One can imagine the difficulties encountered in expounding to this deaf, dumb, blind, and bewildered girl (whose only religious training had been daily examples of loving-kindness), the puzzling doctrines that then passed for religious teaching. But in that, as in all else, Laura was an apt pupil, and on Dr. Howe’s return from Europe he found the careful forethought and labour of years destroyed by that fanatical teacher. He was nearly frantic with rage and disappointment. I myself can never think of that bigoted interference without my own breath coming fast in anger. When we saw her, Miss Bridgman was a tall, spare woman, perhaps not more than fifty, though she seemed much older to me than fifty seems now. Pale (she wore blue spectacles over the blind eyes); her dark brown hair was parted over a refined face which had a non-fleshly look, very mobile, very sensitive--a quivering, changing face with the soul very near the surface; her lips were thin and very red. Her long white hands were marvellous in their rapidity, receptivity, and expressiveness. Mrs. Lamson talked to her by swift touches on the palm, Laura’s lightning fingers replying on her friend’s hand--a marvellous sight, those two silently communicating, by touch alone, all the complicated things which the instructor interpreted to us. The one word which this mute woman could articulate was “doctor.” In youth she had accidentally uttered the syllables and on being told what it sounded like, had eagerly practised until she could articulate the word. Though intelligible, it was distressing to hear it, and I was glad when she resumed talk on her silent uncanny fingers. “I don’t think it is nice for women to be doctors,” she said, on learning that we were medical students. When her friend told her she ought not to say this, she inquired, “Why not, if I think so?” They had never been able to convince her that politeness sometimes constrains us to conceal our thoughts. She even added, “Tell them I do not think that women can be as skilful as men.” But she soon asked us to prescribe for her eyes, explaining that the lids were sometimes sore. It struck us as novel to be asked to prescribe for Laura Bridgman’s _eyes_. Her friend told her we were only students, and had not yet learned to prescribe, but added, “_I_ can tell you something that will relieve them--if you will get some of the iron-water from a blacksmith and bathe them, it will help the soreness.” “What is a blacksmith?” asked Laura--“Is it one who colours things black?”