Transcriber’s Note:

  Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
  been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
  signs=.

  “Fort Sumpter”is probably a typo or printer’s error

  The following may be typos or printer's errors:

       practise/practice
       Cammann/Camman



     PIONEER WORK
     IN OPENING THE
     MEDICAL PROFESSION TO WOMEN


     AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES
     BY
     DR. ELIZABETH BLACKWELL

     AUTHOR OF
     ‘THE MORAL EDUCATION OF THE YOUNG’ ETC.


     LONDON
     LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
     AND NEW YORK
     1895

     All rights reserved




PREFACE


It has often been urged that a record should be preserved of some
of the first efforts by means of which the medical profession of our
day has been opened to women.

In the belief that a large providential guidance may often be
recognised in the comparatively trivial incidents of an individual
life, this request of many friends is here complied with.

The possession of old journals and of family correspondence gives
accuracy to these details of past years.

     HASTINGS, 1895.




CONTENTS


                               CHAPTER I

                              EARLY YEARS

                                  1821

                                                                    PAGE

     Family Life in England—Walks around Bristol—May Missionary
     Meetings—A Vivid Reminiscence—Bristol Riots—Early Religious
     Impressions—Emigration to the United States—Schooldays
     in New York—Anti-slavery—Removal to Ohio—The Struggle of
     Life—Establishment of Boarding-school—The Wider Education
     of Women—Join the Episcopal Church—General Harrison’s
     Election—Transcendentalism—The Rev. W. H. Channing’s
     Congregation—Experiences in Henderson, Kentucky                   1


                               CHAPTER II

                        EARNING MONEY FOR STUDY

                                  1845

     The Medical Idea taking Shape—Lack of an Absorbing
     Object—Objection to falling in Love—Struggles with
     Disinclination to the Study of Medicine—The Moral Aspect of
     the Work conquers—Resolution to earn Money for Study—Journey
     to Asheville, N.C.—Life in Asheville—Journey to Charleston,
     S.C.—Teaching at Mrs. du Pré’s—Reading Medicine with
     Dr. S. H. Dickson—Sivori Concerts—Calhoun on States
     Rights—Dr. Warrington on Medical Study—Boarding-school
     Experiences—Summer at Aiken, S.C.                                26


                              CHAPTER III

                            STUDY IN AMERICA

                                  1847

     Searching for a College—Application to Colleges
     of Philadelphia and New York—Interviews with
     Professors—Anatomical Study with Dr. Allen—Lectures at Dr.
     Warrington’s—Application to other Schools—Joyful Result—Life
     at College—Residence in Blockley Almshouse—Graduation            58


                               CHAPTER IV

                            STUDY IN EUROPE

                                  1849

     Glimpse of the Black Country—Visit to Medical Institutions
     of Birmingham—Stay in London—Fashionable Life—Visits:
     to Dr. Carpenter, to Professor Owen, to St. Thomas’s
     Hospital, to Dr. Wilkinson—Leave for Paris—Descriptive
     Letters—Interview with Lamartine—Interview with Police
     Official, with M. Louis—Difficulties to be overcome—Political
     Troubles in Paris—Entrance into La Maternité—Severe
     Life there—Friendship with the _Interne_—A _Sortie_ and
     Hypnotic _Séance_—Serious Accident—Visit to Gräfenberg—Life
     there—First Patient—Study in London—Admission to St.
     Bartholomew’s—Visit to Rev. Dr. Leifchild—Hospital
     Experiences—Medical Scepticism awakens—Letter to Dr. S.
     H. Dickson—Social Relaxation—Woman’s Rights Movement in
     the United States—Visit to Miss Nightingale—Visit to Lady
     Byron—Opening of the Great Exhibition—Anxious Discussion
     as to remaining in England—Farewell Visits—Last Days in
     England                                                          96


                               CHAPTER V

                       PRACTICAL WORK IN AMERICA

                                  1851

     Settlement in New York—First Medical Consultation—Lectures
     on the Physical Education of Girls—Formation of
     Independent Dispensary—Quaker Help—Incorporation of the
     New York Infirmary, 1854—Letters descriptive of Early
     Difficulties—Purchase of House—Adoption of Child—First
     Drawing-room Address—Sister resolves to study—Letters to
     her whilst in Europe—Amusing Experience with Dr. Simpson
     of Edinburgh—Joined by Dr. Emily Blackwell in New York          190


                               CHAPTER VI

                           ENGLAND REVISITED

                                  1858

     Letter from Paris—Acquaintance with Dr. Trélat of La
     Salpêtrière—Addresses given in England—Result of London
     Addresses—Circular for proposed Hospital—Letters from
     London—Registered as English Physician, 1859—Reasons for
     returning to New York—Work there continued—Civil War—Ladies’
     Sanitary Aid Association established—Incidents of the
     War—Establishment of Infirmary Medical School—Letters
     from Miss Elizabeth Garrett—Sanitary Work of the New York
     Infirmary                                                       213


                              CHAPTER VII

                           RETURN TO ENGLAND

                                  1869

     The Social Science Congress of 1869—Medical Work—Health
     Work—Moral Work                                                 241


     APPENDIX                                                        255




CHAPTER I

EARLY LIFE IN ENGLAND

1821


It is a great advantage to have been born one of a large family group
of healthy, active children, surrounded by wholesome influences.

The natural and healthy discipline which children exercise upon one
another, the variety of tastes and talents, the cheerful companionship,
even the rivalries, misunderstandings, and reconciliations where free
play is given to natural disposition, under wise but not too rigid
oversight, form an excellent discipline for after-life.

Being the third daughter in a family of nine brothers and sisters,
who grew up to adult life with strong ties of natural affection, I
enjoyed this advantage.

My earliest recollections are connected with the house in Bristol,
No. 1 Wilson Street, near Portman Square, to which the family removed
from Counterslip, where I was born, when I was about three years
old. My childish remembrances are chiefly associated with my elder
sisters, for being born between two baby brothers, who both died in
infancy, I naturally followed my sisters’ lead, and was allowed to
be their playmate.

Our Wilson Street home had the advantage of possessing a garden behind
it, containing fine trees; and also a large walled garden opposite
to it, with fruit trees and many flowers and shrubs, which afforded
us endless delight and helped to create an early love of Nature.

I cannot recall the sequel of incidents in this period of my life, for
being so young when we moved to Wilson Street, the recollections of
those early years are confused; but some things stand out, distinctly
impressed on the memory.

My eldest sister had become possessed of a small telescope, and
gazing through one of the garret windows, we thought we could spy the
Duchess of Beaufort’s woods over the tops of the houses. There was a
parapet running along the front of the house, and we were seized with
a desire for a more extensive view through the precious telescope
than the garret window afforded, so a petition for liberty to go on
to the roof was sent to papa in our names by my lively eldest sister.
The disappointing answer soon came:

     Anna, Bessie, and Polly, Your request is mere folly,
     The leads are too high For those who can’t fly.
     If I let you go there, I suppose your next prayer
     Will be for a hop To the chimney top!

     So I charge you three misses, Not to show your phizes
     On parapet wall, Or chimney so tall,
     But to keep on the earth, The place of your birth.
     ‘Even so,’ says papa. ‘Amen,’ says mama. ‘Be it so,’ says Aunt
          Bar.

The Aunt Barbara here referred to was a maiden sister of my father’s,
a somewhat stern though upright ruler of our youngest days; but
the dear father, with his warm affection, his sense of fun, and his
talent for rhyming, represented a beneficent Providence to me from
my earliest recollection.

Another very vivid remembrance of that first period of childhood
remains. My father was an active member of the ‘Independent’ body,
belonging to the Rev. Mr. Leifchild’s Bridge Street congregation, and
the May missionary meetings were a great event to us children, for,
taking lunch with us, we sometimes picnicked in the gallery of the
selected chapel, and divided our time between listening to thrilling
stories of the missionaries and more physical pleasures. A number of
these rather jolly divines often dined at our house, and the dinner
party of the ministers was one of the incidents of the May meetings.
There was a certain Mr. Burnet of Cork, who used to keep the table in
a roar. To be allowed to dine and listen at a side-table was indeed
a treat. But on one occasion, my name, alas! was in the Black Book,
for some childish misdemeanour—I forget what; but the punishment I
well remember. I was sent up to the attics, instead of being allowed
to join the dinner party. Upstairs in the dark I leaned over the
banisters, watched the light stream out from the dining-room as the
servants carried the dishes in and out, and listened to the cheerful
buzz of voices and frequent peals of laughter as the door opened.
I felt very miserable, with also a sense of guilt that I should
have been so wicked as to let my name get into the Black Book, for
I always accepted, without thought of resistance, the decrees of my
superiors. The fact that those in authority were capable of injustice
or stupidity was a perception of later growth.

The impression made by this little incident on a childish mind was
curiously shown on my revisiting Bristol, after an absence of nearly
forty years. Wishing to see the scene of my early childhood, I called
at the Wilson Street house, and its occupants kindly allowed me to
enter my old home, the home which I remembered as so large, but which
then looked so small. All was changed. The pleasant walled-in garden
across the street, with its fine fruit trees, where we played for hours
together with a neighbour’s children, was turned into a carpenter’s
yard. The long garden behind the house, with its fine trees, and
stable opening into a back street, was built over; but as I stood in
the hall and looked up, I suddenly seemed to see a little childish
face peeping wistfully over the banisters, and the whole scene of
that dining-room paradise, from which the child was banished, rose
vividly before me.

But a stranger incident still occurred as I stood there. The sound of
a latch-key was heard in the hall-door, and a figure, that I at once
recognised as my father’s, in a white flannel suit, seemed to enter
and look smilingly at me. It was only a momentary mental vision, but
it was wonderfully vivid; and I then remembered what I had utterly
forgotten—forgotten certainly for forty years—that our father would
sometimes remain late at his sugar-house, and come home in the white
flannel suit worn in the heated rooms of the refinery, letting himself
into the house with a rather peculiar latch-key.

Far clearer and more varied recollections are, however, connected
with the house in Nelson Street, to which we moved in 1824, and whence
the family emigrated to New York in 1832.

This comfortable family home, made by throwing two houses together,
with its walled-in courtyard leading to the sugar refinery and my
father’s offices, was our town residence for eight very happy years.
Here the group of brothers and sisters grew up together, taking
daily walks with our governess into the lovely environs of the then
small town. We became familiar with St. Vincent’s Rocks and the
Hot Wells, with Clifton Down and Leigh Woods, which were not built
on then. The Suspension Bridge across the Avon was a thing of the
future, and Cook’s Folly stood far away on the wild Durdham Down. In
another direction, Mother Pugsley’s field, with its healing spring,
leading out of Kingsdown Parade, was a favourite walk—for passing
down the fine avenue of elms we stood at the great iron gates of
Sir Richard Vaughan’s place, to admire the peacocks, and then passed
up the lane towards Redland, where violets grew on the grassy banks
and natural curiosities could be collected. All these neighbourhoods
were delightfully free and open. Our governess encouraged our natural
tastes, and the children’s pennies were often expended in purchasing
the landscape stones and Bristol diamonds offered for sale on Clifton
Down. In still another direction, the ‘Brook,’ leading through pleasant
fields to the distant Beaufort woods, had a never-ending charm. Daily,
and often twice a day, the group of children with their governess
wandered to these pleasant spots. In the summer time Weston-super-Mare
and Clevedon gave endless seaside delights, and furnished a charming
picture-gallery through all the subsequent wanderings of later life.

During the last years of our Bristol life, a house at Olveston,
about nine miles from town, was rented as a summer residence. This
afforded fresh delight. Not only was the neighbourhood beautiful,
and interesting with views of the Welsh mountains seen across the
Severn from a high common near by, and the remains of an old abbey
where wolves’ heads were formerly taken as tribute still remained;
but the large, well-stocked garden was separated from the orchard by
a rapid stream, over which two tiny bridges were thrown.

To active, imaginative children this little domain was a source of
never-ending enjoyment, whether cherishing pet animals, cultivating
gardens, or playing Robinson Crusoe. When not staying in town we lived
in this pleasant place, my father driving out from business daily.

Only on rare occasions did any of the children go to school.
Governesses and masters at home supplied the necessary book knowledge;
and a passion for reading grew up, which made the present of a new
book the greatest delight, and our own pocket-money was chiefly spent
in buying books.

Whilst the home life was thus rich and satisfying to children, echoes
from the outside world came vaguely to us. The Bristol Riots took place
during this period, and I remember watching the glare of incendiary
fires from the heights round our country home. Also I vividly recall
the ‘chairing’ of Bright and Protheroe, with their red and yellow
colours, and the illumination of the house and premises in Nelson
Street, in honour of this Liberal victory.

Our interest was early enlisted in the anti-slavery struggle then
vigorously proceeding in England, and Wilberforce was an heroic
name. The children voluntarily gave up the use of sugar, as a ‘slave
product,’ although it was only in later years, when living in America,
that they threw themselves ardently into the tremendous fight.

My father was an active member of the Independent body, and strongly
opposed to the Established Church. ‘Rags of Popery’ was a phrase early
learned in a parrot-like way. But a very strong sense of religion
was early implanted. The Bible was held in affectionate reverence.
Mrs. Sherwood’s stories were favourite books; and although we soon
learned to skip the endless disquisitions on metaphysical dogmas
which they contained, yet goodness, gentleness, and reverence were
inseparably blended with breezy commons, lovely woods, clear streams,
and waterfalls, from reading those charming story-books. Religion thus
became associated with all that was beautiful in Nature and lovely
in social life.

Müller and Craik, the founders of the Plymouth Brethren, were then
beginning their work in Bristol, and I was much impressed by the
earnest eloquence of the young Scotch evangelist.


EMIGRATION TO THE UNITED STATES

The first eleven years of life had been passed under these happy
influences of a healthy English home, when a great change of social
surroundings took place, by my father’s emigration to the United
States with his large and increasing family.

_Early life in America._—In the month of August 1832, the family
party of eight children and seven adults sailed from Bristol in the
merchant ship ‘Cosmo,’ reaching New York in about seven weeks.

The cholera was raging in England when we left; we found New York
comparatively deserted, from the same cause, when we arrived, and
several steerage passengers died during the voyage; but the family
party remained in good health, and the ocean life furnished delightful
experiences to the younger travellers.

The following six years were spent in New York and its suburb, Jersey
City, across the bay.

As daily pupil in an excellent school in New York, entering ardently
into the anti-slavery struggle, attending meetings and societies,
the years passed rapidly away. Our brothers being younger than the
three elder sisters, habits of unconscious independence amongst the
sisters were formed, which became a matter of course.

Often in returning home from some evening meeting in New York the
hourly ferry-boat would be missed, and we have crossed by the eleven or
twelve o’clock boat, with no sense of risk or experience of annoyance.

We became acquainted with William Lloyd Garrison and other noble
leaders in the long and arduous anti-slavery struggle. Garrison was
a welcome guest in our home. He was very fond of children, and would
delight them with long repetitions of Russian poetry.

But fierce antagonisms were already aroused by this bitter struggle;
and on one occasion the Rev. Samuel H. Cox, a well-known Presbyterian
clergyman, and his family, sought refuge at our country house. This
gentleman had stated in the pulpit that the Lord Jesus belonged to
a race with darker skins than ours. At once the rumour went abroad
that ‘Dr. Cox had called Jesus Christ a nigger,’ and it was resolved
forthwith to lynch him! So he came out to our country house on Long
Island until the storm had blown over.

_Removal to Ohio, 1838._—When I was seventeen years old my father
removed from New York with his family to Cincinnati, then a small
but flourishing town, on the Ohio River, where a promising opening
for the extension of his business presented itself.

We left New York full of hope and eager anticipation. We were delighted
with the magnificent scenery of the mountains and rivers as we
crossed Pennsylvania by canal and stage (for it was before the time
of railways), and sailed down the noble Ohio River, then lined with
forests. With eager enjoyment of new scenes, the prosperous little
Western town was reached. It was picturesquely situated on a plateau,
overlooking the river, and surrounded by pleasant hills.

For a few months we enjoyed the strange incidents of early Western
civilisation, so different from the older society of the East.

Amongst other curious experiences, we attended a public Fourth of
July picnic, held in the neighbouring woods. At this festival, the
well-known ‘Come-outers’[1]—the Wattles brothers—were the chief
speakers. Augustus, the elder, had established in the unsettled
districts of the West what he called ‘Humanity’s Barn,’ where any human
being might find a night’s shelter. His younger brother, John, was a
chief speaker on this special occasion, and he concluded his speech
with the following (to us) astounding sentiment, which was loudly
applauded by the large assembly present—viz.: ‘Priests, Lawyers, and
Doctors, the Trinity of the Devil!’

But all these curious experiences were suddenly checked by a
catastrophe which compelled us to face the stern realities of life,
in the strange land to which we had just removed, without friends
or pecuniary resources. This was the sudden death of our earthly
Providence.

The hot, oppressive summer of that Western climate proved too much
for the English constitution of our father. Within a few months of
our arrival in Cincinnati he died, after a short illness, from bilious
fever, leaving his widow and nine children entirely unprovided for.

This irreparable loss completely altered our lives. Recovering from the
first effects of the stunning blow, we began to realise our position,
and the heavy responsibilities henceforth devolving on us. The three
elder sisters set zealously to work, and in time established a day and
boarding school for young ladies; whilst our eldest brother obtained
a situation in the Court House of Cincinnati, under Major Gano.

For the next few years, until the younger children grew up and were
able gradually to share in the work, we managed to support the family
and maintain a home.

During this long struggle our minds rapidly opened to new views of
social and religious duty in the untrammelled social atmosphere of
the West.

The wider education of women was a subject then coming to the front;
and we three sisters threw ourselves with ardour into the public
conferences held in Cincinnati on this subject, actively supporting
our staunch champion Lawyer Johnston, who ably opposed the reactionary
efforts of the Roman Catholic Archbishop Purcell in his endeavour
to check the liberal tendencies of the age in relation to women’s
education.

About this time we had joined the Episcopal Church, being confirmed
by the venerable Bishop McIlvaine of Ohio. We became members of St.
Paul’s Church, of which the Rev. H. V. Johns was rector, entering
heartily into its social life and teaching in its Sunday-school. We
shared also in the stirring political contest which took place when
General Harrison defeated Van Buren, the ‘Locofoco’[2] candidate for
the presidency. We attended political conventions and public meetings,
and joined in singing political songs. It was a most exciting time.

Some years later, the New England Transcendental movement spread
to the West. It was the era of the Brook Farm experiment. We became
acquainted with the very intelligent circle of New England society
settled in Cincinnati, of which the Rev. W. H. Channing was the
attractive centre. This gentleman, nephew of Dr. Ellery Channing of
Boston, and father of our present parliamentary representative of the
Kettering Division of Northamptonshire, was afterwards well known in
Liverpool and in London. He was a man of rare moral endowments and
eloquence as a speaker. His social influence on a limited circle was
remarkable. Men of thought and active intelligence gathered round him.
Men from New England who were then intellectual leaders of Cincinnati
thought—such as James Perkins, C. P. Cranch, William Greene, and
Judge Walker—formed a society of which he was the inspiring centre,
a society which strongly attracted us. The ‘Dial,’ and afterwards the
‘Harbinger,’ with its anticipation of social reorganisation, were then
appearing. The writings of Cousin, Carlyle, and Fourier were keenly
studied, and Emerson was revolutionising American thought. I well
remember the glowing face with which I found Mr. Channing reading a
book just received. ‘Sit down,’ he cried, ‘and listen to this!’ and
forthwith he poured forth extracts from Emerson’s essays.

Notwithstanding our close and arduous teaching occupations, we eagerly
shared in the active awakening of thought that marked the time, and
joined the Church of which Mr. Channing was minister.

In the year 1842, our elder brothers entering into business, the
boarding-school was given up, and I occupied myself with private
pupils. Whilst still engaged in this way I was invited to take
charge of a girls’ district school, to be established in the town of
Henderson, situated in the western part of Kentucky. The invitation
seemed to promise useful remunerative work, so it was accepted.

The region of Kentucky, where I then went, was a tobacco-growing
district. I there gained my first practical experience of negro
slavery and the crude civilisation of a Western slave State.

This being my first separation from the family, a constant
correspondence was kept up with home. Some extracts from these letters
will give a curious glimpse of Kentucky rural life fifty years ago.

                                          Henderson: March 5, 1844.

     No doubt you’ve reproached me for my silence, after
     promising to write the second day from my arrival, but we
     had a very long trip, and it was not till the morning of
     the fourth day that I set my foot in the mud of Henderson.
     The ‘Chieftain’ left Cincinnati at two o’clock Wednesday
     morning, and in seven hours we made _twenty miles_. All
     seemed lazy on board the boat. The first night we laid up,
     on account of the fog; the second we spent at Louisville,
     the third at Evansville; we had on board a quantity of green
     wood, and stopped continually to take in fresh supplies.
     The captain, a fat, red-faced, good-natured fellow, went to
     sleep, or took matters very easily. As we entered the canal
     at Louisville he was standing on the hurricane-deck, at
     the head of the boat, apparently fast asleep; the helmsman
     steered immediately for the rough stone wall of the canal,
     and with a tremendous shock smashed in a great deal of the
     woodwork in the fore part of the boat. The captain gave one
     jump, wrung his hands, spun round, and went to sleep again.
     In the morning I went with Mr. S. into Louisville; there I
     got my watch-key mended (a providential piece of foresight,
     for ’twould have been impossible here), bought various
     little things, and saw also the famed Kentucky giant, and
     bade good-bye to Louisville, having been five hours passing
     through the canal. One afternoon Mr. S. was playing on his
     guitar on the side deck, when a great rough-looking boy
     made his appearance, and addressed me: ‘The ladies sent
     me to tell you to bring your man into the cabin, that he
     may sing for them.’ I translated for the _man’s_ benefit,
     and a good hearty laugh we had. One of Mr. S.’s favourite
     amusements was to stand on the hurricane-deck with me and
     joke about my _village_; every two or three dirty-looking
     shanties that we passed he would tell me to look out, for
     he had a presentiment that we were reaching Henderson. I
     grew almost nervous as we were approaching the situation,
     for really all the little towns we had passed looked so
     straggling, dingy, and uninteresting that it appeared to
     me almost impossible for a decent individual to inhabit
     them; you may imagine how I felt standing, for the last
     time, on a bright Saturday morning, with my last friend
     and remaining piece of civilisation, awaiting my destiny.
     The clerk approached. ‘Madam, we have reached Henderson;’
     the boat turns, I give one glance, three dirty old frame
     buildings, a steep bank covered with mud, some negroes and
     dirty white people at the foot, and behold all that I could
     see of my future home. I looked resolutely down, exclaiming
     (to my French friend), ‘Laide, vilain, horrible!’ but the
     boat touched and I was hurried off. Upon my inquiring for
     Dr. Wilson, a rough-looking man presented his arm, three
     negroes seized my trunks, to ‘tote them up,’ the steamboat
     shoved off, and I followed my companion—holding his hand
     to prevent myself slipping down the bank. In the middle
     of the mud I stopped to see the last of our friend and
     civilisation; we waved our handkerchiefs till the boat was
     out of sight, and then, gulping down my tears and giving
     a few convulsive laughs, we proceeded on our way through a
     dirty, little, straggling, country village; we stopped before
     a small frame house, entered a low, shabbily-furnished room,
     where a poorly-dressed, sleepy-looking woman was introduced
     as Mrs. Wilson. I longed to be shown to my bedroom, for
     my head was in a perfect whirl, but I had to sit down and
     talk about I know not what. At last I ventured to request
     permission to go upstairs; the daughter showed me up old,
     crooked, creaking steps, and opened the bedroom door. How
     shall I describe it? A little window looking upon the side
     of a house not two yards from it, the rough board walls
     daubed with old whitewash, the bed, the furniture, dirty,
     covered with litter and dust, all gloomy and wretched. My
     disposition to cry vanished at once, tears froze far below
     zero; I smiled on my companion, who stood examining me, and
     asked to have my trunks carried up. This request brought
     my hostess, who with some confusion told me, ‘This was not
     to be my home, but that her niece was gone to make some
     preparations for my reception and would take me there in the
     evening, she being perfectly aware that I could not live in
     such a _hole_.’ The word ‘hole’ revived me; the inhabitants
     of Henderson were, then, not perfectly blind; they had some
     little consciousness that there were degrees of decency;
     there was a small ray of comfort in that little word ‘hole.’
     I descended, and soon found that everything proceeded with
     real Kentucky slowness. Begin to teach on Monday! This was
     utterly impossible! The idea seemed to them preposterous, the
     schoolhouse was hardly selected, the windows were broken,
     the floor and walls filthy, the plaster fallen off, the
     responsible trustees not appointed, the scholars unnotified
     of my arrival; no, ’twas impossible, I must wait a week; but
     the idea of spending an unnecessary week in Henderson was
     insupportable, so I urged and argued, and persuaded and ran
     about, till a man was sent to mend the windows, and another
     to clean the floor, and the Responsibles came to visit me,
     and promised to collect the scholars, and on Monday I was
     to begin. Then, to avoid the necessity of having to sit and
     repeat wearisome inanities, I set out, accompanied by the
     daughter, to view the so-called _city_. All looked dreary on
     a dull winter day—in fact, Henderson is a very small, very
     uninteresting country place, though, it must be confessed,
     the view of it from the river is the worst of all. Towards
     evening I took a look at my schoolhouse; nothing was done
     but mischief. The old negro had flooded the muddy floor with
     water and gone away, leaving the floor like the bed of the
     Nile; ’twas now too late to get the place into order. The
     people are very pious, nothing could be done Sunday; so,
     cursing the laziness of a slave society, I resigned myself
     to fate, and followed my young hostess—a tall, graceful,
     sleepy-eyed girl—to my new quarters.

     A substantial, rough brick house opened its enormous gates
     to receive me. I entered a small, high-ceilinged bedroom,
     where I was to make one of _four_, and then my conductress
     glided away to bring her mother and two other sisters.
     The sight of the sisters somewhat consoled me, because I
     immediately hoped to be able to teach for my board. The
     mother received me with good-nature, and ever since I’ve
     been here the whole family have treated me with kindness to
     the extent of their knowledge, one portion of which is never
     to leave me alone, and I, who so love a hermit life for
     a good part of the day, find myself living in public, and
     almost losing my identity. Well, Sunday, and a refreshing
     Presbyterian sermon, of an eternity’s duration, I must
     leave to your imagination. Monday I ran about, and at last
     seated myself in Dr. Wilson’s parlour, where I received a
     visit from one of the Responsibles, a fussy, pompous little
     doctor, who talked _grandly_, whereupon I talked grandlier,
     upon which he told me this was an epoch in the history of
     Henderson. Then in came the other Responsibles, when I spoke
     and they rejoined, and the little doctor called to order,
     and after a wonderful quantity of fuss the schoolhouse was
     pitched upon, put into something like order, and on Tuesday
     morning I took my seat at the head of fourteen girls, and
     organised my school.

     _March 20, 1844._—So far as I can learn I give general
     satisfaction, but I believe the people are a little afraid
     of me, particularly when they see me read German (for I
     often forget myself with Hoffman). I am amused to learn
     accidentally how I have been talked over in every direction,
     and my teeth particularly admired in peculiarly Kentucky
     style. ‘Well, I do declare she’s got a clean mouth, hasn’t
     she!’—white teeth seeming remarkable where all use tobacco!
     All the chief people of the place have called on me, which
     plagues me dreadfully, as I have to return the calls,
     and find them in the lowest degree uninteresting, with
     nothing to do but knit, nothing to hear but their own petty
     affairs. Then they are most unmerciful in the length of
     visit. If they live in what is called out of town, nothing
     will satisfy but giving up the afternoon, taking tea, and
     sleeping. The sleeping I have victoriously fought against,
     but the rest I have sometimes been betrayed into, and have
     sat hour after hour striving dreadfully to take an interest
     in the gossip, swallowing yawns until my eyes watered,
     and then suddenly awaking out of a long reverie on all of
     you to the consciousness that everybody is sitting in an
     awkward silence, and that it is absolutely necessary to
     say something. The first evening I so spent I was rejoicing
     at the prospect of escape, for the watches had been pulled
     out, and it was declared late (half-past eight), when I was
     taken quite by surprise by seeing the Episcopal clergyman
     who was present seat himself by the table with a large Bible
     before him, wipe his spectacles, and give a preparatory
     hem! I gave an inward groan, sat down again and looked with
     a long face steadily at the fire, whilst a north-wester
     was blowing all the time through a crack of the door into
     my ear. As we knelt down, and I looked round at the funny
     kneeling figures and up at the walls of a real log cabin,
     and on one side at the immense wood fire, it all seemed so
     very odd that I almost began to doubt my own identity.

     We have had miserable weather for more than a week. The
     house, though substantially built of brick, with a deep
     verandah all round, is dreadfully cold; the two immense
     brick-paved halls, which cross in the centre, have great
     doors almost always open. The four rooms occupying the four
     corners, in one of which we sleep, have chimneys, all of
     which smoke. Then none of the windows seem to fit, and there
     are holes in the wall where the plaster has been knocked
     off, and will be replaced, I suppose, next doomsday. ’Tis
     pretty much the same in the schoolhouse. There, one very
     cold day, I drew my feet on the bar of my chair, then I
     put on my worsted gloves, then drew on my blanket shawl;
     and, finally, finding a great blowing about my head from
     everywhere in general, I put on my hood!...

     _April 4._—The young ladies and gentlemen of Henderson
     are most contemptible walkers, opening wide their eyes at
     the idea of two or three miles, and telling doleful tales
     of blistered feet, wild bulls, and furious dogs, of which
     latter there is certainly a larger supply than at any place
     I have ever seen. Every negro has his pet dog, the more
     savage the better, and all the masters follow their example.

     I had a good fright from some of them yesterday, as I was
     returning from school. I’d no sooner crossed the steps that
     lead into the lawn than an enormous brindled fellow, with
     black, devilish face, sprang furiously towards me, followed
     by two others, barking and showing their horrid jaws. Now,
     thought I, my time has come! I hesitated whether I should
     endeavour to tear their mouths open, or jump upon them
     and crush them, should the worst arrive. I involuntarily
     thought of A., who has a horror of dogs, and then called
     out in my blandest tones, ‘Poor fellows; po-or fellows!’
     The voice had the desired effect, and instead of having
     to fight Samson-wise, the gentlemen contented themselves
     with jumping upon me and knocking my dinner-tray out of my
     hand. I am in general quite a favourite with the canine
     race, and have not the slightest fear of them, which the
     ladies here can hardly believe, as their life is almost a
     torment to them for fear of dogs and cows; indeed, I would
     always sooner meet a dozen dogs than one negro, and the
     only uneasiness I have in taking my long, solitary walks
     proceeds from this; for of all brutes the human brute is
     the worst, and I never meet one in a lonely place without
     feeling a sudden perspiration.

     I dislike slavery more and more every day; I suppose I see
     it here in its mildest form, and since my residence here I
     have heard of no use being made of the whipping-post, nor
     any instance of downright cruelty. (It was really meant
     as an act of hospitality when they placed a little negro
     girl as a screen between me and the fire the other day!)
     But to live in the midst of beings degraded to the utmost
     in body and mind, drudging on from earliest morning to
     latest night, cuffed about by everyone, scolded at all day
     long, blamed unjustly, and without spirit enough to reply,
     with no consideration in any way for their feelings, with
     no hope for the future, smelling horribly, and as ugly as
     Satan—to live in their midst, utterly unable to help them,
     is to me dreadful, and what I would not do long for any
     consideration. Meanwhile I treat them civilly, and dispense
     with their services as much as possible, for which I
     believe the poor creatures despise me. The mistresses pique
     themselves on the advantageous situation of their blacks;
     they positively think them very well off, and triumphantly
     compare their position with that of the poor in England
     and other countries. I endeavour, in reply, to slide in a
     little truth through the small apertures of their minds, for
     were I to come out broadly with my simple, honest opinion
     I should shut them up tight, arm all their prejudices, and
     do ten times more harm than good. I do long to get hold of
     someone to whom I can talk frankly; this constant smiling
     and bowing and wearing a mask provokes me intolerably; it
     sends me internally to the other extreme, and I shall soon,
     I think, rush into the woods, vilify Henderson, curse the
     Whigs, and rail at the Orthodox, whose bells have been
     going in a fruitless effort at revivals ever since I have
     been here. Not, mind, mother, that I really have such
     diabolical feelings against the poor Orthodox in general
     and particular, but I have an intense longing to scream,
     and everyone here speaks in a whisper.

     My school, I think I have told you, is limited to twenty-one;
     it has been full for some time, and many have been refused.
     The girls are a good, pleasant set, much more gentle than
     in Cincinnati, and all with faces that seem familiar to me;
     in fact, I have hardly seen a face in Henderson that does
     not torment me with a likeness to some former acquaintance.
     My school hours for the present are from nine to three. At
     half-past twelve I ring my bell, when there is a general
     rush and devouring. I uncover the tin knife-box devoted to
     me, and find regularly inside a saucer with three or four
     little slices of ham, a roll, a piece of corn bread, a cup
     of cream, and a raw egg; the latter I throw into the hot
     ashes, and when it has split with a loud report I take it
     out, and, peeling off the coating of burnt egg and ashes,
     am generally happy enough to find a little clean piece in
     the middle, which I swallow, and burn my throat. Then I
     put on my hood and gloves, and walk up and down under a
     tree in front of the schoolhouse, eating the remainder,
     and endeavouring not to think of you all, as I find it does
     not assist the digestion.

     I used to look sentimentally to one corner of the heavens
     and fancy I saw you all, when one evening, to my amazement,
     I beheld the sun set in that corner, so I had to turn right
     round and look in the opposite direction, anathematising
     the river for being so stupid as to wind, and convert the
     sublime imaginings of a forlorn damsel into a ridiculous
     blunder.

     I have at present four music scholars, and one out-of-school
     French, but two go for boarding. I teach ten hours, three
     days of the week, and wish the other three were similarly
     filled; but it is small remuneration for such an outlay of
     breath, and as soon as I have the opportunity I shall fly
     off to some other point of the compass, where at any rate
     I may learn myself while teaching others. Carlyle’s name
     has never even been distantly echoed here, Emerson is a
     perfect stranger, and Channing, I presume, would produce
     a universal fainting-fit.

                                                         Henderson.

     I was delighted to receive my box last Sunday, the 12th;
     the things do admirably, the dresses I like exceedingly,
     they are both very pretty.

     The people here begin to interest me more than they did at
     first; all continue very kind, and I think well satisfied.
     When I came here, I did not care one straw what was
     thought of my personal appearance, I dressed entirely from
     a principle of self-respect; now I sometimes dress for
     others, and feel a slight satisfaction if the glass tells
     me I shall not scare people. Is not this a good sign?...
     Do not imagine I am going to make myself a whole just at
     present; the fact is I cannot find my other half here,
     but only about a sixth, which would not do. There are two
     rather eligible young males here, whose mothers have for
     some time been electioneering for wives; one tall, the
     other short, with very pretty names, of good family, and
     with tolerable fortune, but unfortunately one seems to
     me a dolt, the other, well, not wise, so I keep them at a
     respectful distance, which you know I am quite capable of
     doing.

     There is a spot called Lovers’ Grove, about three-quarters
     of a mile from the town, a sweet place on the river bank,
     encircled by trees, with a hill behind, and a delightful walk
     by the river-side connecting it with the ‘city.’ This used
     to be my Sunday afternoon stroll, but unfortunately it is
     the favourite resort of the beaux and belles of Henderson,
     who, during the summer, after afternoon church, regularly
     promenade thither, in groups of four or five, and meet
     accidentally on purpose. Here they stroll about, recline
     on the grass, watch the steamboats, flirt a very little (it
     being Sunday), and carve one another’s names, and sentimental
     verses, on the unfortunate locust trees. I had many offers
     of an escort thither and as many beaux as I might desire.
     I went once or twice, but at last got dreadfully tired of
     it, so while my party was busily engaged round a tree, I
     started off on a good brisk walk home, where, some time
     after, the others arrived, in some consternation to know
     how or why I had so suddenly vanished. I laughed at them
     and their sentimental doings, and they have not invited me
     since.

     I had a very pleasant drive yesterday to make a bridal call
     on the Presbyterian minister, who has been quite polite.
     The country reminded me in some parts of our charming Staten
     Island drives, though the scenery here will not, of course,
     compare with that little gem.

The people of Henderson were all very friendly to me personally,
and my relations always pleasant with them; but the injustice of the
state of society made a gradually deepening impression on my mind. The
inhabitants lived in constant fear of an outbreak among the slaves.
Women did not dare to walk in the pleasant woods and country around
the village, for terror of runaway slaves. Painful social contrasts
constantly forced themselves on my notice. I well remember sitting
with my hostess, who was reclining in her rocking-chair, on the
broad, shaded verandah, one pleasant Sunday morning, listening to
the distant church bells and the rustling of the locust trees, when
the eldest daughter, a tall, graceful girl, dressed for Sunday, in
fresh and floating summer drapery, came into the verandah on her way
to church. Just at that moment a shabby, forlorn-looking negro in
dirty rags approached the verandah; he was one of the slaves working
in the tobacco plantation. His errand was to beg the mistress to let
him have a clean shirt on that Sunday morning. The contrast of the
two figures, the young lady and the slave, and the sharp reprimand
with which his mistress from her rocking-chair drove the slave away,
left a profound impression on my mind. Kind as the people were to
me personally, the sense of justice was continually outraged; and at
the end of the first term of engagement I resigned the situation.




CHAPTER II

EARNING MONEY FOR MEDICAL STUDY

1845-1847


_The idea taking shape._—When I returned from the Kentucky engagement
the family had removed to the pleasant suburb of Walnut Hills, where
the well-known Lane Theological Seminary, under the direction of
the Beechers and Professor Stowe, was situated. This healthy place,
with its intellectual resources, became the home for many years. I
found the family sharing a delightful house with the Rev. Mr. and
Mrs. Vail, to whom it belonged, who, with their charming daughter
and the professor and elder students of the seminary, formed a very
intelligent society.

It was during the residence of the family on Walnut Hills that the
noble-hearted woman, Lucy Stone, became the wife of an elder brother
of mine.

My brothers were engaged in business, my sisters variously occupied,
the family life was full and active, and for a while I keenly enjoyed
the return home. But I soon felt the want of a more engrossing pursuit
than the study of music, German, and metaphysics, and the ordinary
interests that social life presented.

It was at this time that the suggestion of studying medicine was
first presented to me, by a lady friend. This friend finally died
of a painful disease, the delicate nature of which made the methods
of treatment a constant suffering to her. She once said to me: ‘You
are fond of study, have health and leisure; why not study medicine?
If I could have been treated by a lady doctor, my worst sufferings
would have been spared me.’ But I at once repudiated the suggestion
as an impossible one, saying that I hated everything connected with
the body, and could not bear the sight of a medical book.

This was so true, that I had been always foolishly ashamed of any form
of illness. When attacked many years before by intermittent fever, I
desperately tried to walk off the deadly chill; and when unable to do
so, shut myself up alone in a dark room till the stage of fever was
over, with a feeling that such subjection to disease was contemptible.
As a school-girl I had tried to harden the body by sleeping on the
floor at night, and even passing a couple of days without food, with
the foolish notion of thus subduing one’s physical nature. I had been
horrified also during my schooldays by seeing a bullock’s eye resting
on its cushion of rather bloody fat, by means of which one of the
professors wished to interest his class in the wonderful structure
of the eye. Physiology, thus taught, became extremely distasteful to
me. My favourite studies were history and metaphysics, and the very
thought of dwelling on the physical structure of the body and its
various ailments filled me with disgust.

So I resolutely tried for weeks to put the idea suggested by my friend
away; but it constantly recurred to me.

Other circumstances forced upon me the necessity of devoting myself
to some absorbing occupation. I became impatient of the disturbing
influence exercised by the other sex. I had always been extremely
susceptible to this influence. I never remember the time from my first
adoration, at seven years old, of a little boy with rosy cheeks and
flaxen curls when I had not suffered more or less from the common
malady—falling in love. But whenever I became sufficiently intimate
with any individual to be able to realise what a life association
might mean, I shrank from the prospect, disappointed or repelled.

I find in my journal of that time the following sentence, written
during an acute attack:—

     I felt more determined than ever to become a physician, and
     thus place a strong barrier between me and all ordinary
     marriage. I must have something to engross my thoughts,
     some object in life which will fill this vacuum and prevent
     this sad wearing away of the heart.

But the struggle with natural repugnance to the medical line of life
was so strong that I hesitated to pass the Rubicon, and fought many
a severe battle with myself on the subject.

At this time I had not the slightest idea of how to become a physician,
or of the course of study necessary for this purpose. As the idea
seemed to gain force, however, I wrote to and consulted with several
physicians, known to my family, in various parts of the country, as
to the possibility of a lady becoming a doctor.

The answers I received were curiously unanimous. They all replied to
the effect that the idea was a good one, but that it was impossible
to accomplish it; that there was no way of obtaining such an education
for a woman; that the education required was long and expensive; that
there were innumerable obstacles in the way of such a course; and
that, in short, the idea, though a valuable one, was impossible of
execution.

This verdict, however, no matter from how great an authority, was
rather an encouragement than otherwise to a young and active person
who needed an absorbing occupation.

If an idea, I reasoned, were really a valuable one, there must be some
way of realising it. The idea of winning a doctor’s degree gradually
assumed the aspect of a great moral struggle, and the moral fight
possessed immense attraction for me.

This moral aspect of the subject was increased by a circumstance
which made a very strong impression on me. There was at that time
a certain Madame Restell flourishing in New York. This person was a
noted abortionist, and known all over the country. She was a woman of
great ability, and defended her course in the public papers. She made
a large fortune, drove a fine carriage, had a pew in a fashionable
church, and though often arrested, was always bailed out by her
patrons. She was known distinctively as a ‘female physician,’ a term
exclusively applied at that time to those women who carried on her
vile occupation.

Now, I had always felt a great reverence for maternity—the mighty
creative power which more than any other human faculty seemed to
bring womanhood nearer the Divine.

The first serious essay I ever attempted was on ‘The Motherhood of the
Race, or Spiritual Maternity’—that great fact of universal love and
service which is the formative principle striving to express itself
in the lower physical manifestations.

The gross perversion and destruction of motherhood by the abortionist
filled me with indignation, and awakened active antagonism. That the
honourable term ‘female physician’ should be exclusively applied to
those women who carried on this shocking trade seemed to me a horror.
It was an utter degradation of what might and should become a noble
position for women.

Being at that time a reader of Swedenborg, and strongly impressed by
his vivid representations of the unseen world, I finally determined
to do what I could to ‘redeem the hells,’ and especially the one form
of hell thus forced upon my notice.

My journals of those days, 1845, are full of the various difficulties
encountered as this determination took root.

I find it written:—

     Doctor Muzzey (a well-known Cincinnati doctor) was horrified
     at the idea of a woman’s going to the Parisian schools,
     which he visited some years ago; and he declares that the
     method of instruction was such that no American or English
     lady could stay there six weeks.

     Mrs. Beecher Stowe thought, after conversation with Professor
     Stowe, that my idea was impracticable, though she confessed,
     after some talk, that if carried out it might be highly
     useful. She also spoke of the strong prejudice which would
     exist, which I must either crush or be crushed by. I felt
     a little disappointed at her judgment and the hopelessness
     of all help from Dr. M. I resolved to write to Dr. Cox (our
     family physician when we lived in the East), as a last hope
     for the present.

     _Sunday, May 4._—I read my letter to Dr. Cox to Mrs. Vail,
     who sympathises strongly with my desire. She stated Dr.
     Peck’s opinion of the impossibility of a lady studying in
     Paris, but asserts that the most thorough education can be
     obtained in private. I will not, however, make up my mind
     too hastily on so important a subject.

     _Wednesday, 14th._—I mentioned my plan to Mr. Perkins. He
     talked it over a little, and then said with a bright face:
     ‘I do wish you would take the matter up, if you have the
     courage—and you have courage, I know.’ So invigorating
     was his judgment, that I felt at the moment as if I could
     conquer the world. He offered with real interest to obtain
     the opinion of the Boston physicians, to talk with Dr.
     Avery, and lent me a book of Jackson’s Memoirs which gives
     much information relative to the French schools.

But a little later it is written:—

     I felt cold and gloomy all day; read in Jackson’s Memoirs,
     and felt almost disheartened at the immensity of the field
     before me. I hesitate as if I were about to take the veil,
     but I am gradually coming up to the resolution.

Again it is written:—

     I heard an admirable sermon from Mr. Giles, an English
     minister, on Christian worship; very logical, full of poetry,
     some of the sentences so perfect that I held my breath till
     they were finished. I thought much on my future course, and
     turned for aid to that Friend with whom I am beginning to
     hold true communion. It cannot be my fancy, Jesus Christ
     must be a living Spirit, and have the power of communicating
     with us, for one thought towards Him dispels all evil, and
     earnest, continued thought produces peace unspeakable.

     _May 20._—Harry brought me home last evening a letter from
     Dr. Cox; my hand trembled as I took it. It was kind, giving
     the necessary information, but perfectly non-committal
     as to advice. I carried the letter over this morning to
     the lady friend who had promised to help me pecuniarily.
     I made up my mind fully to undertake the study if she
     fulfilled her promise, and already I felt separated from
     the rest of womankind; I trembled and hoped together. But
     alas for promises and plans; she offered to lend me 100
     dollars—when I am told that I shall want 3,000 dollars! I
     did not express my disappointment, but asked who would be
     likely to assist further? She did not know, but thought
     the plan I had suggested of teaching, and laying up money
     for a few years, decidedly the best.

Thrown thus entirely on my own resources, I finally resolved to accept
a teacher’s position in a school in North Carolina, where, whilst
accumulating money for future use, I could also commence a trial of
medical study, for the Rev. John Dickson, who was principal of the
school, had previously been a doctor.

My old diary of those years, still existent, vividly portrays the
anxiety and painful effort with which I left the family circle and
ordinary social life, and took the first step in my future medical
career. I felt that I was severing the usual ties of life, and
preparing to act against my strongest natural inclinations. But a
force stronger than myself then and afterwards seemed to lead me on;
a purpose was before me which I must inevitably seek to accomplish.

My own family showed the warmest sympathy with my plans. It was before
the time of railways; the roads through Kentucky were little travelled;
several rivers had to be forded, and three lines of mountains to
be crossed. Two of my brothers determined to drive me to my unknown
destination amongst the mountains of North Carolina. So the carriage
was packed with books and comforts for the eleven days’ journey, and
on June 16, 1845, with loving good-byes and some tears, in spite of
strong efforts to restrain them, I left home for Asheville, North
Carolina, to begin preparation for my unknown career.

I find interesting details of that long drive, when every day took
me farther and farther away from all that I loved. We forded more
than one rapid river, and climbed several chains of the Alleghanies
in crossing through Kentucky and Tennessee into North Carolina. The
wonderful view from the Gap of Clinch Mountain, looking down upon
an ocean of mountain ridges spread out endlessly below us, and seen
in the fresh light of an early morning, remains to this day as a
wonderful panorama in memory.

We at last reached our destination—viz. the school and parsonage of the
Rev. John Dickson (formerly a physician), where I was to teach music.
The situation of Asheville, entirely surrounded by the Alleghanies,
was a beautiful plateau, through which the rapid French Broad River
ran.

I must here note down an experience occurring at that time, unique
in my life, but which is still as real and vivid to me as when it
occurred.

I had been kindly welcomed to my strange new home, but the shadow
of parting with the last links to the old life was upon me. The
time of parting came. My two brothers were to leave on their return
journey early on the following morning. Very sadly at night we had
said farewell. I retired to my bedroom and gazed from the open window
long and mournfully at the dim mountain outlines visible in the
starlight—mountains which seemed to shut me away hopelessly from all
I cared for. Doubt and dread of what might be before me gathered in my
mind. I was overwhelmed with sudden terror of what I was undertaking.
In an agony of mental despair I cried out, ‘Oh God, help me, support
me! Lord Jesus, guide, enlighten me!’ My very being went out in this
yearning cry for Divine help. Suddenly, overwhelmingly, an answer
came. A glorious presence, as of brilliant light, flooded my soul.
There was nothing visible to the physical sense; but a spiritual
influence so joyful, gentle, but powerful, surrounded me that the
despair which had overwhelmed me vanished. All doubt as to the future,
all hesitation as to the rightfulness of my purpose, left me, and
never in after-life returned. I _knew_ that, however insignificant
my individual effort might be, it was in a right direction, and in
accordance with the great providential ordering of our race’s progress.

This is the most direct personal communication from the Unseen that I
have ever consciously had; but to me it is a revealed experience of
Truth, a direct vision of the great reality of spiritual existence,
as irresistible as it is incommunicable.

During my few months’ stay in this friendly household I borrowed
medical books from the Doctor’s library, for my purpose of becoming
a physician was known and approved of.

On one occasion a fellow-teacher laughingly came to me with a dead
cockchafer, which had been smothered between her pocket-handkerchiefs,
and offered it to me as a first subject for dissection. I accepted
the offer, placed the insect in a shell, held it with a hair-pin,
and then tried with my mother-of-pearl-handled penknife to cut it
open. But the effort to do this was so repugnant that it was some
time before I could compel myself to make the necessary incision,
which revealed only a little yellowish dust inside. The battle then
fought, however, was a useful one. In my later anatomical studies I
never had so serious a repugnance to contend with.

The winter passed pleasantly away in beautiful Asheville. I was in
friendly relations with all around me. In my leisure time I studied
in the pleasant grove which connected the school with the church,
rejoicing in the ever-changing mountain outline visible through the
trees. The ‘Harbinger,’ with its bright visions of associated life,
came regularly to me, and nurtured that faith in co-operation as the
necessary future of society which has become one of my articles of
faith, my chief regret at this time being the stoppage of my attempt
to teach coloured children to read, as this was forbidden by the laws
of North Carolina!

The following letters describe the life in North Carolina:—

                                          Asheville: June 29, 1845.

     DEAR M.,—My first impressions of Asheville are decidedly
     pleasant. I find the Rev. Mr. D. a well-educated, intelligent
     man, beloved by all, and regarded quite as a father by
     all his pupils. He reminds me continually of Mr. L. in the
     shortness of his legs and the activity of mind and body, in
     superficiality of thought, and obliging social disposition.
     Mrs. D. is decidedly lovable, quite a little lady, ever
     cheerful, kind, and intelligent, performing her numerous
     duties like a small, true Christian....

                                                   Asheville: 1845.

     DEAR H.,—I am very glad to find that you have the feelings
     of a gentleman, that though you would not promise to write
     to me, you perform, which is decidedly the better of the
     two. Now I have to call you and S. to account for your
     breach of promise. What is the reason you did not come
     to my window, as you agreed to do, the morning you left
     Asheville? I got up before four o’clock and waited and
     watched, at last grew angry, and wished in revenge that you
     might have fine weather and plenty of ripe blackberries the
     whole way! It was a very shabby trick, and if you do not
     render a satisfactory explanation I shall—scold you well
     when next we meet.

     Your domestic items all interest me. How do you like the
     change of teachers in the school, and who will superintend
     your room? Will Dr. Ray still teach? You must tell me also
     what day school begins, that I may think of you and Billy
     sitting with grave faces behind the little wooden desks,
     rivalling one another in intense application.

     Did you take home any stones for our cabinets? Does the
     collecting fit continue, or has it vanished with the
     departure of Mr. Hildreth? I have not obtained many specimens
     as yet; little Sarah Dickson takes great interest in bringing
     me what she considers pretty rocks, and putting them on
     a newspaper on my window seat. I was really surprised the
     other day to see how pretty they looked, though, of course,
     not of much value—little bits of quartz, white, grey, brown,
     pink; a stone full of mica, which looks like a piece of
     lead ore; a conglomerate of gneiss quartz tinged with some
     metallic substances, and with garnets embedded in some of
     the stones; and flints of various colours; nothing to a
     professed mineralogist, but pleasing to me.

     Last week I went to a party at Mrs. P.’s. She has a separate
     establishment from the hotel, with which she does not
     choose to have anything to do. I was invited to meet some
     Charleston ladies who had called on me, and made themselves
     very agreeable. I suppose you would have been most pleased
     with the eatables (the ice-cream, whips, jelly, and cakes
     were delicious), but what delighted me was a little Channing
     glorification (M. will understand what I mean) that Mrs.
     Carr (the lady who so resembles Ellen Channing) and I held
     in the garden. She has never seen our Mr. Channing, but the
     Doctor used to visit at their house, and she described with
     enthusiasm a splendid sermon that she heard him deliver in
     Philadelphia. I replied by describing the eloquence of our
     Mr. C. Then she expatiated on the kindness and loveliness
     of the Doctor’s character, to which I added a description
     of the goodness, purity, and the angelicalness of his
     nephew; whereupon she expressed a great desire to see him,
     and I said that I should consider it one of the greatest
     of blessings to have enjoyed the social intercourse of the
     good Doctor. The conversation was quite a treat to me—a
     sort of safety-valve to heterodox steam that I lacked so
     deplorably at Henderson.

     My playing seemed to give satisfaction; the piano is a
     beautiful one, like ours on a more brilliant scale, and as
     there was no one to rival me in the instrumental way I raised
     the top, played the ‘Pot Pourri,’ and made a tremendous
     noise. (I do wish that minister would stop singing his nasal
     hymn-tunes just underneath me; he has been at it all day,
     and it quite puts me out.)

     I also showed some tricks which puzzled the
     company—particularly a very tall man, with long, projecting
     nose and retreating forehead, who looked like a stupid
     fox. Miss Jane P. was seated in a corner, behind a little
     table, on which were draughts arranged as the nuns of the
     Lady Abbess, she challenging everybody to introduce the
     four cavaliers unknown to the blind mistress. Everybody
     said it was not possible, and Miss Jane turned triumphantly
     to me to know if I could do it. I said I could not only
     introduce the four knights, but their four squires also,
     and then suffer knights, squires, and four nuns to elope,
     without the blind Abbess having the slightest suspicion of
     the defection. Everybody thought it impossible, but when
     I actually performed the feat they looked upon me as half
     a conjuror—particularly the stranger fox—and Mrs. Dickson
     thought it was hardly safe that I should occupy the front
     bedroom in a young ladies’ boarding-school. I also amused
     them with the three jealous couples crossing the stream;
     we were all very merry, and I did more talking than I have
     accomplished in the same space of time for many a day. On
     our return home, the young gentleman who accompanied me
     said that if he had only known I was coming he would have
     gone from New York to Cincinnati, to escort me to Asheville
     (I did not tell him how very glad I was he did not know
     it); and on my expressing a wish to visit Mount Pisgah, he
     assured me that to the very next party that was made up he
     would be sure to see that I received an invitation. (I did
     not say he need not trouble himself, that I should get the
     invitation without his interference; I only thought all
     that, for I am growing very polite in my _manners_.)

     ... About a week ago I rode to the Sulphur Springs, which are
     about four miles from Asheville; they are not much resorted
     to, the country round being tangled and rather uninteresting.
     The springs, however, are situated in a delightful valley,
     through which the wind blew most refreshingly; a roofed
     platform is erected in the midst of the grass plat, the
     perfectly clear water welling up into a marble basin on one
     side, and then flowing away in a little rivulet. I found
     a country woman resting herself on the platform, with a
     bright, pleasant face and very communicative. I sat and
     talked to her and thought of the woman of Samaria; presently
     a bilious-looking Southerner came down and drank a dipper
     full of water, which dispelled all the illusion, for my
     imagination conjured up rice-swamps and clanking chains.

     I have not taken many walks about here, for the weather,
     though delightful for July, is too hot for walking, and
     riding seems out of the question, it being harder to get a
     horse here even than it was at Henderson. Dr. Dickson has
     one old fellow, but he is used in the fields a good deal,
     and one person cannot ride alone. Borrowing or hiring seems
     equally impossible, so I shall be the poorest rider in the
     family apparently, for I suppose Henry’s ‘nice little pony,’
     and our three (?) other horses, will be kept in constant use.

     I find it equally impossible to get a partner in chess;
     Dr. Dickson understands no such games, and disapproves of
     them, so I cannot train any of the girls, and Miss C. does
     not care to play. I set up the men one afternoon and tried
     to beat myself; but it would not do, I could get up no
     enthusiasm, so I put the pieces away in despair, and used
     the board as a writing-desk.

     Tell me all the home news: what M. does and Ellen and
     Kate, what nonsense H. talks and S.’s puns, the visits they
     receive and the excursions they make.

     If you hear of any new books let me know, for I imagine
     they do not find their way up here very quickly. I have
     Littel’s ‘Living Age’ regularly, and I am reading Alison’s
     ‘History of Europe;’ but such a thing as a novel Dr. Dickson
     reprobates, and all he calls light reading.

     Now, Howy, do you not think I am very good to send you such
     a long letter for your little scrap? Write me a full sheet
     soon.

                                          Asheville: July 27, 1845.

     DEAR MOTHER,—I received your welcome letter last night
     while engaged in your favourite Saturday evening’s
     employment—singing hymns. A stranger minister who was to
     preach next day had just arrived, and I, seated at the
     piano, surrounded by the girls, was supplying him with
     sacred entertainment, when Howard Dickson laid your letter
     beside me. I smiled, and gave an involuntary quaver in the
     ‘Come, Holy Spi—,’ which made the girls giggle; but seeing
     the four eyes of the two ministers bent astonishedly upon
     us, I pulled a long face, the girls straightened theirs,
     and we continued—‘rit, heavenly Dove.’

     I soon ran off with a candle and my letter, and read with
     eagerness all the profane parts, and most of the religious,
     as it is a first letter. I am very glad that you derive
     so much peaceful satisfaction from Upham. I know it has a
     soothing influence, for whenever I had to go into your room
     of an afternoon I found you asleep on the bed with the book
     in your hand; but I find no lack of such books here—Jonathan
     Edwards on the Affections, which I have lately read, has
     the same peaceful tendency.

     I have just performed my first professional cure, and am
     already dubbed Dr. Blackwell by the household. I mesmerised
     away a severe headache that afflicted Miss O’Heara, a
     kind-hearted, child-like, black-haired little old maid, the
     favourite of the family and especial pet of the children.
     She had just recovered from a very severe attack of illness,
     and great suffering in the mouth from calomel, which made
     her declare that no physician ought to receive his diploma
     till he has been salivated, that he may know the torture he
     is inflicting on his patients. I went into her room last
     night, and found her suffering from an intense throbbing
     headache. I offered to relieve her, half doubting my own
     powers, never having attempted anything of the kind; but
     in a quarter or half an hour she was entirely relieved,
     and declared some good angel had sent me to her aid.

     I have just returned from the Sunday-school which we have
     organised to-day for the slaves. When I first came here I
     determined to teach all the slaves I could to read and write,
     and elevate them in every way in my power, as the only way
     I could reconcile it to my conscience to live amongst them;
     but to my consternation I found that the laws forbade it,
     and that Dr. Dickson was not willing to evade them. Not
     the slightest effort was made to instruct them in any way,
     except that now and then a sermon was preached to them; but
     they had to labour on without a ray of light or hope. It
     was intolerable to me, and I proposed at last we should have
     Sunday-school, and give them real instruction; and as such
     a scheme had been talked of about a year ago, I found a few
     who were willing to engage in the undertaking. Accordingly,
     this afternoon at three o’clock we made a beginning—four
     ladies and one gentleman, with about twenty-five scholars;
     we have a class of men, women, boys, and two of girls. I
     take one of the latter, four girls, from eight to twelve
     years old. I assure you I felt a little odd, sitting down
     before those degraded little beings, to teach them a religion
     which the owners professed to follow whilst violating its
     very first principles, and audaciously presuming to stand
     between them and the Almighty. As I looked round the little
     room and saw those ladies holding forth to their slaves,
     fancying that now they were fulfilling every duty and were
     quite model mistresses, I longed to jump up, and, taking
     the chains from those injured, unmanned men, fasten them on
     their tyrants till they learned in dismal wretchedness the
     bitterness of that bondage they inflict on their brethren.
     But one person can do nothing. I sat quietly teaching, and
     reserved my indignation to vent on this inoffensive white
     paper. I am afraid much cannot be done for the slaves in
     this way; their minds are so obscured, and oral instruction
     is so tedious, that the patience of both teachers and
     scholars may be worn out. I, however, shall do my utmost
     to illuminate both head and heart, and the poor children
     thanked me with humble sincerity this afternoon for my
     efforts.

     You need not be afraid I shall make myself conspicuous, or
     gain the hated name of Abolitionist. I sometimes reproach
     myself for my prudence and the calmness with which I answer
     some outrageous injustice, while I am really raging with
     indignation; but it is the only way in which I can hope
     to do any good, for the slightest display of feeling arms
     all their prejudices, and I am no orator to convert by a
     burst of passionate eloquence; so I must even go on in my
     own quiet manner, knowing that it does not proceed from
     cowardice.

     I wish I could give you a cheering account of numerous
     music scholars and French and German classes, but the place
     is too small for anything of the sort. I hear constantly a
     great deal about Charleston; everybody seems connected with
     that city, and a great many of the inhabitants are spending
     the summer here and at the Springs. I mean to make some
     inquiries about the schools and teachers of that city; it
     would be a pleasant residence in some respects. I mention
     this, not from any serious idea of going there, but that
     you may know the schemes that are passing through my mind.
     I am fixed here till December.

     My brain is as busy as can be, and consequently I am happy;
     for one is only miserable when stupid and lazy, wasting
     the time and doing no good to self or anybody else.

     So you, too, mother, confirm Henry’s account of the ‘fine
     doings’ on our quiet Walnut Hills. I shall really begin
     to think that I have been the evil genius of the place,
     withholding the rain from the garden, the visitors from
     the house; for no sooner am I gone than floods of both flow
     down and up, and everywhere are greenness and gaiety. Very
     well; I certainly won’t come back to bring a blight into
     Paradise.... But, seriously, if Miss A. G. comes up, I hope
     M. will consider it a call and return it with dignity, for
     it seems to me H. is growing wild and turning our house into
     a sort of banqueting-hall for Comus and his crew, which
     I beg M. to set her face against by taking every visit to
     herself....

     My white bonnet is much admired here. Miss Charlotte Carr
     sent to borrow it the other day, and has made one its exact
     image, flowers and all. I felt quite proud in setting the
     fashion in Asheville!

In 1846 the Asheville school was broken up, and I resolved to try my
fortunes in the South, journeying with Mrs. John Dickson to Charleston,
S.C., exchanging the fine mountain country for the level rice-fields
of South Carolina. It was a striking journey—a transformation scene!
It is thus described in a journal of that date:—

     On January 14 we left by stage early in the morning. We
     jolted off in the bright moonlight; the ground was frozen
     hard and very rough. I walked with Flinn over the Blue
     Ridge and the Saluda, another branch of the Alleghanies.
     The weather was beautiful, the air invigorating, and the
     mountain seemed to deserve its name. On the top of the
     Saluda a stone marks the boundary of the two Carolinas. I
     hesitated at crossing it, for my affections are all with
     the ‘old North State.’ At the foot we drank to its health
     from the Poinsett Spring, as we had promised John to do.
     A little afterwards we passed the wildest scenery I ever
     remember to have seen. The road wound down the south side
     of the mountain in very abrupt curves, so as to form a
     succession of terraces one above the other; whilst, on the
     opposite side, the wooded mountain ridge, though so near,
     was softened by mist, and seemed to tower to tremendous
     heights, though I was surprised to see how this height
     seemed to lessen as we descended. We reached Greenville
     late, after eighty miles of horribly rough staging; there we
     spent the next day, and I took a pleasant walk with Flinn
     by the reedy river, which rushes in cascades through rocks
     and wooded hills. The next two days we travelled through
     pretty, undulating country, gradually becoming more level.
     I saw the first characteristic swamp, also the palmetto
     and the strange grey moss, a yard long, hanging from the
     trees. We spent a night in Columbia. It seemed a strange
     revival of old associations to enter a city once more. The
     hotel was full of horse-racers engaged in betting. The next
     day a rapid railway journey brought us to Charleston by
     two o’clock. The country between Columbia and Charleston
     was much prettier than I expected. The lovely day made
     everything beautiful; the numerous pines, the holly, wild
     orange, live oak, and other evergreens seemed to give the
     lie to January. The moss, hanging one or two yards long
     from the trees, looked like gigantic webs or the ghosts of
     weeping willows; the rice-fields, under water, were as blue
     as the sky; the level cotton-fields, extending for hundreds
     of acres, with their belts of evergreens, were strange and
     beautiful.

     When we reached Charleston we were met at the station by Dr.
     Sam. Dickson’s carriage, with its very gentlemanly negro
     coachman, who had been sent for Flinn and ‘the lady.’ So
     I said good-bye to kind Mrs. John Dickson, and, driving
     softly along to a large old-fashioned house, surrounded by
     a garden full of tall evergreens, I entered a spacious hall
     and was welcomed by Dr. Sam. and Mrs. Dickson and their
     eldest daughter, and ushered into a handsome drawing-room,
     cloak, hood, smoke, and all.

Dr. Samuel H. Dickson, who thus hospitably welcomed me, was a
distinguished physician of Charleston and professor in the Medical
College of that town. He gave me kind encouragement in relation to my
medical studies. Through his influence I soon obtained a position as
teacher of music in the fashionable boarding-school of Mrs. Du Pré
(a connection of the Doctor), where I taught for some hours every
day, spending all my spare time in pursuing the medical studies which
Dr. Dickson directed. Every morning a couple of hours were devoted
before breakfast to learning the necessary rudiments of Greek (for
I had only so far been acquainted with Latin).

The boarding-school occupied a fine old-fashioned mansion. The noble
drawing-room, with its numerous windows overlooking the bay, was the
scene of my teaching duties.

When they were over, many quiet hours were passed in that pleasant
room, studying the medical books which the Doctor supplied from his
library.

The severe duties of teaching and study were occasionally varied
by larger interests, such as hearing a very able (though erroneous)
oration on States’ Rights, by Calhoun; or the more carnal pleasure
of a visit to a banana plantation.

John C. Calhoun’s address, given to the enthusiastic meeting which
crowded the theatre, was noteworthy. The contrast between the
calm, able orator, who appeared entirely unmoved by the rapturous
demonstrations of his audience, who responded to every point in his
clever but measured oratory, resembled the effect produced in our
later day by the able statesman Parnell, who dominated his ardent Irish
followers by a similarly contrasted mental constitution. The influence
of this able statesman, John C. Calhoun, was largely instrumental in
causing the Civil War in America.

The following familiar home letters indicate some of the varieties
in the Charleston life:—

                                      Charleston: January 30, 1847.

     Now, dear M., for a comfortable Sunday afternoon chat with
     you, after a long—it seems to me a very long—silence. I’ve
     just replenished my body with a comfortable portion of our
     regular Sunday dinner—viz. ham, fowl, sweet potatoes, and
     macaroni—of which last I’ve grown particularly fond, and
     now, wrapped in my blanket-shawl, I sit with my feet on the
     fender, over the embers of the parlour fire, and, as the
     girls are at church and only good Miss B. in the room, I
     hope for a nice long quiet time. But I must tell you of a
     great musical treat I’ve had, really the highest pleasure
     in that way that I ever remember; no less than two concerts
     by Herz and Sivori. I never have been so affected by music
     before; yet the first concert made me sad, homesick, and
     discontented. I felt as I do after reading a powerful
     novel of Bulwer’s. It was Sivori’s violin that produced so
     strange an effect. Herz was a smooth, brilliant pianoforte
     player, with considerable superficial talent, nothing
     more; but Sivori has genius. His playing bewildered me; I
     did not understand it. It seemed to me like a chaos that
     might become a world of beauty could I only find the word
     that should reduce it to order. I went home unhappy and
     indignant at being obliged to pass life in such a stupid
     place, amongst such stupid people, where is neither beauty,
     nor intelligence, nor goodness. The next concert it went
     better with me. I sat near the platform immediately in front
     of Sivori, and examined his countenance, which certainly
     renders his performance clearer. He is very small, his
     head large for his body, a fine forehead, grand eyes, a
     stiff, sober manner, and occasional half-suppressed smile
     that reminded me continually of Ellery Channing. The first
     piece, ‘Il Campanello’ of Paganini, was a gem; the solemn,
     subduing _adagio_, with a wild, striving conclusion, and
     the little clear silver bell coming in continually, like an
     angel’s voice in the conflict of good and bad spirits. Then
     his prayer from ‘Moïse,’ performed on one string, was the
     most devout music I ever listened to. I felt as if I were
     worshipping in an old cathedral at twilight, and I shut
     my eyes not to destroy the illusion by the expressionless
     concert-room and faces all round. The duet between Herz
     and Sivori was grand, both parts were so perfect. I went
     to the concert with a prejudice against Herz, from knowing
     his very bad moral character; but his playing is very
     brilliant, though he is far from being a De Meyer. He has
     the most self-satisfied expression in his mouth, which,
     as a gentleman remarked, ‘seems to be going to eat his
     ears,’ it is so large. He was recalled after one of his
     pieces, and said, smiling, ‘I will play you a piece which I
     composed, since I am in Charleston. It is called “Souvenir
     de Charleston.”’ ’Twas quite a dashing affair; and then he
     extemporised beautifully on ‘Lucy Long.’ I hope you may have
     the pleasure in Cincinnati of hearing these real artists.
     Oh for the time when such music may be a daily feast for
     all, and when the performers shall be as noble in character
     as they are gifted in talent!

                                     Charleston: February 28, 1847.

     MY DEAR MOTHER,—Two letters from you within a twelvemonth
     seems as extraordinary as it is welcome. I was much gratified
     by the kind home voices which greeted my birthday. I always
     think of old family times on that day—the penny for each
     year which father used laughingly to bestow, and the silver
     that came after, and then the little children’s party, and
     all the merry old times; but I am quite satisfied that my
     childhood has gone; I never wish to recall it, happy as it
     was; I want to be up and doing, not simply enjoying myself;
     and if I never succeed in accomplishing all my intentions,
     I mean to have the comfortable assurance that I have tried
     hard and done my best. Your letter, besides its highly
     respected religious advice, which I always lay up carefully
     in a little scented corner of my mind, contains many little
     interesting domestic items. How I should like to tap at
     the window some night, while the brilliant solar lamp is
     illuminating the planets and glorifying the cheerful faces
     inside, and make you all start as if you saw a ghost, till
     a most substantial shaking of the hand should convince
     you to the contrary! We have had a very mild winter on
     the whole, to my no small delight, for I dreaded the cold
     exceedingly in this great house, where the wind rushes
     grievously through every door and window and finds only the
     ghost of a fire to warm it, and where heavy mists from the
     ocean chill the very marrow of your bones. I’ve fortunately
     had no broken chilblains on my hands this winter, and as I
     teach in the warmest room in the house, and throw open the
     shutters to let in all the sunshine, I don’t often have to
     wear my blanket, but get along pretty comfortably. I am
     teaching at present more than eight hours a day, and you
     may imagine I get pretty tired by tea-time. Such a press of
     teaching, however, will not last very long, and I am quite
     willing that Mrs. Du Pré should gain as much as possible
     by me while I am with her.

     About a week ago I received an answer from the old Quaker
     physician, Dr. Warrington of Philadelphia, to whom I was
     introduced by Mrs. Willard of Troy some time ago. The letter
     is quite an original; I must transcribe a little for your
     benefit:—

     ‘MY DEAR E. BLACKWELL,—Thy letter of November 18 came duly to
     hand; it has indeed remained unanswered, but not unheeded.
     I have reflected much on the propositions contained in it;
     so strong a hold has the communication had on my feelings
     and sympathies that I feared I might speak imprudently if
     I should reply impromptu to such noble sentiments. I have
     myself been so circumstanced in life as to be rendered
     measurably competent to understand the force of promptings
     to move in somewhat new and little-tried paths. My immediate
     response would therefore perhaps have been, “Go onwards;”
     and though if in reasonings with flesh and blood in this
     matter I may appear less ardent in my encouragement, let it
     be borne in mind that He who puts forth can without fail
     lead His devoted servants; He can make a way where there
     appeared to be no way; He can accomplish His purposes by
     instruments of His own selection in the bringing about
     His own ends—“God shall work, and who shall let (hinder or
     prevent) Him?”

     ‘Now, this principle is recognisable by the pious of all
     denominations. It is one which has been found operative in
     very many important enterprises, and it is one which thy
     own mind seems so firmly to have settled that I scarcely
     need advert to it now, but to show that my own faith may
     sometimes be so feeble that I enter into human calculation as
     to the expediency of certain plans of operation which have
     suggested themselves to me in the course of my movements
     about this great city, or when I am reflecting upon the
     condition of humanity at large. Now, I frankly confess
     that it is in such a balance that I have from time to time
     weighed thy interesting concern. I have personally appealed
     to some of the most intelligent and liberal-minded ladies
     of my acquaintance how far the services of a well-educated
     female physician would be appreciated by them. The response
     uniformly is, “Mrs. Gove and Mrs. Wright were unfit to
     teach, nor could any female become acceptable to us, either
     as a teacher or practitioner of medicine.” This language
     is stronger than I should be willing to use myself. It is
     an interesting matter of history, and one which may afford
     some encouragement to reformers to persevere, when they
     are assured that their cause has its foundation in truth,
     justice, and mercy; that Saul, who had been most bitter
     in his persecution of Christians, joining in the popular
     outcry against the great Innovator, not only himself became
     a convert to the new faith, but under the name of Paul,
     for the balance of his active life, employed his powerful
     talents in the extension of the very doctrines which in his
     misguided zeal he had laboured to subvert. I confess, my
     dear lady, that I with thee see many difficulties in the
     way to the attainment—firstly, to the acquisition of the
     kind and amount of education thou art aware is necessary as
     a _capital stock_ with which to begin the enterprise which
     has been opened to thy mind; secondly, that after years
     spent in the attempt the popular mind will be found barred
     against thy mission of love and humanity; but I beg thee to
     believe with me that if the project be of divine origin and
     appointment it will sooner or later surely be accomplished.
     Thus, in the language of Gamaliel on another occasion, “If
     this work be of men it will come to nought, but if it be
     of God ye cannot overthrow it, lest haply ye be found even
     to fight against God.” In now addressing thee personally
     I cordially reiterate the invitation. I should be happy to
     compare notes with thee at any leisure moment which may be
     afforded me, though I am in the whirl of occupation; and
     if after our conferences together thou shouldest become
     as persuaded as I am that woman was designed to be the
     helpmeet for man, and that in the responsible duties of
     relieving ills which flesh is heir to it is appropriate
     that man be the _physician_ and woman the _nurse_, it may
     possibly occur to thee that thy real mission in this world
     of probation will be to contribute with all the talents
     which thy Father in Heaven has so bountifully bestowed the
     exaltation of a portion of thy sex to the holy duties of
     nursing the sick, and thus succouring the distressed. With
     sentiments of most respectful consideration....’

     This is a portion of the good Doctor’s letter, and though
     our opinions differ considerably I cannot complain of his
     treating the matter too lightly. He seems to be an honest,
     simple-minded, enthusiastic old man, and I feel as if I
     might regard him as a friend in Philadelphia. The letter is
     copied by his wife in a clear, pretty hand, so I consider
     her as interested also.

     Well, my dear mother, I wish I could tell you something
     amusing; but though we do a good deal of small laughing, it
     would hardly be worth while to put our jokes down on paper.
     Miss Buell and I talk of hiring a beau if we can get one
     cheap, for really these beautiful moonlight nights a walk on
     the Battery would be very pleasant, and a visit to the opera
     that is now in town would be by no means disagreeable; but
     now we have to sit at our window and admire the moonlight
     on the waters, and sigh in vain after the vanities of the
     world, all for want of a beau—alas! poor nuns that we are.
     Then sometimes the girls get up a little screaming for our
     benefit. The other night, for instance, the ten o’clock
     bell had rung. Miss Buell had seen that the lights were
     out and the girls in bed. We were comfortably sinking into
     forgetfulness on our pillows, when I fancied I heard some
     poor dog yelling in some yard. I listened sympathisingly,
     and found it was a human voice in the distance uttering
     at short intervals a succession of agonised shrieks. I was
     horrified and indignant. ‘Do listen,’ I cried; ‘they must be
     whipping a poor negro; isn’t it abominable?’ We listened;
     the shrieks seemed to draw nearer. ‘Why, Miss Buell, ’tis
     certainly the girls in the opposite room!’ ‘Oh, no, they
     are all asleep; ’tis sonny’s voice downstairs: they must
     be washing him.’ ‘At this time of night! What an idea! I’m
     convinced it is the girls.’ The shrieks increased, and at
     intervals we distinguished the words: ‘Oh, Penny, Penny
     Grimke! Oh, Miss Buell, Miss Blackwell, Mrs. Peters! Oh, Mrs.
     Peters!’ I jumped out of bed, got a light, and hurried into
     the opposite room; as I opened the door the noise almost
     stunned me. There were six girls, all screaming at the top
     of their voices, as pale as their nightgowns, and some of
     them almost in fits; all the other doors were thrown open,
     and I was immediately surrounded by a perfect mob of girls
     in white nightgowns and caps, talking, crying, laughing,
     in a regular uproar. I threatened to blow out the lamp,
     to call Mr. Bonnetheau, to beat them all if they wouldn’t
     hush, and at last I got at the origin of the affray. A
     couple of brushes had fallen on the floor, and one of the
     girls, affirming that somebody had touched her arm, began to
     scream; all the others joined in, and I really believe that
     if I had not gone to them when I did they would have fallen
     into convulsions, so completely had they given themselves
     up to terror. These are some of the pleasant diversions of
     our life, and as I welcome anything that makes me laugh,
     they are quite acceptable.

When the hot weather arrived I superintended the summer school, which
for the health of the pupils was removed to Aiken, South Carolina,
amongst the pine barrens; a spot renowned for its healthiness, and
which has since become a famous health resort.

                                                  Aiken: July 1846.

     Many happy returns, dear M., of your birthday. I send
     you the old greeting; old, and full of meaning; for life
     is a blessing, though our low, unworthy view may make us
     sometimes doubt it. Even if life were full of suffering, and
     annihilation its end, I should still hail it as a noble gift.
     But with a firm faith in infinite goodness and immortality,
     the most wearisome life becomes a source of triumphant
     thanksgiving. So I wish you again many happy returns of
     glorious life! And now I must thank you right heartily
     for a letter that was a real home gift; or, as the ‘Dial’
     saith, ‘a letter that was no letter, but a leaf out of the
     book of Nature.’ How do your commentatical studies go on?
     I am afraid it will be an unsatisfactory sort of business
     to search for the sun with a parcel of rushlights; if it do
     not glow forth with unmistakable brilliancy I fear there’s
     very little true solar light to be found. Last Sunday, not
     caring to pay the Episcopal church a second visit, I told
     Mrs. Du Pré I would go to a church in the woods, so she
     need not send the carriage back for me. I had seen a dark
     wooden building with little steeple, half hidden amongst
     the trees, that took my fancy. So I dressed and strolled
     through the sandy wood paths at the rate of a mile an hour,
     as I hate overheating myself. I reached my church at length,
     when, lo! it proved to be a deserted schoolhouse, containing
     two large cool rooms, built of weather-beaten pine, with
     projecting roof and pleasant elevated porch. Here I took
     my seat, whilst the village bells were ringing merrily.
     The schoolhouse was situated in the midst of pretty woods,
     encircled by a path of white sand which winds through the
     woods to the village. The sky was brilliantly blue; the
     rich odour of the pines and the hum of insects had a very
     soothing effect, and I spent my time so pleasantly that I
     think I shall be tempted to pay my church in the woods many
     visits this summer. By-the-by, I find that the schoolhouse,
     cool and pleasant as it is, has been for some time deserted,
     because the three denominations of Aiken cannot agree on
     the choice of a teacher. I have found the summer here very
     pleasant hitherto. Indeed, I invite you all to come South
     and get cool; I think I have never suffered so little from
     heat anywhere.

     _November._—Let me set your mind at ease with regard to my
     fastidiousness, love of beauty, professional horrors, and so
     forth. My mind is fully made up. I have not the slightest
     hesitation on the subject; the thorough study of medicine
     I am quite resolved to go through with. The horrors and
     disgusts I have no doubt of vanquishing. I have overcome
     stronger distastes than any that now remain, and feel fully
     equal to the contest. As to the opinion of people, I don’t
     care one straw _personally_; though I take so much pains,
     as a matter of policy, to propitiate it, and shall always
     strive to do so; for I see continually how the highest good
     is eclipsed by the violent or disagreeable forms which
     contain it. I think you attribute a foolish sentimental
     fastidiousness to me that I do not possess. You also speak
     of my want of bodily sympathy being an objection. If I
     understand what you mean, I think it would prove of the most
     valuable assistance possible. I suspect you were thinking
     of that unlucky dose of lobelia I once gave you when I
     grew angry because you groaned and groaned, and obstinately
     refused to drink the warm stuff that would relieve you. I
     think I have sufficient hardness to be entirely unaffected
     by great agony in such a way as to impair the clearness of
     thought necessary for bringing relief, but I am sure the
     warmest sympathy would prompt me to relieve suffering to the
     extent of my power; though I do not think any case would
     keep me awake at night, or that the responsibility would
     seem too great when I had conscientiously done my best.... I
     want very much to have a little story printed which I have
     translated from the German. It is very pretty, and pleases
     the children greatly. I might get a hundred dollars for
     it.... Aiken is almost deserted, but I shall not go down
     till the 15th, when the Episcopal minister arrives to take
     charge of the school. To-morrow I shall be left entirely
     alone, not a soul in the house besides; and only a negro man
     somewhat given to drink and a negro woman greatly given to
     scolding in the yard.... The autumn winds are howling round
     the house, blowing the leaves in whirlwinds. Our ‘Fall’
     has been very pleasant, though we’ve had fires for several
     weeks. The changing trees had a curious effect for a few
     days. I have four windows in my room, and the hickory trees
     outside turned a brilliant yellow, filling the room with
     a beautiful glow. During a very rainy day I several times
     looked up with joy thinking the sun was breaking forth;
     but the rain soon changed their beauty, and now our pines
     and some oaks are the only cheerful things left.

Returning to Charleston, the winter and spring were fully occupied
with teaching; the Christmas being cheered by the receipt from home
of our ‘Family Christmas Annual,’ a collection of articles in prose
and verse, specially prepared anonymously by the various members of
the family, and decorated by domestic artists. This diversion was
continued for many years; and several volumes are still preserved as
mementoes of those pleasant times.




CHAPTER III

STUDY IN AMERICA

1847-1849


In the summer of 1847, with my carefully hoarded earnings, I resolved
to seek an entrance into a medical school. Philadelphia was then
considered the chief seat of medical learning in America, so to
Philadelphia I went; taking passage in a sailing vessel from Charleston
for the sake of economy.

In Philadelphia I boarded in the family of Dr. William Elder. He and
his admirable wife soon became warm and steadfast friends. Dr. Elder
(author of the life of Dr. Kane, the Arctic voyager) was a remarkable
man, of brilliant talent and genial nature. He took a generous interest
in my plans, helping by his advice and encouragement through the
months of effort and refusals which were now encountered.

Applications were cautiously but persistently made to the four
medical colleges of Philadelphia for admission as a regular student.
The interviews with their various professors were by turns hopeful
and disappointing. Whilst pursuing these inquiries I commenced my
anatomical studies in the private school of Dr. Allen. This gentleman
by his thoughtful arrangements enabled me to overcome the natural
repulsion to these studies generally felt at the outset. With a tact
and delicacy for which I have always felt grateful, he gave me as my
first lesson in practical anatomy a demonstration of the human wrist.
The beauty of the tendons and exquisite arrangements of this part
of the body struck my artistic sense, and appealed to the sentiment
of reverence with which this anatomical branch of study was ever
afterwards invested in my mind.

During the following months, whilst making applications to the
different medical colleges of Philadelphia for admission as a regular
student, I enlisted the services of my friends in the search for
an Alma Mater. The interviews with the various professors, though
disappointing, were often amusing.


_Extracts from the Journal of 1847_

     _May 27._—Called on Dr. Jackson (one of the oldest professors
     in Philadelphia), a small, bright-faced, grey-haired man,
     who looked up from his newspaper and saluted me with,
     ‘Well, what is it? What do you want?’ I told him I wanted to
     study medicine. He began to laugh, and asked me why. Then I
     detailed my plans. He became interested; said he would not
     give me an answer then; that there were great difficulties,
     but he did not know that they were insurmountable; he would
     let me know on Monday. I came home with a lighter heart,
     though I can hardly say I hope. On Monday Dr. Jackson said
     he had done his best for me, but the professors were all
     opposed to my entrance. Dr. Horner advised me to try the
     Filbert Street and Franklin schools. A professor of Jefferson
     College thought it would be impossible to study there, and
     advised the New England schools.

     _June 2._—Felt gloomy as thunder, trudging round to Dr.
     Darrach. He is the most non-committal man I ever saw. I
     harangued him, and he sat full five minutes without a word.
     I asked at last if he could give me any encouragement. ‘The
     subject is a novel one, madam, I have nothing to say either
     for or against it; you have awakened trains of thought upon
     which my mind is taking action, but I cannot express my
     opinion to you either one way or another.’ ‘Your opinion,
     I fear, is unfavourable.’ ‘I did not say so. I beg you,
     madam, distinctly to understand that I express no opinion
     one way or another; the way in which my mind acts in this
     matter I do not feel at liberty to unfold.’ ‘Shall I call on
     the other professors of your college?’ ‘I cannot take the
     responsibility of advising you to pursue such a course.’
     ‘Can you not grant me admittance to your lectures, as you
     do not feel unfavourable to my scheme?’ ‘I have said no
     such thing; whether favourable or unfavourable, I have not
     expressed any opinion; and I beg leave to state clearly that
     the operation of my mind in regard to this matter I do not
     feel at liberty to unfold.’ I got up in despair, leaving
     his mind to take action on the subject at his leisure.

     Dr. Warrington told me that he had seen his friend
     Dr. Ashmead, who had told him that Paris was such a
     horrible place that I must give up my wish for a medical
     education—indeed, his communication would be so unfavourable
     that he would rather not meet me in person. I told the
     Doctor that if the path of duty led me to hell I would
     go there; and I did not think that by being with devils I
     should become a devil myself—at which the good Doctor stared.

     Nevertheless, I shrink extremely from the idea of giving
     up the attempt in America and going to France, although
     the suggestion is often urged on me.

The fear of successful rivalry which at that time often existed in the
medical mind was expressed by the dean of one of the smaller schools,
who frankly replied to the application, ‘You cannot expect us to
furnish you with a stick to break our heads with;’ so revolutionary
seemed the attempt of a woman to leave a subordinate position and seek
to obtain a complete medical education. A similarly mistaken notion
of the rapid practical success which would attend a lady doctor was
shown later by one of the professors of my medical college, who was
desirous of entering into partnership with me on condition of sharing
profits over 5,000 dollars on my first year’s practice.

During these fruitless efforts my kindly Quaker adviser, whose private
lectures I attended, said to me: ‘Elizabeth, it is of no use trying.
Thee cannot gain admission to these schools. Thee must go to Paris
and don masculine attire to gain the necessary knowledge.’ Curiously
enough, this suggestion of disguise made by good Dr. Warrington was
also given me by Doctor Pankhurst, the Professor of Surgery in the
largest college in Philadelphia. He thoroughly approved of a woman’s
gaining complete medical knowledge; told me that although my public
entrance into the classes was out of the question, yet if I would
assume masculine attire and enter the college he could entirely
rely on two or three of his students to whom he should communicate
my disguise, who would watch the class and give me timely notice to
withdraw should my disguise be suspected.

But neither the advice to go to Paris nor the suggestion of disguise
tempted me for a moment. It was to my mind a moral crusade on which
I had entered, a course of justice and common sense, and it must be
pursued in the light of day, and with public sanction, in order to
accomplish its end.

The following letter to Mrs. Willard of Troy, the well-known
educationalist, describes the difficulties through which the young
student had to walk warily:—

                                              Philadelphia: May 24.

     I cannot refrain from expressing my obligations to you
     for directing me to the excellent Dr. Warrington. He has
     allowed me to visit his patients, attend his lectures, and
     make use of his library, and has spoken to more than one
     medical friend concerning my wishes; but with deep regret I
     am obliged to say that all the information hitherto obtained
     serves to show me the impossibility of accomplishing my
     purpose in America. I find myself rigidly excluded from the
     regular college routine, and there is no thorough course of
     lectures that can supply its place. The general sentiment of
     the physicians is strongly opposed to a woman’s intruding
     herself into the profession; consequently it would be
     perhaps impossible to obtain private instruction, but if
     that were possible, the enormous expense would render it
     impracticable, and where the feelings of the profession
     are strongly enlisted against such a scheme, the museums,
     libraries, hospitals, and all similar aids would be closed
     against me. In view of these and numerous other difficulties
     Dr. Warrington is discouraged, and joins with his medical
     brethren in advising me to give up the scheme. But a strong
     idea, long cherished till it has taken deep root in the
     soul and become an all-absorbing duty, cannot thus be laid
     aside. I must accomplish my end. I consider it the noblest
     and most useful path that I can tread, and if one country
     rejects me I will go to another.

     Through Dr. Warrington and other sources I am informed
     that my plan can be carried out in Paris, though the free
     Government lectures, delivered by the faculty, are confined
     to men, and a diploma is strictly denied to a woman, even
     when (as in one instance, as it is said) she has gone through
     the course in male attire; yet every year thorough courses
     of lectures are delivered by able physicians on every branch
     of medical knowledge, to which I should be admitted without
     hesitation and treated with becoming respect. The true place
     for study, then, seems open to me; but here, again, some
     friendly physicians raise stronger objections than ever.
     ‘You, a young unmarried lady,’ they say, ‘go to Paris, that
     city of fearful immorality, where every feeling will be
     outraged and insult attend you at every step; where vice
     is the natural atmosphere, and no young man can breathe
     it without being contaminated! Impossible, you are lost if
     you go!’

     Now, dear madam, I appeal to you, who have had the
     opportunity of studying the French in their native land,
     is not this a false view, a greatly exaggerated fear? Is
     it not perfectly true everywhere that a woman who respects
     herself will be respected by others; that where the life is
     directed by a strong, pure motive to a noble object, in a
     quiet, dignified, but determined manner, the better feelings
     of mankind are enlisted, and the woman excites esteem and
     respectful sympathy? To my mind this is perfectly clear, and
     I trust that your more experienced judgment will confirm my
     opinion. Probably, then, if all the information which I am
     still collecting agree with what I have already received,
     I may sail for France in the course of the summer, that I
     may familiarise myself with a rapid French delivery before
     the commencement of the winter lectures.

     I have tried to look every difficulty steadily in the face.
     I find none which seem to me unconquerable, and with the
     blessing of Providence I trust to accomplish my design.

After a short, refreshing trip with my family to the seaside, the
search was again renewed in Philadelphia. But applications made for
admission to the medical schools both of Philadelphia and of New York
were met with similarly unsuccessful results.

I therefore obtained a complete list of all the smaller schools of the
Northern States, ‘country schools,’ as they were called. I examined
their prospectuses, and quite at a venture sent in applications for
admission to twelve of the most promising institutions, where full
courses of instruction were given under able professors. The result
was awaited with much anxiety, as the time for the commencement of
the winter sessions was rapidly approaching. No answer came for some
time. At last, to my immense relief (though not surprise, for failure
never seemed possible), I received the following letter from the
medical department of a small university town in the western part of
the State of New York:—

                                          Geneva: October 20, 1847.

                              To Elizabeth Blackwell, Philadelphia.

     I am instructed by the faculty of the medical department
     of Geneva University to acknowledge receipt of yours of 3rd
     inst. A quorum of the faculty assembled last evening for the
     first time during the session, and it was thought important
     to submit your proposal to the class (of students), who
     have had a meeting this day, and acted entirely on their
     own behalf, without any interference on the part of the
     faculty. I send you the result of their deliberations, and
     need only add that there are no fears but that you can,
     by judicious management, not only ‘disarm criticism,’ but
     elevate yourself without detracting in the least from the
     dignity of the profession.

     Wishing you success in your undertaking, which some may deem
     bold in the present state of society, I subscribe myself,

                                     Yours respectfully,

                                          CHARLES A. LEE,

                                               Dean of the Faculty.

          15 Geneva Hotel.

This letter enclosed the following unique and manly letter, which I
had afterwards copied on parchment, and esteem one of my most valued
possessions:—

     At a meeting of the entire medical class of Geneva Medical
     College, held this day, October 20, 1847, the following
     resolutions were unanimously adopted:—

          1. _Resolved_—That one of the radical principles
          of a Republican Government is the universal
          education of both sexes; that to every branch
          of scientific education the door should be open
          equally to all; that the application of Elizabeth
          Blackwell to become a member of our class meets
          our entire approbation; and in extending our
          unanimous invitation we pledge ourselves that
          no conduct of ours shall cause her to regret her
          attendance at this institution.

          2. _Resolved_—That a copy of these proceedings
          be signed by the chairman and transmitted to
          Elizabeth Blackwell.

                                        T. J. STRATTON, _Chairman_.

With an immense sigh of relief and aspiration of profound gratitude
to Providence I instantly accepted the invitation, and prepared for
the journey to Western New York State.

Leaving Philadelphia on November 4, I hastened through New York,
travelled all night, and reached the little town of Geneva at 11 P.M.
on November 6.

The next day, after a refreshing sleep, I sallied forth for an
interview with the dean of the college, enjoying the view of the
beautiful lake on which Geneva is situated, notwithstanding the cold,
drizzling, windy day. After an interview with the authorities of the
college I was duly inscribed on the list as student No. 130, in the
medical department of the Geneva University.

I at once established myself in a comfortable boarding-house, in the
same street as my college, and three minutes’ walk from it—a beautiful
walk along the high bank overlooking the lake. I hung my room with
dear mementoes of absent friends, and soon with hope and zeal and
thankful feelings of rest I settled down to study.

Naturally, some little time was required to adjust the relations of
the new student to her unusual surroundings. My first experiences
are thus given in a letter to a sister:—

                                          Geneva: November 9, 1847.

     I’ve just finished copying the notes of my last lecture.
     Business is over for to-day; I throw a fresh stick into
     my ‘air-tight,’ and now for refreshment by a talk with my
     own dear sister. Your letter containing E.’s was the first
     to welcome me in my new residence; right welcome, I assure
     you, it was, for I was gloomy—very. It was on Monday evening
     your letter came—my first work-day in Geneva. It had rained
     incessantly; I was in an upper room of a large boarding-house
     without a soul to speak to. I had attended five lectures,
     but nevertheless I did not know whether I could do what I
     ought to, for the Professor of Anatomy was absent, and had
     been spoken of as a queer man. The demonstrator hesitated
     as to my dissecting; I had no books, and didn’t know where
     to get any; and my head was bewildered with running about
     the great college building—never going out of the same door
     I went in at.

     This evening, however, I have finished my second day’s
     lectures; the weather is still gloomy, but I feel sunshiny
     and happy, strongly encouraged, with a grand future before
     me, and all owing to a fat little fairy in the shape of the
     Professor of Anatomy! This morning, on repairing to the
     college, I was introduced to Dr. Webster, the Professor
     of Anatomy, a little plump man, blunt in manner and very
     voluble. He shook me warmly by the hand, said my plan was
     capital; he had some fun too about a lady pupil, for he
     never lost a joke; the class had acted manfully; their
     resolutions were as good as a political meeting, &c.

     He asked me what branches I had studied. I told him all
     but surgery. ‘Well,’ said Dr. Lee, ‘do you mean to practise
     surgery?’ ‘Why, of course she does,’ broke in Dr. Webster.
     ‘Think of the cases of femoral hernia; only think what a
     well-educated woman would do in a city like New York. Why,
     my dear sir, she’d have her hands full in no time; her
     success would be immense. Yes, yes, you’ll go through the
     course, and get your diploma with great _éclat_ too; we’ll
     give you the opportunities. You’ll make a stir, I can tell
     you.’

     I handed him a note of introduction from Dr. Warrington,
     and then he told me to wait in the ante-room while he
     read it to the medical class, who were assembled in the
     amphitheatre for his lecture, which was to be preparatory
     to one of the most delicate operations in surgery, and I
     suppose he wanted to remind them of their promise of good
     behaviour. I could hear him reading it. When his age and
     experience were spoken of there was a shout of laughter, for
     he can’t be more than forty-five and not much of dignity
     about him; but at the conclusion there was a round of
     applause, after which I quietly entered, and certainly have
     no reason to complain of medical students, for though they
     eye me curiously, it is also in a very friendly manner.
     After the lecture was over, the demonstrator, who now shows
     the utmost friendliness, explained to me at the Doctor’s
     request a very important subject which I had lost. It was
     admirably done, illustrated on the subject, and if to-day’s
     lessons were a fair specimen, I certainly shall have no
     cause to complain of my anatomical instructors. The plan
     pursued here is admirable, and New York and Philadelphia
     may learn more than one lesson from Geneva. Dr. Webster
     came to me laughing after the first lecture, saying: ‘You
     attract too much attention, Miss Blackwell; there was a
     very large number of strangers present this afternoon—I
     shall guard against this in future.’ ‘Yes,’ said Dr. Lee;
     ‘we were saying to-day that this step might prove quite a
     good advertisement for the college; if there were no other
     advantage to be gained, it will attract so much notice. I
     shall bring the matter into the medical journals; why, I’ll
     venture to say in ten years’ time one-third the classes
     in our colleges will consist of women. After the precedent
     you will have established, people’s eyes will be opened.’

     Now, all this kind feeling encourages me greatly, and I need
     it; for though my purpose has never wavered, a flat, heavy
     feeling was growing upon me from constant disappointment.
     I was fast losing that spring of hope that is so pleasant;
     consequently praise cannot make me vain, and the notice I
     attract is a matter of perfect indifference. I sit quietly
     in this large assemblage of young men, and they might be
     women or mummies for aught I care. I sometimes think I’m
     too much disciplined, but it is certainly necessary for the
     position I occupy. I believe the professors don’t exactly
     know in what species of the human family to place me, and
     the students are a little bewildered. The other people at
     first regarded me with suspicion, but I am so quiet and
     gentle that suspicion turns to astonishment, and even the
     little boys in the street stand still and stare as I pass.
     ’Tis droll; sometimes I laugh, sometimes I feel a little
     sad, but in Geneva the nine days’ wonder soon will cease,
     and I cannot but congratulate myself on having found at
     last the right place for my beginning.

I had not the slightest idea of the commotion created by my appearance
as a medical student in the little town. Very slowly I perceived that
a doctor’s wife at the table avoided any communication with me, and
that as I walked backwards and forwards to college the ladies stopped
to stare at me, as at a curious animal. I afterwards found that I
had so shocked Geneva propriety that the theory was fully established
either that I was a bad woman, whose designs would gradually become
evident, or that, being insane, an outbreak of insanity would soon
be apparent. Feeling the unfriendliness of the people, though quite
unaware of all this gossip, I never walked abroad, but hastening
daily to my college as to a sure refuge, I knew when I shut the great
doors behind me that I shut out all unkindly criticism, and I soon
felt perfectly at home amongst my fellow-students.

The following extracts from my journal of those days show how any
early difficulties were successfully overcome:—

     _November 9._—My first happy day; I feel really encouraged.
     The little fat Professor of Anatomy is a capital fellow;
     certainly I shall love fat men more than lean ones
     henceforth. He gave just the go-ahead directing impulse
     needful; he will afford me every advantage, and says I shall
     graduate with _éclat_. Then, too, I am glad that they like
     the notoriety of the thing, and think it a good ‘spec.’

     _November 10._—Attended the demonstrator’s evening
     lecture—very clear—how superior to books! Oh, this is the
     way to learn! The class behaves very well; and people seem
     all to grow kind.

     _November 11._—Anatomy very interesting to-day; two admirable
     demonstrations. Dr. Webster, full of enthusiasm, told us of
     Godman, who was converted to phrenology by reading a work
     against it, in order to cut it up.

     _November 15._—To-day, a second operation at which I was
     not allowed to be present. This annoys me. I was quite
     saddened and discouraged by Dr. Webster requesting me to
     be absent from some of his demonstrations. I don’t believe
     it is his wish. I wrote to him hoping to change things.

     _November 17._—Dr. Webster seemed much pleased with my
     note, and quite cheered me by his wish to read it to the
     class to-morrow, saying if they were all actuated by such
     sentiments the medical class at Geneva would be a very
     noble one. He could hardly guess how much I needed a little
     praise. I have no fear of the kind students.

     _November 20._—In the amphitheatre yesterday a little folded
     paper dropped on my arms as I was making notes; it looked
     very much as if there were writing in it, but I shook it off
     and went on quietly with my notes. Some after-demonstration
     of a similar kind produced a hiss from the opposite side
     of the room. I felt also a very light touch on my head,
     but I guess my quiet manner will soon stop any nonsense.

     _November 22._—A trying day, and I feel almost worn out,
     though it was encouraging too, and in some measure a triumph;
     but ’tis a terrible ordeal! That dissection was just as
     much as I could bear. Some of the students blushed, some
     were hysterical, not one could keep in a smile, and some
     who I am sure would not hurt my feelings for the world
     if it depended on them, held down their faces and shook.
     My delicacy was certainly shocked, and yet the exhibition
     was in some sense ludicrous. I had to pinch my hand till
     the blood nearly came, and call on Christ to help me from
     smiling, for that would have ruined everything; but I sat
     in grave indifference, though the effort made my heart
     palpitate most painfully. Dr. Webster, who had perhaps the
     most trying position, behaved admirably.

     _November 24._—To-day the Doctor read my note to the class.
     In this note I told him that I was there as a student with
     an earnest purpose, and as a student simply I should be
     regarded; that the study of anatomy was a most serious one,
     exciting profound reverence, and the suggestion to absent
     myself from any lectures seemed to me a grave mistake. I did
     not wish to do so, but would yield to any wish of the class
     without hesitation, if it _was_ their desire. I stayed in
     the ante-room whilst the note was being read. I listened
     joyfully to the very hearty approbation with which it was
     received by the class, and then entered the amphitheatre
     and quietly resumed my place. The Doctor told me he felt
     quite relieved.

No further difficulty ever afterwards occurred.

     _December 4._—Dr. Webster sent for me to examine a case
     of a poor woman at his rooms. ’Twas a horrible exposure;
     indecent for any poor woman to be subjected to such a
     torture; she seemed to feel it, poor and ignorant as she
     was. I felt more than ever the necessity of my mission.
     But I went home out of spirits, I hardly know why. I felt
     alone. I must work by myself all life long.

     _Christmas Day._—Bright and gay with sleighs. The lake
     looks most beautiful, the mist rising from it in arches,
     the sky a brilliant blue, and the ground covered with snow.
     I received my Christmas Annual with great joy; and having
     purchased 25 cents’ worth of almonds and raisins, I had
     quite a cosy time reading it.

     _Sunday, January 16._—A most beautiful day; it did me good.
     The text impressed itself on me—‘Thou wilt keep him in
     perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee.’ I felt happy
     and blessed. Ah! if the Almighty would always shine on me,
     how strong I should be! ‘The Lord God is a sun and shield;
     the Lord will give grace and glory; no good thing will He
     withhold from them that walk uprightly.’

The behaviour of the medical class during the two years that I was with
them was admirable. It was that of true Christian gentlemen. I learned
later that some of them had been inclined to think my application for
admission a hoax, perpetrated at their expense by a rival college.
But when the _bona-fide_ student actually appeared they gave her a
manly welcome, and fulfilled to the letter the promise contained in
their invitation.

My place in the various lecture-rooms was always kept for me, and I
was never in any way molested. Walking down the crowded amphitheatre
after the class was seated, no notice was taken of me. Whilst the
class waited in one of the large lecture-rooms for the Professor of
Practice, groups of the wilder students gathered at the windows,
which overlooked the grounds of a large normal school for young
ladies. The pupils of this institution knew the hour of this lecture,
and gathered at their windows for a little fun. Here, peeping from
behind the blinds, they responded to the jests and hurrahs of the
students. ‘See the one in pink!’ ‘No, look at the one with a blue
tie; she has a note,’ &c.—fun suddenly hushed by the entrance of the
Professor. Meanwhile I had quietly looked over my notes in the seat
always reserved for me, entirely undisturbed by the frolic going on
at the windows.

My studies in anatomy were most thoughtfully arranged by Dr. Le Ford,
who selected four of the steadier students to work with me in the
private room of the surgical professor, adjoining the amphitheatre.
There we worked evening after evening in the most friendly way, and
I gained curious glimpses into the escapades of student life. Being
several years older than my companions, they treated me like an elder
sister, and talked freely together, feeling my friendly sympathy.

Under the intelligent instruction of the demonstrator anatomy became a
most fascinating study. The wonderful arrangements of the human body
excited an interest and admiration which simply obliterated the more
superficial feelings of repugnance; and I passed hour after hour at
night alone in the college, tracing out the ramification of parts,
until, suddenly struck by the intense stillness around, I found that
it was nearly midnight, and the rest of the little town asleep.

I was equally amazed and shocked some years later, after dining with
Mr. Walsh, the American Consul in Paris, to learn that he had remarked
that he could not look at my long slender fingers without thinking
of the anatomical work in which they had been engaged.

As the term drew to its end there was regret at parting from friends I
had made, and also anxiety from the uncertainties that still attended
my future course. These feelings are expressed in my journal:—

     _January 21._—I felt sad when the lectures actually closed. I
     received a curious friendly letter from one of the students,
     requesting the honour of an occasional correspondence. It
     cheered me, funny as it was. Another student told me he had
     a daguerreotype-room, and asked me to sit for my likeness
     to-morrow; but I told him it had annoyed me so much to see
     my name in the papers that I certainly could not give my
     face too.[3] He said he had thought of graduating in August,
     but now he was glad he had not, as I intended returning to
     Geneva—too funny!

     _January 24._—Went to Dr. Hadley for my certificate; and
     attended the examinations. I suppose they were as thorough
     as most; but they were certainly not much of a test. Most
     of the students answered very well, but some very badly.

     Miss Waller gave me an oyster supper and we had a very
     pleasant time. Mrs. Wilson convulsed us by an account of
     how she was actually struck down by the sudden braying of a
     jackass, which she heard for the first time during a visit
     to the North, she never having heard the bray before.

     _January 25._—Attended Commencement (or ceremony of
     graduation), which after all was not so very formidable.
     When I went to wish Dr. Hadley good-bye I found the whole
     faculty assembled, and very merry at breaking up. They
     talked over my affairs, but gave me no important advice.
     To my great disappointment no letters of introduction were
     prepared for me, but only a promise given that they should
     be sent on at once. I was very sad at parting from the
     Wallers; but had a pleasant chat with the students whom I
     found in the railroad cars.

Passing through New York, where I dined with my kind preceptor, Dr.
S. H. Dickson, and his wife, then living in the town, I returned to
Philadelphia to try and arrange for summer study. Whilst seeking
medical opportunities I again stayed in Dr. Elder’s family, and
endeavoured to increase my slender finances by disposing of some
stories I had written, and by obtaining music pupils.

Knowing very little of practical medicine, I finally decided to spend
the summer, if possible, studying in the hospital wards of the great
Blockley Almshouse of Philadelphia. This enormous institution promised
a fine field of observation. I obtained a letter of introduction to
Mr. Gilpin, one of the directors of the almshouse.

He received me most kindly, but informed me that the institution was
so dominated by party feeling that if he, as a Whig, should bring
forward my application for admission, it would be inevitably opposed
by the other two parties—viz. the Democrats and the Native Americans.
He said that my only chance of admission lay in securing the support
of each of those parties, without referring in any way to the other
rival parties. I accordingly undertook my sole act of ‘lobbying.’ I
interviewed each political leader with favourable results, and then
sent in my petition to the first Board meeting—when, lo! a unique
scene took place; all were prepared to fight in my behalf, but there
was no one to fight! I was unanimously admitted to reside in the
hospital. This unanimity, I was afterwards assured, was quite without
precedent in the records of the institution.

On entering the Blockley Almshouse, a large room on the third floor
had been appropriated to my use. It was in the women’s syphilitic
department, the most unruly part of the institution. It was thought
that my residence there might act as a check on the very disorderly
inmates. My presence was a mystery to these poor creatures. I used to
hear stealthy steps approach and pause at my door, evidently curious to
know what I was about. So I placed my table with the books and papers
on which I was engaged directly in a line with the keyhole; and there
I worked in view of any who chose to investigate the proceedings of
the mysterious stranger. The following home letter gives a glimpse
of the Blockley life:—

                                                            August.

     DEAR MOTHER,—Do not fear for me. I go on smoothly and
     healthily at Blockley; there is really nothing pestilential
     amongst the diseases, and I live simply, do my duty, trust
     in God, and mock at the devil! The matron is the only lady
     in the establishment (present company excepted), and I
     frequently step in to see her. She wears a nice white cap,
     has smooth grey hair, and soft dove’s eyes like yours, and I
     sometimes look at her and think of you till her loud voice
     breaks forth in fierce scolding, and then I think of Mrs.
     Beelzebub. She sits in an immense room, in the centre of
     the almshouse proper, and ensconced in her armchair, with
     feet propped on a velvet footstool, she dispenses orders
     from morning to night, gives out clothing, raves at the
     paupers, and dooms the refractory ones to a shower-bath.
     She is a Quaker—very pious, I believe—attends yearly meeting
     regularly, and has an Episcopal minister for her only son;
     she is one of the ‘strong-minded women,’ and manages matters
     to the entire satisfaction of the committee. I like to talk
     with her occasionally, for she is shrewd and has seen much
     of life through dark spectacles.

     What a contrast she is to our head physician! When I first
     saw Dr. Benedict I thought him the very loveliest man the
     Almighty ever created, and I still preserve my opinion;
     the tears come into his eyes as he bends down to soothe
     some dying woman, and his voice is as gentle, his touch as
     kind to each patient as if she were his sister. Then he is
     as truthful, energetic, and spirited as he is kind, so, of
     course, we are very good friends, though we don’t see much
     of each other.

     I often send a thought to Cincinnati as I roam through the
     wards and imagine our contrasted employments; all letters
     unite in calling you the best, the most cheerful, most
     indefatigable mother that ever did exist. ‘All her daughters
     praise her, and her sons call her blessed.’ How I wish you
     could pay me another visit this summer! Well, dear mother,
     Heaven bless you—write to me sometime.

                                          Your loving physician, E.

At that time, and for many years after, the subject which those
wards where I lived represented was an unknown problem to me. I was
strangely ignorant of the extent and meaning of that phase of our
human society which represents the selfish relations of men and women.
This semi-blindness, however, proved a real safeguard to me through
the many unusual experiences of my subsequent life. It was not until
1869, when attending the Social Science Congress in Bristol, that my
mind at last fully comprehended the hideousness of modern fornication.

But my residence at Blockley prepared my mind to some extent for
later revelations, as is shown by entries in my journal:—

     _June 22._—I had a long talk with Nurse Welch, on the
     patients in her departments, which impressed me deeply. Most
     of the women are unmarried, a large proportion having lived
     at service and been seduced by their masters, though, on
     the whole, about as many seducers are unmarried as married;
     I found no instance of a married woman living with her
     husband entering.

     This morning one young woman tried to escape from Blockley
     by tying sheets together and fastening them outside the
     window bars, but they giving way, she fell down from the
     third storey, and was picked up suffering from concussion
     of the brain and other injuries. All this is horrible!
     Women must really open their eyes to it. I am convinced
     that _they_ must regulate this matter. But how?

     _August 17._—Drank tea with the matron, and had a very
     pleasant time. She excites me, and I influence her. She
     actually apologised to me for her rough and tyrannical
     treatment of one of the women.

     _August 19._—A beautiful thought came to me this lovely
     morning. Emerson says, ‘Our faith comes to us in moments,
     our vice is habitual.’ I never till now could explain
     this to my satisfaction. It is that the atmosphere of our
     society, of our daily surroundings, is false; it attracts
     the demons, they encompass us continually, for we live in
     their home. The angels have to strive to come to us. But
     when by a holy inspiration, or an effort of man’s nobler
     nature, he rises to a purer sphere, then the angels throng
     lovingly round him: he breathes the Divine life. But the
     moment this effort is relaxed, he, not living in a heavenly
     atmosphere, naturally and inevitably sinks again into hell,
     because his present home is there—for he cannot separate
     himself from the race. Not till the _race_ is redeemed will
     our habitual state be heavenly, and the true spontaneous
     Divine life be possible. This is the philosophy of effort.
     The solidarity of our race asserts the impossibility of
     present permanent Divine life. Bless God for our deep
     momentary experiences—our prophetic assurances! This sweet
     morning refreshes me inexpressibly. The wind that lifts my
     hair seems filled with angel hands that soothe the soul to
     peace; that little warbling bird fills me with holy joy;
     a glory seems to rest everywhere, a tide from the Divine
     Nature.

During my residence at Blockley, the medical head of the hospital, Dr.
Benedict, was most kind, and gave me every facility in his power. I
had free entry to all the women’s wards, and was soon on good terms
with the nurses. But the young resident physicians, unlike their
chief, were not friendly. When I walked into the wards they walked
out. They ceased to write the diagnosis and treatment of patients on
the card at the head of each bed, which had hitherto been the custom,
thus throwing me entirely on my own resources for clinical study.

During the summer of 1848 the famine fever was raging in Ireland.
Multitudes of emigrants were attacked with fever whilst crossing the
ocean, and so many were brought to Blockley that it was difficult to
provide accommodation for them, many being laid on beds on the floor.
But this terrible epidemic furnished an impressive object-lesson,
and I chose this form of typhus as the subject of my graduation
thesis, studying in the midst of the poor dying sufferers who crowded
the hospital wards. I read my thesis to Dr. Elder, and was greatly
encouraged by his hearty approbation.

Trying as my painful residence at Blockley had been both to body
and mind, I was conscious of the great gain in medical knowledge and
worldly experience which it had afforded. The following journal entry
expresses the mixed feelings with which that strange residence was
left:—

     _September 22._—My last evening at Blockley. Here I
     sit writing by my first fire. How glad I am, to-morrow,
     to-morrow, I go home to my friends! And yet as I watched
     the beautiful sunset from my great windows, as little Mary
     Ann pays her willing attendance, and all seems so friendly;
     as I walked to Dr. Benedict’s with my thesis, and felt the
     entrancing day and the lovely country, I _almost_ regretted
     that I was going to leave. Heaven guide me! May good spirits
     ever surround me!

At the end of the summer I gladly returned to the healthy and
hopeful college life at Geneva. Passing through New York, where I
saw Dr. Dickson and his family and heard Henry Ward Beecher preach,
I reached my winter’s home on October 3, reported myself at college,
met everywhere a kind welcome, and settled down for winter work. The
clever demonstrator again afforded me his valuable aid in anatomy, and
the friendliness of the class continued. Sometimes, whilst sitting
by the Doctor during some delicate demonstration of the brain, the
students who were crowding round, standing on chairs, leaning on one
another’s shoulders, kept most respectfully from me, drawing back
instantly when by accident they touched my head or shoulder.[4]

     _October 26._—The class held a meeting to-day to request
     a holiday on election day; and a political division was
     called for by the assembled students. I went over to the
     ‘Free Soil’ side, and was received with repeated cheering.
     I asked Dr. Le Ford, reproachfully, if he was going to
     vote for the slave-holder, Taylor; whereupon he gave me
     his reasons for political action, and grew quite eloquent
     in his self-defence.

     _November 12._—Howy made his appearance to-day, just as I
     settled down to perpetrate an essay for the family Christmas
     Annual. How good it is to see a brother! He looked very
     well, and we had a merry time together. I stayed away from
     afternoon lectures to be with him. He is a capital companion
     and greatly improved. I did more laughing than I’ve done
     for months. His visit did me real good, for I have been so
     lonely. Heaven bless the dear boy in his future!

     _Sunday, 19th._—Alone all day in my room, yet anything but
     lonely. Bright visions of usefulness have been floating
     round me. I consecrated myself anew to the accomplishment
     of a great idea. I tried to lecture for an hour to an
     imaginary audience; striving to prepare for work by seeking
     expression for my thoughts.

     I would I were not so exclusively a doer; speech seems
     essential to the reformer, but mine is at present a very
     stammering, childish utterance.

     _26th._—Went to church. Mr. Hogarth said some true things.
     He drew our thoughts to the reformers of old, with their
     sublime trust in the Most High. With a strange feeling of
     pleasure I claimed kindred with Asa, King of Judah, who
     broke the idols of the people and overcame the hosts of
     the Ethiopians.

     _November 30._—Our evening lecture broke up in a political
     Hurrah! for a Whig orator and John Van Buren were both
     speaking in the town, and the students rushed to attend
     the political meetings. I again discussed the subject with
     Dr. Le Ford; he justifying himself enthusiastically for
     being a Whig. He talked well, but I grew tired of those
     old expediences.

By this time the genuine character of my medical studies was fully
established.

Had I been at leisure to seek social acquaintance, I might have
been cordially welcomed. But my time was anxiously and engrossingly
occupied with studies and the approaching examinations. I lived in
my room and my college, and the outside world made little impression
on me.


_Extracts from the Journal._

     _December 22._—The deepest snow I have seen for years. It
     was as much as I could do to walk to college; but all was
     pleasant, the class seem so very friendly. One set me a
     chair, another spoke so pleasantly, and I had several little
     friendly chats. How little they know my sensitiveness to
     these trifling tokens! The unusual weather, an alarm of fire,
     Dr. Webster’s arrival, were so many points for sociability.

     _December 31._—The New Year’s Eve. Alone, as usual, I
     spent the day; at night, as I watched the last moments of
     the year slowly depart, a deep solemnity came over me—a
     hopeless sorrow for poor humanity. I seemed to hear the
     heavy resounding bell of time, tolling mournfully the dying
     year, whilst angels with covered faces, and forms that
     bent with sorrow, waited to receive the finishing scroll
     of the world’s existence, that the fearful record guarded
     in darkness and silence might at last be unrolled in the
     terrible light of eternity!

     _January 1._—Stayed quietly in my room, whilst the merry
     sleigh-bells and gay voices rang without.

     _11th._—I called to see the pretty blind girl operated on
     this morning; she was all alone in the hotel, her friends
     far away. Poor child! she has no protector, within or
     without; she asked me who the student was that brought her
     home, when college would be out, &c.; her simple heart and
     idle fancy are soon caught. Such are the women I long to
     surround with my stronger arm. Alas! how almost hopeless
     does the task seem! But God is omnipotent.

     _January 19._—Dear M.,—I sit down to try and quiet myself by
     writing to you for this morning. I, as first on the list of
     candidates, passed through the usual examinations, presented
     my certificates, received the testimony of satisfaction from
     the faculty, whose recommendation will procure me the diploma
     next Tuesday. Now, though the examinations were not very
     formidable, still the anxiety and effort were as great as
     if everything were at stake, and when I came from the room
     and joined the other candidates who were anxiously awaiting
     their turn, my face burned, my whole being was excited, but
     a great load was lifted from my mind. The students received
     me with applause—they all seem to like me, and I believe
     I shall receive my degree with their united approval; a
     generous and chivalric feeling having conquered any little
     feelings of jealousy. I often feel when I am with them how
     beautiful the relations of man and woman might be under a
     truer development of character, in nobler circumstances. I
     do not know the moral character of any one of our students,
     for I have no genius for hunting up the darker parts of
     a person’s soul; but I know that Geneva is a very immoral
     place, the lower classes of women being often worthless,
     the higher ones fastidious and exclusive, so that there is
     no healthy blending of the sexes. But notwithstanding the
     bad associations in which they may have been brought up, I
     have never had any difficulty in giving the right tone to
     our intercourse. I am more convinced than ever that Fourier
     is right in placing this matter in the hands of women, and
     my hope rises when I find that the inner heart of the human
     being may still remain pure, notwithstanding some corruption
     of the outer coverings. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you
     how deep this matter of licentiousness has gradually sunk
     into my soul, and that the determination to wage a war of
     extermination with it strengthens continually, and the hope
     of gaining power and experience to do it worthily is one
     of my strongest supports in action. So help me God, I will
     not be blind, indifferent, or stupid in relation to this
     matter, as are most women. I feel specially called to act
     in this reform when I have gained wisdom for the task; the
     world can never be redeemed till this central relation of
     life is placed on a truer footing.

     But I meant to talk to you about the cholera. Our physicians
     confessedly cannot cure it. The Professor who lectured upon
     it yesterday commenced: ‘Gentlemen, I wish I could tell you
     how to cure the cholera, but under all modes of treatment
     the mortality seems to be the same; however, I will tell
     you something of the disease, and what I would do if called
     to a case.’

The cordial relations with Professor and students continued. Throughout
the examination time the most friendly interest was felt in my success
by my fellow-students. One of my brothers came on to Geneva to attend
my graduation. Being personally a stranger to the students, he was
much amused by the free indications of friendly comradeship which
he overheard. The ceremony of conferring the full and equal diploma
of Doctor of Medicine upon a woman excited much interest in the
neighbourhood. It was held in the large Presbyterian Church, which,
with its ample galleries, was crowded in every part with spectators.
The other students walked in procession from the college to the church,
but I went up with my brother and took my seat in the side aisle.


_Extracts from the Journal of 1849._

     _January 22._—Our examinations came off successfully.
     Hurrah,’tis almost over!

     _Tuesday, January 23, 1849._—The day, the grand day, is
     nearly finished; and now whilst visitors are dropping in I
     must record my first entrance into public life—’twas bright
     and beautiful and very gratifying. Great curiosity was felt.
     As I entered and sat in the church I gave one thought to
     friends, and then thought only of the Holy One. After the
     degree had been conferred on the others, I was called up
     alone to the platform. The President, in full academical
     costume, rose as I came on the stage, and, going through
     the usual formula of a short Latin address, presented me
     my diploma. I said: ‘Sir, I thank you; it shall be the
     effort of my life, with the help of the Most High, to shed
     honour on my diploma.’ The audience applauded, but their
     presence was little to me. I was filled with a sense of the
     grandeur of a holy life, with high resolves for the future.
     As I came down, George Field opened the door of the front
     row, and I was much touched by the graduates making room
     for me, and insisting that I should sit with them for the
     remainder of the exercises. Most gladly I obeyed the friendly
     invitation, feeling more thoroughly at home in the midst
     of these true-hearted young men than anywhere else in the
     town. I heard little of what was said; my whole soul was
     absorbed in heavenly communion. I felt the angels around
     me. Dr. Lee gave the valedictory address; he surprised me
     by the strong and beautiful way in which he alluded to the
     event. I felt encouraged, strengthened to be greatly good.
     As I stood at the door the faculty all most kindly wished
     me good-bye, and Dr. Hale and Bishop De Lancy shook hands
     and congratulated me. All the ladies collected in the entry,
     and let me pass between their ranks; and several spoke to
     me most kindly.

     For the next few hours, before I left by train, my room was
     thronged by visitors. I was glad of the sudden conversion
     thus shown, but my past experience had given me a useful
     and permanent lesson at the outset of life as to the very
     shallow nature of popularity.

The following letter, written by a younger brother who came to be
with me on this important occasion, gives some interesting as well
as amusing details of the event:—

                                          Geneva: January 23, 1849.

     BELOVED RELATIONS.—The important crisis is past, the great
     occasion over, the object of so much and so justifiable
     anticipation has been attained, and proud as I always
     feel of the Blackwells, my familism never seemed to me so
     reasonable and so perfectly a matter of course as it did this
     morning, when, having escorted E. into the crowded church
     and taken my seat beside her, we learned from the music
     that the graduating class, headed by the dean, trustees,
     faculty, &c., were marching in solemn conclave into the
     aisle. I found E. well and in good spirits, as you may
     suppose. Monday morning E. and I went to the college, where
     she underwent a second examination, as did also the other
     members of the graduating class, from the curators of the
     university, no others but themselves, the class, and the
     faculty being admitted. From this, as from the former one,
     our Sis came off with flying colours and the reputation of
     being altogether the leader of the class. In the afternoon
     they were successively called upon to read from their
     theses, and to this I was admitted; but Elizabeth’s being
     in Buffalo to be printed, she could not be called upon.
     The Professor and students all seem to feel most kindly
     and warmly friendly. While I sat by the stove on Monday
     morning at the college whilst the graduating class were
     undergoing their examination below, the other students,
     scarcely any of them being acquainted with my personality,
     conversed freely about matters and things, and of course
     about Elizabeth. ‘Well, boys,’ one would say, ‘our Elib.
     feels first-rate this morning. Do you notice how pleased
     she looks?’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ replied another, ‘and I think
     she well may after the examination she passed yesterday.’
     ‘So Lizzie will get her diploma after all,’ said a third.
     ‘If any member of the class gets one, _she_ is sure of
     it,’ said a fourth. Then all agreed that ‘our Elib.’ was ‘a
     great girl,’ and in short I found that she was a universal
     favourite with both professors and students. Nothing could
     be more cordial than the former are, and several are very
     gentlemanly and intelligent men indeed, and I formed some
     pleasant acquaintances among them.

     On the morning of the Commencement little Dr. Webster was _in
     his glory_; he is a warm supporter of Elizabeth and likes
     a fuss, and nothing could exceed his delight when he found
     that the whole country round was sending in large numbers
     of people, and that all the ladies of Geneva were turning
     out _en masse_ to see a lady receive a medical diploma.
     At ten o’clock A.M. the students met at the college and
     marched in procession with music to the Literary College,
     where they were headed by the Bishop of New York, Dr. Hale,
     the dean, and the curators, the faculty, &c. Dr. Webster
     was very anxious that E. should march in procession, and
     sent down two messages to that effect; but E. very properly
     refused. About half-past ten o’clock Elizabeth and I walked
     up to the church—she was very nicely dressed in her black
     brocaded silk gown, _invisibly green_ gloves, black silk
     stockings, &c. As we ascended the college steps, Dr. Webster
     met Eliz. and again urged the request, whereupon she told him
     peremptorily that ‘it wouldn’t be ladylike.’ ‘Wouldn’t it
     indeed? Why, no, I forgot—I suppose it wouldn’t,’ said the
     little Doctor, evidently struck for the first time with the
     idea. So it was arranged that Eliz. and I should sit down
     at the entrance of the left aisle and join the procession
     as it came up, and we then walked in and sat down. We found
     the church, galleries and all, _crowded with ladies_, they
     only having been as yet admitted; and of course when we
     came in there was a general stir and murmur, and everybody
     turned to look at us. By the time the procession came up,
     all the pews, except those reserved for students, were
     filled, and the gentlemen had to pour in afterwards and take
     the aisles, &c. When the procession entered, Mr. Field,
     a very pleasant, gentlemanly fellow-graduate, offered his
     arm, and all the class took their seats together in front
     of the stage. After a short discourse by Dr. Hale, the
     President, the diplomas were conferred—four being called
     up at a time—and, ascending the steps to the platform, the
     President, addressed them in a Latin formula, taking off
     his hat, but remaining seated, and so handed them their
     diplomas, which they received with a bow and retired.
     Elizabeth was left to the last and called up alone. The
     President taking off his hat, rose, and addressing her in the
     same formula, substituting _Domina_ for _Domine_, presented
     her the diploma, whereupon our Sis, who had walked up and
     stood before him with much dignity, bowed and half turned to
     retire, but suddenly turning back replied: ‘Sir, I thank you;
     by the help of the Most High it shall be the effort of my
     life to shed honour upon your diploma;’ whereupon she bowed
     and the President bowed, the audience gave manifestations of
     applause, little Dr. Webster rubbed his hands, the learned
     curators and faculty nodded grave approbation at each other
     upon the platform, and our Sis, descending the steps, took
     her seat with her fellow-physicians in front. Now walks up
     into the pulpit Professor Lee, with a large manuscript and
     a solemn air, and commences his address to the graduates.
     It was on the whole good; he gave it pretty strong to
     Homœopathists, Hydropathists, Mesmerists, Thompsonians,
     &c., and gave the ladies of the audience quite a lecture
     for their encouragement and circulation of quack medicines,
     informing them that they had better study a little the
     principles of medicine before attempting to practise what
     they were so profoundly ignorant about. At the close he
     alluded to the novel proceeding which they had taken, and
     the censure or imitation which it would necessarily create.
     He justified the proceeding, and passed a most gratifying
     and enthusiastic encomium on the result of the experiment
     in the case of Eliz. He pronounced her the _leader_ of
     her class; stated that she had passed through a thorough
     course _in every department_, slighting none; that she had
     profited to the very utmost by all the advantages of the
     institution, and by her ladylike and dignified deportment
     had proved that the strongest intellect and nerve and the
     most untiring perseverance were compatible with the softest
     attributes of feminine delicacy and grace, &c., to all
     which the students manifest by decided attempts at applause
     their entire concurrence. As the audience passed out the
     Bishop came up with Dr. Hale, requested an introduction, and
     spoke very pleasantly, congratulating her on her course, to
     the great astonishment of the conservatives. As we walked
     out of the church we found that almost all the ladies had
     stopped outside, and as we appeared, opened their ranks and
     let us pass, regarding E. with very friendly countenances.
     Most of E.’s time was taken up till our departure next day
     at half-past one o’clock in receiving calls from her few
     friends.

The admission of a woman for the first time to a complete medical
education and full equality in the privileges and the responsibilities
of the profession produced a widespread effect in America. The public
press very generally recorded the event, and expressed a favourable
opinion of it.

Even in Europe some notice of it was taken, and ‘Punch’ showed his
cordial appreciation by his amusing but friendly verses.[5]

I knew, however, that a first step only had been taken. Although
popular sanction had been gained for the innovation, and a full
recognised status secured, yet much more medical experience than I
possessed was needed before the serious responsibilities of practice
could be justly met. Returning, therefore, to Philadelphia, I
endeavoured still to continue my studies. I was politely received by
the heads of the profession in Philadelphia as a professional sister,
and made the following notes in a journal of that date:—

     _March 6._—A morning of great gratification; welcomed
     cordially to the university, and afterwards heard Doctors
     Jackson, Hodges, Gibson, Chapman, and Horner lecture. Drs.
     Lee and Ford were with me, the former quite in spirits at
     my reception.

     _March 10._—Heard Dr. Williamson lecture and received
     his ticket. Visited the Pennsylvania Hospital, Dr. Levich
     showing me over it; admired the gallery with its alcoves
     and the excellent ventilation. I heard Professor Agassiz
     last night. He has just commenced a course of lectures
     on the animal world; his manner was simple and earnest,
     and the principle he laid down will render his course of
     lectures very interesting if he develop them fully. I am
     also rubbing up my French, which may be very important to
     me.

The following letter is characteristic of that period of life:—

                                                       February 25.

     MY DEAR MOTHER.—You sent me a dear, good, welcome letter,
     and I kiss you heartily for all its affection and sympathy
     in my eccentric course. I did not miss out, either, any
     of the pious parts, but I do think, mother mine, that it
     is a little hard that you will not believe me when I tell
     you so seriously that my soul is doing first-rate. You
     urge upon me the importance of religion—why, bless the
     dear mother, what am I doing else but living religion all
     the time? Isn’t it my meat and my drink to do the good
     will of God; didn’t I use to sit in the lecture-room and
     send up a whole cannonade of little prayers; and didn’t a
     whole flood of answers come straight down from the throne
     of grace? And what am I doing now? Do you think I care
     about medicine? Nay, verily, it’s just to kill the devil,
     whom I hate so heartily—that’s the fact, mother; and if
     that isn’t forming Christ in one, the hope of Glory, why,
     I don’t know what is. So pray comfort yourself, and have
     faith that such a ‘child of many prayers’ will be fixed
     up all straight at last.... I live in a good society, the
     fellowship of hard-workers, for however little the result
     of my actions may be, I have the strengthening conviction
     that my aim is right, and that I, too, am working after
     my little fashion for the redemption of mankind. I agree
     with you fully in distrusting the ‘Harbinger,’ and should
     certainly banish it from my centre table if I had risen to
     the dignity of possessing one. I dislike their discussions,
     and their way of discussing some subjects. I think them
     calculated to do a great deal of mischief, and am only
     consoled by the reflection that few people read them. I go
     in whole-souledly for the Divine marriage institution, and
     shall always support it by precept, and as soon as I get
     the chance by example too, and all those who would upset it
     I consider fools and infidels. I think Associationists too
     often a very poor set of people, and if they would commence
     by reforming themselves, and let the Almighty take care of
     the world, I think they would be much better employed. As
     to the infidel French philosophy you talk of, it is just
     twaddle, which I should instantly reject if anybody were to
     stuff it into me. I am now longing to be at work abroad,
     where I might spend my time much more profitably—but I do
     want greatly to see you all again. How long it is since I
     was at home!—more than five years, I think. I cannot consent
     to become a stranger to the _Geschwistern_, and W. and E.
     & E. seem almost unknown. Good-bye, dear mother. I shall
     see you soon, and then you will be able to read me sermons
     to your heart’s content.—Your M. D.

I felt, however, keenly the need of much wider opportunities for study
than were open to women in America. Whilst considering this problem I
received an invitation from one of my cousins, then visiting America,
to return with him to England, and endeavour to spend some time in
European study before engaging in practice in America. This valuable
offer was joyfully accepted, and I prepared for a journey to Europe,
first of all paying a short farewell visit to my family in Cincinnati.


_Extracts from the Journal._

     _April 5._—How kind and good and glad to see me they all
     were! I walked out with S. and met them all. G. had quite
     grown out of my knowledge. I am very glad to have spent
     this fortnight at home. We had general and private talks
     without end.

     _April 7._—They all came down to see me off. They stood on
     the adjoining boat as we sailed away up the river, mother
     leaning on S., the three sisters on one side, H. and G. on
     the other, all hearts in sympathy. I could not keep down
     the tears as I caught the last glimpse of those dear, true
     ones.

Travelling East, I joined my cousin in Boston, whence we sailed for
Liverpool.


_Extracts from the Journal._

     _April 18._—Dear Mr. Channing was with me till I left. His
     medical uncle, Dr. Channing, also came to see me. I never
     met my old friend more fully; he regretted deeply this
     flying visit, which disappointed him in the talks he had
     planned. Beautiful Boston Bay vanished in the distance.
     America, that land of memories, was left far behind. I took
     to my berth and lay there in misery five days and nights.
     How I loathe the ship!




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!




CHAPTER V

PRACTICAL WORK IN AMERICA


The first seven years of New York life were years of very difficult,
though steady, uphill work. It was carried on without cessation and
without change from town, either summer or winter. I took good rooms
in University Place, but patients came very slowly to consult me. I
had no medical companionship, the profession stood aloof, and society
was distrustful of the innovation. Insolent letters occasionally came
by post, and my pecuniary position was a source of constant anxiety.

Soon after settling down I made an application to be received as one of
the physicians in the women’s department of a large City dispensary;
but the application was refused, and I was advised to form my own
dispensary.

My keenest pleasure in those early days came from the encouraging
letters received from the many valued English friends who extended
across the ocean the warm sympathy they had shown in London. They
strengthened that feeling of kinship to my native land which finally
drew me back to it.

A correspondence with Lady Byron, which extended over some years, was
particularly encouraging; for the strong scientific tastes of this
admirable woman, as well as her large benevolence, led her to take
a steady interest in the study of medicine by women.

The following is a characteristic letter from this valued friend:—

                                        Brighton: December 9, 1851.

     I received your letter some days ago, and have ever since
     longed to write to you. The business which has chiefly
     prevented me is of a nature to interest you. A conference,
     originating with Miss Carpenter, is to be held at Birmingham
     to-morrow between chaplains, governors of gaols, magistrates,
     and a few ladies on the means of saving the young from
     sin and reforming them after its commission. I could not
     attend, and perhaps can render as much service in absence,
     indirectly. Miss Murray, Mr. Rathbone of Liverpool, Mrs.
     Jameson, and Miss Montgomery will be present.

     The subject of this letter is to be the magnetoscope.
     The pamphlet by Mr. Rutter shall be sent you. Since its
     publication new discoveries have been made and amply
     tested, and of these I will try to give you some account.
     One objection received as conclusive against the reality
     of the magnetic influence from the operator was that the
     motions of the pendulum suspended from the instrument were
     produced solely by unconscious muscular movement on the
     part of the operator. Although to engineers and persons
     acquainted with the laws of motion this rotation of the
     pendulum in the instrument appeared to be a strange new
     mechanical power, yet the Royal College of Physicians and the
     ‘Lancet’ decreed that it should be explained by involuntary
     muscular movement, and one M.D. of eminence wrote a letter
     to me implying that believers in the magnetoscope were to
     be classed with Mormons.

     It has since been proved beyond a doubt by Mr. Rutter that
     the touch of the poles of a magnet or crystal to the spot
     before touched by the hand will be followed by movements
     exactly similar, the rotation being from east to west or
     from west to east, according as the north or south pole
     of the crystal is directed to the spot. After _contact_ it
     occurred to Mr. R. to try _pointing only_ with the poles of
     the crystal _held in his hand_. The same effect ensued. What
     becomes of the muscular impulse theory? Another objection
     is now considered as fatal—that when the eyes are closed
     all motion is stopped if the operator is either holding
     the thread or touching the magnetoscope. Ergo, they say, it
     is all imposture. But is there not another light thrown by
     this on the power of the eyes—on their ‘electric glance’?
     It is stated in Carpenter’s ‘Animal Physiology’ that a woman
     whose left arm was palsied could hold up a child with it _as
     long as she looked at it_. When she closed her eyes the arm
     dropped. A Mr. John Dimson, well known now in Brighton, has
     a paralytic affection of his feet, and cannot walk unless
     _he fixes his eyes upon them_. To this fact Mr. and Mrs.
     Bracebridge (Florence’s friends) and Lady Easthope have
     recently given me their attestation as eye-witnesses, and
     I understand that the fact is observed at German baths for
     lame patients.

     With the disposition, then, to ‘pooh-pooh’ the discovery in
     London, I think it will probably be left to America—perhaps
     to you!—to evolve the truth. Therefore I shall feel it my
     duty to put you in possession of facts bearing upon it. I
     have, however, had the satisfaction of seeing conviction
     produced on the mind of one of our most distinguished
     geologists, who perceived the connection between the
     influences of magnetism and metals on the pendulum, and
     some of the subterranean operations, particularly mineral
     springs. (My hand is tired and must rest.)

     The application of magnetism to the principle of life is most
     satisfactory to me. The unification of the magnetism of the
     human head by finding that the pendulum is influenced by it,
     exactly as by a real magnet, that the poles correspond, the
     forehead being north when the person is upright. (Changes
     take place in the recumbent position.) This is when a person
     stands in any direction, _live_ bodies being _independently_
     magnetic. It is the case even with an egg new laid. After
     boiling, _that_ power ceases, and it is a magnet only _by
     induction_, like any other inorganic matter. In trying
     experiments the feet must not be crossed, nor the legs,
     nor the hands clasped, nor thumbs joined. These attitudes
     all occasion the motions to stop—for they complete this
     circuit—analogous to electrical phenomena. After all, I
     have not told you what appears the most curious fact in its
     consequences, that (as far as yet tried) the body loses
     its influence on the magnetoscope in sleep. Its polarity
     is gone, as in death! ‘Twin brothers!’

     On reading over what I have written I perceive a want of
     explicitness, which I hope the pamphlet will make up. I
     will divide it into sheets to be sent in letters.

     With a strong feeling that the ocean is not distance,

                                           Yours most truly,

                                                _A. I. Noel Byron_.

At this time I employed the leisure hours of a young physician in
preparing some lectures on the physical education of girls, which
were delivered in a basement Sunday school room in the spring of 1852.

These lectures, owing to the social and professional connections which
resulted from them, gave me my first start in practical medical life.
They were attended by a small but very intelligent audience of ladies,
and amongst them were some members of the Society of Friends, whose
warm and permanent interest was soon enlisted. Indeed, my practice
during those early years became very much a Quaker practice; and
the institutions which sprang up later owed their foundation to the
active support of this valuable section of the community. The family
of Mr. Stacy B. Collins, a highly respected member of the Society of
Friends, will always be affectionately remembered. They first engaged
me as the family physician. The granddaughter, now Dr. Mary B. Hussey,
was my ‘first baby;’ and a warm friendship continues into the third
generation. The names also of Robert Haydock, Merritt Trimble, and
Samuel Willets will always be gratefully remembered in connection
with this movement in New York. These well-known and highly respected
citizens with their families gradually became our most steadfast
friends.

My first medical consultation was a curious experience. In a severe
case of pneumonia in an elderly lady I called in consultation a
kind-hearted physician of high standing who had been present in
Cincinnati at the time of my father’s fatal illness. This gentleman,
after seeing the patient, went with me into the parlour. There he
began to walk about the room in some agitation, exclaiming, ‘A most
extraordinary case! Such a one never happened to me before; I really
do not know what to do!’ I listened in surprise and much perplexity,
as it was a clear case of pneumonia and of no unusual degree of
danger, until at last I discovered that his perplexity related to
_me_, not to the patient, and to the propriety of consulting with a
lady physician! I was both amused and relieved. I at once assured my
old acquaintance that it need not be considered in the light of an
ordinary consultation, if he were uneasy about it, but as a friendly
talk. So, finally, he gave me his best advice; my patient rapidly got
well, and happily I never afterwards had any difficulty in obtaining
a necessary consultation from members of the profession.

In 1852, warmly encouraged by Mrs. Dr. Bellows, I published the
lectures I had given, under the title, ‘The Laws of Life in reference
to the Physical Education of Girls.’ This little work was favourably
regarded by physicians; it drew forth an encouraging letter from the
dean of my college, to my very great gratification. It also happened to
fall under Mr. Ruskin’s notice, and gained his valuable commendation.

Being still excluded from medical companionship, and from the means
of increasing medical knowledge which dispensary practice affords,
I finally determined to try and form an independent dispensary.

In 1853, with the aid of some of my friends, a small room was engaged
in a poor quarter of the town near Tompkin’s Square; one of my Quaker
friends, Mrs. Cornelia Hussey, actively assisted in arranging drugs,
covering a screen, &c. This dispensary (afterwards moved to Third
Street) was opened three afternoons in each week, and I had the
satisfaction during the following two years of finding it welcomed
by the poor, and steadily enlisting a larger circle of friends.

In 1854 the Act of Incorporation for an institution where women
physicians could be available for the poor was obtained, and a few
well-known citizens consented to act as trustees. The first annual
report of this modest little dispensary is given in the Appendix.
From this very small beginning have gradually arisen the present
flourishing institutions of the New York Infirmary and College for
Women.

It was during these first early years that, not being able to continue
the expense of good consultation-rooms, I determined to _buy_ a house.
A friend lent me the necessary money at fair interest, and a house in
a good situation in Fifteenth Street was selected. This transaction
proved a very material assistance in many different ways, and enabled
me to form the home centre which is so necessary to the most efficient
work. In later years also this early experience helped me to realise
more fully the fundamental importance of the great land question, or
‘a stake in the soil,’ as well as other weighty social problems.

The difficulties and trials encountered at this early period were
severe. Ill-natured gossip, as well as insolent anonymous letters,
came to me. Although I have never met with any serious difficulties
in attending to my practice at all hours of the night, yet unpleasant
annoyances from unprincipled men were not infrequent. Some well-dressed
man would walk by my side on Broadway, saying in a low voice, ‘Turn
down Duane Street to the right;’ or whilst waiting for a horse-car at
midnight by the City Hall a policeman would try to take my hand; or
a group of late revellers would shout across the street, ‘See that
lone woman walking like mad!’ But with common sense, self-reliance,
and attention to the work in hand, any woman can pursue the medical
calling without risk.

The heat of a New York summer also was at this time very trying to
an English constitution. A letter to my sister in 1853 exclaims:—

     Oh, dear! it is so hot I can hardly write. I was called this
     morning to Flushing to see a sick child, and then attended
     my dispensary, the thermometer varying from 86 to 90 in
     the house, and it stood at 102 in some rooms down town.
     Walk as deliberately as I would, it made my brain seem too
     large for my head. Flushing reminded me of the Sahara; it
     lay breathless under a cloudless sky, leaden with haze.

In relation to mischievous gossip it is written:—

     These malicious stories are painful to me, for I am woman
     as well as physician, and both natures are wounded by
     these falsehoods. Ah, I am glad I, and not another, have
     to bear this pioneer work. I understand now why this life
     has never been lived before. It _is_ hard, with no support
     but a high purpose, to live against every species of social
     opposition.... I _should_ like a little fun now and then.
     Life is altogether too sober.

The utter loneliness of life became intolerable, and in October of
1854 I took a little orphan girl from the great emigrant depôt of
Randall’s Island to live with me. This congenial child I finally
adopted. The wisdom of such adoption is abundantly shown by an entry
in my journal, two years later, written on my birthday:—

     On this bright Sunday morning I feel full of hope and
     strength for the future. Kitty plays beside me with her
     doll. She has just given me a candy basket, purchased with a
     penny she had earned, full of delight in ‘Doctor’s birthday’!
     Who will ever guess the restorative support which that poor
     little orphan has been to me? When I took her to live with
     me she was about seven and a half years old. I desperately
     needed the change of thought she compelled me to give her.
     It was a dark time, and she did me good—her genial, loyal,
     Irish temperament suited me. Now I look forward with much
     hope to the coming events of this year.

An amusing circumstance relating to this child is worth recording. She
had always been accustomed to call me ‘Doctor.’ On one occasion she
was present during the visit of a friendly physician. After he was
gone, she came to me with a very puzzled face, exclaiming, ‘Doctor,
how very odd it is to hear a _man_ called Doctor!’

In December of 1855 I gave a first drawing-room ‘Address on the
Medical Education of Women.’

In this address (which was afterwards printed) it was shown that the
movement was only a revival of work in which women had always been
engaged; but that it was a revival in an advanced form, suited to
the age and to the enlarging capabilities of women.

The clear perception of the providential call to women to take their
full share in human progress has always led us to insist upon a full
and identical medical education for our students. From the beginning in
America, and later on in England, we have always refused to be tempted
by the specious offers urged upon us to be satisfied with partial or
specialised instruction. On the occasion of this address an appeal
was made for assistance in collecting funds for the growth of the
dispensary and the gradual formation of a hospital, as indispensable
for the accomplishment of the work. A committee of three ladies was
appointed at this drawing-room meeting, for the purpose of beginning
the difficult work of collecting a permanent fund.

In 1854, my sister, Dr. Emily Blackwell, who had graduated with honour
at the Medical College of Cleveland, Ohio, was pursuing her studies
in Europe.

There she gained invaluable surgical experience from having been
generously received as assistant by Sir James Simpson in his extensive
practice in female diseases. The genial character of this well-known
physician was shown not only by his cordial reception of Dr. Emily
as pupil and assistant, but by an amusing incident which occurred
whilst his consulting-rooms were filled by a waiting assembly of
aristocratic patients. My sister, being a classical scholar, was
often employed by the Doctor in making translations or extracts for
him. On one occasion, whilst thus engaged in the farthest room of
the suite, he called in a low voice, ‘Dr. Blackwell,’ then a little
louder, ‘_Dr. Blackwell_,’ and when the attention of all his patients
was thus aroused, he called in a voice loud enough for my sister to
hear, ‘DR. BLACKWELL!’ and then from the corner of his eye, and with
intense amusement, he watched the varied expressions of surprise and
dismay depicted on the countenances of his distinguished patients
as they saw the approach along the suite of rooms of a lady who thus
answered to the summons.

The following letters to my medical sister refer to this period of
the work:—

                                                  New York: May 12.

     I need not tell you with what interest and hope I look
     forward to your Edinburgh news. The prospect is very good....
     One of the most difficult points I have to contend with
     here is the entire absence of medical sympathy; the medical
     solitude is really awful at times; I should thankfully
     turn to any educated woman if I could find one.... Pray
     bear in mind to collect all the information you can about
     maternity, the relation of the sexes, and kindred subjects.
     We have a vast field to work in this direction, for reliable
     information is desperately needed in the world on these
     topics. I feel as if it were peculiarly our duty to meet
     this want. There is much vain thought given to these matters
     here. An active set of people are making desperate efforts
     to spread their detestable doctrines of ‘free love’ under
     scientific guise, placing agents with the advertisements
     of their books worded in the most specious and attractive
     manner at the doors of the conventions now being held
     here; on the other hand, equally misleading publications
     are brought out in opposition. Such teaching is utterly
     superficial and untrustworthy, and consequently misleading.
     We want facts, scientifically accurate observations, past
     and present, on all that bears on these matters.

     You remember the pamphlet sent me by Dr. Sims of Alabama.
     He is now here, determined to establish a hospital for
     the special treatment of women’s diseases; he is enlisting
     much support, and will, I think, succeed. He seems to be
     in favour of women studying medicine. I think I shall help
     him in any way I can....

     I have at last found a student in whom I can take a
     great deal of interest—Marie Zackrzewska, a German, about
     twenty-six. Dr. Schmidt, the head of the Berlin midwifery
     department, discovered her talent, advised her to study,
     and finally appointed her as chief midwife in the hospital
     under him; there she taught classes of about 150 women and
     50 young men, and proved herself most capable. When Dr.
     Schmidt died, the American Minister advised her to come to
     New York; but here the German doctors wanted her to become
     a nurse. In desperation she consulted ‘The Home for the
     Friendless,’ where they advised her to come to me. There
     is true stuff in her, and I shall do my best to bring it
     out. She must obtain a medical degree....

                                                           July 24.

     Don’t be discouraged. There is no doubt about our losing
     many opportunities because of our sex, but you must also
     bear in mind the disadvantages all students labour under,
     unless in exceptional cases. Crowded together in masses,
     they only see at a distance the most interesting cases; the
     complete study is reserved for the physician or his constant
     attendant. I remember expressing my impatience while in the
     Maternité at the restrictive rules there, and M. Blot said,
     ‘What you wish for are only enjoyed by the few who occupy
     the most favoured positions.’ Yet I gained, in spite of
     all difficulties, a great deal, and in accelerating ratio
     the longer I stayed. I remember that it seemed to me I had
     gained more in my fourth month at the Maternité than in
     the whole three preceding ones. Now I say this because I
     don’t want you to over-estimate the worth of pantaloons.
     Disguise in France or elsewhere would by no means give you
     all you need; if the disguise were complete you would just
     be reduced to the level of the common poor student, and
     would be, I think, quite disappointed. It needs also that
     influential men should take an interest in you, and give you
     chances quite beyond the ordinary run. I know that at St.
     Bartholomew’s I would not have exchanged my position for that
     of the simple student, though I would gladly for the clinical
     clerk or _interne’s_ position. Now you can do nothing in
     France, except by special medical influence. Your time is
     limited, and you cannot wait for examinations and promotions
     as an ordinary student. You ask me what I did, and what can
     be done as a lady. I entered the Maternité, dissected at
     l’Ecole des Beaux-Arts alone, employed a _répétiteur_ who
     drilled me in anatomy and smuggled me into the dead-house
     of La Charité at great risk of detection, where I operated
     on the _cadavre_. I once made the rounds of his wards in
     the Hôtel-Dieu with Roux, heard his lectures, and saw his
     operations. I attended lectures on medical generalities at
     the College of France and Jardin des Plantes. I believe that
     was all in the way of Parisian study. I applied to Davenne,
     Director-General of the hospitals, for permission to follow
     the physicians—refused; applied to Dubois and Trousseau to
     attend lectures at the Ecole de Médecine—refused; Trousseau
     advising me to disguise. You see I had no introductions, no
     experience. I went into the Maternité soon after going to
     France, and came out with a sad accident, not inclined to
     renew the battle, not well knowing how, and with a promising
     chance opened to me in London. I should do differently now.
     I should get the most influential introduction I could; I
     should tell them just what I wanted, find which hospitals
     would be most suited to my purpose, and if by putting on
     disguise I could get either an assistant’s post or good
     visiting privilege, I would put it on. I don’t believe it
     would be a disguise at all to those you were thrown with,
     but it would be a protection if advised by intelligent
     men, and would make them free to help you. I should avoid
     crowds, because you gain nothing in them; I don’t think
     either the lectures at l’Ecole de Médecine or the great
     hospital visits, where from one to five hundred students
     follow, would be of any use. It is in a more private and
     intimate way, and in hospitals where many students do not
     go, that you might gain. I know no one in a position to
     give you more valuable letters than Dr. Simpson, if he is
     disposed to. You ask me what I saw at the Maternité, but
     I find my notes imperfect; I have only noted down nine
     versions, &c. But I think the most important thing in the
     Maternité is the drilling in the more ordinary labours, for
     only where the finger is thoroughly trained can you detect
     varieties. The cases you send me are very interesting, and
     I am very glad you have made such full notes, as they will
     be useful hints in future solitary practice. Don’t be in
     a hurry to leave Dr. S., for I fear you will nowhere else
     find a good drilling in that department. I shall see how
     far I can make your notes available from time to time in my
     own practice. With regard to my own _clientèle_, I shall
     have advanced 50 dollars over last year; slow progress,
     but still satisfactory, as it is reliable practice, not
     capricious success. Only think, the thermometer has been up
     to 102 in some of the rooms down town! We have had three
     days’ ‘spells’ this July that seem to me a little beyond
     anything I have ever had to endure.

                                                       November 13.

     I shall be very anxious to know what you do in Paris. I
     almost doubt the propriety of your entering the Maternité,
     or rather I hope that the necessity may be obviated by your
     finding other openings. That Dubois is somewhat of an old
     fox, and will, I presume, at once advise your entrance,
     to get rid of any responsibility; but I would not think of
     doing so until I had seen all the others and tried for better
     openings. I think you could get sufficient midwifery at the
     Ecole de Médecine, where the midwives have the night cases;
     the association would be unpleasant from the character of
     the women, but it would leave you your freedom. You have
     done excellently in Edinburgh, and nothing could be more
     satisfactory than the way you leave. I think, however,
     before going to Paris you had certainly better see Dr.
     Oldham of Guy’s; he is disposed to be friendly, and if he
     chose might greatly help you. It would seem as if it would
     be well to pursue your English studies before the Parisian;
     if you could follow Doctors Burrows and Baly in medicine
     at St. Bartholomew’s, and Oldham at Guy’s, you would do
     well. I am very glad you are collecting special medical
     statistics; we shall find them very serviceable in lecture
     or pamphlet form. It will be necessary next year to make an
     active effort for the dispensary, and I think a few lectures
     would be very important. My conviction becomes constantly
     stronger that you will return, and my plans for the future
     all involve that fact. A pleasant circumstance occurred to my
     German, Dr. Zackrzewska. I arranged a Cleveland course for
     her, and she entered two weeks ago; she met a very friendly
     reception, and found that Dr. Kirkland is in correspondence
     with Professor Müller of Berlin, and he had mentioned her
     in some of his letters in such high terms, that the faculty
     told her, if she would qualify herself for examination in
     surgery and chemistry and write an English thesis, that
     they would graduate her at the end of this term. Of course
     she is studying with might and main, and will, I have no
     doubt, succeed; so we may reckon on a little group of three
     next year. That will be quite encouraging.

                                                       November 27.

     I cannot but feel glad that you rejected the urgent
     persuasions to go to the Crimea. I cannot say what going
     to Russia might have done for you in _English_ reputation,
     but for America it would have been sheer waste of time. I
     am constantly surprised to see what an entire non-conductor
     of enthusiasm the ocean is, and reputation in England,
     except in very rare cases, is utterly unavailing here.
     The radical differences in national character, and the
     eager, youthful nature of this people, quite prevent full
     sympathetic transmission of feeling and recognition of older
     experience. I am vexed to think how completely unavailing
     your Scotch studies will be in the _puffing_ line, but make
     yourself really strong, and we will turn them to the best
     account in another and a better way. Don’t forget to bring
     a full earnest testimonial from Simpson and from others as
     you progress.

     I’m delighted you are going to Malvern. Oh, those breezy
     uplands of our native isle! is anything in Nature so
     delicious as their air and freedom? My ride with K. over
     the Welsh hills stands alone in my memory, and my slide
     with Howy down Malvern makes my mouth water.

                                                  January 23, 1855.

     Your letter came yesterday, giving me an account of
     M.’s relapse and the many anxieties you have suffered
     lately. I confess to feeling an intense anxiety about her
     notwithstanding the hope conveyed in your letter, and I
     shall look to the coming of the postman with dread for the
     next three weeks lest he should bring me evil news. You have
     been pursuing your studies in a way we did not anticipate
     the last eight weeks, but very surely it is not lost time;
     the responsibilities of such a case will strengthen you for
     every future case, and as an illustration of or commentary
     on Dr. S.’s practice, I don’t think it will be lost to you.
     The whole case from beginning to end strikes me as a horrid
     barbarism, but at the same time I fully allow that it is
     the way to make a reputation. M.’s death would be little
     to him, the responsibility would be staved off in a dozen
     different ways, and if she succeeded in her object, no end
     to the trumpeting of his praise! I see every day that it is
     the ‘heroic,’ self-reliant, and actively _self-imposing_
     practitioner that excites a sensation and reputation; the
     rational and conscientious physician is not the famous one.

     I have just heard one piece of news which decidedly indicates
     progress and which is peculiarly cheering to me, because I
     am persuaded that I have been chiefly instrumental in it.
     The New York Hospital has opened its doors to women this
     winter; there is now a class of eight women, all pupils from
     Dr. Trall’s hydropathic institute, who attend regularly
     the clinical visits and lectures in the amphitheatre
     with all the other students. The matter was discussed in
     full board, Trimble and Collins both advocating, and it
     was resolved to make the experiment, Drs. Smith, Buck,
     and Watson, the then attending physicians, being present
     and consenting, quite concurring in the principle, and
     only pleading the embarrassment they should themselves
     occasionally feel. Mr. Trimble assured them they would soon
     conquer their bashfulness! Thus far, it seems, there has
     been no difficulty. I consider the matter so important that
     I intend at once to take the hospital ticket and watch the
     experiment in person as closely as I can. I only wish the
     girls came from other than quack auspices.

     Do the ‘knockings’ prevail at all in England? it is
     astonishing how they increase here. Judge Edmunds has
     published two large volumes, which are astonishing, I think,
     as a record of self-deception or credulity. The promoters
     hold public discussions in the tabernacle, publish endless
     literature, and have hired a large house in Broadway at
     2,200 dollars, and Katy Fox at a salary of 1,200 dollars
     per annum to give free demonstrations to whoever wishes to
     investigate the truth of ‘this wonderful new revelation.’
     I attended one of these free sittings lately at Mrs. B.’s
     invitation. It was a curious physical phenomenon to my mind
     of the animal magnetism order. My few questions were all
     answered wrong; but Mrs. B. and many others asked similar
     questions, the answers of which she knew, and they were
     answered promptly and correctly. Everyone who queried with
     eager temperament got prompt and correct replies, independent
     of Katy Fox’s volition. It was odd, but quite disgusting
     in the view taken of it, as an ultra-mundane exhibition.

_Establishment of a hospital._—In 1856 my working powers were more than
doubled by the arrival of my sister, Dr. Emily Blackwell, who became
henceforth my partner and able co-worker. Dr. Maria E. Zackrzewska
also joined us as soon as she had graduated at Cleveland, and became
for some years before her removal to Boston our active and valued
assistant in the New York work.

The refreshing Sunday walks taken with this warm-hearted doctor when,
crossing the bay by an early ferry-boat, we walked for hours in the
beautiful environs of Hoboken or Staten Island, will always remain
as a pleasant background to the affectionate friendship which still
continues.

Thus reinforced, an advanced step was made in 1857 by the renting of
a house, No. 64 Bleecker Street, which we fitted up for a hospital
where both patients and young assistant physicians could be received.
This institution, under the name of ‘The New York Infirmary for
Women and Children,’ was formally opened in the May of this year by
a public meeting, in which the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, Dr. Elder
of Philadelphia, and the Rev. Dr. Tyng, jun., warmly supported the
movement. In this institution Dr. Zackrzewska accepted the post of
resident physician, Dr. Emily becoming chiefly responsible for the
surgical practice.

This first attempt to establish a hospital conducted entirely by women
excited much opposition. At that date, although college instruction
was being given to women students in some places, no hospital was
anywhere available either for practical instruction or the exercise of
the woman-physician’s skill. To supply the need had become a matter
of urgent importance. Our difficulties are thus noted in the Annual
Report for 1864:—

‘But to this step (the establishment of a hospital) a host of
objections were raised by those whom the early friends of the
institution attempted to interest in their effort. They were told
that no one would let a house for the purpose, that female doctors
would be looked upon with so much suspicion that the police would
interfere; that if deaths occurred their death certificates would not
be recognised; that they would be resorted to by classes and persons
whom it would be an insult to be called upon to deal with; that
without men as resident physicians they would not be able to control
the patients; that if any accident occurred, not only the medical
profession but the public would blame the trustees for supporting
such an undertaking; and, finally, that they would never be able to
collect money enough for so unpopular an effort.’

Through a cloud of discouragement and distrust the little institution
steadily worked its way, its few friends holding to it the more firmly
for the difficulties it experienced. The practice of the infirmary,
both medical and surgical, was conducted entirely by women; but a board
of consulting physicians, men of high standing in the profession, gave
it the sanction of their names. Dr. Valentine Mott, Dr. John Watson,
Drs. Willard Parker, R. S. Kissam, Isaac E. Taylor, and George P.
Camman were the earliest medical friends of the infirmary.

The pecuniary support of this institution, in addition to the medical
responsibility involved in its conduct, was no small burden. For many
years its annual income rested mainly on our exertions. A bazaar was
held in its behalf for seven years in succession; lectures, concerts,
and every other available means of collecting funds were resorted to.

At one time Fanny Kemble was giving a series of Shakespearian
readings in New York, and often rendered generous help to benevolent
institutions by the use of her great talent. We hoped that she might
aid our struggling infirmary by giving a public reading in its behalf.
So on one occasion I called with our fellow-worker Dr. Zackrzewska at
the hotel where she was staying to prefer our request. She received us
courteously, listened with kindness to an explanation of the object
of our visit and of the needs of the infirmary; but when she heard
that the physicians of the institution were _women_ she sprang up
to her full height, turned her flashing eyes upon us, and with the
deepest tragic tones of her magnificent voice exclaimed: ‘Trust _a
woman_—as a DOCTOR!—NEVER!’

The thunder-clap which thus smote us in the New York hotel brought
back amusingly to my mind the scene at Brighton, when the parlour door
suddenly opened, and a brilliant figure in stage costume advanced to
the gentle, refined Lady Byron with an impassioned quotation from
‘Julius Cæsar.’ The contrast between two women’s natures was so
remarkable!

The necessity, however, of a separate hospital for the general training
of women students had by this time been recognised. Experience both
at the New York Hospital and at the large Bellevue Hospital, where
classes of imperfectly trained women had failed to maintain their
ground, proved that a special woman’s centre was needed, not only as
affording them practical instruction, but for the purpose of testing
the capacity and tact of the students themselves, before admitting
them to walk the general hospitals where male students were admitted.
The New York Infirmary for Women therefore gradually enlisted the
active help of enlightened men and women.

We were much encouraged by the kindly contributions of articles
for our annual bazaars from English friends; and a generous-hearted
French lady, Madame Trélat, who felt much interest in the new medical
movement, sent a donation to the funds of the hospital. The continued
interest of English friends is shown by our correspondence.


_To Lady Noel Byron_

                                       New York: December 27, 1857.

     MY DEAR FRIEND,—Your kind interest in our hospital cheers
     me. Very few persons understand the soul of this work, or
     the absolute necessity which lies upon us to live out the
     ideal life to the utmost of our power. My work is undoubtedly
     for the few. It is labour in the interlinkings of humanity,
     and is necessarily difficult of appreciation by the mass of
     people, and is very slow in gaining their esteem. It has
     been a most toilsome lesson to translate my thought into
     the common language of life. I labour at this translation
     perpetually, and still remain too often incomprehensible.
     I will not degrade the central thought of this work, but I
     seek in every way to accommodate it wisely to the practical
     common-sense feeling of the people.

     My sister is a noble helper, and we shall stand, I trust,
     shoulder to shoulder through many years of active service. I
     shall have the pleasure of soon forwarding to you a report
     of our last year’s proceedings; this will give the simple
     facts of our hospital life.

     Allow me to remain, with very true affection,

                                          Your friend,

                                               ELIZABETH BLACKWELL.

          79 East Fifteenth Street.




CHAPTER VI

ENGLAND REVISITED

1858


The ten years during which this pioneer medical work had been steadily
carried on had thus firmly established the new departure as a useful
innovation in the United States. The reform was at that time steadily
growing, not only in New York, but also in Philadelphia and Boston,
under the guidance of able bodies of women. We were now desirous of
learning what openings existed in England for the entrance of women
into the medical profession. We knew that much interest had been felt
there in the progress of the American work, and we had been urged by
friends in Europe to give some account of it.

It was determined, therefore, in August 1858 that I should again
revisit my native land and urge the importance of this medical work.
Soon after my arrival in Europe I took the occasion of a visit made
to a sister in Paris to prepare carefully a series of three addresses
to be delivered in England, showing what was being done in medicine
by women in the United States, and the reasons for that work. The
first of these addresses was on the value of physiological knowledge
to women, the second on the value of medical knowledge, and the third
on the practical aspect of the work as established in America and
its adaptability to England. Whilst engaged in the preparation of the
lectures I entered into relations with the large-hearted Countess de
Noailles, whose devotion to sanitary reform and generous support of
benevolent enterprises were equally remarkable. This lady was very
desirous that a country sanatorium for women should be established in
England or France, being firmly convinced that hygienic conditions in
their fullest application were the chief necessity in the successful
treatment of special diseases. This lady wrote to an old friend in
Paris: ‘I wish to direct all my efforts to this object. Let me know as
soon as possible what it would cost to establish a small hospital for
women and children either in France or England, under Miss Blackwell’s
direction.’ She also requested one of her noble French relatives to
make my acquaintance. The interview is thus described in a letter to
Dr. Emily in New York.

                                                       Paris: 1858.

     Yesterday I saw Madame —— by appointment at her own house.
     A. says she is a daughter of the Prince de P.; to me she
     seemed a stout, black-eyed Frenchwoman of forty-five,
     cordial in manner, speaking English well, and knowing as
     much of England and Anglo-Saxon nature as a Frenchwoman
     ever can know. We conversed energetically for two hours.
     She is seriously interested in the entrance of women into
     the medical profession, a wish founded in her case on
     the moral degradation which she has observed amongst her
     own acquaintance from the practice of being treated by
     men in female complaints. The fact which most struck her
     in all I told her was your amputating a breast; in this
     she actually triumphed. Her face became radiant with the
     intense satisfaction of the thing, for it proved to her by
     a fact what she wanted to believe, but could only accept
     intellectually from all my reasons—viz. the necessity of
     letting the midwife drop, and striking unflinchingly for
     the highest position. This one fact, worth to this sort
     of nature a host of arguments, gave her real faith in the
     physician. She opened freely her objections, or rather
     difficulties, and I met them one after another; and this
     difference I observed in the encounter with the cultivated
     European nature—when I gave her a reason she understood it
     and accepted it; it did not go in at one ear and out at the
     other as with more frivolous people; there is some soil or
     substance you can plant in in this stouter nature. As years
     ago with Lady Byron, so with this lady, it was of some use
     talking to her. She propounded, of course, foolish as well
     as serious ideas; thus she thought that women physicians
     should never marry; she also would be shocked to see me with
     a garland on my head dancing in a ball-room, and she thought
     they should be devoted, like the sisters of charity, &c.
     I combated her idea of abnegation for a while, and put in
     a feeler to see if she could take in a higher notion; but
     finding it was impossible, I at once ceased the attempt, and
     allowed her to hold to her own highest idea, which I could
     see was tinged by her French nature. Of course it wearied
     me a little, and I wanted after a while to expand my lungs
     and breathe freely; but I certainly made a strong impression
     upon her. She thanked me and shook my hand again and again
     at parting, and said that she should not think of letting
     this be our last interview, and she should write to Madame
     de Noailles the very next day. She had asked me previously
     if I was resolved in any case to go back to America, and
     I had told her ‘No,’ but described at the same time the
     excellent beginning we had made there. I feel convinced that
     I shall have some proposition in relation to my (or rather
     our) establishment in London. What, then, ought we to say
     should such an offer arise? I will accept nothing that is
     not offered to us both, on that I am quite determined; we
     cannot separate in practice.

                                             Paris: November, 1858.

     Preparing my lectures is a troublesome business. My first
     one would not do; it was so much more adapted to an American
     than an English audience. I wanted also quantities of facts
     that I did not know how to get. But I have now re-written
     twenty-one pages. I have written it with pleasure, though
     very slowly, and I am really surprised to find how very
     slowly I write. I can only write when I feel fresh in the
     morning; sometimes only a page, sometimes none. I will not
     force it when I don’t feel fresh, but I shall take whatever
     time is necessary to do the work well, for it is really
     important.

It was during this visit that I had the privilege of becoming
personally acquainted with Dr. Trélat, the head of La Salpêtrière,
and his admirable wife, who remained steadfast friends through
life. I visited them at La Salpêtrière—that large asylum for infirm
women, over which Dr. Trélat presided with truly paternal care. La
Salpêtrière was not then a great school of experimentation, but a
benevolent refuge, where the well-being and kindly protection of its
inmates formed the primary object of the director.

The following letters are descriptive of this time.


_To Lady Byron_

                                          Paris: December 30, 1858.
                                             160 Rue St. Dominique.

     MY DEAR AND VENERATED FRIEND,—I received your letter
     yesterday. The mere chance of being in any way useful
     to the valuable friend you refer to is reason sufficient
     for a short return at once to England, so I have made my
     arrangements to reach London on Monday evening, January 3.

     I have heard with great pleasure of an invitation to lecture
     in London, which I will acknowledge when I receive it. I
     shall be glad of an opportunity of laying very important
     considerations before my fellow countrywomen, but I cannot
     lecture just at present. I find that I must first go to
     Italy, for reasons which I will explain when we meet;
     therefore it is too soon to engage rooms at present, for
     which kind offer I sincerely thank you.

     My chief object in making this hurried visit of a few days
     is to see Miss Nightingale and a few valued friends, amongst
     whom I hope I may reckon yourself. I shall therefore remain
     quietly at my cousin’s, No. 73 Gloucester Terrace, Hyde
     Park, not attempting to enter into society.


_To Dr. Emily Blackwell_

                                             London: February 1859.

     I have just returned from an interview with Miss Nightingale
     at Malvern in relation to a school for nurses which she
     wishes to establish; and I start to-morrow for France _en
     route_ for Mentone. My old friend’s health is failing from
     the pressure of mental labour. I cannot go into the details
     of her last five years now, but the labour has been and is
     immense. I think I have never known a woman labour as she
     has done. It is a most remarkable experience; she indeed
     deserves the name of a worker. Of course we conversed very
     earnestly about the nursing plan in which she wished to
     interest me. She says that for six months she shall be
     utterly unable to give any thought to the fund work, and
     wants me meanwhile to observe English life very carefully,
     and make up my mind as to whether I can give up America,
     which she thinks a very serious matter. Unfortunately she
     does not think private practice possible in connection with
     her plan. If so, it would be impossible for us to help her.
     She thinks her own health will never permit her to carry
     out her plan herself, and I much fear she is right in this
     belief.

After a short visit to the Riviera, to confer with the Countess de
Noailles about her proposed sanatorium for women, I returned to
London. There my warm friends the Misses Leigh Smith, supported
by their generous-hearted father, and Miss Bessie Rayner Parkes,
interested themselves actively in preparing for the first delivery
of my lectures. The Marylebone Hall was secured. Our young friends
brought up primroses and other lovely flowers and green wreaths from
Hastings to ornament the reading-desk, and warmly supported me by their
ardent sympathy. On March 2, 1859, the first lecture was given to a
very intelligent and appreciative audience, whose interest was warmly
enlisted. I well remember the tears rolling down the benevolent face
of Miss Anna Goldsmid, who sat immediately in front of me. But the
most important listener was the bright, intelligent young lady whose
interest in the study of medicine was then aroused—Miss Elizabeth
Garrett—who became the pioneer of the medical movement in England,
and who, as Mrs. Garrett Anderson, lives to see the great success of
her difficult and brave work.

These addresses were afterwards given in Manchester, Birmingham, and
Liverpool; Mr. Bracebridge kindly making arrangements for them in
Birmingham and the Rev. W. H. Channing in Liverpool.

The interest thus excited in London led to some effort being made
to commence in England similar work to that being done in America. A
meeting of ladies was held at the St. John’s Wood residence of Mrs.
Peter Taylor, over which Mr. William Shaen presided. A committee was
formed to consider the subject, and encouraged by the offer of help
made by the Countess de Noailles, a circular was prepared, stating
the object to be accomplished and inviting support. This circular,
which was revised by Dr. Mayo, Lady Byron, Mr. Shaen, and the Hon.
Russell Gurney, was gradually signed by a large number of influential
ladies.

     [Circular.]

     _Proposed Hospital for the Treatment of the Special Diseases
     of Women_

     The Lectures recently delivered by Doctor Elizabeth Blackwell
     at the Marylebone Literary Institution have produced in
     the minds of the ladies who heard them a strong conviction
     of the necessity for a more general diffusion of hygienic
     knowledge among women; and have led to a proposition to found
     a hospital for a class of diseases, the ordinary treatment
     of which too frequently involves much avoidable moral
     suffering, to be placed under the direction of competent
     women physicians, in connection with a Board of consulting
     physicians and surgeons.

     A lady, impressed with the want of such an institution, and
     convinced of the value of hygienic knowledge in the treatment
     and prevention of female diseases, has already promised
     1,000_l._ towards the hospital, and offers 5,000_l._ more
     for the endowment of a Sanitary Professorship in connection
     with it, provided a sufficient sum be raised by donation
     to place the institution on a permanent basis.

     In order to secure the advantages of this offer, it is
     proposed to raise and invest an additional sum of not
     less than 10,000_l._ for the purpose of securing and
     furnishing a suitable house, and forming the nucleus of a
     permanent hospital endowment; and also to collect an annual
     subscription list of not less than 500_l._, to assist in
     defraying the current expenses of the hospital.

     The ladies whose names are appended to this statement have
     signified their cordial concurrence in the proposal to
     establish such an institution, and their desire to aid it
     in any way that may be within their power.

     Contributions will be received by Messrs. Williams, Deacon
     & Co., Bankers, 20 Birchin Lane, E.C. Any communications
     may be addressed to Miss Braysher, Hon. Secretary, 73
     Gloucester Terrace, Hyde Park, W.

Messrs. Bracebridge, the Hon. Russell Gurney, Q.C., and the Hon.
W. Cowper accepted the posts of trustees, and sixty-six names of
well-known ladies were gradually added to the circular.


_To Dr. Emily Blackwell, New York_

                                            London: April 15, 1859.

     The more I see of work in England, the more I like it. From
     the Queen downwards I see signs of favour. On all hands
     we make converts, and those who are indoctrinated make
     converts. The whole way in which the cause is regarded by
     laity and doctors is most respectful. I believe we could
     get into general practice. We could shape the whole matter
     in the right way, for people welcome true ideas. There is
     an immense charm in this fresh field, where solid English
     heads receive the highest view of truth, where generosity
     and largeness of idea meet you at every turn. I like working
     and living in England, and there is no limit to what we
     might accomplish here. But, alas! there is the same old
     difficulty. We ought to have an independent 300_l._ per
     annum between us, and for want of that it is all vitiated.
     I see the charm of work here as clearly as I did on my
     arrival nine months ago, and feel immeasurably more hopeful
     about the possibilities of English work, but I realise more
     than ever the difficulty of working here upon nothing. I
     am writing to you upon our last prospectus, one which is
     to be widely circulated when we are satisfied with the
     names appended. It has been carefully revised, and it is
     contemplated to distribute many thousands of them. But we
     have been six weeks shaping the prospectus and collecting
     some names, and I know that it will take many weeks more
     to secure the names it is hoped to obtain. In fact, it is
     a long work of initiation that has to be carried on, which
     would be very thorough, excellently well done, but which
     I cannot wait to do.

     It is very unfortunate that the probable dissolution of
     Parliament and consequent ferment of re-elections will
     interfere with our proceedings; all lecturing is out of
     the question during the excitement of elections.

     I shall probably join A. in the Isle of Wight for a week
     or two. I do want to see that dear little island again, and
     I shall there find leisure to revise my little book for an
     English edition.

     I am going to dine with the Gurneys to-night, to meet the
     Rev. Mr. Maurice, who is so highly regarded by a large
     party, and whom I am to convert! It will be a clerical
     party to-night, and to-morrow I am engaged to meet a few
     medical gentlemen at Mr. Hawes’s!

     The country looks lovely, and as usual I am longing for
     it, and will break away at Easter for a little holiday.
     How hard you must be working! You must have a holiday when
     I come back.

Easter was spent in the Isle of Wight revising the little work on
‘The Laws of Life,’ an English edition of which was brought out by
Sampson Low & Co.

During this time the plan of the proposed hospital was being circulated
in London.

It was during this visit to England that the important step was
taken of placing a woman’s name on the authorised Medical Register of
the United Kingdom. Influential friends were desirous of keeping me
in England. They presented the various testimonials of English and
Continental study given by distinguished physicians and credentials
of American practice to the Medical Council. On this council, of
which Sir Benjamin Brodie was president, were old friends of the
St. Bartholomew’s days. The subject was very carefully considered,
and after mature deliberation this just and important concession
to qualified women was authorised. I had the satisfaction of being
enrolled as a recognised physician of my native land in the Medical
Register of January 1, 1859.


_To Dr. Emily Blackwell, New York_

                                                      May 13, 1859.

     My letter this week must be rather short, for I am
     overwhelmed with all sorts of engagements previous to leaving
     for Birmingham, where I give my first provincial lecture
     next Monday. I have communicated to our little committee
     Madame de Noailles’s insistence upon a country site for
     the hospital, and also the necessity that exists for not
     abandoning our work in New York until the institutions there
     are self-supporting. They are very much disappointed by
     the country condition attached to the hospital; but were I
     settled in England and working there, it would not discourage
     them. But all our friends seem to think that as the New York
     Infirmary is the best argument that can be used for English
     work, its downfall would be an irreparable misfortune, and
     they are willing, under the circumstances, to let me go.
     Indeed, I find it necessary to come to a decision myself,
     and after carefully weighing everything I have made up my
     mind to return, at any rate for some time. I can secure any
     amount of personal interest from various quarters; but as
     the prospect of speedily realising an institution where we
     could both work is put farther off, I do not wish to stay
     under the circumstances....

                                            Edgbaston: May 17,1859.

     A letter just received from the Countess de Noailles urges
     me to begin a sanatorium in the country near New York. She
     says: ‘As the central hospital already exists in New York,
     if you will allow me to help in beginning a sanatorium in
     country air I should be able to realise my idea at once.
     I think you might obtain some house or farmhouse for the
     purpose in the course of the autumn or spring. The importance
     of convalescent hospitals in the country is beginning to
     be recognised in England; let women be the first to set
     the example of one in America. I believe that in women’s
     complaints they are of more importance than in any other,
     and that in seven cases out of ten the air alone would
     effect the cure.’ Now I think this is extremely rational
     and liberal, and we must discuss together how we can do it
     for her.


_To Lady Byron_

                   73 Gloucester Terrace, Hyde Park: June 10, 1859.

     It grieves me much to know of these constantly recurring
     illnesses, crippling so valuable a life. What a satire it
     is to call our science ‘The Art of Healing’!

     My provincial trip has been very interesting to me, as
     bringing me into contact with a great number of people in
     different classes of society, showing me everywhere a great
     want and an eager reception of what I have to give. From
     Leeds, Nottingham, and Edinburgh came earnest invitations
     to lecture. A message sent to my sister from Edinburgh
     stated a total revolution in womanly sentiment, and that
     her reception would now be as hearty as it was formerly
     hostile. A student from Cambridge told me the young men
     were warmly in our favour.

     Mothers beg me for instruction in health. Young ladies
     listen eagerly to the idea of work. Three desired to become
     medical students. Wise old physicians ask me to ‘break up’
     certain fashionable London practices by substituting our
     own practice. Thus from many different points of view a
     deep interest awakens, but everywhere the London experience
     was repeated—viz. _conversion_; women thinking themselves
     hostile, but receiving the idea when they knew what it
     really meant. But the sympathy is necessarily intellectual
     only—practical reception and familiarity with the new
     position of women must necessarily be of slow growth. It
     must be, in fact, a life work. The children of the present
     generation will grow up accustomed to women doctors,
     respecting and trusting them, but the large majority of
     the adults will only hold a half-faith, and this will
     be a gradual growth. I am convinced that there would not
     be a rapidly brilliant success in England, such as some
     enthusiastic friends dream of.

     There is a call for the work, an admirable field, but the
     work itself is a very slow one, the steady conquest of
     innumerable difficulties—a creation, in fact. The hospital
     scheme I think premature.

     I had promised to bring it forward, and have done so, but I
     believe, to be successful, it must spring, as in America, out
     of private practice. I have no faith in its rapid success.

     My own opinions and plans, then, may be briefly summed up.

     There is a valuable and much-needed work to be done in
     England. Slow, uphill work, not remunerative (my tour was
     an expense to me); a repetition, to a great extent, of our
     last seven years’ work. It would need us both to do it well;
     and so greatly does England want just our experience that,
     were it possible, I should counsel the transference of our
     work to this side of the water. But this we cannot do, and
     I shall therefore endeavour to prepare others for English
     work by receiving and educating students in America. In
     America, as here, it is a life work. I shall go back to
     create the institutions of which we have planted only the
     little germ. In ten years’ time we may hope for permanent
     institutions there, worthy of their object, but we can during
     that time efficiently aid earnest young Englishwomen for
     their work here. Mrs. Bracebridge, who is much interested
     in this plan, is coming to London in Trinity Week for the
     special purpose of becoming acquainted with Mrs. Gurney
     and Mrs. Battin. They will form a committee for appointing
     and testing students. There will be a good deal of work
     connected with these arrangements, but directly it is
     completed I leave, as I am much wanted across the water.

     I shall see you, my dear friend, before I leave (about
     June 25). I shall be sad to say good-bye, but I know that
     distance will not necessarily part us.

                      73 Gloucester Terrace, London: June 17, 1859.

     DEAR E.,—I have only one piece of information to send, but
     that is of the highest importance—viz. that the Medical
     Council has registered me as physician! I have just learned
     the news from my lawyer, Mr. Shaen, who made the application,
     and at once forwarded the necessary fees, that I may be
     published in the first register. This will be of immeasurable
     value to the future of medical women in England....

                                     73 Gloucester Terrace: July 7.

     I am busy making inquiries about the plates, &c., I want
     to take over to New York. I cannot go to the expense of
     a journey to Paris, but I have the catalogue of Auzoux,
     who stands unrivalled in the manufacture of _papier-mâché_
     models. I must make a selection and let the pieces be boxed
     up in Paris, and sent direct by sailing vessel. Vassourie
     is the modeller in wax; his models are the most exquisite
     things I have ever seen, but horribly dear. The microscope I
     shall buy in England. I have settled to sail by the _Persia_
     on the 23rd, but the difficulty of deciding on our future
     course does not lessen. I am convinced that England is the
     place where we should work to best advantage. Lady Byron,
     Mrs. Bracebridge, the Peter Taylors, Miss Goldsmid—each
     the centre of a large and very different set of people—are
     each of them sure that we should have a large and valuable
     practice. Many doctors think the same. I cannot but think
     that the next ten years might be better spent in England
     than America. Our work is needed, and I know not who else
     can do it; indeed, we seem peculiarly suited to do this
     work in England. Well, we will soon discuss these matters
     together, and I am managing as well as I can in shaping
     things here, and gathering information under the uncertainty.

Returning to New York in August 1859, I found the permanent fund which
had been commenced for the purchase of a hospital site prospering.
The steady friends of the movement—Stacy B. Collins, Robert Haydock,
Merritt Trimble, and Samuel Willets, formed the nucleus of an earnest
band of supporters, both men and women. The spacious house, 126
Second Avenue, was purchased and adapted to the use of hospital and
dispensary, with accommodation for several students.

Our able fellow-worker, Dr. Zackrzewska, having left us to superintend
the new hospital in Boston, we carried on the rapidly growing work of
the infirmary with the aid of intelligent graduates from Philadelphia,
who came to us for practical instruction in medicine.

In addition to the usual departments of hospital and dispensary
practice, which included the visiting of poor patients at their own
homes, we established a sanitary visitor. This post was filled by one
of our assistant physicians, whose special duty it was to give simple,
practical instruction to poor mothers on the management of infants
and the preservation of the health of their families. An intelligent
young coloured physician, Dr. Cole, who was one of our resident
assistants, carried on this work with tact and care. Experience of
its results serve to show that the establishment of such a department
would be a valuable addition to every hospital.

Correspondence with English friends continued, and we were deeply
interested by the following letters from Miss Elizabeth Garrett, who
was bravely commencing the necessary pioneer work in England:—

                               Aldeburgh, Suffolk: January 2, 1861.

     I feel anxious to tell you how very much I enjoy the work
     and study, as this is to a great extent unexpected to me. As
     I had not any very strong interest in the subjects, and was
     led to choose the profession more from a strong conviction
     of its fitness for women than from any absorbing personal
     bias, I was prepared to find the first year’s preparation
     work tedious and wearing. That this has not been the case
     is, I believe, mainly due to the fact of my having access
     to the hospital practice, which acts as a continual aid
     and stimulus to study. For three months I attended as a
     probationary nurse, learning what I could both from the
     doctors and nurses, and reading in the spare moments. It was,
     however, very difficult to make way in this desultory manner.
     The temptation to discursiveness and want of system met me
     continually, and at last I determined to begin the study
     of anatomy, chemistry, and materia medica, working steadily
     at these and enduring the ignorance of other branches which
     could not be studied rightly till a foundation of this kind
     had been laid. In pursuance of this plan, when the three
     months’ nursing had expired I had an interview with the
     treasurer of the hospital, and asked permission to visit
     the wards and go round with the house doctors. This Mr. De
     Morgan agreed to, and also suggested that Mr. Plaskitt, the
     apothecary, should be asked to take me as a pupil in the
     dispensary, which I found him very willing to do. Mr. De
     Morgan, however, will hold out no hope of my being admitted
     as a regular student, and the general feeling seems to be
     that each doctor is willing to help me privately and singly,
     but they are afraid to countenance the movement by helping
     me in their collective capacity. This will, however, come
     in time, I trust, and in the meantime it is a great thing to
     meet with so much individual courtesy and help. When I left
     the special nursing work, Dr. Willis, the house physician,
     offered to superintend my reading in private lessons at my
     own house, which was precisely the kind of help I was most
     glad to accept. I continue to go to the hospital early,
     and go round the female medical wards alone, making notes
     of all difficulties and writing descriptions of heart and
     chest sounds and diagnosing as well as I can. This occupies
     the time till Dr. Willis comes, when I go round again and
     consult him upon all doubtful points, and learn a great
     deal by observing his method and principles. After this I
     go into the dispensary for two or three hours and learn the
     Pharmacopœia practically, and spend the afternoon in study
     in a room which the authorities have kindly lent me in the
     hospital. I am to continue on my present footing till April,
     but beyond that time I have no very clear plans. I wish
     to get all the education that is possible in London, even
     if it must be of a private or irregular kind. Perhaps it
     would be best to call upon Dr. Southwood Smith, Dr. Mayo,
     and Dr. Jenner, and hear if they can help me into any other
     medical school.

     I should be very glad to know your opinion upon the plan of
     applying for admittance as a student at the Middlesex for
     the next winter session, and also what you would advise in
     the event of this being refused.

                                 22 Manchester Square: May 8, 1862.

     I have delayed writing, hoping that I might have at last
     some good news of success to give you; now, as this seems
     farther off than I had hoped it would be, I will delay
     no longer. I think Mrs. Russell Gurney wrote you that I
     was spending all my time just now in preparing for the
     matriculation examination of the University of London. I
     decided to make this the first step, in consequence of the
     experience last summer brought us. We then made three very
     careful and vigorous efforts to gain the admission of women
     into a medical school. Those we tried were the Middlesex,
     the Westminster, and the London Hospitals; and early in
     this year we attempted the Grosvenor Street School. I need
     not tell you we were in each case unsuccessful, though in
     one or two cases the adverse decision was gained by a very
     small majority of votes. In each case those gentlemen who
     opposed always urged as one ground for their doing so, that
     as the examining bodies were not prepared to admit women to
     their examinations, the school could not educate a woman to
     be an illegal practitioner, and that by doing so they would
     incur the certain risk of injuring the school in the eyes of
     the public without really aiding women. The medical papers
     also took up the same line. The ‘Lancet’ was particularly
     anxious to point out that we were beginning at the wrong
     end, and that the first thing we should do was to settle
     the question of examination. I also had private information
     from several of the lecturers at the Middlesex that if I
     could matriculate at the London University and enter as a
     medical student for its examinations, my friends at their
     school would do all they could to get the adverse decision
     there altered. I therefore applied to the Apothecaries’ Hall
     and to the College of Surgeons, asking the latter body if
     they would allow me to compete for the special diploma for
     midwifery which they now give. This was refused, with an
     intimation that the College would not in any way countenance
     the introduction of ladies into the medical profession. The
     application to the Hall was more fortunate; the question
     turned on a legal technicality, and was referred to counsel
     and finally decided in my favour. I must, of course, conform
     to all the ordinary regulations, but when I have done so
     I can obtain the licence to practise granted by that body.
     One of the regulations I have met without difficulty—viz.
     being apprenticed to a medical man for five years before
     the final examination. I had indentures made out as soon
     as I knew the decision. The second one (spending three
     years in a medical school in the United Kingdom) is more
     difficult: it is something to be able to say when applying
     for admission into a school that the Hall would examine me
     and give me its licence. Still, as the licence is not all
     that I want, I thought it better to make an effort at some
     university for the M.D. For many reasons it seems desirable
     to make the attempt at the London University. The medical
     examinations there are exceedingly good; the constitution
     of the body is of the most liberal description, and no
     residence is required nor any teaching given, so that the
     students would not be brought into any kind of contact till
     they met in the examination-room. Students of all kinds
     (whatever degree they may ultimately desire to take) are
     required to pass the matriculation examination in arts,
     and this includes the classics, natural philosophy, and
     mathematics, besides a modern language and the ordinary
     school subjects, history and geography, and is altogether an
     examination which would require a more liberal and careful
     education (in the case of girls) than is now generally
     given, even if the candidates never went in for the M.A. or
     B.A. degree. It was clear that the only chance of obtaining
     admission to the examinations generally lay in keeping the
     question on the widest, most general ground, advocating
     the claims of governesses and other women who required a
     good general examination, without introducing the question
     of medical degrees or the admission of women to any new
     professions. The university is about to have a new charter,
     and we therefore thought that this was the time to raise
     the question by praying the Senate to obtain the insertion
     of a clause expressly extending to women the benefits of
     their examinations. Before doing this we had submitted the
     present charter to the Attorney-General, and had had his
     opinion upon the power of the Senate to admit women upon
     its authority, as it is now drawn up. He thought they had
     no power to do so, and therefore there was no alternative
     but to ask for a new clause. In order to get some expression
     of the general feeling on the question, circulars similar
     to the one I send you were extensively distributed. More
     than 1,500 were sent out, and as a result we obtained a
     very respectable number of names as allies. Some of their
     letters were so cordial that we had extracts printed and sent
     to the members of the Senate with the list of names. The
     Vice-Chancellor and Mr. Grote were throughout most kindly
     ready to help us, and to give the proposal the full weight
     of their influence. The discussion at the Senate came on
     yesterday, and was a most lengthened and animated one; of
     twenty-one members present, ten were for, ten against, and
     one neutral. The Chancellor (Lord Granville) then had the
     casting-vote, and gave it against us.

     I am exceedingly sorry, as this would have been fraught
     with such great benefit to many different classes of women,
     and would, I think, have been just the encouragement needed
     by girls when they leave school to keep them interested in
     their studies and out of the merely fashionable or domestic
     life they are so liable to fall into. It would also have
     been a great encouragement to parents, and would have made
     them more willing to let their daughters have time and
     opportunity for culture after they leave the schoolroom.
     These advantages would have been widely felt, and for
     professional women, whether governesses or physicians, the
     opportunity of being able to take a degree would have been
     invaluable. However, it is not to be had now; perhaps, when
     they are having another charter eight or ten years hence, we
     may try again and succeed. I do not imagine there is much
     chance of being able to do more at any other university in
     the United Kingdom than we can do here, so that I fear the
     possibility of ever obtaining an English degree as M.D. is
     a very remote one.

     My notion now is to try to get into a school and obtain the
     Apothecaries’ Hall licence. If this should prove possible,
     it would occupy between three and four years from next
     October. I should then wish to come to America and obtain
     the M.D. there, and then spend a year in Paris. I should
     be glad to know if you think I ought to make a point of
     getting the best M.D. diploma I can, either in America or
     on the Continent, if it should prove impossible to obtain
     one here, and if I _can_ get the Apothecaries’ licence.
     My own feeling is in favour of having the M.D.; though it
     should be a foreign one, I believe it would command more
     respect than the licence from the Hall would alone. I am
     fortunately able to choose to do whatever is most advisable,
     as I need not be in a hurry to enter upon the profession
     from pecuniary or any other motives, and I think I cannot
     aid the cause more soundly than by trying to do everything
     in the most thorough and exact way. It would be well, I
     think, to spend a good deal of time and strength on getting
     the very best diploma or certificate open to women. Should
     it prove to be quite impossible to get into a school, the
     licence from the Hall would not be within my reach. I must,
     in this case, rely entirely on foreign diplomas and on
     American schools. I shall not be too ready to admit this
     necessity, as I fear the advantage to the cause would be
     greatly diminished by the fact of my being educated in
     America.

     I should be very glad to spend a year with you in the
     infirmary after having studied in a school here, but I should
     be very sorry to give up my English friends and interests
     for the whole period of study, if it can by any means be
     avoided. Still, if it cannot, I am ready to go on with the
     work. The time spent in study has been most pleasant, and
     I am more than ever convinced both that this special work
     is one which a woman may have a divine right to engage in,
     and that every single woman’s life is both happier and more
     useful if she has an absorbing interest and pursuit. I shall
     be very glad to have your advice, when you can kindly find
     time to write to me. Believe me, yours sincerely,

                                                        E. GARRETT.

In the full tide of our medical activity in New York, with a growing
private practice and increasing hospital claims, the great catastrophe
of civil war overwhelmed the country and dominated every other
interest.

The first shot at Fort Sumpter aroused the whole North, and the
assassination of Lincoln enlisted the indignant energy of every
Northern woman in the tremendous struggle. As the deadly contest
proceeded, and every town and village sent forth its volunteers to
the fearful slaughter of civil war, the concentration of thought and
action on the war dwarfed every other effort.

The war was essentially a rebellion by a portion of the States for the
maintenance of slavery. To us, nourished from childhood on the idea of
human freedom and justice, the contest became of absorbing interest.
Though our American friends often reproached us as Englishwomen for
the action of the English Government, we threw ourselves energetically
into the cause of freedom.

On the outbreak of the war, an informal meeting of the lady managers
was called at the infirmary to see what could be done towards
supplying the want of trained nurses so widely felt after the first
battles. A notice of this meeting to be held at the infirmary having
accidentally found its way into the ‘New York Times,’ the parlours
of the infirmary were crowded with ladies, to the surprise of the
little group of managers.

The Rev. Dr. Bellows and Dr. Elisha Harris being present, a formal
meeting was organised. Whilst the great and urgent need of a supply of
nurses was fully recognised, it was also felt that the movement would
be too vast to be carried on by so small an institution. A letter
was therefore drafted on this occasion, calling for a public meeting
at the Cooper Institute, and a committee of the ladies present was
appointed to obtain signatures to this call.

The meeting at the Cooper Institute was crowded to overflowing.
The National Sanitary Aid Association was then formed, in order to
organise the energetic efforts to help that were being made all over
the country.

The Ladies’ Sanitary Aid Association, of which we were active members,
was also formed. This branch worked daily at the Cooper Institute
during the whole of the war. It received and forwarded contributions
of comforts for the soldiers, zealously sent from the country; but
its special work was the forwarding of nurses to the seat of war. All
that could be done in the extreme urgency of the need was to sift
out the most promising women from the multitudes that applied to
be sent on as nurses, put them for a month in training at the great
Bellevue Hospital of New York, which consented to receive relays of
volunteers, provide them with a small outfit, and send them on for
distribution to Miss Dix, who was appointed superintendent of nurses
at Washington.

The career of one of these nurses, a German, deserves recording. We
hesitated about receiving her, on account of her excitable disposition,
but she insisted on going. This feeble-looking woman soon drifted
away from the Washington Depôt to the active service of the front.
After the battle of Gettysburg she spent two days and nights on the
field of slaughter, wading with men’s boots in the blood and mud,
pulling out the still living bodies from the heaps of slain, binding
up hideous wounds, giving a draught of water to one, placing a rough
pillow under the head of another, in an enthusiasm of beneficence
which triumphed equally over thought of self and horror of the hideous
slaughter.

A welcome relief to the great tension of life during those years
was the visit of Mr. Herman Bicknell, F.R.C.S., who was travelling
in America after the death of his wife. I remembered him as a
fellow-student of the St. Bartholomew’s days, who sat by me in the
lecture-room; and he recalled many interesting reminiscences of that
eventful time. He was a man of great though eccentric talent, and a
clever Persian scholar, having resided long in the East. His cordial
friendship during many later years was much prized, and continued
until his premature death.

It was not until this great national rebellion was ended that the
next step in the growth of the infirmary could be taken.

The infirmary service of young assistant physicians, which had been
hitherto supplied by students whose theoretical training had been
obtained elsewhere, no longer met the New York needs.

In 1865 the trustees of the infirmary, finding that the institution
was established in public favour, applied to the Legislature for a
charter conferring college powers upon it.

They took this step by the strong advice of some of the leading
physicians of New York interested in the infirmary, who urged that
the medical education of women should not be allowed to pass into the
hands of the irresponsible persons who were at that time seeking to
establish a women’s college in New York. We took this step, however,
with hesitation, for our own feeling was adverse to the formation
of an entirely separate school for women. The first women physicians
connected with the infirmary, having all been educated in the ordinary
medical schools, felt very strongly the advantage of admission to
the large organised system of public instruction already existing
for men; and also the benefits arising from association with men as
instructors and companions in the early years of medical study. They
renewed their efforts, therefore, to induce some good recognised New
York school to admit, under suitable arrangements, a class of students
guaranteed by the infirmary, rather than add another to the list of
female colleges already existing. Finding, however, after consultation
with the different New York schools, that such arrangements could
not at present be made, the trustees followed the advice of their
consulting staff, obtained a college charter, and opened a subscription
for a college fund.

The use of a spacious lecture-room in the New York University, on
Washington Square, was temporarily obtained, until the house adjoining
the infirmary could be leased and fitted for college purposes.[7]

A full course of college instruction was gradually organised, with
the important improvement of establishing the subject of hygiene as
one of the principal professorial chairs, thus making it an equal as
well as obligatory study. Another important improvement adopted was
the establishment of an Examination Board, independent of the teaching
staff, a plan not then customary in the United States. This Board
was composed of some of the best known members of the profession, and
at the same time we changed the ordinary term of medical study from
three years to four.

During the early years of the college I occupied the Chair of Hygiene,
and had the pleasure of welcoming Miss Jex Blake, then visiting
America, as a member of the first class. The Professor of Hygiene
also superintended the important work of the sanitary visitor at
the homes of the poor. It has always seemed to me, during many years
of active private practice, that the first and constant aim of the
family physician should be to diffuse the sanitary knowledge which
would enable parents to bring up healthy children.

The most painful experience which I met with in practice was the death
of one of my little patients from the effects of vaccination. This
baby, though carefully tended and the lymph used guaranteed pure,
died from the phagedenic ulceration set up by vaccination in a rather
scrofulous constitution. To a hygienic physician thoroughly believing
in the beneficence of Nature’s laws, to have caused the death of a
child by such means was a tremendous blow!

This serious experience awakened a growing distrust as to the wisdom
of all medical methods which introduce any degree of morbid matter
into the blood of the human system; a distrust which no amount of
temporary professional opinion or doubtful statistics has been able to
remove. Although I have always continued to vaccinate when desired, I
am strongly opposed to every form of inoculation of attenuated virus,
as an unfortunate though well-meaning fallacy of medical prejudice.




CHAPTER VII

RETURN TO ENGLAND

1869


In 1869 the early pioneer work in America was ended. During the twenty
years which followed the graduation of the first woman physician, the
public recognition of the justice and advantage of such a measure had
steadily grown. Throughout the Northern States the free and equal
entrance of women into the profession of medicine was secured. In
Boston, New York, and Philadelphia special medical schools for women
were sanctioned by the Legislatures, and in some long-established
colleges women were received as students in the ordinary classes.

Our New York centre was well organised under able guidance, and I
determined to return to England for a temporary though prolonged
residence, both to renew physical strength, which had been severely
tried, and to enlarge my experience of life, as well as to assist in
the pioneer work so bravely commencing in London, and which extended
later to Edinburgh.

I soon found that social questions of vital importance to human
progress were taking root in the prepared soil of the older
civilisation—questions which were of absorbing interest. During the
following twenty years the responsibility of the Christian physician
assumed to me an ever-deepening significance.

After a refreshing tour in the lovely Lake District, arranged by my
old friend Herman Bicknell, we attended the Social Science Congress
held in Bristol in September of 1869. This was indeed a noteworthy
experience. I was the guest with Miss Mary Carpenter of her relations
Mr. and Mrs. Thomas. One morning Miss Carpenter came into my room with
her hands full of papers, saying, ‘These papers refer to a subject
that you must take up. It is to be discussed at a sectional meeting
to-day, from which all women are excluded; but you, as a doctor, have
a right to be present, and will be admitted, and you _must_ attend.’

This formed my introduction to that tremendous campaign against
the unequal standard of sexual morality known as the repeal of the
‘Contagious Diseases Acts,’ in which for the following seventeen years
I was to take an active part, and which, from its extended bearings,
moulded the whole of my future life.

The study of the papers thus brought to my notice by Miss Carpenter
was a revelation to me. Perhaps happily for me, during my past life
and medical experiences I had never fully realised the wide bearing
of this subject and the inevitable social degradation produced by a
double standard of morality. My eyes were now suddenly opened, never
to be closed again, to that direful purchase of women which is really
the greatest obstacle to the progress of the race.

Ignorant as I then was of the various aspects of the Contagious
Diseases Acts, I instantly perceived their injustice, and at once
accepted the difficult mission Miss Carpenter laid upon me.

It was hoped by some members of the congress that a resolution
would be passed supporting the one-sided Contagious Diseases Acts
legislation, against which a strong opposition was beginning to arise,
and I resolved that the voice of one member of the congress, at any
rate, should support the foundation of morality—viz. equal justice.
I therefore attended the section, held at the Blind Asylum, sitting
far back in that assemblage of men.

I soon found, however, to my immense relief and gratitude, that the
cause of justice was in able and vigorous male hands, led by Professor
Francis Newman; so I gladly withdrew from a painful position in that
sectional meeting, my advocacy not being needed.

I was privileged at this time to make the acquaintance of the Rev.
Charles Kingsley and his generous-hearted wife. On our first meeting,
at an evening party, Mr. Kingsley overwhelmed me by his enthusiastic
greeting. ‘You are one of my heroes,’ he said—a speech which I really
could not then understand; it seemed to stun me, in my quiet life.
Later, as I learned to know his enthusiastic character and profound
social insight, I knew his meaning. A sincere personal friendship
was then begun. He supported me by constant and wise counsel until
the time of his lamented death, which was indeed a severe personal
loss. I was warmly welcomed to the Rectory of Eversley, and later
to the Deanery of Chester. On the pleasant and historic pine hills
of Bramshill, by the Eversley Parsonage, and on the ancient walls of
Chester, with their noble outlook to the Welsh mountains, when visiting
the Deanery, I enjoyed memorable walks with this generous-hearted
man, when he threw open his delightful stores of natural history and
strengthened me by his social wisdom.

An amusing personal experience at the Bristol Congress was a ‘breakfast
of all the religions,’ organised by my eccentric friend Herman
Bicknell, and at which he insisted that I should help him preside. He
said to me: ‘Holyoake is an Atheist, Cowell Stepney a Materialist,
Baunerjé and Chatterjé are of the Hindoo Brahma Somaj, you are a
Christian, and I am a Catholic. It will be a most remarkable gathering,
and the discussion of such varied opinions extremely interesting.’
I accepted the queer invitation. The breakfast was held in a large
parlour of the hotel. We assembled at table, and one of the first
things the very deaf gentleman on my right hand said to me was: ‘What
an extraordinary, odd notion that of a soul is! I wonder how it could
have arisen.’ But the most interesting remark by far was made by
Holyoake, who, returning from a secularist meeting of Bristol working
men, was at once accosted by our host: ‘Now, Holyoake, pray let us
have your famous demonstration of the non-existence of a God.’ Mr.
Holyoake accepted the demand, and thought for some time in a profound
silence; then, with a puzzled face, he suddenly burst out: ‘Upon my
word, Bicknell, I have really quite forgotten it!’

Mr. Kingsley once said to me, pointing to Holyoake: ‘That man, many
years ago, I put into prison for blasphemy; now I am begging him to
come down and visit me at Eversley!’ Our breakfast of all the religions
as an active contest was a failure. The hostile forces met together,
but, instead of fighting, they fraternised!

It was during this visit to Bristol in 1869 that the curious
experience, already referred to on page 4, occurred, when I visited
the house where my early childhood was spent.

On settling in London as a physician, I resided for some time with my
valued friend Barbara Leigh Smith, then Madame Bodichon, at whose house
in Blandford Square I met her wide and varied circle of literary and
artistic friends and many leaders of social reform. Herbert Spencer,
Dante Rossetti, Mrs. Lewes, the Peter Taylors, Mrs. Crawshay, Miss
Goldsmid, Miss Cobbe, and Keshub Chunder Sen represent a few of the
persons I was privileged to meet.

At this time I had engaged medical consultation-rooms in an apparently
respectable house in York Place, on the front door of which the house
agent allowed me to place my name. I soon found, however, that my
doctor’s sign was intended to conceal the dubious character of the
occupier of the house, and I had unconsciously walked into a trap!
But friends came to the rescue and compelled the cancelling of the
lease with which I was entangled. I then established myself at No. 6
Burwood Place, where the commencement of a promising medical practice
was soon formed.

I eagerly entered upon the varied and intensely interesting social
life now opened to me.

My long-cherished conviction of the supreme importance of the medical
profession as the great conservator of health constantly deepened.

In 1870, being invited to address the Working Women’s College, I took
as the subject of my discourse ‘How to Keep a Household in Health.’
This lecture laid down rules of health for the guidance of poor
women in the management of their households, and was welcomed by the
audience. One person present, however, sent a slanderous account of
this lecture to the ‘Pall Mall Gazette,’ and I was overwhelmed by
the receipt of anonymous letters, and letters from persons in all
classes of society, requesting medical advice on the most important and
delicate subjects—subjects which are only suitable for the confidential
counsel of the physician’s consulting-room, where alone advice adapted
to each individual case can be judiciously given. I mentioned this
experience of the newspaper attack and the subsequent correspondence
to my friend Mr. Kingsley. He exclaimed: ‘Oh, you did not answer
those letters, I trust?’ I assured him that I had always refused to
give the advice asked for by letter, and had invariably returned fees
when enclosed. ‘Thank God for that!’ he exclaimed with an energy that
amazed me; and he then related to me a very painful experience of
his own, saying: ‘Let me warn you, never answer a newspaper attack.
There are some newspapers that delight in getting hold of a scandal
or whatever may make their paper sell, and are utterly unscrupulous
as to the means by which such a purpose is accomplished. You have no
chance against such corrupt speculation; your only weapon is silence
and your own established character.’

On February 19, 1871, under the auspices of the Sunday Lecture
Society, I gave an address, ‘On the Religion of Health,’ to a large
appreciative audience in St. George’s Hall. The same year a small
meeting was held in the drawing-room of 6 Burwood Place, to consider
the important subject of a steady and wide diffusion of sanitary
knowledge among all the people. There ‘The National Health Society’
was formed, for which Mr. Prout Newcombe (who was present) shaped
the stamp of the society, with its motto, ‘Prevention is better than
cure.’ This society, which established its first office in Berners
Street under the intelligent secretaryship of Miss Toulmin Smith,
continues its enlarging sphere of usefulness under the able management
of Miss Fay Lankester.

At this time the medical dispensary established by Miss Garrett for
women and children in Seymour Place was growing and enlisting a large
number of influential friends.

From this small beginning has grown the New Hospital and London School
of Medicine for Women, connected with the Royal Free Hospital. This
is not the place to speak of the intelligent and persevering efforts
to which those institutions owe their origin. The work of Dr. Garrett
Anderson and Dr. Sophia Jex Blake will always be remembered. It was
my privilege and pleasure in some small degree to encourage these
brave workers in their pioneer enterprise in England.

Whilst attending to an increasing medical practice, a visit from Mr.
William Pare, who had written an interesting account of the Ralahine
land experiment in Ireland, which proved so successful under the
management of Mr. E. T. Craig, drew my attention to the important
co-operative movement steadily growing in England.[8] The abortive
attempts at co-operative society which I had watched in the United
States, at Brook Farm, Red Bank, Eagleswood, and other places, in no
way shook the faith that through failure and renewed effort the true
principles of a wise organisation of human relations would gradually
be evolved. The English co-operative movement was characteristic of
the common-sense, unambitious way in which reforms grow in England.
The religious element introduced by such a noble band of Christian
Socialists as Maurice, Kingsley, Hughes, and Ludlow gave a hopefulness
to this movement which no attempts based on a limited view of material
well-being can afford.

Medical experience was daily showing the influence of the mind over the
body, and I eagerly longed to see an embodiment of Christian principles
in society, which embodiment was, as yet, far from attainment.

In pursuance of this investigation, at the end of August 1872
I determined to visit the Familistère of Guise, formed by Godin
Lemaire. His book, ‘Solutions Sociales,’ describing the growth of
the institution, was exceedingly interesting, and contained valuable
suggestions for future workers, and I wished to see its practical
working for myself. At the end of a fatiguing journey to Guise, on
the Belgian frontier of France, for at that time many miles had to
be traversed by diligence, I was cordially welcomed by M. Lemaire,
and spent several very interesting days in the great Familistère,
observing the life there.

The Familistère, which accommodated several hundred people, was
erected on a tract of land almost encircled by the river, which tract
was laid out in gardens and pleasure grounds. Across the river stood
the large factories and workshops for the manufacture of stoves, &c.,
which furnished the remunerative occupation of the little community.

I attended the prize-giving at the schools, saw the theatre, workmen’s
club and choral society, witnessed a ball, and visited the manufactory.
The organisation was a great object-lesson both in its success and its
defects; full of interest to those who seriously study this important
subject of improved social relations. The life at the Familistère,
however, was intense, and rather overpowering to me.

Shortly after my return I was attacked by illness, which proved so
serious in its effects that in 1873 the Burwood Place establishment
was broken up, and my plan of life necessarily changed. During the
next three years I vainly endeavoured to resume my London work, but
was frequently obliged to seek health in change of residence and
foreign travel. This travel included a memorable winter in Rome,
which need not be further referred to, although the approach to the
Eternal City—when, across the Campagna, the dome of St. Peter’s was
first visible—was a thrilling personal joy, never to be forgotten.
But my purely personal experiences will not be dwelt on.

When the London School of Medicine for Women was established I hastened
my return, and accepted the Chair of Gynæcology in the college.

In my lodgings in Dorset Square I again suffered from atrocious biliary
colic, which the able physicians whom I consulted were unable to
relieve, finished my course of lectures with extreme difficulty, and
came to the conclusion, with bitter disappointment, that any future
residence in London under my circumstances must be given up.

The winters of 1876-78 were spent chiefly at Bordighera and in Nice.
An episode there is worth recording.

My enlarging experience in various countries in respect to the
relations between men and women—the customs, the diseases, the social
disaster springing from errors as to human physiology and neglect in
education with regard to the most important functions—showed me the
imperative work which devolved upon the physician in this matter.
I realised that the mind cannot be separated from the body in any
profound view of the scope of medical responsibility. Under the olive
trees of Bordighera, and sitting by its lovely blue sea, I meditated
on the duty of the physician, and finally wrote the small work,
‘Counsel to Parents on the Moral Education of their Children.’

So little at that time was the importance of sexual education
understood, and the necessity of its consideration accepted, that
when I read my manuscript to a warm and enlightened English friend
staying at Mentone, she assured me that if I published that manuscript
my ‘name would be a forbidden word in England.’

I sent the manuscript, however, to about twelve of the leading London
publishers, who all declined the publication. I therefore printed a
small edition myself, which a bookseller consented to keep on sale.
A copy of this little book fell under the notice of Miss Ellice
Hopkins, who, considering that it would be useful in the special work
in which she was engaged, induced Mr. Hudson, the then acting member
of the firm of Hatchard & Co., to reconsider the matter and publish
the book for her use. The arrangement was made and the book printed;
but soon after I received a letter saying that though the firm had
never yet broken faith with an author, yet they feared they must do
so now; for the senior member of the firm, Bishop Hatchard’s widow,
had seen the proof of the book, thrown it into the fire, and desired
that its publication should be stopped!

Finally, a little consultation of elderly clergymen was called to
consider the subject, and it was at last resolved that if the name of
the work could be changed, and the distinct announcement made in the
title that it was a medical as well as a moral work, the publication
might be continued. Of course the change was made, and ‘Counsel to
Parents’ became ‘The Moral Education of the Young, considered under
_Medical_ and Social Aspects.’

I mention this curious experience as an encouragement to those who are
engaged in all branches of moral work. Public sentiment has advanced
since 1876. Looking now at the very reticent way in which the subject
is treated in this little book, it is difficult to believe that such
an episode could have occurred.

It has become clear to me that our medical profession has not yet
fully realised the special and weighty responsibility which rests
upon it to watch over the cradle of the race; to see that human
beings are well born, well nourished, and well educated. The onward
impulse to this great work would seem to be especially incumbent upon
women physicians, who for the first time are beginning to realise
the all-important character of parentage in its influence upon the
adult as well as on the child—i.e. on the race.

To every woman, as well as to every man, the responsible function
of parentage is delegated. Our nature is dwarfed or degraded if the
growth which should be attained by the exercise of parentage, directly
or potentially, be either avoided or perverted.

The physician knows that the natural family group is the first
essential element of a progressive society. The degeneration of that
element by the degradation of either of its two essential factors,
the man or the woman, begins the ruin of a State.

It is a source of deep gratitude in a long medical life to have
been enabled by physiological knowledge, as well as experience, to
perceive the true point of view from which the special nature of man
and woman must be regarded. It is well worth the efforts of a lifetime
to have attained knowledge which justifies an attack on the root of
all evil—viz. the deadly atheism which asserts that because forms
of evil have always existed in society, therefore they must always
exist; and that the attainment of a high ideal is a hopeless chimera.

The study of human nature by women as well as men commences that
new and hopeful era of the intelligent co-operation of the sexes
through which alone real progress can be attained and secured. We may
look forward with hope to the future influence of Christian women
physicians, when with sympathy and reverence guiding intellectual
activity they learn to apply the vital principles of their Great
Master to every method and practice of the healing art.




APPENDIX


I

The following letter, lately published in the New York ‘Church Union’
by a well-known physician of New York, is interesting as the testimony
of a gentleman who was a fellow-student in the Geneva Medical College.


_The Medical Co-education of the Sexes. By_ STEPHEN SMITH, M.D.

Medical circles were recently entertained by a symposium of prominent
physicians discussing the propriety of the medical co-education of
the sexes. All of the writers were opposed to the suggestion; some,
notably Dr. Weir Mitchell, of Philadelphia, expressed the utmost
disgust at the proposition. It happened to me to have witnessed the
first instance of the co-education of medical students of both sexes
in this country, and the results quite upset the theories of these
gentlemen.

The first course of medical lectures which I attended was in a
medical college in the interior of this State in 1847-48. The class,
numbering about 150 students, was composed largely of young men from
the neighbouring towns. They were rude, boisterous, and riotous beyond
comparison. On several occasions the residents of the neighbourhood
sent written protests to the faculty, threatening to have the college
indicted as a nuisance if the disturbance did not cease. During
lectures it was often almost impossible to hear the professors, owing
to the confusion.

Some weeks after the course began the dean appeared before the class
with a letter in his hand, which he craved the indulgence of the
students to be allowed to read. Anticipation was extreme when he
announced that it contained the most extraordinary request which had
ever been made to the faculty. The letter was written by a physician
of Philadelphia, who requested the faculty to admit as a student
a lady who was studying medicine in his office. He stated that she
had been refused admission by several medical colleges, but, as this
institution was in the country, he thought it more likely to be free
from prejudice against a woman medical student. The dean stated that
the faculty had taken action on the communication, and directed him
to report their conclusion to the class. The faculty decided to leave
the matter in the hands of the class, with this understanding—that if
any single student objected to her admission, a negative reply would
be returned. It subsequently appeared that the faculty did not intend
to admit her, but wished to escape direct refusal by referring the
question to the class, with a proviso which, it was believed, would
necessarily exclude her.

But the whole affair assumed the most ludicrous aspect to the
class, and the announcement was received with the most uproarious
demonstrations of favour. A meeting was called for the evening, which
was attended by every member. The resolution approving the admission of
the lady was sustained by a number of the most extravagant speeches,
which were enthusiastically cheered. The vote was finally taken,
with what seemed to be one unanimous yell, ‘Yea!’ When the negative
vote was called, a single voice was heard uttering a timid ‘No.’ The
scene that followed passes description. A general rush was made for
the corner of the room which emitted the voice, and the recalcitrant
member was only too glad to acknowledge his error and record his vote
in the affirmative. The faculty received the decision of the class
with evident disfavour, and returned an answer admitting the lady
student. Two weeks or more elapsed, and as the lady student did not
appear, the incident of her application was quite forgotten, and the
class continued in its riotous career. One morning, all unexpectedly,
a lady entered the lecture-room with the professor; she was quite
small of stature, plainly dressed, appeared diffident and retiring,
but had a firm and determined expression of face. Her entrance into
that Bedlam of confusion acted like magic upon every student. Each
hurriedly sought his seat, and the most absolute silence prevailed. For
the first time a lecture was given without the slightest interruption,
and every word could be heard as distinctly as it would if there had
been but a single person in the room. The sudden transformation of
this class from a band of lawless desperadoes to gentlemen, by the
mere presence of a lady, proved to be permanent in its effects. A
more orderly class of medical students was never seen than this, and
it continued to be to the close of the term.

The real test of the influence of a woman upon the conduct and
character of a man in co-education was developed when the Professor of
Anatomy came to that part of his course which required demonstrations
that he believed should be witnessed only by men. The professor was
a rollicking, jovial man, who constantly interspersed his lectures
with witty remarks and funny anecdotes. Nor did he study to have his
language chaste, or the moral of his stories pure and elevating. In
fact, vulgarity and profanity formed a large part of his ordinary
lectures; and especially was this true of the lectures on the branch of
anatomy above mentioned. On this account, chiefly, he was exceedingly
popular with his class; and during his lectures stamping, clapping,
and cheering were the principal employments of the students.

One morning our lady student was missed at the lecture on anatomy,
and the professor entered the room evidently labouring under great
excitement. He stated that he had a communication to make to the class
which demanded the most serious consideration. He then explained that
he had thought it highly improper that the lady student should attend
certain lectures specially adapted for men, and as he was approaching
that subject he had frankly advised her to absent herself, in a letter
which he read. He dwelt upon the indelicacy of the subject, the
embarrassment under which he should labour if a lady were present,
and the injustice which would be done to the class by the imperfect
manner in which he should be obliged to demonstrate the subject. He
closed by offering her abundant private opportunities for study and
dissection. He then read her reply. It was gracefully written, and
showed a full appreciation of his embarrassing position, when viewed
from the low standpoint of impure and unchaste sentiments. But she
could not conceive of a medical man whose mind was not so elevated and
purified by the study of the science of anatomy that such sentiments
would for a moment influence him. Coming to the practical question of
her attendance upon these lectures, she stated that if the professor
would really be embarrassed by the presence of a lady on the first tier
of seats, she would take her seat on the upper tier; and she trusted
that his interest in his subject would lead him to entirely forget
the presence of student No. 130—her registered number. At the close
of the letter the professor acknowledged the justice of the rebuke
which he had received, and declared that a lady who was animated by
such elevated views of her profession was entitled to every possible
encouragement which the class or faculty could give. He then opened
the door and she entered, only to receive an ovation of the most
overwhelming character. The lectures on anatomy proceeded in regular
order to their conclusion; and it was the universal testimony of the
oldest students that they had never listened to such a complete and
thorough course.

At the close of the term our lady student came up for examination
for graduation, and took rank with the best students of the class.
As this was the first instance of the granting of a medical diploma
to a woman in this country, so far as the faculty had information,
there was at first some hesitation about conferring the degree. But
it was finally determined to take the novel step, and in the honour
list of the roll of graduates for that year appears the name, Dr.
Elizabeth Blackwell.

                                                         _Church Union._
                                                         New York, 1892.


II

_An M.D. in a Gown_

[The ‘Medical Times’ of the 21st ult. contains a full, true, and
particular account of the admission of a young lady, Miss Elizabeth
Blackwell, by the General Medical College, in the State of New York,
to a physician’s degree. Miss Blackwell had duly attended lectures
at the college, and received a formal diploma, under the title of
‘Domina,’ which was the only feminine that the Senate could find for
Doctor. ‘Punch’ really thinks this is a case for a copy of verses,
which he accordingly subjoins, in honour of the fair M.D.]

     Not always is the warrior male,
       Nor masculine the sailor;
     We all know Zaragossa’s tale,
       We’ve all heard ‘Billy Taylor;’
     But far a nobler heroine, she
       Who won the palm of knowledge,
     And took a Medical Degree,
       By study at her College.

     They talk about the gentler sex
       Mankind in sickness tending,
     And o’er the patient’s couch their necks
       Solicitously bending;
     But what avails solicitude
       In fever or in phthisic,
     If lovely woman’s not imbued
       With one idea of physic?

     Young ladies all, of every clime,
       Especially of Britain,
     Who wholly occupy your time
       In novels or in knitting,
     Whose highest skill is but to play,
       Sing, dance, or French to clack well.
     Reflect on the example, pray,
       Of excellent Miss Blackwell!

     Think, if you had a brother ill,
       A husband, or a lover,
     And could prescribe the draught or pill
       Whereby he might recover;
     How much more useful this would be,
       Oh, sister, wife, or daughter!
     Than merely handing him beef-tea,
       Gruel, or toast-and-water.

     Ye bachelors about to wed
       In youth’s unthinking hey-day,
     Who look upon a furnish’d head
       As horrid for a lady,
     Who’d call a female doctor ‘blue;’
       You’d spare your sneers, I rather
     Think, my young fellows, if you knew
       What physic costs a father!

     How much more blest were married life
       To men of small condition,
     If every one could have his wife
       For family physician;
     His nursery kept from ailments free,
       By proper regulation,
     And for advice his only fee
       A thankful salutation.

     For Doctrix Blackwell—that’s the way
       To dub in rightful gender—
     In her profession, ever may
       Prosperity attend her!
     ‘Punch’ a gold-handled parasol
       Suggests for presentation
     To one so well deserving all
       Esteem and admiration.

     1849.


III

_First Annual Report of the New York Dispensary for Poor Women and
Children, 1855_

The design of this institution is to give to poor women an opportunity
of consulting physicians of their own sex. The existing charities of
our city regard the employment of women as physicians as an experiment,
the success of which has not yet been sufficiently proved to admit of
cordial co-operation. It was therefore necessary to form a separate
institution which should furnish to poor women the medical aid which
they could not obtain elsewhere.

The following gentlemen cordially consented to act as trustees of
the proposed institution: Messrs. Butler, White, Haydock, Sedgwick,
Collins, Field, Draper, Greeley, West, Harris, Foster, Raymond,
Flanders, Dana, Manning, Spring, Bowne. Consulting physicians, Drs.
Kissam, Parker, Cammann, Taylor. Attending physician, Dr. Elizabeth
Blackwell.

Messrs. Sedgwick and Butler kindly procured an Act of Incorporation. A
meeting for organisation was held on January 30, 1854. A constitution
and bylaws were adopted, and the following members were appointed
an Executive Committee to transact the business for the year: Stacy
B. Collins, Richard H. Bowne, Charles A. Dana, Elizabeth Blackwell,
Charles Foster.

The Eleventh Ward was chosen as the location for the dispensary, it
being destitute of medical charity, while possessing a densely crowded
poor population. The necessary rooms were found in Seventh Street,
near Tompkins Square, and were ready for the reception of patients in
the month of March. The dispensary has been regularly opened through
the year, on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons, at 3 o’clock.
Over 200 poor women have received medical aid. All these women have
gratefully acknowledged the help afforded them, and several of the
most destitute have tendered their few pence as an offering to the
institution.

With all these patients, the necessity of cleanliness, ventilation,
and judicious diet has been strongly urged, and in many cases the
advice has been followed, at any rate for a time. A word of counsel
or information, too, has often been given to the destitute widow
or friendless girl who was seeking work as well as health; the best
methods of seeking employment have been pointed out, suitable charities
occasionally recommended, and pecuniary aid sometimes rendered.

Since the double distress of commercial pressure and severe weather
have weighed so heavily on the poor, many cases of extreme destitution
have come to the dispensary. These have been chiefly emigrants, mostly
Germans, without friends or money, and ignorant of the language.
Several families have been visited where some member was sick, and
found utterly destitute, suffering from hunger, and though honest
and industrious, disappointed in every effort to obtain work. To such
families a little help with money, generally in the form of a loan till
work could be procured, has proved invaluable, and a small poor fund
placed by some friends in the hands of the attending physician, for
this special object, has saved several worthy families from despair
and impending starvation.

The dispensary has been removed since January 1, 1855, to No. 150
Third Street, between Avenues A and B, opposite the large Catholic
church; all persons who are interested in its objects are cordially
invited to call there. It will be open as heretofore from 3 to 5
o’clock on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons. Poor women and
children may be sent from any part of the city to receive the medical
aid of the dispensary, it being free to all.

This institution was commenced by the subscriptions of a few friends;
its expenses have been kept within its means, but the power of doing
good has necessarily been limited by the smallness of its funds.
It is found desirable to enlarge its operations, and place it on a
permanent basis. For this purpose, the trustees wish to raise the
sum of 5,000 dollars, and contributions are earnestly solicited. The
following members are appointed to receive contributions:

                                  Stacy B. Collins, 155 Bleecker Street,
                                            Robert Haydock, 46 Broadway,
                          Elizabeth Blackwell, 79 East Fifteenth Street.

The amount raised will be invested as a permanent fund for the
institution. It is the hope of the founders of this charity to make
it eventually a hospital for women and a school for the education of
nurses.

The books of the dispensary are always open to the inspection of
members, on application to the attending physician.

     New York: February 8, 1855.




ADDRESSES

The following addresses and publications indicate that ‘search after
righteousness’ which has occupied later life in England.

     _How to keep a Household in Health_; given at the Working
     Women’s College, 1870.

     _Medicine and Morality_, 1881; in the ‘Modern Review.’

     _Rescue Work in relation to Vice and Disease_, 1881; before
     Mrs. Meredith’s Society.

     _Christian Socialism_, 1882.

     _Wrong and Right Methods of dealing with Social Evil, based
     on Parliamentary Evidence_, 1883.

     _On the Decay of Municipal Representative Government: a
     Personal Experience in Hastings_, 1885.

     _Purchase of Women a Great Economic Blunder_, 1886.

     _Criticism of Gronlund’s Co-operative Commonwealth_; given
     before the Fellowship of the New Life, 1888.

     _A Medical Treatise on the Corruption of Neo-Malthusianism_,
     1888.

     _Christian Duty in regard to Vice_; a letter to the
     International Congress, 1889.

     _Christianity a Battle, not a Dream_; given before the
     Christo-Theosophical Society.

     _Erroneous Method in Medical Education_; Counsel to the
     Medical College of the New York Infirmary, 1892.




PUBLICATIONS


     _The Moral Education of the Young._ (Longmans, Green, & Co.)

     _The Human Element in Sex_; a Medical Work. (J. & A.
     Churchill.)

     _Christianity in Medicine_; published in ‘Things to Come.’
     (Elliot Stock.)

     _The Influence of Women in Medicine_; an Address to the
     Graduates of the London School of Medicine for Women. (Bell
     & Sons.)

     _Why Hygienic Congresses fail._ (Bell & Sons.)

     _The Religion of Health_; republished by the M. R. Union,
     2 Leinster Place, W.




                               PRINTED BY
                SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
                                 LONDON




FOOTNOTES


     [1] A term then applied in the West to those who were
     dissatisfied with every phase of our social life; they were
     generally noticeable for their long hair and peculiar mode
     of dressing.

     [2] The popular name for the Democratic as opposed to the
     Republican candidate.

     [3] I was then very shy, and much annoyed by such public
     notices as the following:—

     ‘A very notable event of the year 1848 was the appearance
     at the medical lectures of a young woman student named
     Blackwell. She is a pretty little specimen of the feminine
     gender, said the Boston _Medical Journal_, reporting her
     age at twenty-six. She comes into the class with great
     composure, takes off her bonnet and puts it under the
     seat, exposing a fine phrenology. The effect on the class
     has been good, and great decorum is observed while she is
     present. The sprightly Baltimore _Sun_ remarked that she
     should confine her practice, when admitted, to diseases of
     the heart.’—_Springfield Republican._

     [4] See Appendix I.

     [5] See Appendix II.

     [6] I was at that time utterly unaware of the amount of
     degrading cruelty perpetrated by many foreign investigators
     upon helpless animals under methods erroneously called
     scientific. It required the extended observation of the
     physician to realise the intellectual fallacy necessarily
     involved in experiments which destroy the thing to be
     observed; and also to recognise how the constant promulgation
     of false theory and practice arising from erroneous methods
     of investigation hinders the attainment of scientific
     medicine.

     I have long since realised that conscience and humanity
     must guide intellectual activity and curiosity, or we wander
     from the high-road of truth into a labyrinth of error. The
     above experience illustrates how the eager young student,
     thirsting for knowledge, may be blind to the unscientific
     or immoral methods of pseudo-science.

     [7] The fine property on Stuyvesant Square, at the corner
     of East Fifteenth Street, has since been purchased, and is
     now the site of the New York Infirmary and College.

     [8] This remarkable experiment of 1831, with its tragic
     termination, is related by Mr. Pare (Longmans, Green, & Co.)
     and by Mr. Craig (Trübner). It is well worth the careful
     study of all co-operative reformers.