The example of Florence Nightingale, so full of hope and prophecy to Mrs. Jameson five-and-twenty years ago, has proved indeed an earnest of better things, which all these years have been passing into realities.  Who shall say how much inspiration the noble band of ministering women in our civil war derived from the heroine of the Crimea?  When the great occasion arrives, the heavenly impulse is seldom wanting.  But God works through means; and that one example of Christian devotion, so fresh in the hearts of mothers, wives, and sisters, was an immense help in developing the self-sacrifice which is latent in every true life.  To say nothing of the new impulse given to the organization of woman’s work in England, it is a matter for thankfulness to be able to note that the signs of new life in this country are full of promise.  In several of our large cities, notably New York and Philadelphia, institutions have recently been founded for the training of nurses, and sisterhoods organized for the better accomplishment of Christian work in hospitals, asylums, and among the poor and unfortunate—­a work, indeed, which has been done, in one way or another, in all the Christian ages, by every true follower of the Master.

And here, in conclusion, the thought suggests itself that differences of organization, whether ecclesiastical or otherwise, should not conceal from our eyes the true notes of “the communion of the saints,” or shut from our hearts the conditions of inheriting the kingdom prepared from the foundation of the world:  “I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in; naked, and ye clothed me; I was sick, and ye visited me; I was in prison, and ye came unto me.”

    O English Nightingale,
    Who hadst the grace to hear
    The dying soldier’s far-off wail,
    And pause not for a tear—­

    Who, as on angel wings,
    Didst seek the wintry sea,
    To put thy hand to menial things,
    Which were not such to thee;

    And didst, with heaven-born art,
    Where pain implored release,
    To mangled form and broken heart
    Bring healing and sweet peace—­

    Thy work was music, song,
    As brave as ever stirred
    A nation’s heart; as calm and strong
    As angels ever heard!

Gazing on the modest, unassuming countenance shown in the illustration which accompanies this sketch, one can imagine the surprised question to which the King answers in the last day:  “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

* * * * *

XXVII.

SHY PEOPLE

HAWTHORNE-WASHINGTON, IRVING, AND OTHERS—­MADAME RECAMIER.