The prince who asked, “Who is she?” when anything went wrong in his kingdom, was not far out in his estimate of the power of woman for mischief; but he would have been wiser had he asked the same question when he heard of any new movement for good. The fact is that, as Coventry Patmore says, women have the power, would they but use it, to make “brutes men, and men divine.” When the selfishness, the thoughtless cruelty, and the greed of men have culminated in some deep-seated, persistent social wrong, it may be taken for granted that the evil will not be uprooted till a woman’s whole-hearted, unselfish courage has taken it in hand. Mr. Ruskin somewhere complains that “no one pays the least attention to what he says on social topics, except a few nice girls, and they can do nothing.” He should not have said that, because he knows better—no one more certainly than he—that his “few nice girls” will bring to pass all that is good in his teaching sooner or later. Women mend what men mar;—everything, from our linen to our laws. Sister Agnes knew all this—knew that it was just as certainly some woman’s place to set to work and remedy this shameful abuse of Charity’s holiest work, as it would be her work to restore peace and order to a home wrecked by a man’s selfishness and violence. The more she thought of the matter, the more indignant she felt that no man could be brought to see the awful wrong of exploiting the miseries and diseases of the poor for the purpose of adorning the brows of men with academic laurels. Surely never in the history of this world was so cruel a mockery of charity! Asked for bread, to give a stone! What was this but to give disease for health, maiming for cure, torture for ease, and death for life? And then to go round to those who, in the name of the Healer, were ever ready to sacrifice their substance and give alms out of their penury, for the means to bring more victims to the altar of their Kali! Did not every sister and nurse in the place, with feminine penetration, see through all these shams? Did they not revolt in their souls, day by day and hour by hour, at this mockery of mercy, till, by long use, they forgot to feel the wrong? She had mentioned her misgivings to many men, clergymen chiefly, who saw it all—saw just where the mischief lay, but thought it inseparable from the work that had to be done; knew of its existence, but could see no remedy for it. They declared that every good thing in this world must be bought with a price. But was not this price too high to pay? They did not know, they did not think anybody could even set about estimating that. They did not like to encourage thought or discussion of the question—money was hard enough to get for the hospitals as it was. Breathe but the least on the idea of their utility, and the charitable public, all too ready to withhold its gifts, would cease to subscribe. Hospitals were costly things to establish, still costlier to maintain efficiently.