Wednesday, 26th.—Off actually! I dressed for the first time. Bandaged and veiled; the carriage drove to the door, Anna guided me in. I made kind adieus, caught glimpses of stone walls in the cold dull light, and thus ended my Maternité life. I felt very weak, and laughed hysterically the whole evening.
The following letter, written at this time to an
uncle, an officer in the British army, shows the
important support which the mind can render the
body in combating disease:—
Dear Uncle,—I thank you with all my heart for the
kind sympathy you have expressed for me so warmly.
Fate certainly gave me a strange and sudden blow, but
now I am up again strong and hopeful, and eager for
work, and I beg uncle to feel quite sure that a brave
soldier's niece will never disgrace the colours she fights
under; but will be proud of the wounds gained in a
great cause, and resolve more strongly than ever to
'conquer or die.' In truth, dear friends, the accident
might have been so much worse that I am more disposed
to rejoice than to complain. Even in its present
state the eye is not a very striking disfigurement, and it
will gradually become still less so. As to the more
serious consideration—loss of vision—I still hope to recover
that in time, and meanwhile the right eye grows
daily stronger. I can write without difficulty, read a
little, and hope soon to resume my usual employments.
I certainly esteem myself very fortunate, and I still mean
to be at no very distant day the first lady surgeon in the
world.
I find from your letters that there is a possibility of your visiting Paris. I should rejoice in the prospect of meeting you, if my own stay were certain; but it is by no means so. I have already accomplished much in
