catch a glimpse of the field. Men
climbed on each other's shoulders, gave 'fabulous prices' for chairs,
boxes, and baskets, raised their wives and sweethearts high in the air,
and so by degrees our view was quite obstructed." [10] The scene did
not, perhaps, in numbers or in the brilliant array of fashion, rank, and
beauty surpass, nor in military pomp and circumstance did it equal, a
grand review she had witnessed not long before in the Champ de Mars; but
in other respects it was far more impressive. Among the volunteers were
thousands of young men in whose veins ran the best and most precious
blood in England. And then to an American wife and mother, Queen
Victoria was a million times more interesting than Louis Napoleon. She
stood then, as happily she still stands, at the head of the Christian
womanhood of the world; and that in virtue not solely of her exalted
position and influence, but of her rare personal and domestic virtues as
well. She was then also at the very height of her felicity. How little
she or any one else in that thronging multitude dreamed, that before the
close of the coming year the form of the noble Prince, who rode by her
side wearing an aspect of such manly beauty and content, and who was so
worthy to be her husband, would lie mouldering in the grave! [11]

About the middle of July Mrs. Prentiss with her husband and children
left London for Ventnor on the Isle of Wight, where, in spite of cold
and rainy weather, she passed two happy months. With the exception of
Chateau d'Oex, no place in Europe had proved to her such a haven of
rest. Miss Scott, the hostess, was kindness itself. The Isle of Wight in
summer is a little paradise; and in the vicinity of Ventnor are some of
its loveliest scenes. Her enjoyment was enhanced by the society of Mr.
and Mrs. Jacob Abbott, who were then sojourning there. An excursion
taken with Mr. Abbott was doubly attractive; for, as might be inferred
from his books, he was one of the most genial and instructive of
companions, whether for young or old. A pilgrimage to the home and grave
of the Dairyman's Daughter and to the grave of "Little Jane," and a
day and night at Alum Bay, were among the pleasantest incidents of the
summer at Ventnor.

Of the visit to "Little Jane's" grave she gives the following account in
her journal:

_Aug. 10th._--To-day being unusually fine, we undertook our
long-talked-of expedition to Brading. On reaching the churchyard we
asked a lit