I am very glad to say that I received much kind sympathy and help in my work from the Nuns of the Loretto Convent. Although a member of the Church of England, I found the Reverend Mother Provincial, Mother Mechtilda, Mother Antonia, and the sisters at Loretto House, took the deepest interest in my labours among the lepers, and used, by their kindly advice and monetary assistance, to encourage and aid me in every possible way. I first became acquainted with them through sending my little boy to school at their convent in the hills. During the hot weather, it is found necessary to send as many children as their parents can afford to pay for, away out of the heat of Calcutta, to the cooler climate of Darjeeling or any adjacent hill station, where the little ones remain till the temperature becomes sufficiently cool for them to return to their studies in the plains. I sent my boy one season to Darjeeling with the nuns, and it was when arranging for his trip that I first met my kind friends. I used to like going to them; for all was very peaceful at Loretto. It was no uncommon sight to see a beggar seated at the convent gate eating a meal that the nuns had brought him; it being their custom never to send a hungry person away without giving him any food there might be in the convent. Poor persons, knowing this, used often to get a meal from the nuns. When I rang the bell I was always certain of a warm-hearted reception; for one or more of my friends were sure to be at home, and, being all Irishwomen, my welcome was cordial and sincere. Their pretty drawing-room was in no way richly or grandly furnished; but comfort rather than effect was studied within the convent.

The glare of the sun was shut out, fresh flowers were always on the table; while the gold and silver fish swimming about in a bowl looked cool and refreshing. A number of religious engravings and a quantity of exquisite crewel work, which was done by the pupils and nuns, gave the room a more homely look than one usually finds in drawing-rooms abroad.

The nuns themselves, in their clean white gowns, devoid of drapery or any ornamentation, are so kind and womanly that one’s heart goes out to them at once. Before I had known the dear old Mother Provincial an hour, I found myself telling her of all my woes and troubles, and, encouraged by her kindness, I felt better able, after such visits, to do battle with the world; for there is nothing so comforting as the genuine sympathy of one woman with another. She would give me an encouraging tap on the shoulder, and say, “Go on, dear; continue to do your best for those poor lepers, and we will pray for you; all the nuns will pray for the success of such a work as yours. It is so nice to see the young thoughtfully working for the sorely afflicted.” Mother Provincial not only encouraged me with words, but she got up a subscription among the nuns and sent me a sum of money for my leper fund. She did all this in her quiet, sweet way, knowing that I professed a different creed to that of her own; but she waived all prejudice, because she thought I was doing a good work. I have nothing but the pleasantest and most grateful recollections of the nuns; for I invariably found them the same kind friends, through good and evil report, all the time I was in Calcutta. They must have heard and read enough deprecatory remarks about me to have turned them entirely against me, had not they thoroughly believed in my sincerity; for interested persons, who did not believe that anyone would work in an honest cause when actuated only by motives of justice—we won’t say charity—wrote their views about me in the local papers, in which they tried to hold me up to derision. However, the public, knowing that I personally had nothing to gain, and that I could find no possible pleasure in going into the haunts of disease, other than that of aiding those who could in no way help themselves, gave me their support, and money was sent me from time to time to spend on comforts for the lepers. I think I have to thank the nuns for a great deal of the money that came to me; for these ladies possess unbounded influence among a large number of right-thinking persons, and they used it on behalf of the lepers, so that many rupees were sent to me through them.

One day I caused no little surprise and amusement by asking Mother Mechtilda to come and take afternoon tea with me. It was from her I learnt that they never leave the convent except to go to another, nor do they walk in the public streets. I ventured to say that it was a pity such good women should shut themselves up when they might be doing work in the world among the poor and sick. “We are not,” they replied, “permitted by our Order to go out; we teach the young. There are nuns, sisters of charity, the Little Sisters of the Poor, and many other Orders, whose work takes them into the world. We teach and help to clothe poor children.”

While telling me this, a bell rang, and the Mother, asking me to excuse her, knelt down in the room where we were sitting, and prayed for a few minutes, after which we resumed our conversation. I should have liked to have asked her what bell it was that summoned her to prayer, but did not like to discuss such a solemn subject as this would be to her. They never sent me away without a nice bouquet of fresh flowers, which would be picked from the garden while I waited. This pretty token was generally accompanied by a hearty “God bless you” as I turned to leave the convent. They were not so exclusively devoted to serious subjects as to forget the bodily wants of their visitors. On hot days a refreshing glass of iced lemonade and biscuits were always ready, and one’s requirements often anticipated with kindly forethought before they were made known. I am sorry to say that I was hurried away from Calcutta by telegram before I could pay a farewell visit to my kind friends. I feel sure I have no more sincere well-wishers in this work than the nuns of Loretto Convent, the memory of whose kind words and actions shall always be gratefully treasured up in my heart.