Florence Nightingale did not content herself with sending loving messages to her godchild. Her christening-gift—a beautiful edition of Knight’s _Shakespeare_—is one of my most treasured possessions. I still have also the remains of a bracelet made of her hair, with a little golden heart at the clasp. In my mother’s correspondence with her sisters the “babies” are important figures. Maternal affection represents us in a glorified aspect; nevertheless, it is pleasant to have our early virtues and talents recorded by her loving hand. A few extracts from her letters are given below. NEW YORK, _Oct., 1845._ To MRS. THOMAS CRAWFORD. ... You complain that no one tells you about Florence. Oh! she is a perfect angel! The little creature lies in my arms all night, and makes me too happy. She is the image of our dear father—is not that strange? She has his eyes, his brow, almost his smile. So strong is the likeness that even Lizzie Hogg cried out: “Oh! she is like dear Mr. Ward!” This endears her to me very, very much. She was christened in our little study at South Boston. No one was present but Sumner, [Doctor] Fisher, Wightie, and Laura. The good Mr. Burton christened her, and made the service even more touching and beautiful than did our friend Parker. I had had a very nice cake made at home, iced over and adorned with sugar-plum letters.... The child has a heavenly disposition, and is much more robust than Julia was at her age.... _May 30, ’46._ To MRS. CRAWFORD. ... For this summer my great themes of interest are Annie’s[2] marriage and Fofo’s teeth. Flossy, as Julia calls her, is as healthy a child as one can see. She creeps on the floor all day, and can pull herself up by a chair, and stand for a long time, though she is just nine months old.... I confess my spirits have risen wonderfully since I left the institution. My little corner is so green and pretty, so quiet and hidden from all. I have not those dreadful stairs to go up and down, all the rooms are so near together. I need not lose sight of the children at any time.... Footnote 2: My aunt, Anne Eliza Ward, who married Adolphe Mailliard. _June 17, 1847._ ... I stay at home pretty much all day, and generally all the evening, too. I write stories and verses, and when my eyes are tired I paste pictures in the nursery scrap-book, which is in great demand. In another year I shall have a governess for Julia, who is getting too big to be left with a servant. She and Flossy come on well with their French.... _Nov. 31, ’47._