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