Old age is as helpless as infancy, and less attractive in its helplessness, so that the task undertaken by the Little Sisters of the Poor is still more meritorious when performed in the devoted spirit which characterizes them.  They are literally the servants of beggars:  they are bound to possess nothing and to hoard nothing; they live on the refuse of refuse, begging the crumbs from rich men’s tables to feed the hungry ones under their care, and when these are satisfied sitting down to the scanty remains.  They have a large establishment in London, which I once visited, but which has since been divided into two, the aim of both continuing the same.  The sisters wear a very unpretending black gown and cap:  when out of doors they add to this a poke-bonnet and thick veil, with a large black shawl.  They have a little donkey-cart, which they drive themselves, and which makes daily pilgrimages all over town, stopping at the houses of the rich of all denominations and receiving contributions of that which is too often thought below the cook’s while to claim as a perquisite.  So laden, the Little Sisters return to their old people, and a transformation begins in the vast kitchen.  No one would believe what savory dishes they manufacture out of the leavings and parings of great houses:  everything is sifted, cleaned, washed, as the case requires; each kind of food is carefully separated and placed in its appointed place; an immense cauldron is continually on the fire, and soups and jellies are in a constant state of fusion and preparation.  Puddings of all sorts come out of the renovating oven:  joints of roast meat are the only things which are exceptional, and sometimes the more generous charity of some outsider adds even this luxury to the usual fare.  The Little Sisters of the Poor clothe as well as feed their charges:  for this, too, they trust to charity, and left-off clothes are a great boon to them.  They are so ingenious that there is hardly a thing of which they cannot make a deft use.  They have houses in New York and Philadelphia, and already do an immense deal of good among the destitute aged poor.

The Order of Sion is a rather peculiar one, its principal object being the conversion to Christianity and subsequent education of young Jewesses.  It has been founded within the last forty years by the brothers Ratisbonne, both of them Jews of distinction converted to Christianity.  The elder brother (they are both priests now) superintends the order in Europe:  the younger resides at the mother-house at Jerusalem.  The convent is an educational establishment, where the daughters of Orientals of all kinds are received—­Jews, Arabs, Syrians, Armenians, etc.  In Europe the houses, of course, do not confine themselves to Jewish pupils, else they would find less work than their many hands could do, but receive boarders and give a solid education like the other and more fashionable convents.  As a child I lived nearly a year in one of these houses,