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ADDRESS DELIVERED BEFORE THE AMERICAN ASSOCIATION TO PROMOTE THE TEACHING OF SPEECH TO THE DEAF, AT CHAUTAUQUA, JULY, 1894.

Much has been said and written about Helen Keller, too much I think has appeared in type. One can scarcely take up a newspaper or a magazine without finding a more or less exaggerated account of her so-called "marvelous accomplishments," which I believe consist only in her being able to speak and write the language of her country with greater ease and fluency than the average seeing and hearing child of her age. People are surprised that a child, handicapped by the loss of the senses of sight and hearing, has thus far succeeded in overcoming the obstacles which seemed to stand in the way of her intellectual development; they marvel greatly that her progress in acquiring knowledge compares favorably with that of more fortunate children, and do not seem to understand that such things are possible. Helen's case, because of the peculiar circumstances which attend it, appeals to our sense of wonder, and, as this is one of the deep-rooted instincts of human nature, such appeals are seldom in vain; they command the attention even of those who would fain deny the possibility of the achievements which have been claimed for my pupil. It is easier for the credulous to say, "She is a miracle and her teacher is another miracle," and for the unbelievers to declare, "Such things cannot be; we are being imposed upon," than to make a conscientious study of the principles involved in her education. I, therefore, ask you to free your minds from pre-conceived notions and theories regarding this case, and give it the thought and study which it deserves, with a view to satisfy yourselves whether the same, or similar, results may be obtained when children are so fortunate as to have eyes and ears with which to see and hear; or whether rapidity and ease and delight in education like dear Helen's are only possible where children are deprived of two senses. When I was asked, some time ago, by your president, to prepare a paper on Helen Keller to be read to this Association I hesitated to give assent, feeling very reluctant to write upon a subject which is so necessarily a part of myself; but it was strongly urged that ray personal experience and observation would be helpful to the teachers of the deaf, and this argument prevailed, as no other could have done; and if it shall prove to be true, and you do derive help and encouragement from anything I shall say of my seven years' experience as Helen's teacher, I shall be more than glad that I did not let this opportunity pass unimproved. I shall also have cause for gratification if I succeed in convincing you that Helen Keller is neither a "phenomenal child," " an intellectual prodigy," nor an "extraordinary genius," but simply a very bright and lovely child, unmarred by self-consciousness or any taint of evil. Every thought mirrored on her beautiful face, beaming with intelligence and affection, is a fresh joy, and this workaday world seems fairer and brighter because she is in it. And while it is unsafe to predict what Helen's future will be, I know she is destined to be the instrument of great good in the world, not only by drawing forth the sympathies, and putting into exercise the kind emotions of others, but by teaching them how great things may be achieved under the worst difficulties, and how pure and sweet and joyous may be existence under the darkest cloud.

I shall not enter into the details of Helen's education more fully than is necessary to give you a connected account of her progress. I shall assume that you are familiar with the phenomena shown in a mind debarred from the exhilarating influence of sight and sound, and that you understand the first principles involved in teaching a child thus afflicted.

LANGUAGE.

You have heard, again and again, the story of the way in which the use of five letters opened to her, who knew naught else, the door of all knowledge, of all joy; but you can have no adequate idea of the eager impatience which filled the teacher's heart during the days she waited before that beleaguered citadel, anxious for some sign from the soul within. You have all read in Helen's own words' how the idea that everything had a name suddenly flashed upon her mind. She had been taken to the pump-house to feel the water as it gushed, cool and fresh, from the pump, and while she was enjoying the pleasant sensation, I spelled the word "water" in her hand, and instantly the secret of language was revealed to her. In her story, speaking of this incident, Helen says: "That word, meaning water, startled my soul, and it awoke full of the spirit of the morning, full of joyous, exultant song. Until that day my mind had been like a darkened chamber, waiting for words to enter, and light the lamp, which is thought." From that day to this she has gone forward from hour to hour, from day to day, never falling back, her progress a perfect joy to herself, and a delight to all who have opportunity to observe her.

You must not imagine, however, that, as soon as Helen grasped the idea that everything had a name, she at once became mistress of the treasury of the English language, or that "her mental faculties emerged, full armed, from their then living tomb, as Pallas Athena from the head of Zeus," as one of her enthusiastic admirers would have us believe. At first, the words, phrases, and sentences which she used in expressing her thoughts were all reproductions of what we had used in conversation with her, and which her memory had unconsciously retained. And, indeed, this is true of the language of all children. Their language is the memory of the language they hear spoken in their homes. Countless repetition of the conversation of daily life has impressed certain words and phrases upon their memories, and when they come to talk themselves, memory supplies the words they lisp. Likewise, the language of educated people is the memory of the language of books.

Language grows out of life, out of its needs and experiences, its joys and sorrows, its dreams and realities. At first my little pupil's mind was all but vacant. Up to the time when I began to teach her, she had no means of registering on its blank pages her childish impressions and observations. She had been living in a world she could not realize. Language and knowledgee are like Siamese twins -- they are indissolubly connected; they are interdependent. Good work in language presupposes and necessitates a real knowledge of things. As soon as my little pupil grasped the idea that everything had a name, and that by means of the manual alphabet these names could be transmitted from one to another, I proceeded to awaken her further interest in the objects whose names she learned to spell with such evident joy. I never taught language for the PURPOSE of teaching it; but invariably used language as a medium for the communication of thought; thus the learning of language was coincident with the acquisition of knowledge. In order to use language intelligently, one must have something to talk about, and having something to talk about is the result of general culture; no amount of language training will enable our little children to use language with ease and fluency, unless they have something clearly in their minds which they wish to communicate, or unless we succeed in awakening in them a desire to know what is in the minds of others. From the very first, Helen was eager and enthusiastic in the pursuit of knowledge. In the little story of her life she says: "I was never still during the first glad days of my freedom. I was continually spelling and acting out words as I spelled them. I would run, skip, jump, and swing, no matter where I happened to be. Everything I touched seemed to quiver with life. It was because I saw everything with the new, strange, beautiful sight which had been given me."

She had one advantage over ordinary children, -- nothing from without distracted her attention; so that each new thought made upon her mind a distinct impression, which was rarely forgotten. At first I did not attempt to confine my pupil to any systematic course of study. I felt that she would accomplish more if allowed to follow her own natural impulses. I always tried to find out what interested her most, and made that the starting-point for the new lesson, whether or not it had any bearing on the lesson I had planned to teach, and her eager inquiries often led us far away from the subject with which we began. During the first two years of her intellectual life, I required Helen to write very little. In order to write with profit to himself, a child must have something to write about, and having something to write about, necessitates some mental preparation. The memory must be stored with ideas, and the mind must be enriched with knowledge before writing becomes a natural and pleasurable effort. Too often, I think, children are required to write before they have anything to say. Teach them to think and read and talk without self-repression, and they will write without self-consciousness.

Helen acquired language in an objective way, by practice and habit rather than by study of rules and definitions. Grammar, with its puzzling array of classifications, nomenclatures, and paradigms, was wholly discarded in her education. She learned language by being brought in contact with the living language itself; she was made to deal with it in everyday conversation, and in her books, and to turn it over in a variety of ways until she had mastered its anatomy. As I have at another time stated, I talked to her almost incessantly in her waking hours, and encouraged her to talk to me. I spelled into her hand a description of what was taking place around us; what I saw; what I was doing; what others were doing; anything, everything. I talked to her with my fingers as I should have talked to her with my mouth had she been a hearing child; and, no doubt, I talked much more with my fingers, and more constantly than I should have done with my mouth; for, had she possessed the use of sight and hearing, she would have been less dependent on me for entertainment and instruction.

Very early in her education I led her to observe and describe flowers and animals. A flower or insect often furnished material for a long and intensely interesting language-lesson. I would catch an insect and allow Helen to examine its tiny wings, antennae and plump little body; then she would open her hand, and bidding it a tender goodbye, let it fly away in the sunshine. Helen says, in speaking of her early education: "I did not have regular lessons then, as I do now. I just learned about everything, about flowers and trees, how they absorbed the dew and sunshine; about animals, their names and all their secrets, 'how the beavers built their lodges, where the squirrels hid their acorns, how the reindeer ran so swiftly, why the rabbit was so timid.' Once I went to a circus, and Teacher described to me the wild animals and the countries where they live. I fed the elephants and monkies; I patted a sleepy lion and sat on a camel's back. I was very much interested in the wild animals, and approached them without fear; for they seemed to me a part of the great, beautiful country I was exploring." The vegetable-garden and her mother's flower-garden, her numerous pets and the domestic animals were a never-ending source of instruction and enjoyment to her; and in thus being brought in close touch with nature, she learned to feel as if every little blade of grass had a history, and to think of every bud as if it were a little child, and knew and loved her. I did not attempt to make these lessons in zoology and botany formally scientific. I introduced them early in her education for the purpose of cultivating her observation, furnishing themes for thought, and to fill her mind with beautiful pictures and inspiring ideals. Material for language-lessons, knowledge of facts, and greater power of expression were ends obtained through these lessons; but they were not the most important aims. . I believe every child has hidden away somewhere in its being noble qualities and capacities which may be quickened and developed if we go about it in the right way; but we shall never properly develop the higher natures of our little ones while we continue to fill their minds with the so-called rudiments. Mathematics will never make them loving, nor will the accurate knowledge of the size and shape of the world help them to appreciate its wondrous beauties. Let us lead them then, during the first years they are intrusted to our care, to find their greatest pleasure in Nature, by training them to notice everything familiar or strange in our walks with them through the fields, the woods, on the hill tops, or by the sea-shore. The child who loves and appreciates the wonders of the out-door world will never have room in his heart for the mean and low. Such a child will have risen to a higher plane, and in a wise study of God's laws in Nature he will ever find his highest joy.

Books have played a very important part in Helen's education. As soon as she had learned the raised letters, I gave her books to read, and I doubt very much if I shall be able to make you understand the importance and advantage that books have been to her in acquiring a command of idiomatic English; the advantage has certainly been incalculable. I am confident that the ease and fluency with which she uses language are in large part due to the fact that embossed books were placed in her hands as soon as she had learned the letters. She has, like many hearing persons, a natural aptitude for comprehending and using language as soon as it has been acquired. I think, also, much of the fluency with which she uses language is due to the fact that nearly every impression which she receives comes through the medium of language. But, after due allowance has been given to Helen's natural aptitude for acquiring language, and from the advantage resulting from her peculiar environment, I think that we shall still find that the constant companionship of good books has been of supreme importance in her education. It may be true, as some claim, that language cannot express to us much beyond what we have lived and experienced; but I have always observed that children invariably manifest the greatest delight in the lofty poetic language, which we are too ready to think beyond their comprehension. "This is all you will understand," said a teacher to a class of little children, closing the book which she had been reading to them. "Oh, please read us the rest, even if we don't understand it," they pleaded, delighted with the rhythm, and the beauty which they felt, even if they could not interpret. In speaking of what books have been to her, Helen says: "I read my first story on May-day, and, ever since, books and I have been loving friends and inseparable companions. They have made a bright world of thought and beauty all around me; they have been my faithful teacher in all that is good and beautiful; their pages have carried me back to ancient times, and shown me Egypt, Greece, Rome; they have introduced me to kings, heroes, and gods; and they have revealed to me great thoughts, great deeds. Is it strange that I love them?" It is not necessary that a child should understand every word in a book before he can read with pleasure and profit. Indeed, only such explanations should be given as are really essential. Helen drank in language which she at first could not understand, and it remained in her mind until needed, when it fitted itself naturally and easily into her conversation and compositions. Thus she drew her vocabulary from the best source, -- standard literature, and when the occasion came, she was able to use it without effort. Indeed it is claimed by some that she reads too much, that a great deal of originative force is dissipated in the enjoyment of books, -- that, when she might see and say things for herself, she sees them only through the eyes of others, and says them in their language; but I am convinced that original composition without some mental preparation in the way of conscientious reading, is an impossibility. She has had the best and purest models in language constantly presented to her, and her conversation and her writings are unconscious reproductions of what she has read. Reading, I think, should be kept independent of the regular school exercises. Children should be encouraged to read for the pure delight of it. The attitude of the child toward his books should be that of unconscious receptivity. This means true reading; reading not only for entertainment, but for intellectual enrichment and enlargement. The great works of the imagination ought to become a part of their lives, as they were once of the very substance of the men who wrote them. It is true that the more sensitive and imaginative the mind is that receives the thought-pictures and images of literature, the more nicely the finest lines are reproduced. Helen has the vitality of feeling, the freshness and eagerness of interest, and the spiritual insight which proclaims the artistic temperament, and naturally she has a more active and intense joy in life, simply as life, and in nature, books, and people, than less gifted mortals. Her mind is so filled with the beautiful thoughts and ideals of the great poets, that nothing seems commonplace to her; for her imagination colors all life with its own rich hues.

SPEECH.

It was three years from the time when Helen began to communicate by means of the manual alphabet, that she received her first lesson in the more natural and universal medium of human intercourse -- oral language. She had become very proficient in the use of the manual alphabet, which was her only means of intercourse with the outside world; through it she had acquired a vocabulary which enabled her to converse freely, read intelligently, and write with comparative ease and correctness. Nevertheless, the impulse to utter audible sounds was strong within her, and the constant efforts which I made to repress this instinctive tendency, which I feared in time would become unpleasant, were of no avail. I made no effort to teach her to speak, because I regarded her inability to watch the lips of others as an insurmountable obstacle in the way of her acquiring oral language. But she gradually became conscious that her way of communicating with others was different from that used by those around her, and one day her thoughts found expression in the following questions: "How do the blind girls know what to say with their mouths? Why do you not teach me to talk like them? Do deaf children ever learn to speak?" I explained to her that some deaf children were taught to speak, but that they could see their teachers' mouths, and that that was a very great assistance to them. But she interrupted me to say she was very sure she could feel my mouth very well. Soon after this conversation a lady came to see her, and told her about the deaf and blind Norwegian child, Ragnhild Kaata, who had been taught to speak, and understand what her teacher said to her by touching his lips with her fingers. Helen's joy over this good news can be better imagined than described. She at once resolved to learn to speak, and from that day to this she has never wavered in that resolution. She began immediately to make sounds which she called speaking, and I saw the necessity of correct instruction, since her heart was set upon learning to talk, and feeling my own utter incompetence to teach her, never having given the subject of articulation a moment's study or thought, I went with my pupil, for advice and assistance, to Miss Sarah Fuller. Miss Fuller was delighted with Helen's earnestness and enthusiasm, and at once commenced to teach her. In a few lessons she learned nearly all of the English sounds, and in less than a month she was able to articulate a great many words distinctly. She was not content from the first to be drilled in single sounds; but was impatient to pronounce words and sentences. The length of the word, or the difficulty of the arrangement of the elements, never seemed to discourage her. But, with all her eagerness and intelligence, learning to speak taxed her powers to the utmost. There is, however, always a certain exhilaration in fighting against difficulties and in surmounting obstacles; struggle, however arduous and painful, has an element of inspiration.

There is a satisfaction of seeing from day to day, or perhaps from hour to hour, the evidence of growing mastery and the possibility of final success. And Helen's success has been more complete and inspiring than any of her friends dreamed or expected, and the child's own delight in being able to utter her thoughts in living and distinct speech, is shared by all who witness her pleasure when told by strangers that they understand her.

I have been asked a great many times whether I think Helen will ever speak naturally; that is, as other people speak. I am hardly prepared to decide that question, or even give an opinion regarding it. I believe that I have hardly begun yet to know what is possible. I have not given the subject all the time and study and thought which it requires, and which I intend to give in the near future. Teachers of the deaf often express surprise that Helen's speech is as good as it is, when she has not received any regular instruction in speech since the first few lessons given her by Miss Fuller. I can only say in reply, "This is due to habitual imitation and practice! practice! practice!" Nature has determined how the child shall learn to speak, and all we can do is to aid him in the simplest, easiest way possible, by encouraging him to observe and imitate the slightest vibrations resulting from articulation.

In conclusion, it may interest you to know to what stage Helen has attained in her education at the present time. During the past year she has made considerable progress in the study of Arithmetic; but Latin, History, Literature, and Geography are her favorite studies, and I venture to assert that very few boys and girls of her age have a more extensive knowledge of these subjects than my pupil. In these studies she is greatly assisted by her vivid imagination, which translates words into images, and sentences into pictures. The following passage from her diary indicates, more clearly and forcibly than any words of mine could do, Helen's attitude toward her studies, and shows that she is eager and as enthusiastic in her pursuit of knowledge now as she was six years ago: --

"DEAR DIARY: To-day is the thirteenth of October, 1893, and I have some pleasant news for you. My studies began to-day, and I am very, very glad. I study Arithmetic, Latin, History, Geography, and Literature. I am glad, because I want to learn more and more about everything in this beautiful, wonderful world. Every day I find how little I know; for I catch glimpses on all sides of treasures of history, language, and science, -- a beautiful world of knowledge, -- and I long to see everything, know everything, and learn everything. I do not feel discouraged when I think how much I have to learn, because I know the dear God has given me an eternity in which to learn it.

"I used to say I did not like Arithmetic very well, but now I have changed my mind; for I see what a good, useful study it is. It helps me to think clearly and logically and strengthens my mind in many ways. I try to be very calm and patient now when the examples seem very hard, but sometimes in spite of my great effort to keep my mind in the right place, it will flutter like a little bird in a cage and try to escape into the pleasant sunshine; for nice and useful as Arithmetic is, it is not as interesting as a beautiful poem or a lovely story.

"Latin is a very beautiful language, and I hope I shall be able to speak and read much of it when I go home next Spring. Already I begin to feel better acquainted with the grand old heroes of Rome, since I know a little of the language in which they thought and talked so long ago.

"I love Literature and History too, because they teach me about the great things that have been thought and dreamed and achieved in the world, and help me to understand 'how the law of good worketh incessantly, without halting, without rest; planting seeds of knowledge here, through earth to ripen, through Heaven to endure.' "

But it is Helen's loving and sympathetic heart rather than her bright intellect which endears her to everybody with whom she comes in contact. She impresses me every day as being the happiest child in the world, and so it is a special privilege to be with her. The spirit of love and joyousness seems never to leave her. May it ever be so. It is beautiful to think of a nature so gentle, pure, and loving as hers; it is pleasant also to think she will ever see only the best side of every human being. While near her, the roughest man is all gentleness, all pity; not for the world would he have her know that he is aught but good and kind to every one. So we see, pathetic as Helen's life must always seem to those who enjoy the blessings of sight and hearing, that it is yet full of brightness and cheer and courage and hope.

Annie M. Sullivan