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 room, called by courtesy the parloir, on the other. You must notice the parloir, for it is there I shall receive my
