support but a high purpose, to live against every species of social opposition. . . . I should like a little fun now and then. Life is altogether too sober.
The utter loneliness of life became intolerable,
and in October of 1854 I took a little orphan girl
from the great emigrant depôt of Randall's Island
to live with me. This congenial child I finally
adopted. The wisdom of such adoption is abundantly
shown by an entry in my journal, two years
later, written on my birthday:—
On this bright Sunday morning I feel full of hope and
strength for the future. Kitty plays beside me with her
doll. She has just given me a candy basket, purchased
with a penny she had earned, full of delight in 'Doctor's
birthday'! Who will ever guess the restorative support
which that poor little orphan has been to me? When I
took her to live with me she was about seven and a half
years old. I desperately needed the change of thought
she compelled me to give her. It was a dark time, and
she did me good—her genial, loyal, Irish temperament
suited me. Now I look forward with much hope to the
coming events of this year.
An amusing circumstance relating to this child
is worth recording. She had always been accustomed
to call me 'Doctor.' On one occasion she
was present during the visit of a friendly physician.
After he was gone, she came to me with a very
puzzled face, exclaiming, 'Doctor, how very odd it
is to hear a man called Doctor!'
In December of 1855 I gave a first drawing-room 'Address on the Medical Education of Women.'
