon us. The rain beat in torrents on the skylight, the wind shook the building, and I could look with intense interest on that rare and dangerous accident submitted to our investigation—lithotomy, the only way to save life; a tedious operation lasting, I should think, an hour, for in the hurry of midnight dressing I had forgotten my watch....To-night I have been walking in the wood; the wind blows fresh under the clear starlight. I am happier now that my mind is clearly determined to leave at the end of six months, with the conviction that my work here is thoroughly done....October 30.—Madame Charrier sent for me this afternoon to present me withmy portrait. It was a lithograph picture of Elizabeth Blackwell, taken from a history ofsages-femmes célèbres. This lady, about 1737, published a work on medical botany in two large folio volumes, in order to get her husband, a medical man, out of prison, where he was confined for debt.I imagined a whole romance out of the picture, and a little biography—a romance of a beautiful, true spirit,struggling with a society too strong to be turned from its ancient habits of evil. But the pure spirit is not lost, it is working bravely still.

July 4.—Attended lessons by theaides-sages-femmes; very clever instruction. Spent the day in thesalle d’accouchements, but was disgusted by the treatment of aprimipara. With all the instruction they have received, the very first principles of humane treatment seem too often neglected. They are still ignorant midwives with their mischievous interference.... The version seemed to me horrible. I almost fainted.... Spent the night in the infirmary—weary work. I cannot bearthis loss of sleep.... To-day, three operations; much interested in the morning, but grew weary and disgusted in the afternoon.

July 22.—Attended theinterne’svisit and spoke to him about one of the patients; he replied so pleasantly that I said a little more, and he promised to lend me a medical journal to look over, and see how I liked it. The little friendliness encouraged me....

August 12.—The poor woman whom I have attended as my first complete patient gave me a littleprie-dieuwhich she had made. Her humble heart longs to express its gratitude. I put it in my Bible where my friends are reading to-day.... M. Dubois again waited after the lecture to say a few pleasant words. He wished I would stay a year and gain the gold medal; said I should be the best obstetrician, male or female, in America! Had quite a pleasant visit to the infirmary, where M. Blot made me observe several interesting points, and answered my questions intelligently and frankly....

August 24.—Quite taken by surprise at the infirmary visit this afternoon. M. Blot met me so pleasantly, and asked me to give him some lessons in English. I think he must have been meditating this request for some time; it had hardly the air of a spontaneous thought. I like him. I hope we may come a little more closely together....

September 2.—I have been quite happy for three hours. I must note down what I’ve learned. M. Blot brought his microscope to the Infirmerie des Élèves. I was exceedingly interested in his microscopic lecture. He showed us in a work of M. Hébert’s the difference between the epithélium pavimenteux, such as covers the tongue, skin, &c., and the epithélium vibratile, as in other parts, and the fibro-plastic formations in the reparation of tissues, showing specimens of each kind. The first species was represented by a cellule full of little cellules,anoyauin the centre containing a nucleolus—thus.... The second was of elongated form, thus.... The third represented the growth of fibre from cells, which cells are distinguished from the first by the relatively smaller size of thenoyau, thus.... By such examination different formations can be distinguished from each other; thus cancer possesses very distinctive elements. It is necessary to examine bodies of varying shapes under different foci of the microscope, otherwise illusions may be created. In illustration he placed some blood globules, and showed us that what appeared a central spot in each globule was owing to the convexity not being in focus, and it disappeared when the focus was a little lengthened. He spoke also of a paper read before a society yesterday by a young physician, which proved that the azote, which in the ox is voided by the excrement, in the cow is absorbed into the milk; and that the difference in the manure of the two is great.

He is busy himself now in preparing for an examination ofinternes; if he gain the gold medal, he has the right to enter any hospital he chooses asinternefor a second term, and receive also his M.D., not otherwise granted to aninterne. What chance have women, shut out from these instructions? Work on, Elizabeth!...

To-day M. Blot spoke of a friend, Claude Bernard, a distinguished young inquirer, who is now, he thinks, on the eve of a discovery that will immortalise him—viz. the discovery of an accessory circulation, by which substances are sent directly to the kidneys without traversing the general circulation, which will explain, for instance, the rapid effect of champagne on the kidneys. This second heart is situated in the ascending vena cava, close by the liver; strong muscular fibres are evident in the human subject, but in the horse are as large as quills. He does not perceive yet what veins return the blood, ifhis supposition be true. He also spoke of the power which the liver has of secreting sugar in a normal state, when animals are fed on certain substances which can be so converted; also of the curious experiment by which a dog was made, in his presence, to secrete albuminous or diabetic urine, according to the pricking of one or another point of the pneumogastric nerve near its origin....[6]

At the afternoon visit we had quite a philosophical discussion on society, &c. Mlle. Mallet was delighted with abon motof M. Blot. She remarked that she understood thatles demoiselleshad answered likeanges. ‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘en ôtant le g.’ They had been unusually stupid! She asked me if M. Blot were not rathermoqueur. I said I did not know, but that I had discovered that he was very ambitious. His sentiments seem to be good, but his character is certainly not French.

September 21.—M. Dubois stopped to speak to me after the lecture, and again expressed his great desire that I should remain a year in the institution. I told him I had determined to remain another three months; but I had many other branches to study. He replied that anything else I might learn elsewhere as well as inParis, but that the opportunity of seeing all that was remarkable in three thousand deliveries in that space of time could be met with nowhere else in the world; that it equalled the whole practice of most physicians, and he was persuaded that I should regret it if I did not remain. He parted saying he would talk the matter over again with me. If it be pure interest that makes him urge this, I am glad; but it seems to me now an impossible endurance.

October 4.—Another midnight scene—a strange spectacle of suffering and of science. As I stood on the crowded benches of the amphitheatre I heard the clock strike one, the holy noon of night. I wondered how long our sins would thus be fearfully visited upon us. The rain beat in torrents on the skylight, the wind shook the building, and I could look with intense interest on that rare and dangerous accident submitted to our investigation—lithotomy, the only way to save life; a tedious operation lasting, I should think, an hour, for in the hurry of midnight dressing I had forgotten my watch....

To-night I have been walking in the wood; the wind blows fresh under the clear starlight. I am happier now that my mind is clearly determined to leave at the end of six months, with the conviction that my work here is thoroughly done....

October 30.—Madame Charrier sent for me this afternoon to present me withmy portrait. It was a lithograph picture of Elizabeth Blackwell, taken from a history ofsages-femmes célèbres. This lady, about 1737, published a work on medical botany in two large folio volumes, in order to get her husband, a medical man, out of prison, where he was confined for debt.

I imagined a whole romance out of the picture, and a little biography—a romance of a beautiful, true spirit,struggling with a society too strong to be turned from its ancient habits of evil. But the pure spirit is not lost, it is working bravely still.

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