It is now two years since “the little sisters” first made their appearance in Brussels. They followed their usual system: provided, in the first place, a room for the old, and after that, one for themselves. And great were their sufferings, during the first year, in a couple of small attics, where they were baked in summer, and frozen in the winter. The city authorities, together with several kind-hearted citizens, who knew the excellence and generally beneficial effect of their labors, were filled with compassion for them, purchased a large house and garden, and made a present of them to “the little sisters,” and their poor, old people. This they have now occupied for several months; the number of the aged inmates has increased to a hundred, and “the little sisters” to ten. Amongst these, there is now a young lady from one of the best families in Brussels. She had long hesitated about becoming one of “the little sisters,” from the fear of being elected a sœur guêteuse, (a begging sister,) for whose labors she felt a great repugnance. She was able, however, to withstand the inward impulse: she entered into the order of “the little sisterhood,” and became—that which she dreaded—nominated immediately as one of the begging sisters. Her pleasing appearance, her retiring and refined manners, peculiarly qualified her to excite general good-will, and now she went forth daily upon this, for her, difficult work. Soon, however, it ceased to be so very difficult. People knew her, and the object for which she appeared amongst them.
I had already been told all this by Madame Duepetiaux, when one day I saw from the window of my
