scribed had
continued, I should probably have remained a frequenter of fashionable
society, a musical amateur, and a _dilettante_ in literature.

CHAPTER VII

MARRIAGE: TOUR IN EUROPE

Quite other experiences were in store for me. I chanced to pass the
summer of 1841 at a cottage in the neighborhood of Boston, with my
sisters and a young friend much endeared to us as the betrothed of the
dearly loved brother Henry, whose recent death had greatly grieved us.

Longfellow and Sumner often visited us in our retirement. The latter
once made mention of Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe's wonderful achievement in
the case of Laura Bridgman, the first blind deaf mute who had ever been
taught the use of language. He also brought us some of the reports which
gave an account of the progress of her education. It was proposed that
we should drive over to the Perkins Institution on a given day. Mr.
Longfellow came for me in a buggy, while Mr. Sumner conducted my two
sisters and our friend.

We found Laura, then a child of ten years, seated at her little desk,
and beside her another girl of the same age, also a blind deaf mute. The
name of this last was Lucy Reed, and we learned that, until brought to
the Institution, she had been accustomed to cover her head and face with
a cotton bag of her own manufacture. Her complexion was very delicate
and her countenance altogether pleasing. While the two children were
holding converse through the medium of the finger alphabet, Lucy's face
was suddenly lit up by a smile so beautiful as to call forth from us an
involuntary exclamation. Unfortunately, this young girl was soon taken
away by her parents, and I have never had any further knowledge
concerning her.

Dr. Howe was absent when we arrived at the Institution, but before we
took leave of it, Mr. Sumner, looking out of a window, said, "Oh! here
comes Howe on his black horse." I looked out also, and beheld a noble
rider on a noble steed. The doctor dismounted, and presently came to
make our acquaintance. One of our party proposed to give Laura some
trinket which she wore, but Dr. Howe forbade this rather sternly. He
made upon us an impression of unusual force and reserve. Only when I was
seated beside Longfellow for the homeward drive, he mischievously
remarked, "Longfellow, I see that your horse has been down," at which
the poet seemed a little discomfited.

Mr. Sanborn, in the preface to his biography of Dr. Howe, says:--

"It has f