nt. Dr. Fowler was familiar with the ancient history of the
place, which, as we saw it, contained nothing but an area of desolate
sand. The wonderful Druidical stones of Stonehenge commanded our
attention. They are too well known to need description. Our host could
throw no light upon their history, which belongs, one must suppose, with
that of kindred constructions in Brittany.

Bishop Denison, at the time of our visit, was still saddened by the loss
of a beloved wife. He invited us to a dinner at which his sister, Miss
Denison, presided. The dean and his wife were present, the Fowlers, and
one or two other guests. To my surprise, the bishop gave me his arm and
conducted me to the table, where he seated me on his right. Mrs. Fowler
afterwards remarked to me, "How charming it was of the bishop to take
you in to dinner. As an American you have no rank, and are therefore
exempt from all questions of precedence."

Mrs. Fowler once described to me an intimate little dinner with the poet
Rogers, for which he had promised to provide just enough, and no more.
Each dish exactly matched the three convives. Half of a chicken sufficed
for the roast. As his usual style of entertainment was very elegant, he
probably derived some amusement from this unnecessary economy.

We left Salisbury with regret, Dr. Fowler giving Dr. Howe a parting
injunction to visit Rotherhithe workhouse, where he himself had seen an
old woman who was blind, deaf, and crippled. My husband made this visit,
and wrote an account of it to Dr. Fowler.[2] He read this to me before
sending it. In the mischief of which I was then full to overflowing, I
wrote a humorous travesty of Dr. Howe's letter in rhyme, but when I
showed it to him, I was grieved to see how much he seemed pained at my
frivolity.

[Footnote 2: This old woman was one of a number of trebly-afflicted
persons--deaf, dumb, and blind--whom Dr. Howe found time to visit on
this wedding trip, beginning their instruction himself in some cases,
and interesting persons in the neighborhood in carrying it on. In his
report of the Institution for the Blind, written after his return from
Europe in 1844, he gives an account of these cases, closing with an
eloquent appeal in behalf of these neglected and suffering members of
the human family.

"And here the question will recur to you (for I doubt not it has
occurred a dozen times already), Can nothing be done to disinter this
human soul? It is late, but perhap