were gone! ' " Then all the shadows said
together: " We belonged to this house, but
others like us have belonged to every house,
and many such will come here, now, to be
relieved, and we will put it in the hearts of
mothers and fathers to remember them.
Come up, and see!"

We followed, up the spacious stairs into
a large and lofty room, airy and gay. It
had been the drawing-room of the old
house. A reviving touch had passed over
its decorations; and the richly-ornamented
ceiling, to which little eyes looked up from
little beds, was quite a cheerful sight. The
walls were painted, in panel, with rosy
nymphs and children; and the light laughter
of children welcomed our entrance.
There was nothing sad here. Light iron
cribs, with the beds made in them, were
ranged, instead of chairs, against the walls.
There were half-a-dozen children—all the
patients then contained in the new hospital;
but, here and there, a bed was occupied by a
sick doll. A large gay ball was rolling on
the floor, and toys abounded. From this cheerful
place we looked into a second room—the
other drawing-room, furnished in a like
manner, but as yet unoccupied.

There were five girls and a boy. Five
were in bed near the windows; two of these,
whose beds were the most distant from each
other, confined by painful maladies, were
resting on their arms, and busily exporting
and importing fun. A third shared the profits
merrily, and occasionally speculated in a
venture on its own account. The most delightful
music in this world, the light laughter of
children floated freely through the place.
The hospital had begun with one child.
What did he think about, or laugh about?
Maybe those shadows who had had their
infant home in the great house, and had
known in those same rooms the needs now
sought to be supplied for him, told him stories
in his sleep.

One of the little patients followed our
movements with its eyes, with a sad, thoughtful,
peaceful look; one indulged in a big
stare of childish curiosity and wonder. They
had toys strewn upon their counterpanes.
A sick child is a contradiction of ideas, like a
cold summer. But to quench the summer
in a child's heart is, thank God! not easy.
If we do not make a frost with wintry
discipline, if we will use soft looks and
gentle words; though such an hospital be full
of sick and ailing bodies, the light, loving
spirits of the children will fill its wards with
pleasant sounds, contrasting happily with the
complainings that abound among our sick
adults. Suffer these little ones to come to such
a Christian House, and forbid them not! They
will not easily forget it. Around the gates
of the Child's Hospital at Frankfort, hangs a
crowd of children who have been discharged,
lying in wait to pounce with a loving word
upon any of those who tended them when
sick. They send little petitions in to the
hospital authorities to be allowed, as a special
favour, to come into the garden again, to play.
A child's heart is soon touched by gentle
people; and a Child's Hospital in London,
through which there should pass yearly eight
hundred children of the poor, would help to
diffuse a kind of health that is not usually
got out of apothecaries' bottles.

We have spoken only of five children; the
sixth was not in bed and not at rest. He
was a literary character, studiously
combining into patterns letters of the alphabet;
but he had removed his work so far out
of the little world to which he belonged, that
he attracted no attention from his neighbours.
There are larger children in a greater world
who do the like. The solitary child was
lonely—not from want of love—its thoughts
were at home wandering about its mother; it
had not yet learnt to reconcile itself to
temporary separation. We seemed to leave the
shadows of our day-dream in attendance on
it, and to take up our young surgeon again.

Having paid as we were able brief respects to
each member of the little company, and having
seen the bath-rooms on this floor, we continued
our progress upward. Of course there were no
more stately drawing-rooms, but all the rooms
were spacious, and by modern care had been,
moreover, plentifully furnished with the means
of ventilation. There were bath-rooms, of
course; there were wards cut off from the
rest for fever cases. Good thought had been
evidently directed to a good purpose everywhere.

Having seen all these things, we came downstairs
again, and passing through the surgery—
upon whose jars and bottles our eyes detected
many names of compounds, palatable to little
mouths—we were shown through an excellent
consulting-room, into a wide hall, with
another of the massive chimney-pieces. This
hall is entered from a side street, and is
intended for a waiting-room for out-patients.
It had always belonged to the brave house in
Great Ormond Street, and had been used at
one time for assemblies.

What we have said of the few patients
admitted at the early period of our visit, will
have shown the spirit in which a Child's
Hospital should be conducted. Of course, to
such an institution a garden and play-ground
for the convalescent is an essential requisite.
We inquired, therefore, for the garden in
Great Ormond Street. We were shown out
through a large door under a lattice, and
found a terrace in the old style, descending
by steps to a considerable space of ground.
The steps were short, suited to little feet;
so also in the house, according to the old style,
which curiously fits itself to the modern
purpose. We found that an air of neatness had
been given to that portion of the ground
immediately near the house; but the space
generally is very ample, and is at present a mere
wilderness. The funds of the hospital have