h the wondrous stories of private letters,--the intrepid
daring of this one, the noble chivalry of that,--she soon succeeded in
winning all his attention. It was singular, however, that of all the
traits she recorded, none made such a powerful appeal to the old man's
heart as the generous self-devotion of those women who, leaving home,
friends, country, and all, gave themselves up to the care of the sick
and wounded. He never wearied of hearing how they braved death in its
most appalling shape amidst the pestilential airs of the hospital, in
the midst of such horrors as no pen can picture, taking on them the most
painful duties, accepting fatigue, exhaustion, and peril as the common
incidents of life, braving scenes of agony such as in very recital
sickened the heart, descending to all that was menial in their
solicitude for some poor sufferer, and all this with a benevolence and
a kindness that made them seem less human beings than ministering angels
from heaven.

"Oh, Holy Joseph! is n't it yourself ought to be there?" cried the old
man, enthusiastically. "Was there ever your like to give hope to a sick
heart? Who ever could equal you to cheer up the sinking spirit, and even
make misery bearable? Miss Bella, darling, did you never think of going
out?"

"Ay, Ned, a hundred times," said she, sighing drearily. "I often, too,
said to myself, There's not one of these ladies--for they are ladies
born and bred--who has n't a mother, father, sisters, and brothers dear
to her, and to whom she is herself dear. She leaves a home where she is
loved, and where her vacant place is daily looked at with sorrow; and
yet here am I, who have none to care for, none to miss me, who would
carry over the sea with me no sorrows from those I was leaving, for I am
friendless,--surely I am well fitted for such a task--"

"Well," said he, eagerly, as she seemed to hesitate, "well, and why--"

"It was not fear held me back," resumed she. "It was not that I shrank
from the sights and sounds of agony that must have been more terrible
than any death; it was simply a hope--a wish, perhaps, more than a
hope--that I might be doing service to those at home here, who, if
I were to leave them, would not have one on their side. Perhaps I
overrated what I did, or could do; perhaps I deemed my help of more
value than it really was; but every day seemed to show me that the
people needed some one to counsel and to guide them,--to show them
where their true