about sixteen or seventeen years of age, whose extreme paleness, or rather marble whiteness, vied with the snowy sheets which covered all but that lily face; and but for the quivering of the little frill of her cap, and the slow movement of her large blue eyes, it would have been difficult to believe that it was not the alabaster figure of some saint that reposed there.  The superior looked kindly and sadly upon her, bent down, kissed her pale forehead, and went on; and though the sufferer did not move or speak, nor the feeble head turn, her large blue eyes followed the reverend mother with an expression which was all its own—­an expression to be felt, deeply, intensely, but which cannot be described.  And who was she, that pale, silent girl?  She was an orphan, neglected by the world, betrayed and abandoned by one who appeared the only friend she had.  Crushed in spirit, enfeebled by want and misery, without a roof to shelter her young drooping head, she had been found by the Sisters of Charity sitting alone, her eyes fixed on the river.  They took her in, clothed, fed, and warmed her.  They poured into her heart the blessed words of peace and comfort, till that poor breaking heart gushed forth in a wild tide of feeling too strong for the feeble frame; and we now saw her slowly recovering from a frightful fever, the result of past sufferings, and of that agitation which even a reaction towards hope had occasioned.

It would be too much for the present sketch to describe the many invalids before whom we passed in our visits to the sick-chambers of the Sisters of Charity, though every single case would be a lesson to humanity.  The homeless, the forsaken, the orphan, each had his or her own bitter history, previous to reposing within the sanctuary of that blessed retreat; each was attended by some of those benevolent beings, whose gentle steps and sweet sunny smiles brought peace to their hearts.  None who are destitute are rejected at that gate of mercy.  Whatever their faults may have been, whatever their frailties, if overtaken by want or sickness—­if, deserted and trampled upon, they sink without any visible hand being stretched out to save them from despair and death—­then do the Sisters of Charity interpose to succour and to save.  To them it is sufficient that the sufferer requires their aid.  There every medical assistance is promptly given; every comfort, and even luxury.

Most surprising it is to the common worldling to see these gentle beings thus living entirely for others, seeking no reward but that inspired by Christian promises and hopes.  Nor is it mere drudgery and self-denial which constitute their great merit.  When humanity calls from the midst of danger, whether in the shape of pestilence or of war, they are equally unfailing.  It has been our lot to see a city taken by storm, the streets on fire and half-choked with ruins, and these ruins thickly strewed with the dead and dying.  There, before the wild scene had been in the least