opened like a flower; she too became one of the seekers for light, and in her turn one of the light-bringers.
Among the poems of her early married life, none is more illuminating than the portrait of Dr. Howe
, which heads this chapter.
The concluding stanza gives a hint of the depression which accompanied her first realization of the driving power of his life, of the whitehot metal of his nature.
She was caught up as it were in the wake of a comet, and whirled into new and strange orbits: what wonder that for a time she was bewildered?
She had no thought, when writing “The rough sketch,” that a later day was to find her soul indeed matched with his, “in high resolve and hardihood” : that through her lips, as well as his, God was to sound forth a trumpet that should never call retreat.
In her normal health she was a person of abounding vitality, with a constitution of iron: as is common with such temperaments, she felt a physical distaste to the abnormal and defective.
It required in those days all the strength of her will to overcome her natural shrinking from the blind and the other defectives with whom she was often thrown.
There is no clearer evidence of the development of her nature than the contrast between this mental attitude and the deep tenderness which she felt in her later years for the blind.
After the Doctor
's death, they became her cherished friends; she could never do enough for them; with every year her desire to visit the Perkins Institution, to talk with the pupils, to give them all she had to give, grew stronger and more lively.
Of the friends of this time, none had so deep and