urgency of the case, are often left with most obvious grounds of complaint. Stafford O’Brien is here; he, at my suggestion, aids my son and self in letter writing for the poor creatures. My room is a post office; I pay the post of every letter from every hospital patient, and we write masses every day. They show one what the British soldier really is; I only wish to God the people of England, who regard the red coat as a mere guise of a roystering rake in the private and a dandified exclusive in the officer, could see the patience, true modesty, and courageous endurance of all ranks. “Understand me clearly. I could pick many a hole; I could show where head has been wanting, truth perverted, duty neglected, etc.; but I feel that the pressure was such and of so frightful, so severe (in one way) a character, there is such an effort at what we desire, that I for one cry out of the past ‘_non mi ricordo_;’ of the present, ‘If the cart is in the rut, there is every shoulder at the wheel.’ The things wanted we cannot wait for you to supply, in England; if the slaughter is to go on as it has done the last fortnight, the need must be met at once. Macdonald is doing his work most sensibly, steadily, and I believe not only with no offence to any, but is earning the goodwill of all.” Truth is a two-edged sword, and for purposes of rebuke or reform Miss Nightingale used it at times with keenness and daring. In that sense this glowing, loving-hearted woman knew how on occasions to be stern. Her salt never lost its savour. She was swift, efficient, capable to the last degree, and she was also high-spirited and sometimes sharp-tongued. Perhaps we love her all the more for being so human. A person outwardly all perfection, if not altogether divine, is apt to give the idea that there are faults hidden up somewhere. It was not so with Miss Nightingale. Her determination to carry at all costs the purpose she had in hand laid her often open to criticism, for, just as she was ready on occasion to override her own feelings, so also she was ready sometimes to override the feelings of others. Mr. Herbert judged from her letters that an addition to her staff of nurses would be welcome, but we saw that when the new band of forty-six arrived, under the escort of Miss Nightingale’s old friend Miss Stanley, they were not admitted to the hospital at Scutari, and to tell the truth, Miss Nightingale was very angry at their being thrust upon her, just when she was finding her own staff rather a “handful.” In point of fact, she not only wrote a very warm letter to her old friend Mr. Herbert, but she also formally gave in her resignation.