“Old friends” is almost a misnomer, for new faces greet us everywhere as we enter the precincts of the grounds and ancient abode. Mrs. Talbot, the esteemed matron, has resigned, and Mrs. Macdonald reigns in her stead. Miss Tidd, the originator and untiring secretary of the bazaar, is happily married. So is the schoolmistress, who, it will be remembered, was also a pupil trained at the Home. The monatresses of to-day are the scholars of five years ago, and our own particular girls have diminished in number. Thanks to the bazaar and collateral causes, we have been privileged to gain admission for nearly a dozen, of whom the greater number are in service and doing well, and when we make urgent demands for our girls, four only respond to them; but they have not forgotten us. We find two in the kitchen and two in the laundry, and hear that a couple of these are going to service after Christmas. They all look rosy and happy, in spite of the fumes that surround them; for the young cooks are bending over two gigantic saucepans, whence issues a very savoury odour, and the juvenile laundresses are enveloped in the less appetising exhalations from damp linen; for this is folding, drying, and mangling day, and one of our particular girls is turning the mangle. This large and commodious laundry has been erected, opened, and utilised since our last visit to Woodhouse. There are different compartments for sorting, washing, drying, ironing, mangling, packing, and delivering, which all communicate with one another. We live and learn; for we had scarcely realised before all the processes of laundry work. And this is all done by manual toil; for there is no steam. Seven of the elder girls are at present in training under a special experienced matron and laundry-maid, and as customers increase, more will be drafted off to this particular work, and open the other parts of the establishment to an increased number of inmates. As laundries almost invariably pay, it is confidently hoped that the income of the Home will be greatly increased by this agency, and both friends and strangers are “cordially invited,” as the phrase now is, to try it. The tariff of charges is the ordinary one laid down in London and the neighbourhood, and arrangements have been made with those ubiquitous carriers, Carter and Paterson, to fetch and return boxes and hampers of linen from and to any part of this vast metropolis free of charge; and customers may count on being supplied with the said boxes and hampers gratis and securely padlocked. What could they want more? “Good washing and ironing,” is the reply; and we trust these will follow the demand. Over a thousand articles have to be washed weekly for the inmates of the Home alone; so under all circumstances the hand is kept in.