CHAPTER IV

STUDY IN EUROPE

1849-1851

On April 30 we landed at Liverpool, and I began to make acquaintance with the wonderful and unknown Old World, which I had left when a child of eleven. Everything seemed new and striking. The substantial character of Liverpool, the ‘finished look’ of the surrounding country, the extraordinary character of the mining district—all awakened keen interest. My poor cousin being ill with rheumatism, however, we journeyed on at once to his home at Portway Hall, near Dudley. A fortnight was spent in this pleasant home, which, though in the centre of the ‘Black Country,’ was surrounded by gardens where the flowers were fresh and sweet, the trees in beautiful leaf, whilst the cuckoo saluted us in the morning and the nightingales at night. I gained a glimpse of the lovely English country, and spent a memorable time in examining the novel surroundings of the great mining district of England. The following letters are descriptive of a young student’s impressions on revisiting her native land more than a generation ago.

Portway: May 2, 1849.

Thanks be to Heaven, I am on land once more, and never do I wish again to experience that hideous nightmare—a voyage across the ocean. We had the warmest welcome at my cousin’s pleasant home.... I went one afternoon to see the casting—that is, when the melted iron, like a river of fire, flows into the moulds which shape it. The Russel Hall Works are close by the town of Dudley. There is a wide extent of smoky country, with many little groups of machinery and brick buildings, each constituting or rather surrounding a pit; many mounds of glowing coal turning into coke; piles of ironstone being burned previous to the smelting; the houses of the managers in various directions, the office at the entrance; and immediately in front the two great blast-furnaces, which burn incessantly day and night, making many thousands of tons a year. Very few workmen were to be seen, but underground a whole army of them were hard at work. The casting was very curious. Twice a day the melted iron is drawn off from the bottom of the great brick towers they call furnaces. Strong men with faces as black and scorched as a coal were busy, armed with iron poles, guiding the sea of fire that rushed out into the moulds that covered a great extent of ground, drawing out the white-hot masses of cinders and dirt, and splashing cold water over the front of the furnace to enable them to stand there. We remained at the farther end, but the heat was so great that we had to cover our faces. Suddenly, with a loud noise, the flames burst out from the furnaces, ascending to the very top, immense volumes of black smoke rolled over our heads, and the rushing noise grew louder and louder. I thought some accident had occurred, and looked out for the safest retreat, when I found it was only the clearing of the furnaces by sending a powerful blast through them, which was always practised after a casting. Within a square of twelve miles one-sixth of the iron used in the world is said to be made.... I paid a visit to Dudley Castle, having a great curiosity to see a veritable old castle, a ruined castle; and I explored every corner, looked up the broad chimneys, and peeped out of the stone window frames and loopholes with a feeling of true antiquarian enthusiasm. We sat down on a stone bench at the foot of the keep, which is very old, and on a little hill on the western side of the courtyard; there we tried to revive the scene as it may have looked hundreds of years ago, when armed men were bustling about the court, and visions of fair ladies gleaming from the upper windows and now ruined terraces. The castle crowns a wooded hill, commanding the town and level country for many miles; the remains of a double wall with a moat between still surround the castle. As I stood by those strong walls and looked down on the wide fields below, I began to imagine how grandly an army would approach, and how noble a defence the castle would make, till I longed to revive the ancient conflicts, and almost frightened my companions by my martial demonstrations and visions of grim warriors peeping through the iron-barred windows. But the illusion could not last long; the country is covered with smoke and coal-pits, the wallflower is smiling on the ruins of the old castle, and instead of subterranean dungeons and dark passages the hill is excavated for limestone; and these artificial caverns of enormous extent, with a canal winding through them and echoing to the voices of the workmen, form one of the most curious features of the place, and show how the same energy and power are still at work, though in a very different direction. We drove home through the little town of Dudley, which presented a most curious spectacle, for it was market day, and the workmen from all the country round, having received their wages, were come in with their wives and children to make their weekly purchases. The streets were crammed with people, and our carriage made its way through a living mass that hardly opened to let it through. I examined the people, as I have constantly done since I entered the country, with great curiosity. I could not see one handsome face in the whole multitude—indeed, the English appear to me a very common-looking people—but neither was I struck by the misery I expected to see. In Liverpool I had peered into all the back alleys and odd corners I could find; I have done the same in Dudley. There is great cleanliness observed everywhere, that compares most favourably with American cities, and the inhabitants of those districts, though miserable, of course, according to a true standard of human life, were neither more numerous nor more wretched than I have been accustomed to see in America. I have very rarely seen a beggar, and in no instance one that has particularly excited my compassion. This district is one of the most thickly peopled in England, and certainly presents an average view of the mining districts, and the poor labourers seem far more comfortable and intelligent than I had supposed. The manufacturing districts, I have no doubt, would present a different spectacle. I have had no opportunity of judging them. I have just learned to my great satisfaction that Mr. Charles Plevins, an old friend of my cousin, is going to London for a few days, and will escort me there and remain during my stay. I can hardly tell you what a relief this is, for the idea of going to that great city an entire stranger, and wandering about it utterly alone, was a most desolate, oppressive thought, and entirely destroyed all the pleasure of the anticipation, though I assumed a very independent tone in speaking of my journey when I found it was utterly impossible for cousin to accompany me. He is an old friend of cousin’s, though young—only twenty-five—and there is an air of youth and immaturity about all his opinions and actions; but his spirit is so beautiful that you have only to see in order to love it, so pure and gentle, so true and genial. In my opinion he belongs to a class of young Englishmen that I find is large and constantly increasing. Cousin S. is one of them. They are reformers in spirit, but not destroyers; they have no clear immediate plan of reform, and so earnestly maintain the present system until they find a better one; but they are all the time seeking for truth, and longing most earnestly to realise that grand future in which they all believe. Fichte is one of their favourite teachers; Carlyle, Emerson, Channing, all we have known and learned from in the past, they worship now; but they have yet to study Fourier and Swedenborg before they can reach that strong hope and clear insight which will make their working strong, happy, and practically efficient. Now, there is too much of metaphysical abstraction in their thoughts, their religious faith is not a glorious reality, and in the case of our friend Charles, he despises the material world too much, and seeks to subdue the body and purify the spirit by privations which proceed from the noblest motive but a mistaken faith.

I have a curious interest in seeing and hearing him; it revives so completely my earlier life, when I thought as he does now, and strove for the same ends by the same means. My medical effort won his admiration before I arrived, and since I came here he has done me every little service in his power. His family is an old and highly respected one in Birmingham, and when he found I wished to see something of medicine in the city he used his influence to arrange a useful day for me. Accordingly, the day before yesterday I went in with him to Birmingham, having received invitations from several physicians. We spent the day in visiting the various institutions together, and as it was my first introduction to the English medical world, and as I consider it a good omen, I must describe our doings particularly.

Mr. Parker, surgeon to the Queen’s Hospital, had some difficulty in believing that it was not an ideal being that was spoken of; but when he found I was really and truly a living woman he sent me an invitation to witness the amputation he was going to perform, and promised to show me all the arrangements of the institution, sending also a note of admission to the college and museum. Dr. Evans, a distinguished physician, invited me to the General Hospital, the largest and oldest one, and expressed much sympathy in my undertaking. Dr. McKay, of the Lying-in Hospital, thought that God and Nature had indicated the unfitness of women for such a pursuit as I had chosen, but still said he would be very happy to show the lady all he could. All the students were on the _qui vive_ to see the lady surgeon, and as we approached the building I saw them peeping through doors and windows. Mr. Parker, a fat, rosy-faced John Bull, received me very politely, introduced me to some M.D.’s who had come to see the sight, showed me the arrangements of the hospital, which is young and not particularly interesting, and then took me to the operating-room. It was crammed with students, and as fresh ones arrived they would peep about, whisper to their neighbours, and then work their way to a place where they could see me. It was just a repetition of old scenes; a few minutes’ curiosity, and then all went on as usual. The students presented the same mixture of faces as our American ones, wore rather better coats, and seemed to be quicker in their movements. I noted nothing peculiar in the operation, which was skilfully performed, without chloroform, which Mr. Parker disliked. Before leaving, he offered me a letter to the famous Roux of Paris.

At the General Hospital, established sixty years, Dr. Heslop received me with the utmost deference, showed me every ward, male and female, pointed out every case of note, let me examine it, and detailed the treatment, particularly one operation for subclavian aneurism, which was so remarkable that they were going to publish the case. Dr. Percy, of Birmingham, a particular friend of S., has promised to meet me in London, and to furnish me with all the necessary introduction to give me an insight into the medical world of the great metropolis. So I look forward now with great hope to a short but delightful visit, and leave for London next Saturday, the 12th, to await my passports, which I shall probably receive with letters on the 16th, and then off again for the land of dancing and wooden shoes. I heard the cuckoo this morning; what a soft human sound it is! Last night the nightingales were singing sweetly in the twilight. Our garden is full of lovely English flowers; the primrose and cowslip, laurustinea, and many others make our garden beautiful, though the weather is a most cold, gloomy nurse to the little darlings.

_May 17._—We left Portway yesterday afternoon. I parted from our friends with great regret; we were getting used to one another; a home feeling was growing up there to me, and so it was time to be off. We arrived late in London, so I could only remark the many handsome houses in gardens that marked its environs, the fine and spacious orderly railway station, the wide streets and gay shops. This morning, after seeing Dr. Percy, Cousin S.’s friend, who has promised to give me the necessary introductions to the hospitals to-morrow, we walked about five miles through the city before reaching Mrs. X.’s house in Devonshire Street. During our walk we passed through many handsome squares with monuments and public buildings, not an isolated one, as with us, but row after row of grand pillared edifices, whole streets of palaces, substantial, built of freestone, but all rendered dingy by smoke, which permeates the atmosphere and penetrates everywhere. The most venerable pile of Westminster Abbey is crumbling with age; the cathedral service was being chanted when we entered; the central space was filled with people. The aisles are in the form of a cross, bordered by tall pillars rising lofty and plain to support the long vistas of arches. The spaces are filled up by a wilderness of monuments, a subdued light pouring in, a cool, stony atmosphere filling the cathedral. It is a noble old building, and has impressed me more than anything I’ve seen. From Westminster Bridge I saw the new Houses of Parliament—an immense pile, the ornaments too delicate for its size. The poor little river was covered with boats, and the bridge with people enjoying the Sunday; but London was much quieter than I supposed it would be. I noticed but one ‘confectionery store’ partly open; the day seemed to be very strictly observed. We walked through Regent Street, and through endless rows of handsome houses constituting the ‘West End,’ to Mrs. X.’s. We were shown in by a footman in crimson plush breeches, white stockings, and claret-coloured coat with gold buttons, to the drawing-rooms—the walls lined with figured crimson velvet, and all manner of lounges and tables covered with knick-knackery scattered about. The lady made her appearance in a blue and black satin dress with jet ornaments and a lace headdress—a handsome brunette, with red cheeks and very black eyes and hair, and altogether too much mannerism to please me. She was evidently criticising me, and holding herself in a non-committal attitude. I sat still and talked very quietly, thinking to myself that if I were condemned to live there one week I should overturn the lady and smash everything to atoms. Presently a few fashionable morning visitors dropped in to condole with the lady, who had scratched her throat by swallowing a mouthful too hastily, and so was an _invalid_; some messages of inquiry and condolence were delivered by an old, grave footman, so very silly, and answered in so absurd a manner, that I wondered how the man could keep a grave countenance; and yet the lady had wit and spirit which occasionally flashed out. Sir J. H. came in with Dr. H. to see me. I had a little very pleasant talk, and am to meet him on Tuesday. We descended to lunch, ladies sitting down in their bonnets. The dining-room and library had ceilings beautifully painted to imitate the sky with clouds; the whole house was hung with paintings. The lady’s manner grew gradually pleasanter; she seemed to like me, admired my hand, and insisted on my drinking a glass of wine—the first I ever took. I told her so, and she was much pleased at her influence. She took us in her barouche through Regent’s Park, and then extended her drive to Hyde Park. These parks are very beautiful—miles of grassy lawn, scattered over with groves, gardens, and clumps of trees, with occasional water, and varied with little valleys. They are surrounded by rows of palace houses, sometimes approaching the carriage road, sometimes lost in gardens and shrubbery. I did enjoy to see the people walking about, sitting under the trees, inhaling a little fresh air on the quiet Sunday, for the most perfect order prevailed. Our hostess became quite agreeable, laughed, and chatted merrily about all manner of nothings. It was impossible to converse with her; she must do the talking with a little support, and she gave forth a good deal of shrewd worldly wisdom. She set us down at the Zoological Gardens in Regent’s Park, with many regrets that an engagement to a dinner-party in the country prevented her asking me home, and the expression of a strong desire to have a long, full conversation.

_Monday, May 1849._—This morning I called on Dr. Carpenter, who has written those admirable works on physiology. He lives near Regent’s Park; it was sparkling with dew as I walked through—refreshingly sweet. I found him and his wife exceedingly agreeable. I liked them at once. They questioned me with great interest about my past course. I am to meet some distinguished people at their house to-night, and among them a Miss Gillies, an artist who has watched my steps with the highest pleasure, and who thinks the only true livers are the workers. I received several notes of introduction from Dr. C. He says I must hear Mr. Paget lecture; that he is the most promising surgeon in England. I found an invitation to a pharmaceutical _soirée_ awaiting me on my return, with the information that I might see all the distinguished M.D.’s there assembled.

_Evening._—I have just returned from Dr. C.’s delightful little party. The ladies were in regular ball costume; some dresses very elegant; dancing to the piano; music, vocal and instrumental. Dr. C. gave us a very beautiful piece of Mendelssohn’s on the organ; he and his wife sang together with great feeling. His microscopes, said to be the most beautiful in England, were there. His preparations were exquisite: the lung of a frog most minutely injected, a piece of shark skin which seems covered with innumerable teeth, and piles of other specimens. Miss Gillies is a distinguished artist. I am to visit her and see her relation, Dr. Southwood Smith. Chapman, the well-known publisher, was present, and talked a good deal to me, but seemed a little undecided what tone to take. He has a very handsome, intellectual face. I was introduced to many pleasant people; one had the rare, beautiful face of Cowper’s mother. Great interest seemed to be felt in my course.

Before going to Dr. C.’s I went to examine the specimens collected for the pharmaceutical _soirée_. I was surprised to find that the _papier-mâché_ models have been hitherto unknown in England, and that the people were regarding with the utmost rapture specimens which are in common use in all American colleges. Sir J. H. drove us to the Consumption Hospital and the Chelsea Botanical Gardens—a most kind-hearted, simple-mannered old gentleman....

Dr. Percy secured me a great treat. I visited the Hunterian Museum in company with Mr. Owen, who lectures at the institution. It is said to be the finest collection of comparative and morbid anatomy in the world. Mr. Owen is a man of genius, and the hour passed away like a minute while listening to his eloquent descriptions of the fossil remains and the laws which related them to living animals, to man, and to the globe. He invited me to come any morning between ten and twelve, but unfortunately my time is too crowded. The obstetric collection is very fine; if I return through London I shall certainly try to spend a week or two in examining it.

We next took the railroad and went to Greenwich, choosing the third-class open cars that I might see the country, which is laid out in market gardens richly cultivated, all round London, though the city, stretching out through Deptford to Greenwich, makes one uninterrupted town in that direction. Greenwich Hospital for Sailors has impressed me more than any other institution with the power and wealth of the nation. It is a series of great palaces, connected by colonnades with double rows of pillars ranged round a large green open to the river, with the park and observatory in the background. The old sailors were hobbling about in comfortable dresses, with enormous rations of bread and meat; for we reached it just at dinner-time, and they were allowed to take their meals and eat in their cabins. There are long walks where they smoke, and they rove about in the freest style. Their chapel is a very beautiful hall, though I fear the rich painting and mosaic is lost on the rough tars. The Painted Hall is immediately opposite; the vaulted ceiling is covered with figures which are larger than life, even from below; the walls are entirely covered with large paintings, richly framed, of naval engagements and naval heroes, and many relics of the great commanders are preserved in cases. The park is always open to the public; groups of women and children were sitting under the fine old trees, and the deer were so tame that they took no notice of passers-by. We sailed up the river to Waterloo Bridge, passing the Tower and St. Paul’s, and several handsome stone bridges. Then we went over the British Museum, which is thrown open to the public. We had only time to pass rapidly through hall after hall devoted to branches of natural science, Egyptian monuments, Grecian remains, &c., all admirably classified, with a label to every specimen. How I longed that our students, and particularly a certain E. B., could enjoy the great advantage of walking to such an institution, and seeing each object of study actually there in its natural relations! I hastened home to wash and dress, and reached Mrs. X.’s just in time for the seven o’clock dinner. It was a tremendous operation. We sat at table for three hours. I really grew stiff, notwithstanding the champagne I drank. By-the-by, that is the only wine I like; iced champagne is really good. I sat by Sir J. H. at table, and never discovered till I had left that it was actually mother’s old friend. He told Charles that he knew my mother, and remembered my face perfectly, having often seen me at church. I regretted exceedingly that I did not know the connection till too late, for I had always liked the kind old gentleman, and he would have seemed to me quite like an old friend. He has been rather unfortunate in money matters lately, and was robbed of all his family jewels by a foreign count and countess whom he was hospitably entertaining. He possesses an old château in France, which he often visits, and gave me his card to use at Boulogne, in case I went that way. The general conversation, however, was stupid, and I really needed our three-mile walk home to wear off its constraining effects.

Thursday morning I visited my first hospital, St. Thomas’s, but under rather unpleasant circumstances; indeed, I hesitated whether to go at all. The surgeon to whom I sent my letter of introduction knew nothing about me, thought it was a very indelicate undertaking, and simply sent me a line to one of the nurses, with the request that I would not enter any of the men’s wards. I swallowed the indignity, however, and went, feeling very uncomfortable. But to my surprise, after I had been there a little while I was met by Mr. South, the senior surgeon, who had come on purpose to meet me and show me everything—a very kind, rather eccentric man, who paid me the utmost attention, and pointed out everything, even to the everlasting brewhouse of the establishment. In the museum he drew my attention to many noteworthy specimens, such as the aorta tied by Sir Astley Cooper. St. Thomas’s is a series of enormous buildings, which is the character of most public institutions here; its income is 30,000_l._ per annum, and some hospitals have even more. Then he invited me to attend his clinical lecture; so at the head of a large body of students, who had been peeping at me in every direction, I passed with him through ward after ward, men’s and women’s, the students preserving the most perfect order, though I could see that they were filled with the intensest curiosity. He gave me the fullest description of interesting cases, and made me examine several. He left his students to the house-surgeon, and accompanied me to the Barclay Brewery—an enormous affair, quite a national curiosity. It was here that the brutal Haynau, whilst visiting the place a short time ago, was mobbed by the men when they heard who had come amongst them, and barely escaped some very rough usage. My courteous escort left me in the kindliest manner, promising me an introduction to the Bethlehem. While at St. Thomas’s I received three invitations to _post-mortems_, to a lecture, and to the Ophthalmic Dispensary, all of which I was compelled to decline for want of time.

At the brewery visitors enter their names. I set mine down without the M.D.; Mr. South insisted on my adding it. I have been asked by physicians again and again if they shall call me doctor—they fully recognise my right. I always answer this question in the affirmative, as a matter of principle. I can hardly describe to you the difference of feeling with which I entered and left the hospital. We walked a couple of miles to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Charles T., an elegant household, though without the fetters of fashion; they welcomed me most kindly. My two remaining days will be very busy: I have two or three hospitals to visit and several people to see; indeed, engagement treads upon engagement, so that I’ve hardly a moment to think. I thought such excitement would have bothered me intensely. It did at first bewilder, but now I’ve roused myself to meet it and I really enjoy it. I’ve never had such an experience; I must have walked ten miles a day. I come home sometimes hardly able to move a foot; I wash and dress, and in an hour I’m up again and fresh for as much more—the more I have to do, the more I can. I believe I’ve never yet begun to call out my power of working.

The girl has just come in with my letters, passport, and papers by the ‘Europa’—what a good sight! Bless you all ten thousand times! My next letter will probably be from Paris....

... I have had a delightful visit to Hampstead, where Dr. Wilkinson lives. He received me at once with the greatest kindness and interest, introduced me to his wife, a very sweet woman, graceful and gentle, and to some very pretty black-eyed children. He was disappointed that my stay was so short; told me I ought certainly to spend a year in London, that the longer he lived in it the more wonderful it seemed to him, that every idea was represented there not by a single individual but by a whole class, and that the societies I might study there would be of great service to me as a means of development. He is a tall, strong man, not handsome, wears spectacles, and has a strong expression of goodness in his face. He took me to see two people who were desirous of making my acquaintance, and showed me all the fine points of view from Hampstead, which truly is a most lovely spot, though only two miles from London. It is a hilly range, looking down on wide undulating country on both sides, with blue hills in the distance—Windsor Castle being distinctly visible twenty miles off. I cannot describe the place; it seems to have built itself in one of Nature’s choicest nooks. There is a common covered with golden gorse, broken by little dells in which pretty cottages are nestled, and there are old mansions hidden in noble parks, old walls covered with luxuriant ivy, shady lanes with long avenues of trees and smooth hedges of hawthorn and laurel, fields covered with a rich carpet golden with buttercups and daisies, the cows quietly feeding in a veritable paradise to them. Then there are all manner of odd corners and irregular clusters of houses, but everywhere the most intense vegetation. The little cottage occupied by Byron, who used often to resort to this lovely spot, was pointed out to me, and Harrow, where he went to school. We had much interesting conversation. In the omnibus I parted from the doctor with real regret, but quite refreshed by the cordial intercourse.

_Journey to Paris._—All my teachers and medical friends in America had strongly advised my going to Paris, as the one place where I should be able to find unlimited opportunities for study in any branch of the medical art. Being then desirous of pursuing surgery as well as medicine, I followed their advice. On May 21, 1849, with a very slender purse and few introductions of any value, I found myself in the unknown world of Paris, bent upon the one object of pursuing my studies, with no idea of the fierce political passions then smouldering amongst the people, nor with any fear of the cholera which was then threatening an epidemic.

Curious glimpses of this outer world are given in letters sent home at that time.

Paris, 11 Rue de Seine: May 1849.

You see, dear friends, that I have reached my destination at last, and fairly established myself in this strange city. I parted from my kind companion, who in London had spent the whole week in one continued effort to aid me in every possible way, with real gratitude. I could not thank him, words seemed too meaningless.... I left London with the profoundest respect for the vast power of many kinds displayed there, and a grateful remembrance of a personal reception that had been so encouraging. It rained the whole way over. An English lady returning to Paris with her husband was very friendly. She promised to show me the best place to stay at in Calais, and said if I would travel with them in the cars she could give me much information about Paris, for the French made a point of cheating the English unmercifully, thinking they were immensely wealthy. We were notified of our approach to Calais by a strong smell of fish. It was quite dark and raining in torrents; I was very glad to have companions. We picked our way as well as we could over the stone pier, enclosed by walls on which stood a lighthouse glaring into the dark night. We stepped into the rooms where the passports are examined, and there the whiskered faces showed me I was amongst strangers, and the _Où allez-vous, madame?_ confirmed the fact. Next morning I stood for some time on the pier waiting for the Custom-house officer and watching the strange people. Market-women in their white caps (the common people wear no bonnet), groups of workmen in blue blouses, fishwomen of enormous muscular development, though short, returning from fishing laden with their nets, clad in a single petticoat scarcely reaching to the knee, little children with their school-books making sundry excursions on to the fishing-smacks by the way, and chattering French with all their might. At the Custom-house the search was very slight; they did not even see the cases which I had put at the back of a larger trunk, and I was only charged a couple of francs. We left Calais at nine o’clock, and the difference between France and England was apparent the whole way. The country was no flatter than between Liverpool and Birmingham, but badly drained and badly cultivated, with many peat bogs and dwarf willows bordering the watercourses. There were many villages built of light-coloured stone, but apparently not one brisk, thriving town. The whole way wooden fences instead of beautiful live hedges, women digging trenches and working in the peat bogs, and the railroad left in the rough, unfinished style of America, without the excuse of an immense young country. At the Custom-house in Paris, where they search the trunks for butter and cheese, I parted from my travelling companions and launched boldly into the sea of Paris. It looked very odd as I drove along; the streets so narrow, with such odd, old-fashioned houses, all built of this light-coloured stone, which has no sort of expression. They charged extravagantly at the hotel where I passed the night, so I determined at once to procure lodgings, and set off early next morning to hunt up Mr. Doherty, who I knew through Dr. Wilkinson would tell me the right quarter for medical doings.

I started off with a map in my hand and hope in my heart, and reached Mr. Doherty’s house very early, I suppose, for Parisian hours, for the gentleman was in bed when my letters were handed in; and soon after a short sleepy-looking man made his appearance, with a horrid coarse beard, a blue and red woollen dressing-gown, and green baize trousers hanging about his ankles. I had some difficulty in making him comprehend that I was not Anna. At last, however, with the help of letters and my explanations, all became clear. I found him very pleasant; he breakfasted, dressed, &c., while I talked to his brother Thomas, who is a beautiful artist. Mr. D. went with me to some places he knew of. At last we found a little room with bedroom attached in a central situation and at a moderate rent. The hostess was a very pleasant-looking woman, with her own room close by, the whole suite being separated from the rest of the house. I felt, however, quite disappointed in the city; it did not seem to me handsome, gay, or elegant after London; but then, in truth, I was so busy settling my own little matters that I hardly had time to examine closely. To-day I have spent in walking about the city with my hostess, chiefly for the sake of chattering with her and accustoming my ear to the strange sounds, for I find I have much to learn. I have great trouble in expressing myself with any elegance, and I cannot see the physicians until I have acquired a tolerable command of words; I shall very soon, however, be able to do so. I went out to buy a bonnet to-day, but found that my unfortunate organs were totally unable to squeeze themselves into a Parisian head-dress; so I was obliged to order a bonnet, choosing plain grey silk, although I was assured again and again that nobody wore that colour....

_An interview with Lamartine._—At this period much sympathy was felt in America for the Republican movement in France, of which Lamartine was the head. Before leaving Philadelphia a friend had asked me to be the bearer of one of those expressions of sympathy from public meetings which were then sent to the poet from all parts of the United States. I willingly undertook the commission, and now wrote to the President for permission to present the document entrusted to me.

May 31, 1849.

I have just returned from my visit by appointment to Lamartine, where I went to deliver the Philadelphia resolution entrusted to me. I must hasten to give you a sketch before this post—the last—closes.

Of course I dressed with great care, and arrived just at the appointed hour. I was asked if I was a lady from America, for Lamartine is to most people _in the country_. I was shown through several ante-chambers into a drawing-room, where stood the poet entertaining some visitors; he bowed, requested me to wait a few moments, and withdrew with his visitors into another room. I examined the apartment: a lofty room, carved and richly gilded, three long windows opening on to a balcony commanding a garden full of trees. The room contained a rich carpet and purple velvet couches and chairs, some portraits, an exquisite female profile in bas-relief, a golden chandelier from the ceiling, some antique vases, &c., and a soft green light from the trees of the large garden diffused through the room. The door opened and Lamartine entered; very tall and slender, but the most graceful man I have ever seen, every movement was music; grey eyes and hair. The little bust is a pretty good likeness. He has the gentlemanly voice (Uncle Charles’s), clear, melodious, perfectly well-bred. In fact, his exterior harmonised perfectly with his poetry. He understood English. Slowly and distinctly I explained the commission which had been entrusted to me. He asked me if the resolution referred to the fraternity of the race, and seemed to understand at once the whole matter when I replied in the affirmative. I referred him to the letters accompanying the resolution for full explanation respecting the document and the manner of presenting it. He said he was very happy to receive these expressions of sympathy. He would read the letters carefully and send me an answer, which I promised to transmit to America. He accompanied me very politely to the stairs, bowed, and we parted. I was in no way disappointed; there was perfect harmony in the man and his surroundings. Doubtless he is a true man, though unable to work into practice the great thoughts he cherishes.

I went last night with my good little hostess to a neighbouring church, where there is service every evening. It was well lighted round the central altar, but in every direction the lofty aisles stretched away into the darkness, with an occasional lamp illuminating some saint, and small groups of dark figures kneeling on the pavement. The people were assembled in the centre—mostly the lower classes, women in their white caps, and little children dressed like miniature women; they knelt or stood, or sat on chairs and benches as the service required, generally with the utmost devotion. The little children used the holy water, crossed themselves, and knelt with their mothers, and regarded the bright lights, the flowers round the golden Virgin, and the impressive music with eager, wondering faces. The service was sung or chanted entirely in Latin; occasionally a pause in the music would be broken by the sudden, deep tones of a man’s voice away in the darkness, or a choir of boys’ voices would burst forth apparently from the clouds. The walls were covered with enormous pictures partially illuminated. I felt fully the impressiveness of this scene to the uneducated people; no thought awakened, but the emotional religious sentiment powerfully addressed; and this every night, when the solemn ceremonial contrasts so strongly and soothingly with the traffic of the day. The children are nursed in this atmosphere until it becomes a part of their nature that no reasoning can ever change.

My first introduction to Paris institutions was through the visit of a public official, who brought a registration paper to be filled up. I put myself down as _Etudiante_. The man stared, and then standing in front of me began to make the most extraordinary grimaces, opening his eyes until the whites showed all round them. My first astonished thought was—‘You ugly little brute, what on earth are you doing that for?’ when, his manner suddenly changing on my look of astonishment, he tapped me benevolently on the shoulder, saying, ‘_Mon enfant_, you must not put yourself down as student—_rentière_ is the word you must use!’

In later life, with larger experience, I came to the conclusion that I had been interviewed by the Police des Mœurs! Fortunately at that time I knew nothing of the corrupt system of accepting and regulating female vice.

My next important interview was of a very different character. A Boston friend had procured for me, from a physician, an introduction to the famous Louis, then at the height of his reputation. It was a sealed introduction, which I forwarded with my card. The next day a tall, imposing-looking gentleman called upon me, who proved to be Louis himself. I soon felt instinctively that his visit was one of inspection. I told him frankly of my earnest desire for hospital and practical instruction. After a long conversation he most strongly advised me to enter La Maternité, where in one most important branch I could in a short time obtain more valuable practical knowledge than could be obtained anywhere else, and he informed me of the steps to be taken in order to obtain admission. Before leaving, however, M. Louis handed to me the letter of introduction which I had sent to him, saying that he thought I ought to see it. It was an astounding production, written in such wretched French that I could only suppose that its author was unaware of its insulting character, or of the effect that such a letter delivered to a French gentleman by a young unknown woman was likely to produce. I never again presented a sealed letter of introduction. Some years later, when the distinguished physician who had sent it called upon me in New York, I returned the letter to him, with a few words of very serious remonstrance.

On June 1 one of my sisters and a friend came to Paris, and we moved into pleasant lodgings in the Rue de Fleurus overlooking the Luxembourg Garden. Whilst there I attended lectures at the Collège de France and the Jardin des Plantes, and earnestly sought for admission to some of the hospitals for practical instruction. It seemed, however, that an entrance into La Maternité would be the most direct first step in obtaining the practical instruction needed, and although regretting the delay in my surgical studies which would be involved in such a course, I finally resolved to pursue the courses of that great institution.

The following letters refer to this period of effort.

MY DEAR COUSIN.—I find that I cannot enter the Maternité at present for want of an _acte de naissance_. I am trying to get over the difficulty, but French regulations are so strict that it is still uncertain whether I can succeed. Would it be possible to secure in Bristol a copy of my register of baptism, with a statement of my birthday and my parents, certified by the mayor or some proper authority? I was baptised at Bridge Street by Mr. Leifchild; I was born on February 3, 1821. I do not know, however, whether such a register is kept in England. If it could be procured, it would remove the difficulty which lies in my way.

We find Paris a very lively residence; every day something new is occurring, or we discover some wonderful old place which we must certainly visit. One day it is the funeral celebrations of Marshal Bugeaud, at which all the great men assist, with an army of soldiers and an enormous crowd; or a thousand little girls take their first communion at St. Sulpice, dressed in white with long veils; or some grand collection of flowers or manufactured articles calls out the spectacle-loving people. There is a constant effervescence of life in this great city, which concentrates all its energy in itself, and makes the Parisians at the same time the most brilliant and the most conceited people in the world. The greatest pleasure which we have yet enjoyed was our trip last Sunday to Versailles; it is really a place to be proud of, and I could not wonder at the worship which is paid to that beautiful temple by the people who, day after day, range freely through its grand galleries and spacious gardens.

I received to-day a very pleasant letter from Dr. Webster, one of our professors at Geneva; I was much gratified to find that their course to me has been approved by the profession in America. It would have grieved me inexpressibly if they had been condemned for the aid they had given me, and there seemed to be some possibility of it when I left. But he tells me my thesis was commented on in the Report on Medicine at the National Medical Convention held in Boston, and their course in relation to me justified and approved. The thesis was received with applause. This information is quite a relief to me, for the thought would be too painful that you could injure your friends.

June 15.

DEAR COUSIN,—By the first of July, as soon as I have conquered some miserable little difficulties, such as the _acte de naissance_, certificate of vaccination, &c., which I cannot produce, I shall enter La Maternité, a world-famous institution, and remain until I have succeeded in my first object—viz. to become an accomplished obstetrician. There are personal objections connected with this course that I was not prepared for—viz. a strict imprisonment, very poor lodging and food, some rather menial services, and the loss of three or four nights’ sleep every week. Still, these are things that can be borne (if the health will stand them) when the end to be gained is an important one; and I am sure you will agree with me that it is wise to sacrifice physical comfort for a while in order to attain it. I propose to remain there three months, and then I shall try and accomplish my second object—viz. surgery.

I hope in a day or two to receive permission from the Directeur-General, M. Davenne, to examine all the hospitals of Paris. I am working on gradually; but I find more clearly every day that the genius of the French nation does not suit me, and my love for the Anglo-Saxon race, and my admiration for our wonderful Fatherland, increase by the comparison....

We have had a strange glimpse of a revolution, a sort of theatrical representation of what that terrible thing might be. I confess that the whole exhibition seemed to me peculiarly French; and yet there are noble and terrible passions, lying below this mercurial excitability, that command hearty sympathy or serious consideration, and the unjust, tyrannical acts of the Government excite one’s strongest indignation. Now all is quiet again, however, and the whole affair is said to have been planned by the authorities to get rid of certain troublesome men.

A. and E. have stood the shock well, though they turned quite pale on finding as they were quietly parading the streets that they were in the midst of an _émeute_, and later I was sent out to see if they had not better instantly return to England, before civil war broke out and their throats were cut....

On the afternoon of the 13th E. and I went out to see the curious sight. The Quai to the National Assembly, more than a mile long, was lined with soldiers with their drawn bayonets. The Louvre and the Tuileries opposite were closed and filled with soldiers. An army of cavalry was mounted and ready to start at any moment. We passed through hurrying crowds full of excitement, hearing fearful reports of what had happened and what was to come. On the bridges, at the corners of the streets, were large groups of blouses, students, citizens, women, listening to some orator of the moment, gesticulating violently. More than once I observed a woman enthusiastically haranguing an audience. The most curious mixture of passions was visible on the faces—fear, anger, indignation, hope, hatred; there was many a figure that realised the horrors of an earlier revolution. It seems inconceivable now that those violent expressions should have died away, and that Paris is going on in its usual busy way.

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 the city 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 the members. 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 practical _cliniques_ were 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, and _cliniques_ were 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 French _sages-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, the _portière_ on one side, and a long room, called by courtesy the _parloir_, on the other. You must notice the _parloir_, for it is there I shall receive my visitors, if I ever have any, at two o’clock, in common with the other _élèves_; 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 the _élèves_. 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, the _Interne’s_ rooms, &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, the _sage-femme_ in 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 the _dortoirs_, 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 somewhat close. 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 the _élèves_, 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 of _élèves_, to know if I would pass the night in the _salle 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 an _ancienne élève_ (that is, one who has already studied a year, and who always has one or more of the _nouvelles élèves_ under her care for initiation) to the room where the children are born. A large apron of coarse towelling was given me, with the injunction 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 arranging _eight_ in 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.

Our _dortoir_ is 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 by _anciennes 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 the _dortoir_, 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. The _dortoir_ is 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 the _élèves_ only 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 my _ancienne élève_ or _chef_. 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 our _dortoir_ gave so much darkness that I went to bed for want of light. To-day I am _en 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 an _ancienne 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 as my 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 by _les 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 coarse _tablier de service_ and 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 the _élèves_, 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 long _dortoir_, 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 the _élèves_, 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 my _dortoir_, 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; the _interne_, M. Blot, a very handsome, somewhat dignified young physician, with, I fancy, rather a cross temper; Madame Charrier, the _aide-sage-femme_, and as many of the _élèves_ as 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 the _dortoir_ and read or write a little. Afterwards I join the class instruction in the wood, a preparatory lesson which the elder _élèves_ give 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 French girls 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 our _dortoirs_; 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 the _dortoir_ at 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 the _dortoir_, do up little matters, read or attend the class again, visit my patients in the corridor, and from two to three go to the _parloir_ to see my friends, if they are so good as to come at that hot hour to see me. This _parloir_ is a funny affair—a plain room, filled with wooden benches, where all manner of rough people are assembled to visit the _élèves_. 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 am _en service_ I 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 the _aides-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 long bench 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 but _saint 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 second _aide-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 the _élèves_. 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 incomprehensible _patois_ the 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 till it 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 friendly _aide_ joins 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 an immense 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 second _aide-sage-femme_ is 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, encircled by 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 on top 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 were _so 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 the _salle 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 announcement greatly delights the rest of the class who belong to more enlightened departments.

We have one _élève_ who goes by the name of ‘La Normande;’ she is one of my _pictures_. 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 our _dortoir_ and 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 arranged _à 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 she repeats to me the compliments they paid her, the offers they made, and her own witty, contemptuous replies, with the utmost _naïveté_. 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 the _élèves_ who are to perform the operations; thus, 25 Ste. Marie to one, 32 Ste. Marthe to another, and so on. The _élèves_ seek 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 the _élèves_, 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 the _élèves_ to help them. I sit a quiet spectator of the operation, occasionally addressing a question to M. Blot as he touches knife after knife on the arm of the infant before him; which question seems rather to embarrass the handsome _interne_, 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 very _young_, 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 as _interne_ at that time; this companionship was a great relief to my imprisonment in La Maternité.

_Notes from the Journal._

_July 4._—Attended lessons by the _aides-sages-femmes_; very clever instruction. Spent the day in the _salle d’accouchements_, but was disgusted by the treatment of a _primipara_. 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 bear this loss of sleep.... To-day, three operations; much interested in the morning, but grew weary and disgusted in the afternoon.

_July 22._—Attended the _interne’s_ visit 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 little _prie-dieu_ which 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, a _noyau_ in 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 the _noyau_, 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 of _internes_; if he gain the gold medal, he has the right to enter any hospital he chooses as _interne_ for a second term, and receive also his M.D., not otherwise granted to an _interne_. 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, if his 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 a _bon mot_ of M. Blot. She remarked that she understood that _les demoiselles_ had answered like _anges_. ‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘_en ôtant le g_.’ They had been unusually stupid! She asked me if M. Blot were not rather _moqueur_. 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 in Paris, 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 with _my portrait_. It was a lithograph picture of Elizabeth Blackwell, taken from a history of _sages-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._

October 22.

DEAR FRIENDS, ONE AND ALL,—Yesterday I spent a delightful day—a day which I passed in doing nothing—and it was so pleasant, so refreshing, that I must tell you about it. I had laid out so many plans for my first day of freedom. I was to see so many medical people, and so many medical places, that I was almost exhausted in the anticipation, and when my leave of absence actually came, when all things worked right, and I was neither _en service_, nor in the infirmary, nor in the reception, and when moreover, for a wonder, it did not rain, I just determined to give up everything like business, forget there was such a thing as medicine or such a place as the Maternité, and give myself up like a child to the pleasure of looking and moving and eating, and everything that was natural and nothing that was wise! In fact, I found that I could really do nothing of business in a satisfactory way in the short space of eleven hours, so my troublesome conscience for once was quiet, and permitted me to waste a day. I was really amused at myself to find how anxious I was that it should not rain, and how impatient I was for the moment to arrive when I could leave, for by the rules of the place Anna must take me out, and Anna must bring me back precisely at eight o’clock! The _directeur_ could not help laughing when he informed me of these regulations; still, as he said, ‘no exceptions could be made.’ Anna was anxious that I should lose no portion of my short day. She woke up an hour earlier than usual, with the sense of some weighty responsibility resting upon her, which she could not at first understand; but as the idea of the Maternité dawned upon her she rose in haste, and at nine o’clock the summons for Mademoiselle Blackwell was shouted forth under the windows of my dormitory. You must know that these _sorties_ are quite an event to the _élèves_; they gather about the happy departing one with all manner of good wishes for her enjoyment and safe return. So while one hooked my dress, another fastened my gloves, a third arranged my collar, the rest admired with the often repeated compliment, ‘Oh, que vous êtes belle!’ and all sped me on my way with the pleasant greetings of their kind, light hearts.

How gay and free and delightful the city seemed to me after my four months’ imprisonment—four months shut up within the high boundary wall of the institution, with the sky above the tops of tall houses only visible, and all life concentrated in a single subject! My chest seemed to grow broader as I stepped over the threshold and saw no barrier before me, but the beautiful Luxembourg Garden on one side, and unending streets on the other. The variety of busy life, the gay dresses, the cheerful houses, looked charming to me. I was surprised to find how strange everything seemed. I really saw Paris again for the first time, and criticised everything as on my first arrival. We walked down the long avenue that led from the observatory to the garden. On each side are nursery grounds on a much lower level than the great central avenue; they form a large lake of trees and flowers on each side the promenade. We descended into the beautiful flowery labyrinth to admire the magnificent dahlias of all colours and in immense quantities. The French are very fond of what they call _corbeilles_. There is one in every court of the Maternité; it is a large round plot of ground, filled to overflowing with every variety of bright flower, enclosed by a trellis-work that is covered inside and outside by morning glories, nasturtiums, &c., so that it is nothing but a hedge of flowers. The nursery grounds we walked through were full of these, which sent forth a delicious odour; and occasionally they were varied by an enclosed grass plot, hollowed out, and kept in the most beautiful order, with bright borders of flowers. As we ascended to the garden I was struck by the noble trees, dressed now in their varied autumn robes, through which the marble statues and antique palace sparkled as brightly as in the green summer time. We were saluted by showers of dead leaves, which gave the children much sport and the keepers much trouble. By the western gate is the immense block of buildings in which Anna has her pretty _appartement_. She introduced me to them, for the change of residence had been made since my retirement from the world, and I duly admired the elegant furniture, carved ceiling, tasteful paper, and above all the pretty look-out upon a long avenue of trees whose autumn foliage shed a warm glow through the rooms. At half-past twelve we hurried off to attend a magnetic _séance_ at the Baron Dupotet’s, which commenced precisely at one o’clock; and finding the omnibus too slow, we jumped into a cab with a lady who was bound on the same errand.

Now I must describe a magnetic _séance_ to you; but I beg that you will receive the description with becoming seriousness, for I have a decided respect for M. Dupotet, and if any risibility should be excited it will proceed from your own nervous imagination, and not from my sober portraiture. These revelations of a higher sphere of existence are received up several pairs of stairs, in the back-room of a house situated in the heart of the city. It is a large, somewhat darkened room hung round with curious pictures, and lined with very curious people. Mesmer occupies a large frame carved with firebrands and anchors and other significant images; he looks fixedly at a pale lady hanging opposite to him, who has evidently undergone several magnetic crises. There are some verses framed and hanging very near the ceiling, surrounded by a thick wreath of yellow immortelles, but I have not yet been able to decipher their meaning. On the seats lining the walls about fifty persons assemble. It is an original assembly always, though it seems to be constantly changing. There was a lady with a small hole in her cheek, a child with a crooked neck, and the painter to the King of Sweden, with very light eyes and hair and great impressibility, with his companion who laughs and says, ‘Oui, monsieur,’ to every question addressed to him; and the son of the English Consul to Sicily, who displays a large amount of good clothes, good flesh, a little peaked moustache, and an immense amount of enthusiasm. But it would be difficult to give all the varieties of structure and expression in this group of believing heretics, some looking very fierce, some very sheepish, some with features turned up, some with them turned down, and some with them turned every way. The folding-doors of this room open into a small cabinet which is always opened on these occasions to receive Madame Dupotet and all the impressible ladies who form a circle inside, and go through many sympathetic manœuvres during the magnetising in the larger room: that is to say, the impressible ladies perform various antics, for Madame Dupotet, who is fat, fair, and forty, seems in no way affected, but looks on with smiling health and assists the nervous ladies. There was one remarkably fat dame, seated just within the folding-doors, who had powerful fits of nervous twitching, which gave her a singular appearance of pale, tremulous red jelly.

It would be impossible to describe the ornaments of M. Dupotet’s study cabinet—the mystic symbols and black-letter books of the Black Art; but there is a little metallic mirror of oval form, traced with magic characters, which exerts a truly wonderful effect upon impressible subjects, exciting an ecstasy of delight or a transport of rage; but always an irresistible attraction for all who are affected by the magnetic influence. While M. Dupotet has been displaying it to the one particular object of his attention, half-a-dozen others steal up from all parts of the room to seize the prize; one little old lady under the magnetic influence came tottering up, with the drollest expression of violent jealousy on her face, and with her clenched fist prepared to fight the other equally eager disputants for the possession of this wonderful mirror.

Unfortunately, this particular meeting passed without any of those singular occurrences which are said sometimes to electrify the spectators. I heard much of the ecstasy of a young man which had thrilled every person present—believer or non-believer—the meeting before, in which the ordinary law of gravitation seemed to be superseded, and the entranced soul would actually have fled up into the heaven it was striving for had not M. Dupotet clasped the body tightly in his arms and commanded it back! But though no miracle was wrought, the faithful audience hung with intense interest on every manifestation of simple magnetic power; the aspiring features assumed a higher aspect, the downward ones bent more determinedly, and the red jelly became more tremulous at every fresh magnetisation; and when the _séance_ closed everybody shook everybody’s hand, and found it good to have been there.

Now, do not think my picture is a caricature—verily, I am very serious. There is an odd side to all reformers, to all who are pursuing a new idea earnestly, that is very whimsical. I am obliged to laugh at it; and yet I have true respect for M. Dupotet. Though he believes in ancient magic, though he lives in the hope of working miracles, I really believe him to be an honest, enthusiastic man, engaged with his whole soul in pursuing what seems to him the most important of all discoveries. His manner is perfectly unpretending, his conversation full of good sense; for twenty-five years he has pursued the same object, through suffering and ridicule and failure. He is honest, I am sure; how much truth he may possess I am at present quite unable to say; for my position, whilst it has given me occasional glimpses of his proceedings, has given no power of really investigating them; but some time I hope to really study magnetism.

As we walked back we stopped at the Louvre; I longed to see again that rich collection of art, particularly the statues, that seemed more beautiful than ever. We called in the Rue de Seine, hoping to gratify my old landlady, but she was out. Then Anna introduced me to her reading-room, where we studied the affairs of Europe, and grew indignant at the barbarism which seems for the moment triumphant. Anna took great pleasure all day in filling me with all manner of eatables, having great faith in ‘the very best beef,’ and I must confess that when dinner was concluded my dress felt a little tight at the waist!

Punctually at eight o’clock the recluse retired again from the vanities of the world. But, seriously, the idle day refreshed me; I needed it, and feel all the better for a little change.

_October 24._—A most pleasant occurrence. Professor Lee, my Geneva Professor of Materia Medica, is in town, and is coming to see me to-morrow. He has been making a tour of two months in Great Britain, and now he visits Paris. How glad I shall be to see him, as a friend whom I respect, and with whom I can have a long delightful gossip! perhaps also he can give me information and some advice and introductions.

_October 25._—By these most absurd regulations I was not allowed to show Dr. Lee over the hospital when he called. However, the _directeur_ escorted him, and M. Blot offered an introduction to Ricord.

Although the residence in La Maternité was an extremely trying one from the utter absence of privacy, the poor air and food, and really hard work when sleep was lost on the average every fifth night, yet the medical experience was invaluable at that period of pioneer effort. It enabled me later to enter upon practice with a confidence in one important branch of medicine that no other period of study afforded; and I have always been glad that I entered the institution, notwithstanding the very grave accident which now befell me.

This event was noted at the time as follows:—

_Sunday, November 4._—Served all day in the infirmary, and witnessed M. Dayau’s first application of the serrefine. I felt all the afternoon a little grain of sand, as it were, in one eye. I was afraid to think what it might be, for in the dark early morning, whilst syringing the eye of one of my tiny patients for purulent ophthalmia, some of the water had spurted into my own eye. It was much swollen at night, and in the morning the lids were closely adherent from suppuration.

_November 5._—I applied for permission to leave until the eye was well, and was refused. I went to the infirmary of the _élèves_ and informed M. Blot that I was prisoner. He examined the eye carefully, discovered that it was the dreaded disease, consulted his chief, and then told me that as everything depended on the early active treatment, he should give up the first days entirely to me. He expressed much sympathy, arranged everything for me in the most thoughtful way, and I went to bed—I little knew for how long! I despatched a note to my sister, and then active treatment commenced—the eyelids cauterised, leeches to the temple, cold compresses, ointment of belladonna, opium to the forehead, purgatives, footbaths, and sinapisms, with broth for diet. The eye was syringed every hour, and I realised the danger of the disease from the weapons employed against it. Poor Anna came down in the evening to sympathise with the ‘inflamed eye’ I had written about, and was dreadfully shocked. She has told me since how many times she hid behind the curtain to cry. My friendly young doctor came every two hours, day and night, to tend the eye, Mlle. Mallet acting in the alternate hours. The infirmary was kept profoundly quiet, and a guard appointed day and night. The sympathy was universal and deep, the _élèves_ asking after me with tears. An unheard-of permission was granted to Anna to visit me three times a day. For three days this continued—then the disease had done its worst; and I learned from the tone of my friends that my eye was despaired of. Ah! how dreadful it was to find the daylight gradually fading as my kind doctor bent over me, and removed with an exquisite delicacy of touch the films that had formed over the pupil! I could see him for a moment clearly, but the sight soon vanished, and the eye was left in darkness.

For three weeks I lay in bed with both eyes closed, then the right eye began to open gradually, and I could get up and do little things for myself. How kind everybody was! I shall never forget it. Anna, with her faith in magnetism, came down regularly three times a day in rain and snow to sympathise and impart ‘the vital fluid.’ My friendship deepened for my young physician, and I planned a little present for his office. Madame Charrier entered into it with spirit; we had long discussions together, and finally secured an elegant pair of lamps for his consultation-rooms, which I hurried through the corridors to see, bundled up in my dressing-gown and shawl, looking and feeling very much like a ghost. The lamps were conveyed to his room that night. The next morning he came to me evidently full of delight, and longing to be amiable, yet too conscientious to infringe the rules of the Maternité by acknowledging the present. He admired my braid of long hair, wondered how fingers without eyes could arrange anything so beautifully regular; spoke of the Protestant religion, thought if he joined any Church it would be that; turned to go, turned back again, and was evidently hardly able to leave without thanking me. Mlle. Mallet told me that the night before he had run in to Madame Charrier to tell her of his present, and on his way out passed by the cloisters in an evident perplexity, longing to enter the infirmary of the _élèves_, but unable to do so. I do admire his delicate conscientiousness!

I received a visit from M. Davenne, who had sent me a message of sympathy. I could not clearly make him out with my dim eye, but had a general idea of a short, elderly man standing hat in hand, and regarding me as one would a solemn religious spectacle. M. Boivin made some very friendly remarks to me, and concluded, raising his hand, ‘et, voyez-vous? c’est d’une patience.’

‘Angélique!’ replied M. Davenne.

_Saturday, 22nd._—Oh, how happy I am at this moment, for Dubois has just left me, understanding for the first time the justice of my determination to obtain a full medical education, and obliged to confess that I was right in principle. I shall have my _congé_, and a hope of _cliniques_ and study in the Eccentric hospitals. Heaven has answered that heart-cry of the other night.

_Wednesday, 26th._—Off actually! I dressed for the first time. Bandaged and veiled; the carriage drove to the door, Anna guided me in. I made kind adieus, caught glimpses of stone walls in the cold dull light, and thus ended my Maternité life. I felt very weak, and laughed hysterically the whole evening.

The following letter, written at this time to an uncle, an officer in the British army, shows the important support which the mind can render the body in combating disease:—

DEAR UNCLE,—I thank you with all my heart for the kind sympathy you have expressed for me so warmly. Fate certainly gave me a strange and sudden blow, but now I am up again strong and hopeful, and eager for work, and I beg uncle to feel quite sure that a brave soldier’s niece will never disgrace the colours she fights under; but will be proud of the wounds gained in a great cause, and resolve more strongly than ever to ‘conquer or die.’ In truth, dear friends, the accident might have been so much worse that I am more disposed to rejoice than to complain. Even in its present state the eye is not a very striking disfigurement, and it will gradually become still less so. As to the more serious consideration—loss of vision—I still hope to recover that in time, and meanwhile the right eye grows daily stronger. I can write without difficulty, read a little, and hope soon to resume my usual employments. I certainly esteem myself very fortunate, and I still mean to be at no very distant day _the first lady surgeon in the world_.

I find from your letters that there is a possibility of your visiting Paris. I should rejoice in the prospect of meeting you, if my own stay were certain; but it is by no means so. I have already accomplished much in France, but I find it very difficult to proceed further; still, I cannot yet judge decidedly of my prospects. I have just received permission from Government to visit the hospitals, which is encouraging, and one opening may lead to others, so that I may still hope to meet you some day, unless you should grow frightened at the idea of my scalpel and lancet, and feel uncertain how far the ties of relationship may modify the experimental researches of the medical student!

Believe me, very truly,

Your niece,

ELIZABETH BLACKWELL.

But the six months which followed my departure from the Maternité proved to be a time of great mental suffering, under which a strong physical constitution threatened to give way; for the condition of the affected organ entirely prevented that close application to professional study which was needed. Both anatomical and surgical work were out of the question; and even reading had to be laid aside. I followed a few lectures and some _cliniques_ at the Hôtel-Dieu, by permission of M. Roux, and engaged a _répétiteur_, but this was quite inadequate to accomplish the end in view.

In June of 1850 a visit to the fine mountain air of Priessnitz’s famous establishment at Gräfenberg was resolved on, in the hope of regaining strength and power of study. Travelling rapidly through France, Germany, and Prussia, in five days I reached the famous water-cure region. On the journey a day had been spent in Berlin, where I had been struck by the arrogance of the Prussian officers, and the fear which was expressed by a friend with whom I talked freely in Kroll’s Garden lest conversation should be overheard!

Freiwaldau, at the foot of the Gräfenberg, was full of _Kurgäste_; but, being warned by a lady to whom I brought an introduction that it would be impossible for a lady to go alone to the Gräfenberg Hotel, for it ‘was full of gentlemen who went about in their shirt-sleeves,’ I was rather perplexed as to where to go. A home letter describes this curious experience:—

_Gräfenberg_, 3 P.M.—On a shady seat on the brow of a hill commanding a most beautiful prospect. Dearly beloved people, this cometh to you from a very watery person in a very watery place. The sound of water is heard everywhere. But I must give you some particulars. Not being able to find lodgings in Freiwaldau, I left word for Priessnitz to call, and was sitting in my little upper room at the hotel, feeling decidedly blue, when the door opened and in walked a middle-sized, elderly man, with sun-burnt face marked with the smallpox, with grey hair, light-blue eyes, a pleasant expression of face, and dressed in country-best style. I liked his appearance, ’twas honest and good. He examined me very closely with his little blue eyes all the time I was explaining my wishes. Then, in his abrupt manner, he told me he could make me quite strong in about six weeks, and the cure would do no harm to my eye. When I told him that I was informed Gräfenberg was quite full, he said, ‘You _can_ come, child; come this afternoon, and bring your things with you,’ and off he went. I felt quite relieved to be spared the bother of lodging-hunting and housekeeping. I determined to face the innumerable gentlemen in shirt sleeves, and let properness go; if the _Gräfinn_ did not like my position—why, she might dislike it! When I reached the place of my destination I was a little confounded. At the very top of the house, with bare rafters for the roof and the wall, a row of little windows a foot high let into the roof above my head, a wooden crib full of straw, three wooden chairs, a table, and low bureau with a green earthenware bowl; this was my room and its furniture. I must have looked rather dismayed, for the girl hastened to inform me that I had an Italian count and countess for my next-door neighbours, and that there were eight ladies and eight gentlemen on the same floor, and that we should be out in the woods all day. Of course I could say nothing when I found I had such noble neighbours, or rather when I found that it was really the last vacant room in the house!

When the bell rang for tea I was shown into an immense hall that might seat 500 people, gaily painted, and ornamented with chandeliers. I sat down and found myself, to my utter amazement, beside a row of ladies in grand toilette gossamer dresses with short sleeves and waists a _little lower_ than I thought waists were ever worn; hair dressed out with curls and flowers, bracelets (I counted five on the arm next me) and rings to match! The long tables were covered with alternate bowls of sour and sweet milk, and brown bread and butter. The bread looked inviting, but when, with difficulty, I had sawn off a morsel, it was so sour that I could hardly swallow it; but the milk was good, and I did it justice. People kept coming in in groups, very merry, but all talking German; the gentlemen, I presume, were in shirt sleeves, but as they were all covered with coats, I was not shocked!

The next morning early I went through a series of hydropathic operations, at which Priessnitz assisted, as he always does the first time. The course never varied—viz. packing, a half-bath, a plunge bath, a wet bandage, and some glasses of cold water at six o’clock in the morning; an _Abreibung_, sitz bath, and another wet bandage at twelve o’clock; ditto at four P.M., and water _ad libitum_ all through the day.

The diet is plain, but every morning an old woman opens a white-bread shop outside the dining-room, to which almost every one is customer. Each one comes in from the early morning walk, buys a roll, and marches in with it under his arm; and morning and evening the little strawberry gatherers offer the Alpine strawberries, with their fine wild-wood flavour, for sale.

Everybody seems to have a good appetite. My own is ravenous; a half-day in the open air, rambling over these fine mountain-sides, stimulated by the wind and the abundant really living water, I find myself suddenly in strong, vigorous health, and the idea of sickness seems a fable.

At first I felt very lonely in such a large assembly; but now I speak to a good many, and I have found one young American, Mr. Glynn, who seems like a brother in this concourse of strangers. He is about twenty-two, nearly blind from amaurosis, but one of the ‘smartest’ fellows I have ever met; quick as a flash, full of Yankee shrewdness, he bears his terrible misfortune with real heroism, and has rendered me numberless little services.

There are several mountain-sides laid out with walks innumerable. The favourite early morning walk is to the Priessnitz spring; you wind round and up the mountain, partly through open, sweet-smelling fields, partly through pleasant fir woods, passing several springs by the way, each with its name and inscription and rustic seats around; at each you stop and drink, chat a little with those you meet, and perhaps sit down for a few moments. It is very sweet at this hour: the leaves smell so fresh, the beautiful flowers are covered with dew, and the cuckoo is heard in the woods all day. This stroll generally occupies two hours....

It is very amusing to watch the people. Gräfenberg is the rage in Germany; all classes are represented here. The Countess von Westhalp offers to introduce me to a fashionable English circle in Freiwaldau, headed by Lady Darley; and to our great indignation the ‘butcher’ Haynau, notorious for his barbarities, made his appearance here one day. In the house we have gymnasium, billiard-room, library, theatre, and balls frequently take place....

Priessnitz has 500 patients under his care, and with their friends they amount to hundreds more. You see him sitting at the head of one of the large tables, three times a day, looking very pleasant. He is quiet and simple in manner, but has a very determined mouth. They say he is proud of having been an Austrian serf. His pleasant-looking daughter is married to an Hungarian baron.

These foreign titles are really a farce. I am here in my loft one day, in slippers and old dressing-gown, when a knock comes to my door. When I open it, a tall, black-whiskered foreigner appears, who presents the respects of Mme. la Princesse Obolenska, and hopes I will call upon her when I next go to Freiwaldau. The man made quite sure that I was I—as well he might, for I never had quite such queer surroundings.... I paid my visit, a professional one, after all. I had to put up with four gulden, instead of the honour; but she was a simple, pleasant lady, and we parted on the pleasantest terms. This was, in fact, my first regular professional consultation.

The air and water, however, of that lovely region, with the constant outdoor life and endless rambles over the Bohemian mountain-sides, proved too stimulating to the still sensitive organ: a violent attack of inflammation supervened. With great difficulty I returned to Paris, and placed myself under the care of the famous oculist Desmarres. This gentleman rendered me the most skilful and generous aid. In the course of a few weeks he restored me to active work again, although the sight of one eye was permanently lost, and the intention of making surgery a speciality necessarily abandoned.

During this trying period of Parisian study, my cousin, Mr. Kenyon Blackwell, a South Staffordshire ironmaster, was endeavouring to promote my strong desire to study in one of our London hospitals. He applied to the able and highly esteemed dean of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, who presented the application to the treasurer. The subject was referred to the Medical Council of the hospital. The result was forwarded to me as follows:—

At a House Committee held on Tuesday, the 14th day of May, 1850, a letter addressed to the treasurer from Mr. Paget, communicating to him the request of Miss Elizabeth Blackwell, a lady well connected in this country and the United States, to attend as a student in the wards and other departments of the hospital, was read, when the treasurer reported that the same had been referred to the Medical Council, and the opinion of all the members of the council having been read, and Mr. Paget having attended and furnished the committee with such information as was required, it was resolved:

‘That in the opinion of this committee Miss Blackwell should be admitted as a student under such regulations as the treasurer and almoners may from time to time deem necessary.’

James Paget, Esq.

The ticket of admission forwarded at the same time granted permission to study in any ward, and follow the visit of any physician or surgeon who was willing to extend to me the facilities of his department. The permission was accompanied by a cordial welcome from the dean, Mr. James Paget, M.R.C.S.

This was indeed joyful news. I could now in an open and honourable way, no longer regarded with suspicion, but protected by the highest medical sanction, devote myself to the unlimited field of practical medicine so cordially thrown open to me, and which I ardently desired to study. I hastened to London, and, after some little difficulty in obtaining lodgings, on account of being a lady, alone, established myself in rooms in Thavies Inn, then a delightfully quiet set of houses, entered by an archway from busy Holborn.

Every morning after breakfast I now regularly betook myself to the hospital, spending many hours there daily, and making the Faith wards, under Dr. Burrows, my headquarters; but Messrs. Lawrence, Stanley, and Lloyd courteously welcomed me to their wards. Indeed, every department was cordially opened to me, _except the department for female diseases_!

Kind old Dr. Hue was always ready to show me cases of interest, and he took me by an underground passage, which led to Christ’s Hospital, to taste the famous pea-soup made for the lads of that old Foundation school.

I particularly valued the special visits of clinical observation, without students, which Dr. Baly and Mr. Kirkes were making.

Mr. Kirkes was preparing a new edition of his excellent ‘Student’s Physiology,’ and Dr. Baly was pursuing his valuable investigations on dysentery. In relation to the latter, it is noted in my journal: ‘He is so gentle, so friendly, and so learned in his art, that he teaches me more than anyone else.’

I also attended Mr. Paget’s admirable lectures on pathological anatomy, given in the amphitheatre. My seat there was always courteously reserved for me. I experienced also the utmost consideration from the students, a large class of whom always followed Dr. Burrows’s visits. Indeed, so natural did this innovation of a lady student soon become, that when, the following year, I paid my farewell visit to the treasurer, he remarked, to my great gratification, ‘Why, we had quite forgotten you were here!’

Many home letters mark the various incidents of this extremely interesting period of study.

London, 28 Thavies Inn: November 1.

DEAR FRIENDS,—When I arrived in London on October 3, I was actually dismayed by the intolerable atmosphere, the dense envelope of foggy smoke that made me sick during the day and kept me awake at night; and as I continued to make observations on persons and things, and finally settled down in my present prosaic lodgings, I asked myself with astonishment, Is this the same London I saw a year and a half ago, or is it a different person examining the same objects? But now, happily, that state of forlornity has passed away. I have almost forgotten the smoke; my lodgings are clean and convenient. I am making friends, and I shall use all the opportunities I can get for studying social subjects and seeing society, provided they do not interfere with my work and are not too expensive.

My first introduction to St. Bartholomew’s was at a breakfast at Mr. Paget’s. He has a house within the hospital boundaries, and a special oversight of the students. At the commencement of each session he invites the students to breakfast in parties of about a dozen, and to one of those breakfasts I, on my arrival, was invited. The students seemed to be gentlemanly fellows, and looked with some curiosity at their new companion; the conversation was general and pleasant, the table well covered, Mrs. Paget very sensible and agreeable, so that it was quite a satisfactory time. Soon after I was invited to meet a distinguished German gentleman, Professor Kölliker, whom I found most agreeable and intelligent. My old acquaintance, Professor Owen, entertained us with traditions of London. Dr. Carpenter was also present, and some of the older students, looking very amiable, though awkward. The gentlemen I find more friendly than the ladies; I fear I shall find them in the shocked phase this winter. There are, however, a few decided exceptions....

But now I am going to tell mother of a visit which I made yesterday on purpose to amuse her—viz. to our old Bridge Street minister, Dr. Leifchild, whose christening of me I distinctly remember! Between three and four, on my return from hospital, I set out determined to hunt up the family, and after searching directories and trudging several miles, and being wrongly directed, when I finally inquired at No. 5 Camden Street, a quiet, respectable house, whether Dr. Leifchild was in, I listened with great relief to the announcement that he was probably taking his nap. I was ushered into a large plainly furnished parlour, where sat Mrs. Leifchild, sewing by a round table in the middle. My childish recollection had retained a general impression of the person, though I should not have recognised her. She is seventy-two, and wearing spectacles, but does not look more than fifty, so fresh, plump, and pretty, though unfortunately so deaf that she could only hear an occasional word. I announced myself. She replied, ‘I remember the family well. Mr. Blackwell was deacon in the chapel. You are one of his sisters.’ I could hardly make her believe that I was third _daughter_. She remembered A. and M. well; said they were clever girls; she knew they would turn out something remarkable, but she had no recollection of me. Their son John came in at that moment—a tall, thin man, reminding me of the Lane Seminary student, Jones. I don’t know whether I ever saw him before. Of course the doctor was sent for to see the stranger. I recognised him at once, and should have known him anywhere—fat, rosy, and laughing, notwithstanding his grey hair. I did not detect anything of the old man in him. ‘Ah,’ said he, ‘I know that face,’ and then he made me take my bonnet off and occupy a large chair by the fire, and tell him all about the family, and particularly my mother. ‘A sweet creature she was! How I should like to see her again! Doesn’t she talk about visiting England? I wish she would.’ He spoke of father with great affection, as a true friend. He had received most beautiful letters from him. ‘If my memoirs are published, one of his letters will appear in them.’ They had been told that the two eldest Miss Blackwells were very dashing girls, and wanted to know the truth. Then, why had I come to England? I told him I had been doing a rather singular thing; I had been studying medicine. He looked at me to see if I were in earnest, and then burst out into such a hearty, merry laugh that I joined in with all my might. ‘Yes, I had obtained a diploma as doctor in medicine.’ ‘You—doctor!’ and then another hearty laugh. Of course Mrs. Leifchild wanted to know what we were laughing at. ‘Why, my dear, that girl there is Doctor in Medicine!’ and then I must give them the whole history; and I certainly never had three more attentive listeners, interrupted by the doctor’s exclamations: ‘Bless me, what she has done; what she has suffered! Why, the girl’s a genius! Where did she get it all from? Why, no man could have done what she has done!’ And if ever I stopped, John would say, ‘Now, Miss Blackwell, pray go on; it’s the most interesting narrative I ever listened to; you left off at Paris.’ I was much amused. To that little family, who had been staying so quietly at home in the same routine, it did sound like a romance. When I had done, the doctor declared ‘it was a capital thing—it was the beginning of a new era.’ And John at once brought out pen and paper and begged me to give him my autograph. The doctor said the Rev. Mr. May, from America, was an old friend and class-mate who had visited England about two years ago, and he graphically described their interview. When Dr. L. opened the door, he started back. ‘No! Yes! It isn’t—it is! It can’t be possible! It is very certain; but won’t you let me in?’ From Mr. May he learned that the eldest of the Blackwells had become Socinians; and then I must give an account of my religious faith. Of course I spoke up for myself. I told him my religion was certainly a little peculiar; but nevertheless it was a very good and very strong one—and he didn’t seem much troubled about the state of my soul; indeed, I believe that, on the whole, he considered that it was a little safer than most of the ladies’ of his acquaintance! So, mother, I beg you to take the same view of the matter. Altogether, I met with the heartiest reception. The doctor placed all his influence at my service, and Mrs. Leifchild will write you all the news of your old Bristol friends. So I hope you approve of my calling....

Now I am writing in a queer place—viz. one of the wards of St. Bartholomew’s, whilst awaiting the visit of one of the physicians. This famous old hospital is only five minutes’ walk from my lodgings, and every morning, as the clock strikes nine, I walk down Holborn Hill, make a short cut through the once famous Cock Lane, and find myself at a gate of the hospital that enables me to enter with only a side glance at Smithfield Cattle Market. ‘Punch’ had really frightened me by his account of the dangerous tumult of animals; but, happily, I need only glance across the open space, forgetting the bulls, pigs, &c., that occupy it now, and also the fearful fires of persecution once lighted there, and try to bring back the time when it was lined with gay tents, and surrounded by galleries filled with beauty, eager to witness the brilliant encounters of arms that took place there in the age of tournaments. Now a little dark figure with doctorial sack and writing-case under arm makes its way through assembling students, who politely step aside to let it pass, and entering the museum, studies its numerous preparations till the hour of lecture, when an attendant shows it to a seat. I only attend regularly one course of lectures—viz. Mr. Paget’s very interesting course on pathology. Mr. Paget spoke to the students before I joined the class. When I entered and bowed, I received a round of applause. My seat is always reserved for me, and I have no trouble. There are, I think, about sixty students, the most gentlemanly class I have ever seen. I have been here about ten days. There are so many physicians and surgeons, so many wards, and all so exceedingly busy, that I have not yet got the run of the place; but the medical wards are thrown open unreservedly to me, either to follow the physician’s visits or for private study; later, I shall attend the surgical wards. At first no one knew how to regard me. Some thought I must be an extraordinary intellect overflowing with knowledge; others, a queer, eccentric woman; and none seemed to understand that I was a quiet, sensible person who had acquired a small amount of medical knowledge, and who wished by patient observation and study to acquire considerably more. One of the old physicians takes much interest in the strange little doctor, and has given me valuable hints from his own experience; but I confess that this system of practice is both difficult and repellent to me; I shall, however, study it diligently. Mr. Paget, who is very cordial, tells me that I shall have to encounter much more prejudice from ladies than from gentlemen in my course. I am prepared for this. Prejudice is more violent the blinder it is, and I think that Englishwomen seem wonderfully shut up in their habitual views. But a work of the ages cannot be hindered by individual feeling. A hundred years hence women will not be what they are now.

The growing perplexity of the conscientious student awakening to the uncertainty of the art of medicine is now apparent in letters written at this time.

_November 20, 1850._

DEAR E.,—I want to talk to you seriously about the future—that is to say, my _medical future_. It has been a heavy, perplexing subject to me on what system I should practise, for the old one appeared to me wrong, and I have even thought every heresy better; but since I have been looking into these heresies a little more closely I feel as dissatisfied with them as with the old one. We hear of such wonderful cures continually being wrought by this and the other thing, that we forget on how small a number the novelty has been exercised, and the failures are never mentioned; but on the same principle, I am convinced that if the old system were the heresy, and the heresy the established custom, we should hear the same wonders related of the drugs. Neither hydropathy nor mesmerism are what their enthusiastic votaries imagine them to be. At Gräfenberg I could not hear of one case of perfect cure, and unfortunately the undoubtedly great resources of cold water are not so developed and classified as to enable a young practitioner to introduce it, professedly, into his practice. Mesmerism has not converted me since watching its effects on patients. I do wish most heartily that I could discover more of the remedial agency of magnetism, for my conviction is that it ought to be powerfully beneficial in some cases; and as I find they have a magnetic dispensary here in London, I shall certainly try and attend it frequently. I am sorry that I have been unable hitherto to attend more to homœopathy, the third heresy of the present time, but I am trying now to find out opportunities. Here I have been following now with earnest attention, for a few weeks, the practice of a very large London hospital, and I find the majority of patients do get well; so I have come to this conclusion—that I must begin with a practice which is an old-established custom, which has really more expressed science than any other system; but nevertheless, as it dissatisfies me heartily, I shall commence as soon as possible building up a hospital in which I can experiment; and the very instant I feel _sure_ of any improvement I shall adopt it in my practice, in spite of a whole legion of opponents. Now E., future partner, what say you—is it not the only rational course? If I were rich I would not begin private practice, but would only experiment; as, however, I am poor, I have no choice. I look forward with great interest to the time when you can aid me in these matters, for I have really no _medical friend_; all the gentlemen I meet seem separated by an invincible, invisible barrier, and the women who take up the subject partially are inferior. It will not always be so; when the novelty of the innovation is past, men and women will be valuable friends in medicine, but for a time that cannot be. I spend now about three or four hours each day in the wards, chiefly medical, diagnosing disease, watching the progress of cases, and accustoming my ear to the stethoscope. Already, in this short time, I feel that I have made progress, and detect sounds that I could not distinguish on my entrance. I advise you, E., to familiarise yourself with the healthy sounds of the chest. When you go home, auscultate all the family; you will find quite a variety in the sounds, though all may be healthy persons. Lay a cloth over the chest and listen with the ear simply; it is as good as a stethoscope with clean people. I wish I could lend you my little black stethoscope that I brought from the Maternité.

I have been disappointed in one thing here—the Professor of Midwifery and the Diseases of Women and Children wrote me a very polite note, telling me that he entirely disapproved of a lady’s studying medicine, and begging me to consider that his neglecting to give me aid was owing to no disrespect to me as a lady, but to his condemnation of my object.

By-the-by, I must tell you of a scientific explanation of the toughness of meat which I obtained from Mr. Paget’s lecture the other morning; it arises from cooking meat during the _rigor mortis_! Would not that be a delicate suggestion for a squeamish individual?...

28 Thavies Inn: 1850.

DEAR DR. DICKSON,—I believe that my kind preceptor and earliest medical friend will be interested in a little account of my foreign life.

My request for permission to attend St. Bartholomew’s Hospital was cordially granted, and I have received a friendly welcome from professors and students. I have the full rights of a student granted to me. I do not attend many of the lectures, but confine my attention chiefly to the practice of the hospital, and at present, more particularly, to the medical practice. If I remain through the summer, I shall gradually extend my visits to the surgical and other wards, as I am particularly anxious to become widely acquainted with disease. I am obliged to feel very sceptical as to the wisdom of much of the practice which I see pursued every day. I try very hard to believe, I continually call up my own inexperience and the superior ability of the physicians whose actions I am watching; but my doubts will not be subdued, and render me the more desirous of obtaining the bedside knowledge of sickness which will enable me to _commit heresy_ with intelligence in the future, if my convictions impel me to it. I hope you will forgive this confession of want of faith, which I do not venture to make to my present instructors, for the English are in general too conservative to have sympathy with unbelief, however honest.

I do not find so active a spirit of investigation in the English professors as in the French. In Paris this spirit pervaded young and old, and gave a wonderful fascination to the study of medicine, which even I, standing only on the threshold, strongly felt. There are innumerable medical societies there, and some of the members are always _on the eve_ of most important discoveries; a brilliant theory is _almost_ proved, and creates intense interest; some new plan of treatment is always exciting attention in the hospitals, and its discussion is widely spread by the immense crowds of students freely admitted. The noble provision of free lectures, supported by the French Government, increases this tendency; the distinguished men who fill the chairs in these institutions have all the leisure and opportunity necessary for original investigation, and a receptive audience always ready to reflect the enthusiasm of the teacher. I have often listened to some of these eloquent men in the College of France, their natural eloquence increased by the novelty or brilliant suggestions of the subject, till I shared fully in the enthusiasm of the assembly; and then, in the excited feeling of the moment, I would enter with some friend into the beautiful adjacent garden of the Luxembourg, and, sitting down at the foot of some noble statue, we would prolong the interest by discussion; while the brilliant atmosphere, the trees, the wind and the water, the fine old palace and the varied groups of people moving amongst the flowers, contributed to the charm of the moment, producing some of the intensest pleasurable sensations I have ever enjoyed. I cannot wonder that students throng to Paris, instead of to the immense smoke-hidden London; here there is no excitement, all moves steadily onward, constantly but without enthusiasm. No theory sets the world on fire till it is well established, and the German observers are much more studied than the French. Everything is stamped by good sense and clear substantial thought; my respect is fully commanded, but I often long for a visit to the College of France and a stroll in the Luxembourg.

Whilst devoting all my daytime to the rare advantage of practical study so providentially opened to me, the evenings were in another direction equally delightful and beneficial. I was sitting, one dull afternoon, in my bare lodging-house drawing-room, somewhat regretfully thinking of the bright skies of Paris and pleasant study under the trees of the Luxembourg Garden, when the door opened and three young ladies entered, and introduced themselves as Miss Bessie Rayner Parkes and the Misses Leigh Smith.

This proved the commencement of a lifelong friendship. These ladies were filled with a noble enthusiasm for the responsible and practical work of women in the various duties of life. They warmly sympathised in my medical effort, and were connected with that delightful society of which Lady Noel Byron, Mrs. Follen, Mrs. Jameson, the Herschels, and Faraday were distinguished members, and with which the Rev. Mr. Morris and the Hon. Russell Gurney were in full sympathy.

My young friends hung my dull rooms with their charming paintings, made them gay with flowers, and welcomed me to their family circles with the heartiest hospitality.

A bright social sun henceforth cheered the somewhat sombre atmosphere of my hospital life; for when the day’s duties were accomplished there was always some pleasant social gathering, or some concert or lecture attended with friends, to refresh the medical student. I often walked home from my friends in the West between twelve and one at night (being too poor to engage cabs), not exhausted, but invigorated for the next day’s work. Lady Noel Byron became warmly interested in my studies. I went with her to Faraday’s lectures, visited her at Brighton, and she long remained one of my correspondents.

One of my most valued acquaintances was Miss Florence Nightingale, then a young lady at home, but chafing against the restrictions that crippled her active energies. Many an hour we spent by my fireside in Thavies Inn, or walking in the beautiful grounds of Embley, discussing the problem of the present and hopes of the future. To her, chiefly, I owed the awakening to the fact that sanitation is the supreme goal of medicine, its foundation and its crown.

My acquaintance also with Professor Georgii, the Swedish professor of kinesipathy and the favourite disciple of Brandt, whose consultation-rooms in Piccadilly I often visited, strengthened my faith in the employment of hygienic measures in medicine. When, in later years, I entered into practice, extremely sceptical in relation to the value of drugs and ordinary medical methods, my strong faith in hygiene formed the solid ground from which I gradually built up my own methods of treatment. Looking back upon a long medical life, one of my happiest recollections is of the number of mothers whom I influenced in the healthy education of their children.

Letters written home at this date indicate the vivid interests of the time.

November 1850.

DEAR E.,—The great topics of the day here are the Great Industrial Exhibition and Popery.

On November 5 the bells were ringing and the boys hurrahing for ‘Gunpowder Plot Day.’ This anniversary was celebrated with more enthusiasm than usual from the Pope’s having appointed a Cardinal Archbishop of England, and ‘No Popery’ placards are posted everywhere.

The great building of iron and glass for the Exhibition is rapidly rising in Hyde Park, and the papers in this rank-loving country duly inform us whenever Prince Albert comes in from Windsor to inspect its progress, and furthermore that the Prince is modelling a group of statuary, and the Queen designing a carpet, to figure in the display. The last time I was at the Twamleys’ we drove round to see the building, which is a curious sight from the delicate appearance of the immense quantity of iron framework; it looks too fragile to support a crowd, and yet it will hold myriads. There is a splendid old elm tree which they have enclosed in the building, and his great black arms look in strange contrast to the surrounding tracery.

December 24, 1850.

DEAR M.,—I was just stretching myself after breakfast, and thinking that I must put on my boots and turn out into the horrible fog that was darkening daylight, when your welcome letters came, and it being holiday time I treated myself to an immediate perusal. I must beg you not to imagine me sitting in a large bare room in an _inn_. The term ‘inn’ is only applied in this case to a particularly quiet and respectable little street. The term ‘Inns of Court’ means a number of buildings round an open court, withdrawn from the street, entered by an arched passage under some house, and used now or at some former time for law purposes. That was the origin of Thavies Inn; it was formerly a portion of an old law court, and is particularly _proper_, having iron gates at the archway, which are shut at night, and a porter living in the little house at the entrance, who is always on the look-out for beggars or other un-respectable characters; and the way in which a little barrel organ that has managed to slip in is ‘shut up’ at the first bar has always amused me, and provoked me at the same time. The room also, which was bare enough at first, has assumed a much more homelike aspect since two young friends sent me some pictures to hang on the walls, and a portfolio of paintings, with a little stand on which to place a new one every day; and having turned the sideboard into a bookcase, I can assure you it looks quite comfortable when I have drawn the round table to the fire and settled down for the evening.

Your letter alludes to many topics of interest. First of all this ‘Woman’s Rights Convention,’ held at Worcester, Mass. I have read through all the proceedings carefully. They show great energy, much right feeling, but not, to my judgment, a great amount of strong, clear thought. This last, of course, one ought not to expect in the beginning; but in my own mind I have settled it as a society to respect, to feel sympathy for, to help incidentally, but not—for me—to work with body and soul. I cannot sympathise fully with an anti-man movement. I have had too much kindness, aid, and just recognition from men to make such attitude of women otherwise than painful; and I think the true end of freedom may be gained better in another way. I was touched by the kind remembrance of W. H. C., which placed my name on the Industrial Committee; and if I were in America and called on to attend I should certainly send them a note full of respect and sympathy; but I must keep my energy for what seems to me a deeper movement. But I think you did perfectly right to act on the Education Committee, and if I can send you any information I will gladly do so. But I feel a little perplexed by the main object of the Convention—Woman’s Rights. The great object of education has nothing to do with woman’s rights, or man’s rights, but with the development of the human soul and body. But let me know how you mean to treat the subject, and I will render you what aid I can.... My head is full of the idea of organisation, but not organisation of women in opposition to men. I have been lately meditating constantly on this idea, and seeking some principle of organisation which should be a constantly growing one, until it became adequate to meet the wants of the time.... This horrible fact of immorality has weighed upon me fearfully since I came to London, for I believe in no city in the world does it show itself so _publicly_ as it does here. In Paris it is legalised and hidden, and is recognised and profitable as a branch of the Government!

In the United States it is not so old and widespread (written in 1850); but here in London it has been let alone, has taken an unrestrained course, exists to a fearful extent, and shows itself conspicuously in its lowest form. At all hours of the night I see groups of our poor wretched sisters, standing at every corner of the streets, decked out in their best, which best is generally a faded shawl and even tattered dress, seeking their wretched living; and many aching hearts I have seen looking through the thin, hungry features. But I will not pain you farther; you know the general fact, though you have never had it pressed home to you in a thousand ways, as I have. My great dream is of a grand moral reform society, a wide movement of women in this matter; the remedy to be sought in every sphere of life—radical action—not the foolish application of plasters, that has hitherto been the work of the so-called ‘moral reform’ societies; we must leave the present castaway, but redeem the rising generation. In my own mind I have divided my ‘Union’ into many branches, several of which I see Mr. Channing has proposed for this ‘Woman’s Rights Society.’ Education to change both the male and female perverted character; industrial occupation, including formation of a priesthood of women; colonial operations, clubs, homes, social unions, a true Press, and many other things, have been among my visions; and the whole so combined that it could be brought to bear on any outrage or prominent evil. In England I should seek to interest the Queen, and place her, as the highest representative of womanhood, at the head of this grand moral army. Indeed, many of my modifications naturally fit themselves to English society, which is immediately around one. When I return to America, of course the European mould of my thoughts will drop off, and fit itself to the New World; but it never can be an anti-man movement.... One thing now pleases me much; all the women seem to like me, from the aristocratic Miss Montgomery, bosom friend of one of the Queen’s maids of honour, down to the humble sisters of the hospital, all welcome me, and many with enthusiasm. I have passed several delightful evenings with Mrs. Follen, Mrs. Jameson, and the Chapmans; the De Morgans, Morells, and many others are unceasing in their kindness. I find these people varying in religion and everything else, but all alive and open to progressive ideas—if they are not shocked back. There seems to be a very large class of this kind, who are not united in any special effort, but in whom the true ideas are germinating, which will some time—perhaps in their children, for things move slowly in England—reach a perfect development. It is my _impression_, for I ought only to put it in that modest form, that the corresponding class in America is less humane, more addicted to money-getting and party spirit; and that reform ideas in America are much more talked of, but less acted on....

April 4, 1851.

DEAR E.,—I have been very gay lately, with so many social entertainments. One evening at the Hon. Miss Murray’s I saw the Duchess of Buckingham, Duke of Argyll, Marquis of Lansdowne, and many distinguished people, Sir Lyon Playfair, Sir John Herschel, the Speaker of the House of Commons, &c. But my studies go steadily on, and I do enjoy going round with Dr. Baly; he is so gentle and friendly, and so learned in his art, that he teaches me more than anyone else. I wish I could go round with him oftener....

But I must tell you of a delightful three days’ visit that I made to Lady Byron at Brighton a week ago. I had heard her most highly spoken of, and her connection with the poet has thrown a romance around her; so when I received through Miss Montgomery an invitation from her, stating that she had herself paid some attention to medical matters and would be most happy to see me, and that her friend Dr. King would do the honours of the well-arranged hospital at Brighton, I determined to accept, and give myself a three days’ treat. I arrived in Brighton one bright, blowing afternoon. Nearly three miles of good stone houses face the broad sea, the road in front of them forming a delightful elevated promenade open to the spray and the Atlantic winds. In the distance at one extremity was Beachy Head, at the other the projecting point that hid Portsmouth, and far out, dim in the distance, lay the Isle of Wight. Bare, rounded, green hills formed the background to the town. In the bow-windowed parlour of one of these large stone houses I was set down, and soon after, Lady Byron, who had been to the railroad to look for me, entered—a slender, rather small, but venerable-looking lady of sixty, with fair complexion, delicate features, and grey hair. She welcomed me kindly, and conversed for a little while with a gentle, benevolent manner, but a voice that had a very sad tone in it. I found that she was a confirmed invalid, and learned afterwards that she had never recovered from the blow caused by the conduct of her husband, whom she had worshipped with real idolatry. Then we went out to see the sunset and some electrical apparatus, and on our return I was introduced to Mrs. Jameson, the authoress, who was paying a little visit, and to Dr. King, a beautiful old gentleman, more of a philosopher, however, than a physician. The next morning I had a delightful _tête-à-tête_ breakfast with Mrs. Jameson, who is a charming person with a warm Irish heart, an exquisite appreciation of art, and a deep interest in all high reform. Meanwhile it had begun to rain and the wind battered the house furiously, but nevertheless I went in the carriage with Dr. King to visit the hospital and a famous manufactory of mineral waters. I returned in a hurry to go off with Mrs. Jameson and hear Fanny Kemble read ‘Macbeth.’ This was a great treat, for I had never heard Shakespeare well given. I had caught a glimpse of Fanny Kemble the evening before, when Mrs. Jameson had brought her back from reading the ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream.’ She entered the parlour for a few minutes, throwing open the door and declaiming a tragic Shakespearian quotation, dressed in rose-coloured satin, with a crimson mantle trimmed with white fur, a large bouquet in her bosom, her jet-black hair braided low down, with large black eyes, and a grand, deep-toned voice. She sat on the sofa beside Lady Byron—a most strange contrast. She was really magnificent in ‘Macbeth,’ dressed in black velvet trimmed with ermine, and Mrs. Jameson, who sat beside me, was in raptures.

The longer I saw Lady Byron the more she interested me; her insight and judgment are admirable, and I never met with a woman whose scientific tendencies seemed so strong. She seemed well versed in medicine and was her own physician, having consulted many physicians who were quite unable to aid her; she has for many years taken particular interest in labour schools, and has some admirably arranged on her estates. I much enjoyed my conversation with her, for she has a rare intelligence and a long experience. On Sunday she took me to hear a most eloquent preacher, a Mr. Robertson, who preached on the wisdom of Solomon and Christ. He is now in the Established Church, but will, I imagine, soon work himself out, for he is continually progressing, and has already drawn upon himself much persecution from his professional brethren. I certainly never heard his equal in torrent-like eloquence; it was quite a flood.

How gloriously the wind howled round the house at night! As I lay in bed and listened to the wind and the heavy swell of the waves, it was delicious. There is a pier built far out into the water as a private promenade. I had a beautiful walk there all alone one evening at sunset as the tide was coming in. On Sunday afternoon I was obliged to leave my new friends. Lady Byron, in a purple velvet mantle lined with white silk, a rich dress, and a purple satin bonnet trimmed with black lace, escorted me to the cars and put me into the second class, which economy obliged me to take. With the most hearty shake of the hand we parted, and we have exchanged several notes since I returned, for, as I said, she interests me, and I want to know more of her.

I have a standing invitation to Mrs. Jameson’s Thursday evening meetings, of which I shall try to avail myself frequently. Life opens to me in London, social life particularly; but I am looking with pleasure to my return. I am too impatient to begin my practical career to be able to stay anywhere much longer where that is not to be commenced....

_April 7._—Miss Murray invited me to see the Queen’s favourite little German baron, but I did not accept; for to go such a distance on foot or in omnibus in my silk dress to meet people with whom I should probably have little sympathy, and to whom I should only seem a quiet, ill-dressed person, seemed to me foolish.... Spent the evening at Mrs. Follen’s. Miss Montgomery told me a very strange story of her father’s ‘double’ appearing to her and her brother when they were children playing together during his absence in London. They were amusing themselves by dressing-up in clothes taken from a closet on the staircase, when, hearing their father’s study door open and fearing reproof, they shut themselves in the closet, watching through a crack of the door their father in his dressing-gown with a candle in his hand slowly ascend the staircase. They then remembered that their father had gone to London, and rushed up to their mother’s room, where she was dressing for a party, exclaiming, ‘Papa has come home! We saw him come out of the library with a candle in his hand and go upstairs.’ The authority of this story was unimpeachable, the details minute. What must one think of it?...

_April 17._—Went down with my friend Florence to Embley Park. The laurels were in full bloom. Examined the handsome house and beautiful grounds. Saturday a perfect day. Walked much with Florence in the delicious air, amid a luxury of sights and sounds, conversing on the future. As we walked on the lawn in front of the noble drawing-room she said, ‘Do you know what I always think when I look at that row of windows? I think how I should turn it into a hospital ward, and just how I should place the beds!’ She said she should be perfectly happy working with me, she should want no other husband.

_April 20._—A beautiful Sabbath morning. Saw the sea and Isle of Wight in the distance; watched the peasants’ picturesque scarlet cloaks going to church. As we crossed the fields, conversing on religious matters, it was a true communion....

_May 1._—A most brilliant opening of the Great Exhibition. Thanks to Cousin S., who is an exhibitor, we enjoyed a sight which we shall always remember. The place was so vast that the musical sound of the great organ was lost in the beating of the air. The great building, resplendent with the products of the whole world, was filled to overflowing with enthusiastic spectators. When the Queen, holding Prince Albert’s arm, with the young Prince of Wales on one side and the Princess Royal on the other, followed by the aged Duke of Wellington arm in arm with the Marquis of Anglesea, and a long train of nobility and distinguished men, made the tour of the building and declared it open, it was indeed a memorable sight.

The advisability of remaining in England and establishing myself in practice in London was seriously considered at this time. Under other circumstances I should gladly have made the attempt, for I was strongly attracted to my native land. But I was extremely poor, with no capital to fall back on, and with a great horror of running into debt; neither had I any circle of family friends to aid me, and whilst I saw the importance of a settlement in London, I realised also its difficulties. Meanwhile the years of my study in America had produced their effect there. Popular feeling had sanctioned the effort. In both Philadelphia and Boston attempts were being made to form schools for women. My sister Emily also had adopted the medical life. She had entered the Medical College of Cleveland, Ohio, and was looking forward to joining me ultimately in the medical work; my own family also, to whom I was warmly attached, were fully expecting my return.

I determined, therefore, after much anxious consideration, to make my first settlement in New York, hoping in ten or fifteen years’ time to have attained a position, when I might be able to work in England. The parting from English friends and opportunities was a painful one.

London: May 5.

I gave the day to Florence, who is about leaving, uncertain whether she will see me again. We heard Mr. Ellis lecture at the National Association on Political Economy. We also visited the Verral Hospital, but were not favourably impressed by the judiciousness of the exercises. Dined with her at the Bracebridges’, and parted from her with tears.

_May 20._—Visited Guy’s Hospital, Dr. Oldham doing the honours most kindly. The museum is the best for study that I have yet seen. There are about 600 beds in the hospital; twenty are for midwifery, especially under Dr. Oldham’s care, providing about 1,800 cases in the year, and looked after by four young students, who are maintained by the hospital for that purpose. There was a room especially devoted to electrical treatment. The whole establishment bore the marks of wealth.

_July 15._—Wished Dr. Oldham good-bye, who expressed great friendliness, wished to see my sister should she visit England, and offers to make an application for admission to Guy’s Hospital....

_July 17._—Said good-bye to Mr. Paget, Dr. Burrows, Dr. Hue, &c.—in fact, cut my connection with the hospitals. Did it with much regret; all were extremely kind, expressing the utmost interest and respect for the work. Mrs. Paget introduced me to a lady as ‘a benefactor to the race,’ and hoped to hear of me through Mr. Paget. He spoke of the perfectly satisfactory nature of the experiment, and that it may be done by another lady under similar circumstances, but _not_ as a simple student, he thinks. Dr. Burrows also was extremely friendly, and paid me indirectly the highest compliment, as having ‘established a principle for others, by the success of my laudable enterprise; he thought that quite a new idea had been gained in this matter, which would help anyone else in future.’ I found also, with mingled sadness and triumph, that _now_ I might do anything I pleased at St. Bartholomew’s. They have learned to know and welcome me as I am going away, and are, as Mr. Paget said, sorry to lose me.

_Last Days in England.—Farewells._

_Saturday, July 19, 1851._—I have wished all good-bye, and am now ready to go. Much as I regret England, my deepest feelings are with my work, which I always carry with me.... Bessie P. spent part of the day with me. We parted with a few cheerful words, but I saw her face colour with emotion as she looked back and saw me watching her from the door. Beautiful, true heart! it grieves me deeply to part from her....

_Monday, 21st._—Left London at seven o’clock. A. turned from me in tears. I felt very sad as I looked at her thin face and thought of all she has suffered, and will suffer.... In the evening I met a cordial welcome at Dudley.... Howy and I made an expedition to Worcester and Malvern; it gave us an opportunity for much intimate conversation. We had lovely weather, and found the country exceedingly beautiful. Rode up the Worcestershire Beacon on donkeys, eating, talking, and laughing at our entanglement with other parties, and enchanted with the prospect; there was a tent on the hill, and parties dancing. We slid all the way down, and walked by Gully’s and Wilson’s water-cure establishments. Visited the noble old Worcester Cathedral, but looked in vain for our crest of arms, said to be there on the windows. Went over Grainger’s china manufactory; the production of cups and saucers on the wheel was like magic....

To Liverpool, but found the ship would not sail until Saturday. The very sight of it made me sick; so Cousin S. accompanied me to Manchester, where we had a very interesting visit. Mr. Wilson, an intelligent business man, escorted us over a large cotton manufactory. It was of exceeding interest. Eight hundred looms were at work in one room; mostly tended by women and many very young girls. We commenced our inspection by descending by ropes deep down into the vaults, where the cotton arrives from America and India; we then proceeded through room after room where all the processes were conducted, from breaking up the bales, tearing to pieces, sorting, carding, forming into sheets, twisting, spinning, weaving, and finally measuring and folding the cloth. We went up and down, by movable trap-doors, underground from street to street, all through the immense establishment. The noise was tremendous, the dust and heat oppressive. I noticed closely the workwomen, who seemed brutified by their toil; their physiognomies were assuming the projecting mouth of the lower animals. Most of them carried their hair-comb stuck in the back of their head; they were mostly youngish women, sallow and perspiring, and I noticed one woman so exhausted that she was obliged continually to sit down; they had often more than one loom to feed. They keep the men and women separate in their work as far as possible....

_Saturday, 26th._—Actually my last day on this noble British land! I left pale good Cousin S. standing in the street of Dudley; watched dear H. running up the railway bank as I rushed off in the train; and then I felt that I was indeed severed from England, and only anxious to get through my journey. I found myself at night on board ship, out in the Mersey. Another most important page in life fairly closed!

Adieu, dear friends! Heaven keep us all!