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HELEN KELLER.

"She to highest hopes
Was destined, -- in a firmer mould was wrought,
And tempered with a purer, brighter flame."

Akenside.

When the achievements of the nineteenth century shall be tabulated, the wonderful work of Dr. Howe will not be very far from the head of the column.

Save the traditional legends of supernatural miracles, there is nothing left on record to transcend such an astonishing height as was attained by the consummate skill which this knight-errant of humanity showed in the deliverance of Laura Bridgman from the dreadful prison of ever-enduring darkness and dreary stillness. The success of his courageous efforts to roll away the ponderous stone from the door of the sepulchre, wherein the faculties of this hapless human being were entombed, was a glorious triumph for our civilization and an incalculable gain for the philosophy of education. The commanding voice which said "come forth" to the buried mind of a blind deaf-mute, and was obeyed, reached the loftiest degree of eminence known to history, and made clear Dr. Howe's title to a prominent place in the pantheon of the benefactors of mankind. His demonstration of the possibility of such summons winning a response bound his brow with an amaranthine wreath of honor and fame, and inaugurated the commencement of a new and most beneficent era in the realm of science and the domain of philanthropy. The simple way of communicating with the outer world, which he discovered and with which he bridged across the chasm of ruined avenues of sense for the benefit of those --

"Whom the fates have mark'd
To bear the extremity of dire mishap," --

will stand forever a lasting monument to his supreme sagacity and patient perseverance, and a beacon light to those who follow in his footsteps and carry on the noblest of his works.

In exploring the densest forest and murkiest desert of misfortune, Laura's liberator -- whom John Weiss did not hesitate to characterize in one of his essays as "an incarnate word of God" -- proved himself an acute thinker, an original investigator, a bold pioneer, a second Prometheus. From sparks stolen from heaven he kindled the flame of intelligent life and knowledge in what else had been mere forms of clay, and brought these into communion with their fellow-creatures.

"He waved a torch that flooded the lessening gloom
With everlasting fire."

He became a valiant friend and august father of the most helpless victims of affliction, by devoting his prodigious energies and the vast resources of his ingenuity to their rescue from the horrors of life-long solitary confinement and perpetual isolation. He swept away the thick clouds that enveloped them, and revealed to them a vision of the possibilities of social intercourse and real happiness.

"Like a star of life he rose on their night;"

and the tie which links him and them is of such pure and immaculate strength that it cannot be broken or violated. Obstacles were nothing to Dr. Howe's genius, the essence of which consisted in heroic force of will and wisdom fired by love. He was well equipped with weapons for the accomplishment of great deeds, for his armor included --

"Harmonious thoughts, a soul by truth refined,
Entire affection for all humankind."

A firm believer in the sovereign potency of the mind, he plunged into the task of beating into dust the mountain of difficulties, and of obtaining the gem hidden under them with a dauntless spirit of resolution and without the least fear or doubt as to the ultimate issue. His undertaking was a wholly novel one. There was nothing on record that could be of help or service to him in his gigantic enterprise. He found no external indices to point out his course, no guides to direct his steps, no examples to imitate, no predecessors to follow. All seemed like a trackless wilderness before him; but he was determined to explore it and to complete the work which heaven left for man to do. He came out of it victorious, and opened a wide pathway for his successors and disciples to travel for all time to come.

"All these did wise Odysseus lead, in council peer to Zeus."

Dr. Howe's act of discovery is the type both of the science and of the humanity of the present age, and his magnificent invention proved of inestimable benefit to mankind. Its abiding influence is spreading widely on both hemispheres, and bears rich fruitage. The number of persons who have recently been saved from the terrors of intellectual and moral death, and are now enjoying the blessings of mental freedom and the invaluable advantages of education is larger than ever before, and is constantly increasing. Some of these are noted for special talents and marked abilities; but Helen Keller stands unquestionably first and foremost among them.

"Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky."

A UNIQUE STORY.

"I will a round unvarnished tale deliver."
Shakespeare.

The last authentic account of the rapid development and astonishing achievements of this most extraordinary child was given in these reports three years ago. Since then nothing of an official character has been published. We propose now to take up the thread of the recital where we dropped it in 1888, and to bring it down to the present day.

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It is hardly necessary for me to state here that Helen's story, however imperfectly it may be told, is one of unrivalled interest. It continues to be as fascinating as a fairy tale. Although some of its points have been briefly touched upon in previous accounts, yet new incidents add freshness to its pathos and variety to its surprises, and render it a narrative of absorbing interest, a rich treasury of wonders and an abundant source of inspiration.

Before proceeding any further in this sketch, we beg leave to repeat the assertion and renew the assurance that the facts embodied in it have been scrupulously verified and are entirely free from error and exaggeration, and that we vouch for their correctness in every particular. If they appear miraculous to some of the readers of these pages, let it be remembered that the little girl herself is a marvel. These are the precise words which one of the leading scientific men of America used when speaking of her at the end of a long interview with her. For many months this gentleman had been quite skeptical as to the truth of some of the statements concerning her linguistic and other attainments, and ready to cast doubts on them; but after conversing with her for nearly two hours, during which time he questioned her on various topics with his own fingers and in his own methods, he became convinced of the brilliancy of her mind and the superiority of her genius, and joined the ranks of her enthusiastic admirers.

GENERAL VIEW OF HELEN'S INDIVIDUALITY.

"She is most fair, and thereunto
Her life doth rightly harmonize."
Lowell.

Helen is a phenomenal child. She is in every sense a very remarkable person. Her gifts are manifold. Her mind is as clear as her brain is fertile, while her heart flames with earnestness and glows with charity. She is the finest illustration of consecrated, unselfish, whole-souled devotion that childhood has ever offered to the vision of men or that of the gods. She combines largeness of view with subtlety of mind, breadth with keenness, vigor with delicacy, knowledge with geniality, tact with common sense, reason with warmth, enthusiasm with self-control. Noble aspirations, gentle manners, intense feelings, incessant thinking, native goodness, a passion for learning and self-improvement, a thirst for righteousness and a hunger for holiness, all unite in her to place her far above ordinary morals. She is a manifestation of loveliness, the personification of generosity, the essence of amiableness.

"The spirit of a flower
With wings for flight,
Yet held by clinging roots
For our delight."

Helen's life is as perfect as a poem, as pure and sweet as a strain of music. She appears in the firmament of humanity like a new star, shining with its own light and differing from all others in glory, and seemingly independent of the rest of the host of heaven. As the seven colors blend and fuse in a ray of white light, so do choice intellectual endowments and rare moral characteristics enter into the composition of her being and produce what seems to be a true genius. The following quotation from one of Mrs. Louise Chandler Moulton's poems applies to Helen's case with peculiar fitness: --

"She is smiling as the smiling May,
As gay at heart as birds that carol gayly
Their sweet young songs to usher in the day;
As ardent as the skies that brood and brighten
O'er the warm fields in summer's happy prime;
As tender as the veiling grace that softens
The harshest shapes in twilight's tender time."

To give a full account of what Helen has accomplished during the past three years would require more space than I have at my disposal. I shall be obliged therefore to notice only such facts and incidents as constitute the sum and substance of her development, and show the chief features of her character, dividing my narrative into three distinct parts, in which the following subjects will be respectively treated: --

First. Physical growth, including health and temperament.

Second. Mental development and intellectual attainments.

Third. Moral nature and religious instruction.

I. PHYSICAL GROWTH

"Grows with her growth and strengthens with her strength."
Pope.

During the past three years Helen has grown amazingly fast in body and mind alike. She sprang up and advanced towards full stature and maturity with astonishing rapidity. She is now five feet and two inches in height and of symmetrical figure, and weighs one hundred and twenty-two pounds. Her physique is, magnificent. Her active brain and great heart are sustained by an adequate material frame, which is so strong and pure that "her soul can do its message fitly" in it. Her head is finely formed, and decked with beautiful brown hair falling in luxuriant curls over her pretty shoulders, while the shape of her brow is indicative both of the capacious spirit that is lodged within and of the majesty of intellect which rises therefrom. Her countenance is beaming with intelligence and animation, and is rendered thereby extremely pleasant and attractive. Hers is not a face of perfect symmetry and beauty, but there blooms in it --

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"A most bewildering smile, -- there is a glance
Of such playfulness and innocence,
That as you look, a pleasant feeling comes
Over the heart, as when you hear a sound
Of cheerful music."

Health and Temperament.

"In primis valeas bene."
Horace.

For several years Helen enjoyed most excellent health. She seldom complained even of the common ailments. She always ate heartily and slept soundly. True, her intellectual energy was so tremendous that all medical men who came in contact with her were unanimous in considering it as dangerous to her physical well-being, and as boding evil consequences to her health; but this flowing mental activity, apart from being provided with an adequate safeguard in the buoyancy of her spirits and the joyousness of her temperament, was kept within proper bounds by prudent regulation of her hours of work, exercise and rest. A synopsis of the programme of her daily occupations and recreations is given in the following letter, which she wrote to her little sister on the latter's third birthday: --

SOUTH BOSTON, Oct 24, 1889.

MY PRECIOUS LITTLE SISTER: -- Good morning. I am going to send you a birthday gift with this letter. I hope it will please you very much, because it makes me happy to send it. The dress is blue like your eyes, and the candy is sweet just like your dear little self. I think mother will be glad to make the dress for you, and when you wear it you will look as pretty as a rose. The picture-book will tell you all about many strange and wild animals. You must not be afraid of them. They cannot come out of the picture to harm you.

I go to school every day, and I learn many new things. At eight I study arithmetic. I like that. At nine I go to the gymnasium with the little girls, and we have great fun. I wish you could be here to play three little squirrels, and two gentle doves, and to make a pretty nest for a dear little robin. The mocking bird does not live in the cold north. At ten I study about the earth on which we all live. At eleven I talk with teacher and at twelve I study zoölogy. I do not know what I shall do in the afternoon yet.

Now, my darling little Mildred, good bye. Give father and mother a great deal of love and many hugs and kisses for me. Teacher sends her love too.

From your loving sister,

HELEN A. KELLER.

In a similar letter, which she wrote to me two weeks later, she speaks more fully of the same subject: --

SOUTH BOSTON, MASS., Nov. 7, 1889.

MON CHER MONSIEUR ANAGNOS : -- Today is your birthday, and how I wish I could put my two arms around your neck and give you many sweet kisses; but I cannot do that, because you are far away, so I will write you a nice long letter, and when you come home I will give you the kisses.

Now, I am going to tell you something which will surprise you very much. I came to Boston three weeks ago to study with my dear teacher. I was delighted to see all of my friends again, and they were glad to see me. I miss you, and I hope you will come back soon if you are much better. I enjoy being at the Institution very, very much. I learn a great many new interesting things every day. When you come home I shall be happy to tell you all about them. You must be sure not to forget how to spell with your fingers.

Mr. Rodocanachi came to see me Tuesday. He asked me to give you his love, and to tell you to write to him from Athens.

Last Thursday teacher and I spent the day with Dr. Eliot and Sammy. We had a pleasant time. Sammy is a beautiful little boy, and he is as playful as a kitten. Dr. Eliot says he should like to receive a letter from you. Will you please write to him?

My precious little sister is three years old now. She is growing very fast, and I think her very sweet and loving. She is quite lonely now, because she has no little sister to play with her. My poor grandmother died two weeks ago. It is very sad to die. Teacher does not know where grandmother is now.

Mother is much distressed and her heart is very sorrowful. I wish she could come to Boston, then I could comfort her. My pigeons, puppies, kitties and my dear little birds are all very well. The white pigeon has three tiny babies to take care of, and she is very busy finding food for her hungry family and teaching the timid pets to fly alone.

Teacher says she thinks you would like to know what I do every day. At eight I study arithmetic, and I enjoy it greatly. I can do some very difficult examples. At nine I go to the gymnasium with the little girls, and we play pretty games. I wish you could be here to see what splendid times we do have. At ten I study geography. Yesterday I found Athens on the map, and I thought about you. At eleven I have lessons in form, and at twelve I have zoölogy. The other day I recited in exhibition about the kangaroo. At two I usually sew, and at three I take a walk. At four and five I read, write and talk. I have just been reading about a beautiful fountain that rippled and sparkled in the bright sunshine and made sweet music all the long day. The pretty birds and tiny ferns and the soft mosses loved the beautiful fountain.

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I was very glad to hear about Munich, and I hope you will tell me about the other cities you have visited. Teacher and all of your friends send their love. I send very many kisses and much love.

HELEN A. KELLER.

These letters show that the time of the little student was fully occupied from morning to evening, and that she did not have much leisure for amusement; but the arrangement proved on the whole satisfactory, and everything went on well until the spring of 1890. About that period an undue pressure of work was put upon the child, taxing her strength to the utmost. This increase of labor, accompanied by an unwarrantable stimulation to over-exertion, was both very unwise and unnecessary; and it is not difficult to imagine that the results were most injurious to her health.

During the summer vacation she had a fainting fit at home and was declining in strength; and on her return to school in the following November she was far from well. Nervousness and excitability were apparent in her conversation and in all her movements. She was very restless, and there was a sickly whiteness in her look. Her sleep was not as sound and unbroken as before, nor was her desire for food as normal. She was evidently in need of absolute freedom from mental exertion and of abundant rest and play, which alone could relax her mind and enable her to turn to study again with more vigor.

In consideration of these facts, it was immediately decided that she should cease to have regular lessons of any kind, and that she should spend several hours every day in diversion and in physical exercise both in the gynasium -sic- and in the open air. Helen found the injunction laid upon her studies so hard to bear that she made many earnest appeals for its removal or modification; but when she was told, in response to her frequent pleas, that it was not best for her to receive any instruction until she should be very strong, she acquiesced in this conclusion graciously and without a murmur.

Under these new regulations Helen improved very rapidly; but when she was about to resume some of her studies, she was taken ill suddenly on the 13th of January last with scarlatina. Fortunately, however, the dread disease proved to be of a very mild form in her case, and from the third day of its appearance the little patient began to improve steadily, and was ready to leave her room in a few weeks. Since then her health has been thoroughly restored, and she is now as well as ever. During her illness her patience and thoughtfulness shone out in all their beauty.

Knowledge is peculiarly attractive to Helen, and she is very apt to go to excess in feasting on the fruit of its tree, if she is not properly guided and held in check. In her case restraint is needful, lest she drive the chariot of Apollo recklessly to her own hurt.

In temperament Helen is cheerful, merry, gay, full of life and jollity. In her playful moods she is not only appreciative of mirth but is often the cause of it. No mishap can subdue her liveliness. Even at times when she is disappointed at something or occupied with serious thoughts or penetrated with some distressing anxiety, her delightful springs of joy and fun bubble and brim with inevitable felicity. The "chord of melancholy," of which Thomas Hood speaks as inseparable from every "string attuned to mirth," has no existence in the harp of her life. However smooth the way of its victims may be made, a triple affliction like hers is terrible, it cannot be otherwise; yet in Helen's case it has proved to be a battlefield, which has its heroine. True, like all others who are cruelly bereft of the principal avenues of sense, she is doomed to pass her life in total physical darkness and stillness; but through the thick, sullen cloud which surrounds her she "casts forward the eye of the spirit, and wakes in her soul the imaginative power which carries forth what is fairest, what is highest life."

Marked graciousness, intense longing for the beautiful, acute and winning sensibility, a gleeful disposition and an indomitable buoyancy, -- these are the distinguishing qualities of her temper. There is a certain nameless attraction about Helen's personality, as perceptible as the perfume of a flower, and as elusive. She has an uncommon soul-power, which touches all hearts and leads them captive. She possesses two characteristics which do not often go together, -- vigor and sweetness. Her gayety adorns her and at the same time serves to relax the tension of her nerves, which is inclined to be too great.

II. MENTAL DEVELOPMENT.

"There is a child whom genius fires,
Whose every thought the god inspires."

Helen is an intellectual prodigy. In the ranks of precocious and brilliant children she occupies a most prominent position. She is a queen among them, endowed with stupendous abilities, and ruling by the resistless might of her natural superiority. Her brain is ever aglow with self-kindled flame. It may be compared to an electric battery bristling with magnetic life. Hers is not a creeping talent; it is a soaring genius, -- a true spark of the sacred fire, which the world does well to make the most of while it is alight. Exceptional fervor of temperament, rare intellectual vivacity, intense earnestness, -- these are her primary characteristics. She has uncommon mental power. Hence her dazzling conquests in the field of learning.

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As soon as Helen's mind burst forth from its triple incarceration, she began, like the eagle, to soar towards the sun. Since the restoration of her divine birthright of thought and human fellowship, her career has been a series of triumphs. In the course of four years she wrought great things and accomplished wonders. Her eagerness to pluck away the veil of ignorance that surrounded her, to enter the treasuries of nature and to become acquainted with the works of man and the causes of things, enabled her to acquire an immense fund of information, and to attain a quickness of apprehension and maturity of reflection seldom to be found in persons of her age. Her understanding is capable of conceiving the outer world and of painting in itself the invisible pictures of all objects.

Helen's mind is of the highest order. Its activity is unremitting and its grasp most powerful. It neither tires nor faints in its travels in the regions of thought and knowledge. Like a lark, it soars far above our heads in search of what is beyond the range of ordinary perceptions, and each heaven attained reveals to her a higher one.

Helen is of Emersonian temper in the intuitional quality of her mind. She leaps to conclusions with startling rapidity. Things come to her by true inspiration; that is, by inbreathing. Her intellectual framework is teeming with energy and alertness. Here all is motion, quickness, change. No one can appreciate a situation with finer and more delicate instinct or understand things more quickly than she does, catching up their meaning instantly, and expressing it with preëminent happiness of insight.

"Who can tell, when her ears were sealed,
What harmonies appeased her soul
With spirit's recompense for dole
Of happiness that senses may yield?"

Helen's mind, winged by emotion, goes forth and gathers honey from the bloom of creations. Of all the divers intellectual natures with which I have ever been brought into intercourse, hers is one of the most fecund. The domain of her knowledge is incredibly ample and varied. She has made elementary studies in natural history, cosmography, mythology, biography and English literature. Her stores of information are amazingly large. She may be fittingly called a little cyclopedia. She is always ready to discourse with fluency on plants and flowers, on animals and birds, on the blue sky and the heavenly bodies, on countries and cities, on mountains and rivers, on the Olympian gods and goddesses and the Greek heroes, on the landing of the Pilgrims and the battle of Lexington, on Leonidas and Washington, on Socrates and Emerson, on the Acropolis and the Capitoline hill, on Pompeii and Herculaneum, on Pheidias and Praxiteles, on Shakespeare and Byron, on Tennyson and Longfellow, on Andersen's tales and Miss Alcott's stories, on St. Peter's basilica and the cathedral of St. Mark, on Michael Angelo and Beethoven, and on innumerable other topics. Moreover, by constant exercise of her faculties she has acquired that capacity for viewing, assorting and arranging the facts within her knowledge, which is the essence of culture.

Helen delights in wandering in pastures new of knowledge, and her insatiable curiosity manifests itself in many directions. She is passionately fond of every branch of study, and her nimble fingers are constantly at work gathering information from various fields; but geography is her particular favorite. Foreign countries and their history and romantic traditions are peculiarly fascinating to her, and one of her sweetest dreams is to travel abroad when she reaches the thirteenth year of her age, and to visit England and the continent of Europe and their potentates and rulers. On these subjects she expressed herself in the following charming letter, which I received from her while I was preparing to cross the Atlantic, and which gives also some idea of her knowledge of the different varieties of roses, and of her enjoyments at home: --

TUSCUMBIA, ALA., May 18, 1889.

MY DEAR MR. ANAGNOS: -- You cannot imagine how delighted I was to receive a letter from you last evening. I am very sorry that you are going so far away. We shall miss you very, very much. I would love to visit many beautiful cities with you. When I was in Huntsville I saw Dr. Bryson, and he told one that he had been to Rome and Athens and Paris and London. He had climbed the high mountains in Switzerland and visited beautiful churches in Italy and France, and he saw a great many ancient castles. I hope you will please write to me from all the cities you visit. When you go to Holland please give my love to the lovely princess Wilhelmina. She is a dear little girl, and when she is old enough she will be the queen of Holland. If you go to Roumania please ask the good queen Elizabeth about her little invalid brother, and tell her that I am very sorry that her darling little girl died. I should like to send a kiss to Vittorio, the little prince of Naples, but teacher says she is afraid you will not remember so many messages. When I am thirteen years old I shall visit them all myself.

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I thank you very much for the beautiful story about Lord Fauntleroy, and so does teacher.

I am so glad that Eva is coming to stay with me this summer. We will have fine times together. Give Howard my love, and tell him to answer my letter. Thursday we had a picnic. It was very pleasant out in the shady woods, and we all enjoyed the picnic very much.

Mildred is out in the yard playing, and mother is picking the delicious strawberries. Father and Uncle Frank are down town. Simpson is coming home soon. Mildred and I had our pictures taken while we were in Huntsville. I will send you one.

The roses have been beautiful. Mother has a great many fine roses. The La France and the Lamarque are the most fragrant; but the Marechal Neil, Solfaterre, Jacqueminot, Nipheots, Etoile de Lyon, Papa Gontier, Gabrielle Drevet and the Perle des Jardines are all lovely roses.

Please give the little boys and girls my love. I think of them every day and I love them dearly in my heart. When you come home from Europe I hope you will be all well and very happy to get home again. Do not forget to give my love to Miss Calliope Kehayia and Mr. Francis Demetrios Kalopothakes.

Lovingly, your little friend, HELEN ADAMS KELLER.

Of all the parts of Europe in which Helen manifests a profound interest, there are two, Greece and Italy, which supply her mind with the most vivid pictures and with ample materials for a great variety of thought. The genial climate of these countries, their picturesque scenery, their classical antiquity, their celebrated monuments and art treasures, and the halo of fame and glory that surrounds them, captivated her fancy and became the warp and woof of some of the finest textures woven by the loom of her intellectual faculties. At the last yearly commencement of the institution, -- which occurred on the first Tuesday of June, and in which she took a most prominent part, -- a brief description of the principal cities and towns of Italy was her chosen theme for the exercise in geography, which had been assigned to her. In speaking of the "land of song and flowers" she used most glowing and poetic language. Her account was given in a vivacious and spirited manner by the medium of dactylology, and was interpreted to an immense audience by the voice of her teacher who stood by her. The fingers of the child moved with the rapidity of lightning, and the words flowed from them at the rate of about eighty per minute, making a steady and continuous stream, not unlike that which is formed by the exodus of the bees from their hives on a pleasant spring day, when the blossoming trees and flowering plants invite them to gorgeous feasts.

The following is the complete text of Helen's recitation: --

Italy is a country rich in beauty, beautiful blue skies, lovely scenery; rich, too, in works of art, -- grand cathedrals, beautiful paintings and statuary; rich, also, in poetry and music. Oh, Italy! lovely Italy! land of song and of flowers! How happy I shall be when I am old enough to visit her great cities, for books and friends' descriptions have made them dear to me! I shall go to Rome first, and touch the many ruins which tell of the power and magnificence of Rome two thousand years ago. I fear I shall be very sad when I touch the ruins of the Pantheon and the Coliseum, but I shall try to forget that I am living hundreds of years after the glories of Rome have vanished. I shall try to imagine that the great generals are passing under the triumphal arches just as they did long ago, when Rome was the "mistress of the world."

There is something in Rome which is not in ruins that will interest me greatly. It is the wonderful, beautiful Basilica. I am sure that when I stand in St. Peter's I shall feel its beauty and majesty, as I feel the grandeur of the mountains when I am near them. The many palaces in Rome will also interest me. The Vatican is the most splendid of all. It is filled with rare works of art, which have been collected and preserved by the different Popes.

I wonder what Romulus would think if he knew that four of the seven hills on which the ancient city was built are now almost deserted; and how very strange it would seem to him to find Rome the peaceful capital of a united Italy.

After Rome, I shall visit Florence. Florence is another of Italy's famous cities. It is situated on both banks of the Arno, in a lovely valley surrounded by mountains. No city in the world has so many beautiful art treasures as Florence, and many of the world's greatest painters, sculptors and architects were her children. Opposite the Duomo, the largest and finest church in Florence, stands the Baptistery, with its beautiful bronze doors. I can hardly believe that mere doors can be so splendid as my friends tell me those of the Baptistery are.

From Florence I shall go to Venice. I like to think that Venice is a beautiful ship at anchor, -- forever rocked and kissed by the gentle waves of the blue Adriatic. Venice is built on a cluster of small islands formed by canals, and connected by bridges. It is a very quiet city, for there are no horses there, except the wonderful bronze horses over the entrance to the San Marco. The gondolas glide lightly and gracefully along the canals, flitting under the great bridges like silent birds.

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But we must leave Venice, lovely child of the sea, and hasten on to Naples. Naples is the most extensive city in Italy. It is situated on the northern shore of its own glorious bay. My friends have told me how beautiful the scenery around Naples is, and I can easily imagine that it is a charming place, with its lovely villas perched upon the mountain sides, its woods, its terraced gardens, its towers and castles. And just outside the city Vesuvius, king of volcanoes, lifts his gigantic head, and at his feet lies the ancient city of Herculaneum, buried beneath the cinders and lava which rushed like a mighty river from the mouth of angry Vesuvius; and twelve miles distant from Naples sleeps Herculaneum's sister, Pompeii, which was overwhelmed and buried in the same way.

In the museum at Naples there are many vases, bronzes and paintings which have been taken from the ruins of these cities. The king's summer palace is situated on the very summit of a hill that overlooks Naples. The Prince of Naples is named for his noble grandfather, Victor Emmanuel, and he will one day be king of this beautiful laud. Is it not a wonderful inheritance?

This composition is masterful. It abounds in clever touches, in picturesque imagery, in forcible and felicitous expression. The ideas therein contained are poetical in their essence, and as such they glisten through the simplest words. They are the result of a flight of the intellect made by the aid of imagination's wings.

Helen's appearance on the platform was hailed with tremendous applause, and the enthusiastic reception accorded to her by the audience was an appreciative tribute to her extraordinary talents.

Doubtless there are numerous seeing and sightless children whose love of books is ardent, and who are very happy in their company; but none of them can excel Helen in this respect. Her place is at the head of the line. She is an insatiable reader and a true worshipper of literature. She lives and moves and has her being in it. She thinks with Cowper, that --

"Books are not seldom talismans and spells."

She greedily devours every page printed in raised letters that falls into her hands. Her friends watch her with wonder as she crouches in a corner of the sofa absorbed in a book and turning over its leaves with energetic rapidity. In the course of a single day she can go through a whole story occupying a volume of moderate size, and then in the evening entertain the family circle by giving them an accurate account of it. This is what she actually did last winter, to the delight of her associates.

When a gentleman asked her whether she was a republican or a democrat in her political views and affiliation's, she replied significantly: "I am on the fence. I must study civil government, political economy and philosophy, before I jump."

Helen is possessed of such an acute and penetrating understanding that nothing escapes her notice. Her faculty of remembering things is not less remarkable. The minutest details of history, chronology, zoölogy, biography, metaphysics, indeed, of any branch of study of which she has once become cognizant by means of the tips of her fingers or otherwise, she treasures in her memory and uses at will. In this manner she gathers a vast amount of knowledge, and she often astonishes her teachers and schoolmates with startling remarks on various subjects. The following extract, copied from my memoranda, is inserted here as one of the numerous illustrations of this point, which could be given did space permit: --

FEB. 1, 1891. -- I have just called on Helen to see how she was, and I was delighted to find her improving steadily. She was in excellent spirits, and as bright as she could be. She looked a little pale; but her countenance was very clear and her mind as brilliant as ever. Her first and most pressing question was as to whether I had decided to send to Pittsburg for little Tommy Stringer, and have him brought to Boston and placed under her special care and tutorship. "I will teach him and look after him," said she, with great emphasis. In pleading the case of this victim of triple affliction she was fired with an eloquent earnestness which was resistless. Nothing but a definite promise could satisfy and pacify her. When this was given she was overjoyed, and turned the conversation to other subjects. She asked me who Memnon and Sappho and Tantalus and Orpheus and Phidias and Amphion were. Evidently she had found these names in Mrs. Anagnos's poem, entitled the "Deaf Beethoven," which she had read in raised print, and wished to have a full explanation of all of them. After perusing this poem she made the following touching remark: "I am 'wedded to silence,' like the great master, but I am very glad that my teacher is not."

Helen has an extraordinary power of assimilating what she reads or learns by means of intercourse with others, of making it quite her own, and of reproducing it with her image and superscription. In reading, as well as in ascertaining the qualities of all tangible objects which are within her reach, she uses her fingers unweariedly; but, when she arrives at the limit, beyond which the material organs cannot be of further service to her, she takes to the sensibilities that perceive more than the senses can, as the mariner launches from the creek to the bay, as the bird mounts from the twig to the air.

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The following extracts from one of Miss Sullivan's letters, dated Tuscumbia, Ala., Sept. 13, 1891, show how strong is Helen's passion for books: --

. . . Sometimes the pony would step on a rolling stone and nearly throw Helen over his head, a performance which she enjoyed exceedingly. "Roguish pony," she would say, "you are getting very playful." Whether at home or on the mountain, she has a consuming passion for books. She seems to become less and less aware of her outward self. When left alone she will read and re-read for hours together the few books which form her little library. I think she is even more quiet, more thoughtful and imaginative than when you last saw her. She is quickly and deeply impressed by all that she reads. So marked is this quality that she seems to live a sort of double life, in which the scenes and characters she has read of are as real to her as the every-day occurrences and the people in the house. Yesterday I read to her the story of Macbeth, as told by Charles and Mary Lamb. She was very greatly excited by it, and said: "It is terrible! It makes me tremble!" After thinking a little while, she added: "I think Shakespeare made it very terrible, so that people would see how fearful it is to do wrong."

A few days ago we were gathering wild asters and goldenrod which grew on the hillside near the springs. Helen seemed to realize for the first time that the springs were all surrounded by mountains, and she explained it in such a pretty way. "Why!" she exclaimed, "the mountains are crowding around the springs to look at their own beautiful reflections."

One day she was riding on horseback with me, and nearly fell off while reaching out to catch the leaves as we rode along. When she was safely seated again I said, "You have been a naughty girl! How could I have gone home to mother without you?" "You need not have gone home to mother without me," she sobbed. "You could just as well have tied me up in a bundle and taken me home to my mother."

The following postscript, copied from a letter which I received from her during the summer vacation, gives an idea of her insatiable hunger for books, as well as of the kind of literature of which she is particularly fond: --

Will you please send me Bryant's poems and Evangeline? I have read all of my books over and over.

The two volumes mentioned in this requisition were sent to Helen without delay, and in a few weeks I received from her the following letter, which speaks for itself: --

TUSCUMBIA, ALA , Sept. 29, 1801.

MY DEAR MR. ANAGNOS: -- I was overjoyed to get Evangeline. What a sad, sweet poem it is! I could not keep back my tears when I read how the happy homes of Acadie were made desolate. Are not these lines about Evangeline mournful? I think they will always make me cry: --

"Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, unfinished;
As if a morning of June, with all its music and sunshine,
Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly descended
Into the east again, from whence it late had arisen."

If you read my letter to Miss Lane you know what I did while we were on the mountain. Oh, how I enjoyed the books teacher read to me! Reading new books is like making new friends. The days were bright and cool on the mountain, and I enjoyed the walks and rides through the woods with dear teacher. We were especially happy when the trees began to put on their autumn robes. Oh, yes! I could imagine how beautiful the trees were, all aglow, and rustling in the sunlight. We thought the leaves as pretty as flowers, and carried great bunches home to mother. The golden leaves I called buttercups and the red ones roses. One day teacher said, "Yes, they are beautiful enough to comfort us for the flight of summer." Sweet, wise Mother Nature thought we might miss the wondrous summer days, so she sent us September with

"Its sun-kis't hills at eventide,
Its ripened grain in fields so wide,
Its forest tinged with touch of gold,
A thing of beauty to behold."

Such amusing things happen sometimes. I will tell you what a little darkey said to father one day. One of the small calves swallowed a peach-seed, and father's hand was so large that he could not get it out. So he said to Pete, "Put your hand down the calf's throat and get the peach-seed." "Aint going to do any sech thing," said Pete. "I dun seed too many mens wid der hands bit off by calves."

Teacher says she has told you in her letter that we are not coming to Boston this year. I know you will miss your little bird, for you will seek for her in vain. Sunnier skies have whispered and beckoned your poor bird away. Somewhere she still is singing, but you will be sad when you pass her empty nest. But listen, dear friend, while a secret I tell to you. Another springtime is coming after the snow has gone, and then your robin will come back to you.

I will write again soon. Please give my love to everybody, and kiss Tommy for me.

Lovingly, your own birdie, H. A. K.

Mental Faculties.

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"She is endowed with the highest gifts,
The vision and the faculty divine."
Wordsworth.

Helen's mind seems almost to have created itself, springing up under every disadvantage, and working its solitary but resistless way through a thousand obstacles. It is enriched with an extraordinary set of powers and capacities, which are ever on the alert to serve it at its bidding and minister to its functions with alacrity and efficacy. Sense-perception, association, memory, imagination, comparison, abstraction, generalization and the reasoning power, -- all these are developed and in a way to balance each other. They enable her to receive, revive and modify perceptions; to analyze, sift, weigh and compare impressions; and to produce ideas which reflect not dimness or pale moonlight, but effulgent solar splendor.

But, brilliant and magnificent as is the constellation of Helen's intellectual faculties, some of the stars that compose it differ essentially from the rest in grandeur and lustre. Unquestionably the most luminous and resplendent among them are three, -- quickness of perception, memory and imagination. These constitute the essence of her genius.

Quickness of Perception.

"How fleet is a glance of her mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light."
Cowper.

Helen is most exquisitely organized. The elements that enter into the structure of her being are of the nicest and most refined character. Her power of perception is as remarkable as ever. Its keenness is truly marvellous. It almost robs physical blindness of its sting. It enables her to recognize objects more quickly and to comprehend them more deeply and fully than ordinary seeing and hearing persons do. She perceives everything in a flash. Her sensibility is so fine that the slightest touch or influence on her frame acts like an electric spark kindling a flame in her mind, which is firmly held in blaze by it, and renders things clear to the thinking and active principle within her. Her intellectual sight is not only free from the dimness which Aristotle compares to that of an owl's eyes, but it is of unsurpassed sharpness and infinite reach.

Last spring Helen made at Abbot Academy in Andover a little visit, of which a detailed description was written for the Boston Evening Transcript by a special correspondent. In the following extracts from this interesting account several instances of her marvellous quickness of perception are related: --

This morning Helen was invited by the art teacher to the cast-room of Abbot Academy. Here she saw for the first time a head of Niobe, and upon passing her hands over the face, she at once recognized its expression of suffering.

Her acquaintance with the great names in mythology, history and literature became apparent in the examination of other casts. Two heads of Nero -- one representing him as a child, and the other as an emperor -- were most carefully examined and contrasted, and it was a sad wonder to Helen how such "a sweet and innocent child" could develop into the wicked man she knew Nero to have been. From the lips of the man's face she quickly read the dominant characteristic of pride.

She was much impressed by the thought and sorrow depicted upon the face of Dante. When the face was named for her, she said at once, "He was an Italian writer and lived in Florence." Later in the day, as if the face was still present in her mind, she asked her teacher what had brought grief into Dante's life.

Venus was joyfully recognized, and a head of Zeus suggested a vivacious recitation of the following Homeric lines relating to Athena: --

"She sprang of a sudden from out the immortal head, shaking her pointed lance; huge Olympus was shaken to its base under the weight of the gray-eyed goddess, and all around the earth groaned terribly."

In decided contrast to the casts of ancient sculpture was a baby figure of the renaissance period of art. This was examined with loving tenderness, while to every feature of its face and form Helen applied descriptive words from a poem recently learned. As her hand rested upon the baby forehead, the words were --

"A brow reflecting the soul within,
Untouched by sorrow, unmarked by sin."

Helen showed much pleasure in receiving from the senior class of the school a cast of "The Lion of Lucerne," in remembrance of her visit. From the cast-room she went to a studio containing many articles used as subjects for sketching or painting. Here, as when among the casts, she exhibited an appreciative knowledge of whatever she examined. Very often one realized how poets' words had made things beautiful to her, as, for instance, when she examined a flax-wheel, and asked if the flax were blue, thinking of the poetical simile --

"Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax."

It was most interesting to note Helen's examination of two quaint little figures, illustrative of the story of "The Brownies." Her teacher did not suppose that Helen had ever heard of hard-working fairies; but, when told about the brownies, she remembered the elves who had helped a poor shoemaker make shoes.

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From Miss Sullivan's notes and memoranda I take the following extracts, which give additional illustrations of Helen's astonishing quickness in perceiving and associating ideas, as well as of her devotion to her pets and of her warm sympathy with all living creatures: --

One day, while her pony and donkey were standing side by side, Helen went from one to the other, examining them closely. At last she paused with her hand upon Neddy's head, and addressed him thus: "Yes, dear Neddy, it is true that you are not as beautiful as Black Beauty. Your body is not so handsomely formed, and there is no proud look in your face, and your neck does not arch. Besides, your long ears make you look a little funny. Of course you cannot help it, and I love you just as well as if you were the most beautiful creature in the world." She left the donkey with a tender caress, and went to her pony, her whole face lighting up with admiration as her sensitive hand followed the graceful lines which seeing persons so much admire.

She was asked why an elephant was like a traveller. Without hesitating an instant she replied, "I suppose because he carries his trunk about with him." But I ought to say that the person giving the conundrum made a mistake at first, and asked, "Why does an elephant carry a trunk?" Helen laughed and said, "Because he cannot help it; you know it is grown to the end of his nose." She then made what she calls a "word puzzle" out of conundrum, which was this: "I am made up of three syllables; my first is a company, my second lives in seclusion and my third is heard in battle; altogether I am a puzzler."

Helen has been greatly interested in the story of "Black Beauty." To show how quickly she perceives and associates ideas, I will give an instance which all who have read the book will be able to appreciate. I was reading the following paragraph to her: --

"The horse was an old, worn-out chestnut, with an ill-kept coat, and bones that showed plainly through it; the knees knuckled over, and the forelegs were very unsteady. I had been eating some hay, and the wind rolled a little lock of it that way, and the poor creature put out her long, thin neck and picked it up, and then turned round and looked about for more. There was a hopeless look in the dull eye that I could not help noticing, and then, as I was thinking where I had seen that horse before, she looked full at me and said, 'Black Beauty, is that you?'"

At this point Helen pressed my hand to stop me. She was sobbing convulsively. "It was poor Ginger," was all she could say at first. Later, when she was able to talk about it, she said, "Poor Ginger! The words made a distinct picture in my mind. I could see the way Ginger looked; all her beauty gone, her beautiful arched neck drooping, all the spirit gone out of her flashing eyes, all the playfulness gone out of her manner. Oh, how terrible it was! I never knew before that there could be such a change in anything. There were very few spots of sunshine in poor Ginger's life, and the sadnesses were so many!" After a moment she added, mournfully, "I fear some people's lives are just like Ginger's."

This morning Helen was reading for the first time Bryant's poem, "Oh, mother of a mighty race!" I said to her, "Tell me, when you have read the poem through, who you think the mother is." When she came to the line, "There's freedom at thy gates, and rest," she exclaimed, "It means America! The gate, I suppose, is New York City, and Freedom is the great statue of Liberty." After she had read "The Battlefield," by the same author, I asked her which verse she thought was the most beautiful. She replied, "I like this verse best, --

'Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again;
The eternal years of God are hers;
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,
And dies among his worshippers.'"

I do not think many children of eleven would have selected this verse. Her mind is so gifted by nature with capacities and powers that she is able to understand every possible variety of external relations.

It is extremely interesting to watch her while reading. The pages of the book she is perusing are paintings, to which her imagination gives color and life. She is at once transported into the midst of the events of her story. She rejoices when justice wins, she is sad when virtue lies low, and her face glows with admiration and reverence when heroic deeds are described. She even enters into the spirit of battle; she says, "I think it is right for men to fight against wrongs and tyrants."

Helen seems to be endowed with an inner vision, which opens to her magnificent vistas of such beauties as are hid from common view. The light which beams within her is of such subtle quality, of such spiritual virtue, that it not only illumines but transfigures whatever it falls on, and wherever it strikes it reveals something of the mystery of her being. To her the two vast worlds of mind and matter are not made up of opaque facts, cognizable by the understanding, and by it handled grossly and directly. Things, conditions, impressions, are taken lovingly into her mind, and are made prolific there by the power of thought. She possesses more than usual emotional capacity, in combination with sensibility to the beautiful, and is thereby stimulated to mould and shape into fresh forms the stores gathered by perception and memory, or the material originated within the mind through its creative fruitfulness. It was the power and range of Helen's inner vision that made a most profound impression on Mr. Steadman, one of the noblest poets of America, and moved him to give utterance to his feelings in a beautiful poem, from which we extract the following lines: --

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"Ours is the darkness -- thine the light.
Within thy brow a glory plays;
Shrine, blossom, dewdrop, all are bright
With quenchless rays."

Memory.

"Hail, Memory, hail! in thy exhaustless mine
From age to age unnumber'd treasures shine!
Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey,
And place and time are subject to thy sway!"
Rogers.

Helen is a true daughter of Mnemosyne. Her memory is one of her most powerful faculties. It is a kingdom in which she reigns supreme, -- a paradise out of which she cannot be driven away. It furnishes her reasoning powers with food, and retains an infinite number of facts and impressions in perfect order. Its capacity is almost boundless and its tenacity fairly marvellous. Feelings, volitions, perceptions, thoughts, events, figures, names of persons and places, she remembers with remarkable vividness and distinctness. She never allows them to die in oblivion. She does not know the taste of the Lethean waters. Her mind is a vast repository of impressions and recollections, which are imprinted upon its texture like pictures upon the photographic glass. Images once made on it never fade or vanish. They are fixed therein so firmly that no lapse of time, nor nervous agitation, nor accumulation of work nor any other cause, can displace them.

Kant distinguished between three kinds of memory, namely, the mechanical, the ingenious and the judicious; and Helen's unquestionable ability to learn by heart and to remember things either by introducing artificial connecting links among them or by means of their natural relation in thought, shows that she possesses all these three varieties.

From a very extensive record of well-authenticated instances of Helen's tenacious memory we cull the following:

One day last winter, when talking to her about Munich and its environs, I told her that there were five bridges over the river Isar. "No," said she gently; "according to a letter which you wrote to me from Vienna there are only four." An examination of my memoranda proved that she was correct and that I was mistaken.

Again, in a lecture on Rome, which I gave in the hall of the institution to the members of our household, I said that, according to some of the most recent and reliable authorities, the height of St. Peter's cathedral from the pavement to the summit of the cross of the dome is 460 feet. No sooner was this statement conveyed to Helen by the fingers of her teacher than she remarked to the latter, "No, this number is wrong. The right one is 435." This last figure is the exact measurement of Carlo Fontana, which I had mentioned to her in one of my letters about Italy.

By perusing once or twice those of the poems of Longfellow, Whittier, Dr. Holmes, Lowell, Byron, Tennyson and others, which are printed in raised characters, Helen learns many of them by heart and recites them with great fluency and spirit. Among the Christmas carols, which were published last year, there was one written by Dr. Brooks. This she committed to memory by having it read twice to her, and she could repeat it word for word.

These are only a few examples of the very numerous feats of Helen's wonderful memory, which are no less astonishing than those of the ancient Greeks mentioned by Plutarch; but both time and space forbid us to add more to the list, which might be lengthened ad infinitum.

The marvellous power of retaining in the mind such varieties and diversities of past events, thoughts and ideas is generally esteemed as a special gift, and not as an art nor as the result of training and practice; yet, to use Cowper's words, --

"Much depends, as in the tiller's toil,
On culture and the sowing of the soil."

But be this as it may, in Helen's case too much care cannot be taken to avoid overburdening and taxing any of her mental faculties too severely. We must not lose sight of the fact that Atlas was weary, and that even the camel rider has sense enough to allow the animal to rise when it has its full load.

Imagination.

"Above, below, in ocean and in sky,
Thy fairy worlds, Imagination, lie."
Campbell.

Helen's imagination is luxuriant. It is irrepressible, unconfinable. It is like a vast mirror of the mind, on which the images of external objects are reflected in perfect form and with astonishing velocity. By the aid of this faculty she projects her thought into the unseen universe, and discovers in it a multitude of charms that conceal themselves from the generality of mankind. As she is shut out to a very great extent from the real world, she creates an imaginary one for herself, and, with a power akin to necromancy, conjures glorious shapes and pictures and brilliant visions to make solitude populous and irradiate the gloom of the dungeon.

The development of Helen's imagination began at an early period of her education. As soon as her mind was freed from its confinement and exposed to the light and the air and the showers of heaven, the seeds of this faculty, together with those of the others, burst out and grew to maturity. The following extract from one of Miss Sullivan's letters bears testimony to this fact: --

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BREWSTER, MASS., July 11, 1888. -- There is a pine grove near our house, and while walking there yesterday Helen discovered two trees growing close together. What do you suppose the little witch said while she was standing by them? She pointed to the larger of the two trees, and spelled with her fingers "husband." Then added that the smaller one was a "wife;" and the little shoots she called the "children of the trees." What do you think now of the little woman's imagination?

The study and perusal of books of science and fiction have without doubt furnished indispensable means and methods for the cultivation of Helen's imaginative faculty; but the special fields for its most active exercise have been found in geography, history and poetry. The condition of the earth in pre-historic times, its chemical, zoölogical and meteorological constitution, the plants and animals that grew or moved upon its surface, together with its relations past, present and future to other worlds, afford scope for the quickening and development of the most lively imagination. The annals of the human race also are filled with scenes of which Helen's mind never tires, while the immortal works of the great masters of verse, created under the influence of the power of the talisman which genius has placed in their hands, retain a steady hold upon her heart, and are to her eternal sources of inspiration.

Helen's writings show the fecundity of her imaginative power. They sparkle with perfect crystallizations of fancy's blossoms, which are sometimes huddled in clusters upon the blazing page. The following letter, which I received from her last summer, illustrates the flights of her imagination, as well as the aptness of her metaphors and the energy of her expression: --

TUSCUMBIA, ALA., Aug. 8, 1891.

MY DEAR MR. ANAGNOS: -- I shall not let this beautiful bright morning pass without writing to you, for I am sure you are wondering why the south winds bring you no pleasant news of Helen.

I have thought about you many times every day, and wished that you were here to share in the joys which have come to me. You know about the beautiful surprise which came to us on the "glorious Fourth," two days after I reached home. Oh, how I wish you could see the lovely, fragile little thing that is curled up in mother's arms! I do not think you would dare to touch baby brother yet, because, you see, he is so tiny and soft and weak that a tall man might hurt him. I have named him Phillips Brooks, for my good and dear friend Bishop Brooks. I hope little Phillips will grow up tender and wise and loving like his namesake.

We had a delightful time at Mr. Wade's. Archer and a little girl who was visiting him and myself had great fun playing with the donkeys, of which there were thirteen. We also rode horseback, and teacher and Mr. Jack had some very exciting races. I was very sorry indeed to leave my kind friends, although I was eager to get home. I found Mildred shy and merry, and as lovely as a summer morn. I had a great deal to tell mother of the dear, loved friends whom I had left in Boston, and of all the pleasant things which happened last winter. I was pleased to find my birthday letter waiting for me, and thank you for it and for the pretty gift which I received on my birthday from you. I found Neddy fat and lazy as a donkey can be. When he saw me he gave a queer little sniff, as though he would say, "Dear me! what a tall girl! I hope she does not expect me to carry her!" Eric is very fond of teacher and me. She will not willingly be separated from us a moment. When I take my nap after dinner she lies down beside me quite cosily. She has the same intelligent, loving expression that I used to feel in poor Lioness's face. But now I am going to tell you something which will astonish you! I have a splendid new pet! A beautiful, high-spirited black pony! Oh, such fun! such fun as I shall have galloping over the fields on my Black Beauty! Mr. Wade gave him to me. I wish I could bring him to Boston, so that you could see me ride.

We have had the greatest quantity of fine fruit this summer, peaches, grapes, plums, watermelons, and in a few days the pears will be ripe. Teacher is downstairs helping mother preserve plums, and nurse little Phillips, for his nurse would not stay, and poor mother is not very strong, I fear. I do not know what I should do without teacher. When she is busy helping mother the hours seem very, very long to me; but I will not fret. As soon as she can she will come to me, and we will be happy, oh, so happy together! Mother says that I have a great deal to thank you for, and I do thank you and love you for all your goodness to me. I love you more because you sent my precious teacher to me than for everything else you have done for me.

We have had several thunder-storms this summer, and teacher and I watched from our window the great black clouds chasing one another swiftly across the sky, seeming to growl angrily when they met, and sending bright flashes of lightning at each other like swords. I liked to fancy that there was an army of warriors living on the planet Mars, and another army of giants living on Jupiter, and that all the noise and tumult was caused by a great battle going on between them. The rain, I suppose, which usually falls in heavy drops after one of these battles, shows that the warriors are sorry for their bad conduct, and are weeping over the distress they have caused. This thought made me feel more kindly toward them, and when I found that the air was fresher and sweeter, the flowers brighter, the grass greener, and that the sun never looked so smiling and happy as he does when he brings us the glad news that the battle is over, why, I was grateful to the giants and the warriors for the battle.

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I fear my writing is not very nice, but I hope you can read it without much trouble.

What do you hear about Tommy? I wish Miss Bull would write and tell me about him. I enclose the check which you sent for me to endorse.

I hope you are having a pleasant vacation. Little sister sends you a kiss and we all send our love. From your own loving little girl, with many kisses and hugs.

HELEN A. KELLER.

Such thoughts as are expressed in this letter can only grow in the soil of pure and large sensibilities.

When I was about to send my manuscript to the printer, I received as a birthday present the following story, with the accompanying brief note. The story gives tangible proof of Helen's extraordinary imagination, as well as of the originality of her thoughts and ideas, the vividness of her descriptions, the elegance of her style and the tenderness of her feelings.

TUSCUMBIA, ALA., Nov. 4, 1891.

MY DEAR MR. ANAGNOS: -- I shall send you to-day a little story which I wrote for your birthday gift. I shall think of you often on the seventh, and wish that I could give you a birthday kiss. Mother and father and teacher send love and best wishes for many happy returns of the day.

Lovingly, your own HELEN.

NOTE.

Since this report was printed I have received evidence through the Goodson Gazelle of Staunton, Va., that the story by Helen Keller, entitled "King Frost," is an adaptation, if not a reproduction, of "Frost Fairies," which occurs in a little volume, "Birdie and his Fairy Friends," by Margaret T. Canby, published in 1873. I have made careful inquiry of her parents, her teacher and those who are accustomed to converse with her, and have ascertained, that Mrs. Sophia C. Hopkins had the volume in her possession in 1888, when Helen and her teacher were visiting her at her home in Brewster, Mass. In the month of August of that year the state of Miss Sullivan's health was such as to render it necessary for her to be away from her pupil for awhile in search of rest. During the time of this separation, Helen was left in charge of Mrs. Hopkins, who often entertained her by reading to her, and, though Mrs. Hopkins does not recollect this particular story, I presume it was included among the selections. No one can regret the mistake more than I.

M. ANAGNOS.

THE FROST KING.

King Frost lives in a beautiful palace, far to the north, in the land of perpetual snow. The palace, which is magnificent beyond description, was built centuries ago, in the reign of King Glacier. At a little distance from the palace we might easily mistake it for a mountain whose peaks were mounting heavenward to receive the last kiss of the departing day. But on nearer approach we should discover our error. What we had supposed to be peaks were in reality a thousand glittering spires. Nothing could be more beautiful than the architecture of this ice-palace. The walls are curiously constructed of massive blocks of ice which terminate in cliff-like towers. The entrance to the palace is at the end of an arched recess, and it is guarded night and day by twelve soldierly looking white bears.

But, children, you must make King Frost a visit the very first opportunity you have, and see for yourselves this wonderful palace. The old king will welcome you kindly, for he loves children, and it is his chief delight to give them pleasure.

You must know that King Frost, like all other kings, has great treasures of gold and precious stones; but as he is a generous old monarch he endeavors to make right use of his riches. So wherever he goes he does many wonderful works: he builds bridges over every stream, as transparent as glass, but often as strong as iron; he shakes the forest trees until the ripe nuts fall into the laps of laughing children; he puts the flowers to sleep with one touch of his hand; then, lest we should mourn for their bright faces, he paints the leaves with gold and crimson and emerald, and when his task is done the trees are beautiful enough to comfort us for the flight of summer. I will tell you how King Frost happened to think of painting the leaves, for it is a strange story.

One day, while King Frost was surveying his vast wealth and thinking what good he could do with it, he suddenly bethought him of his jolly old neighbor, Santa Claus. "I will send my treasures to Santa Claus," said the king to himself; "he is the very man to dispose of them satisfactorily, for he knows where the poor and the unhappy live, and his kind old heart is always full of benevolent plans for their relief." So he called together the merry little fairies of his household, and, showing them the jars and vases containing his treasures, he bade them carry them to the palace of Santa Claus as quickly as they could. The fairies promised obedience, and were off in a twinkling, dragging the heavy jars and vases along after them as well as they could, now and then grumbling a little at having such a hard task, for they were idle fairies, and loved to play better than to work. After a while they came to a great forest, and, being tired and hungry, they thought they would rest a little and look for nuts before continuing their journey. But, thinking their treasure might be stolen from them, they hid the jars among the thick green leaves of the various trees until they were sure that no one could find them. Then they began to wander merrily about, searching for nuts, climbing trees, peeping curiously into the empty bird's nests and playing hide-and-seek from behind the trees. Now these naughty fairies were so busy and so merry over their frolic that they forgot all about their errand and their master's command to go quickly; but soon they found to their dismay why they had been bidden to hasten, for, although they had, as they supposed, hidden the treasures carefully, yet the bright eyes of King Sun had spied out the jars among the trees, and, as he and King Frost could never agree as to what was the best way of benefiting the world, he was very glad of a good opportunity of playing a joke upon his rather sharp rival. King Sun laughed softly to himself when the delicate jars began to melt and break. At length every jar and vase was cracked or broken, and the precious stones they contained were melting too, and running in little streams over the trees and bushes of the forest.

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Still the idle fairies did not notice what was happening, for they were down on the grass, and the wonderful shower of treasure was a long time in reaching them; but at last they plainly heard the tinkling of many drops falling like rain through the forest, and sliding from leaf to leaf until they reached the little bushes by their side, when to their astonishment they discovered that the raindrops were melted rubies, which hardened on the leaves and turned them to crimson and gold in a moment. Then looking around more closely, they saw that much of the treasure was already melted, for the oaks and maples were arrayed in gorgeous dresses of gold and crimson and emerald. It was very beautiful, but the disobedient fairies were too frightened to notice the beauty of the trees. They were afraid that King Frost would come and punish them. So they hid themselves among the bushes and waited silently for something to happen. Their fears were well founded, for their long absence had alarmed the king, and he mounted north wind and went out in search of his tardy couriers. Of course he had not gone far when he noticed the brightness of the leaves, and he quickly guessed the cause when he saw the broken jars from which the treasure was still dropping. At first King Frost was very angry, and the fairies trembled and crouched lower in their hiding places, and I do not know what might have happened to them if just then a party of boys and girls had not entered the wood. When the children saw the trees all aglow with brilliant colors they clapped their hands and shouted for joy, and immediately began to pick great bunches to take home. "The leaves are as lovely as the flowers!" cried they, in their delight. Their pleasure banished the anger from King Frost's heart and the frown from his brow, and he too began to admire the painted trees. He said to himself, "My treasures are not wasted if they make little children happy. My idle fairies and my fiery enemy have taught me a new way of doing good." When the fairies heard this they were greatly relieved, and came forth from their hiding places, confessed their fault and asked their master's forgiveness. Ever since that time it has been King Frost's great delight to paint the leaves with the glowing colors we see in the autumn; and, if they are not covered with gold and precious stones, I cannot imagine what makes them so bright, can you?

HELEN KELLER.

If there be a pupil in any of the private or public grammar schools of New England who can write an original story like this, without assistance from any one, he or she certainly is a rare phenomenon.

Helen's imagination is not a thin flame kindled deliberately with gathered materials. It is an intense flash born unexpectedly of internal collisions. Independently of words or of pictures of actual objects furnished by perception, her fancy creates for itself scenes and images not less vivid than their tangible representatives. It is penetrative and far-sighted, bringing together things widely sundered, apparently diverse and opposite. It is broad, keen and soaring.

Helen's thoughts are far-reaching, and her nature is one of great depth. To use a phrase of Coleridge, she is an example of endless self-reproduction. She is often visited by those thoughts that come unsummoned out of the invisible like new stars, which out of the unfathomable deeps of the sky dart suddenly upon the vision of the watcher of the heavens.

Language and Compositions.

"Her even thoughts with so much plainness flow,
Their sense untutored Infancy may know;
Yet to such height is all that plainness wrought,
Wit may admire, and letter'd pride be taught."
Prior.

Helen has a marvellous faculty for language, and the progress which she has already made in acquiring her mother tongue is matchless. It exceeds all the glowing anticipations of her instructors and the most sanguine expectations of her enthusiastic admirers. Her vocabulary has become immensely rich and varied.

The number of new words which she has gained during the past three years is incredibly great. She has learned them so fast and in such large groups that it has been found impossible to keep a record of their number. Her knowledge of them is very exact. She has mastered them in all their details, and is perfectly familiar with their spelling and definition, as well as with the various ways in which they should be employed in composition. She understands thoroughly the force of their meaning and the importance of their function as elements of human speech. Perhaps she does not realize fully the immensity of the power which Emile de Girardin ascribes to them, by saying that "a well-chosen word has often sufficed to stop a flying enemy, to change defeat into victory and to save an empire;" but she shows excellent judgment and fine taste in selecting them.

Helen seems to have a special talent for language. She uses words with delicacy and precision, and suits them to the sense with unerring accuracy. She is led by instinct to perceive their fitness, to give preference to those which appear to her graceful and euphonious, and to avoid their opposites. Eagerly and apparently without conscious effort she frequently resorts to the fields of the synonyms and feasts on their varieties. She does this spontaneously, and not with any intention of conformity to the rules of rhetoric or the canons and requirements of elegant style, because she has never studied them nor has she ever been told anything about them. "The word stingy is harsh, and I do not like it," said she one evening. To my question, "what word would you use in its stead?" she immediately replied "parsimonious." She earnestly assured her devoted friend, Mrs. Hopkins, that, in speaking of the soles of her shoes, it was more appropriate to say flexible than limber.

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Helen's admirable command of words and the various shades of their meaning, combined with the quickness of operation of her mental faculties, enables her to arrange them with ingenuity and compose numerous charades, puzzles, riddles and the like. Her facility and felicity in forming all sorts of jeux de mots are unequalled. Here is one of her charades. If necessary, she could prepare at short notice a dozen of them, all bearing the mark of her cleverness; but we have room for only one: --

In storm, but not in thunder.
In tempest, but not in wind.
In hymn, but not in song.
In silent, but not in mute.
In compound, but not in mixture.
In cunning, but not in cute.
The whole a character in the Trojan war.

Helen expresses her ideas in clear, forcible, idiomatic English. There is nowhere on either side of the Atlantic a deaf person who can attempt to equal her in the correct and intelligent use of language. Her diction is immaculate, and it surrounds itself with a magnetic aura in which it seems to float. In all that she says and writes, the precision, the perspicuity and the fluency of her language impress themselves vividly on the auditor or reader. Her work is always perfect, and a keen artistic intelligence colors it in every aspect. Words, sentences and paragraphs are held, closely and symmetrically together.

Sometimes the life of her finer nature is concentrated in a few lines, as in the diamond are condensed the warmth and splendor that lie latent in acres of fossil carbon. In her directness of language and broad-heartedness of manner Helen brings with her an air which, to use one of Lowell's expressions, "blows the mind clear," and which is delightfully fresh and tonic, with a genial warmth in it reminding us that it has come from the sunny south.

Helen's letters abound with fine passages, which present her ideas and fancies in a form lucid, concentrated and clear-cut as a cameo. There is not only a striking appropriateness but a peculiar freshness in them, which indicates that her stream of thought flows from ample sources. Be the subject what it may, the reader is left under the double charm of matter and manner. Her character stands out from every page of her writings. Here are displayed her unchanging love for relations and friends, her sympathy with distress, her worship of nature, her adoration of beauty and goodness.

Let Helen speak through the following letters, in confirmation of these statements: --

TUSCUMBIA, ALA., Oct. 29, 1890.

MY VERY DEAR FRIEND: -- I have some very good news for you. I wonder if you can guess what it is. But I cannot wait for you to guess; it is so very delightful I must tell it myself. I am coming to Boston next week! Is it not a beautiful surprise? Oh, how glad I shall be to see you, and all the dear friends! My heart beats quick with joy when I think about it. Shall you and Mrs. Hopkins be at the station to meet us? Teacher says you will not know me, -- I am so tall; but you must observe my face carefully, and I think you will recognize me. I do not like for my friends not to know me, if they can see perfectly. I am glad when I think of meeting my friends and playmates, but the thought that I must leave mother and father and darling sister, and my good, faithful dog and my donkey, makes me very sad. Is it not queer for a child to feel like laughing and crying all at once? But I remember that Mother Nature did the same thing last summer. One day we discovered that it was raining quite hard on one end of the porch, while the sun shone out brightly on the other end. It was an interesting phenomenon, was it not? And that is just what is happening in my heart, -- it is raining on one side while the other side is bright with gladness. I have written a very sad story. It is about a newsboy, whose life was full of loneliness. Does it not make your heart mournful to think how many little boys and girls are poor and friendless? I wish I could be their little sister and help them. Mr. Brown wrote me about a little boy in Pittsburgh who is blind and deaf, and his parents are too poor to pay a teacher for educating him. He is only five years old. Will you please ask his parents to send him to your institution, and teacher and I will teach him. You must help me to make my little strange friend happy. Everybody is good to me, and my dear heavenly Father wants me to be more helpful for others. We are all well at home. Sunday was Mildred's birthday, -- she was four years old. Mother is busy getting my clothes ready. Father has gone to see a sick gentleman at the hotel. Teacher is writing a report. I wish you could see the chrysanthemums, for they are beautiful now. October is nearly gone! It has been a lovely month, and we hate to have it depart. Please give my dear love to Miss Moulton and the rest of my friends.

Your loving playmate, HELEN A. KELLER.

To Mr. Anagnos.

SOUTH BOSTON, MASS., May 7, 1891.

MY DEAREST MOTHER: -- I was delighted, as I always am, to receive your letter, but I was very sorry to hear that you and little sister were not well. I hope these beautiful May-days will make you both strong again. Please tell Mildred that, although I could not understand her writing, I knew that her little letter was full of loving thoughts for me. I wish she were here, -- I would like so much to take her to see Bishop Brooks and the rest of my dear friends. Did you know that they have made Mr. Brooks a bishop? I did not know what a bishop's work was until I had a nice letter from Bishop Brooks. He says' a bishop is one who is appointed to take care that people shall be good and happy in the knowledge and love of their heavenly Father. I am glad that you read about our reception in the papers. I wish you and father could have been with us. Dr. Holmes and many other good and wise people came to see the little blind children in their happy home. Baby Tom was there, and he looked very cunning in his new sailor suit. Edith and pretty little Willie Robin were there too. Tommy climbed into everybody's arms, and the ladies and gentlemen were so kind to him that he must have thought the world was full of loving friends. Bishop Brooks told Tommy's sad story, and asked the people to see that Tommy was educated. After the entertainment was over many people gave me money. Now we have nearly seven hundred dollars, -- enough for one year. Is it not nice? Tommy has been sick but he is well now. His teacher is taking care of him. I do not think he has learned any words yet. He loves to climb much better than to spell, but that is because he has not learned what a wonderful thing language is. I have been to the theatre once, to see Mr. Richard Mansfield play "Beau Brummel." Do you know about Beau Brummel? He was a real person, and lived in England long ago. He was a very fastidious and fashionable gentleman. He spent a great deal of time over his toilet, and was thought to be the most elegantly dressed man in England. Even kings and nobles tried to do exactly like Beau Brummel. But he did not pay his debts, and those whom he owed had him put in prison. He died at the end of the play in a cold, dark garret, just as the king and his court were going to take him away to London. Teacher and I spent Saturday and Sunday at Lexington with Mrs. Tyler. We had a beautiful time. The country was lovely. The peach, pear and cherry trees were all in blossom, and the air was sweet with the scent of growing things. As we rode along we could see the forest monarchs bend their proud forms to listen to the little children of the woodlands whispering their secrets. The anemone, the wild violet, the hepatica and the funny little curled-up ferns all peeped at us from beneath the brown leaves. Sunday morning we drove to Concord, and how shall I tell you of all the interesting things which we saw? We could not forget for a moment that we were upon the road along which Paul Revere galloped on the morning of April 19, '75, arousing the sleeping inhabitants, who hurried from the old houses on either side to die if necessary for their town which was being invaded by the British soldiers. First we passed the tavern which was Lord Percy's headquarters on that eventful day, then I touched the stone which marks the place where the minute-men assembled. This is what their captain said to them: "Stand your ground. Do not fire unless fired upon, but, if they mean to have a war, let it begin here." Next, we passed the well by the roadside where James Hayward met a British soldier, who, raising his gun, said, "You are a dead man." "So are you," replied brave Hayward, and both fired. The soldier was instantly killed and Hayward was mortally wounded. Was it not dreadful for people to kill each other like that? But I am glad that the brave minute-men were not afraid to die when it was their duty to fight. I know my father would have been one of them if he had lived then. Concord is a very pretty place, surrounded by blue hills which look like clouds in the distance. I was delighted to visit Concord, because it was once the home of those dear Alcott sisters we read about in "Little Women." We went all over the house, -- not a beautiful house, but one I am sure you would love for the sake of clear, brave and loving Miss Alcott. I tried to imagine Amy making pencil drawings all over the wall as she used to do long ago, and Jo writing by the window, while sweet little Beth sat by her, sewing, and Meg and John Brooks sat on the broad window-seat, chatting happily. I love the story more than ever, now that I have seen the place where the girls lived. We also saw Emerson's and Hawthorne's homes, and stood on the bank of the river where Hawthorne wrote the "Tanglewood Tales." On the south side of the river fell the first British soldier in the war of the Revolution, and on the opposite side stands a beautiful monument erected in memory of the men "who fired the shot heard round the world." But I must not stop to write any more. I must go to bed, for Morpheus has touched my eyelids with his golden wand. Give my love to father, sister and all my friends.

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Lovingly, your little daughter, H. A. KELLER.

These letters, as well as all the writings of Helen, are full of an indescribable charm of their own. Her style is simple and easy, but strong and beautiful, -- nay, at times it even approaches the sublime.

"'Tis like the ladder in the patriarch's dream,
Its foot on earth, its height above the skies."

It springs from her soul. It has the sheen that comes from the bright mind within, not the gloss that is imparted by mere outside polish. It is excellent because of the vivacity of her healthy and poetic feeling, of the nimbleness of her intellect, of her perfect sense of sequence and of her power of artistic expression. Somewhat unvarying it is, but only as the burden of a rippling stream is monotonous, flowing on from thought to thought in harmonious succession. For Helen is an accomplished mistress of the refrain. Like her favorite harbinger of summer, the swallow, which from its circling flight has been styled by Michelet l'oiseau du retour, she loves to hover about and revisit some special phrase, the repetition of which serves as a suggestive undertone to her melody.

Some of Helen's compositions were read last spring to the pupils of one of the grammar schools in South Boston, not only as being remarkable achievements for a child laboring against fearful odds, but also as models of style worthy of imitation.

Oral Language.

"Hark! the numbers soft and clear,
Gently steal upon the ear."
Pope.

Eighteen months ago Helen achieved success in one of those wonderful undertakings which make her friends and acquaintances think that the age of miracles is not yet past. She succeeded in breaking the chains of mutism, and in learning to use her tongue in conversation. Her voice is no longer silent. The notes of that many-stringed lute have ceased to be hushed, and deep tones now take the place of the dumb signs of dactylology, and speak to us of hope and undaunted courage, of love and happiness, of faith and holiness.

Wonderful as are Helen's intellectual accomplishments, both in variety and magnitude, they pale before this the grandest of all her triumphs.

The history of this achievement is quite brief, and may be told in a few words.

In the month of June, 1888, Helen, accompanied by her mother, her teacher and myself, visited the Horace Mann school for deaf children in this city, and was shown what was going on there. She was then told, for the first time, that the pupils of that institution were trained to speak. This information excited her curiosity, and, although her ideas on the subject were quite vague, she made some effort to acquire the art of talking. By placing the fingers of one hand on the lips and those of the other on the throat of her friends, she learned to say papa, mama, baby, sister, and teacher quite distinctly. But she went no further than this until March, 1890, when she was told that there was in Norway a blind and deaf girl, named Ragnhild Kaata, who was taught to use oral language. The knowledge of this fact acted like a firebrand on her eager mind, and she became ablaze with earnestness and enthusiasm. While she was at the height of her excitement she said, "I shall learn to speak, too!" No sooner was this emphatic declaration made than she undertook the task of carrying it out. Or, as the ancient Greeks express it, --

"Am' Epos hama to Ergon"

The principal of the Horace Mann school, on whom Miss Sullivan called with her little pupil for advice as to the course to be pursued in such a case, kindly volunteered her services. Her generous offer was thankfully accepted, and work began there and then. Helen entered upon this new enterprise with the fiery energy which, accompanied as it is by uncommon mental grasp, carries to a prosperous termination whatever she undertakes. Eleven lessons on the elementary principles of articulation constituted the total sum of instruction which she received from Miss Fuller. The rest was done by the child herself, with no other help except that of her own teacher.

Helen's genius was fitted for this emergency, and her will rose to meet it. She labored day and night, in season and out of season, in acquiring the power of making the sounds of words and in learning to pronounce them correctly. Her intensity of purpose, tireless activity and unyielding perseverance made the final success only a question of time, and it was achieved in less than a month. Her determination to learn to talk seemed like an inspiration, and it resulted in a complete triumph. She unloosed her tongue and broke her silence gloriously; and, when she began to give utterance to her feelings and thoughts in vocal tones, angels --

"Forgot their hymns to hear her speak."

In a letter dated May 24, 1890, Miss Sullivan gives the following account of Helen's progress in her studies in general, and of her learning to use oral language in particular: --

During the past year she has continued to acquire knowledge with the same eagerness and tireless perseverance which she has manifested from the beginning. "Tell me more," and, "I am curious about all things," are favorite expressions with her. In arithmetic, geography, zoölogy and botany she has done excellent work, -- keeping up with girls four and five years older than herself, and always excelling them in recitation and composition. Aside from what she has learned in school and from books, she has increased her store of general information through contact with the best people in Boston. This year at the Institution has been invaluable to her. It has done more to enrich and broaden her life than many years of study at home would have done. But only those who see her daily can have any real conception of her wonderful development. When you hear of her latest achievement I think you will be ready to agree with me when I say that her development has been truly wonderful. Within the past six weeks Helen has learned to speak. Yes, I tell the truth. She can express her thoughts and joys in distinct and not unpleasant speech. The dear child's delight is unbounded, and, although she cannot hear the sounds that issue from her lips, she is willing to battle with the difficulties of pronunciation, simply that she may give pleasure to others. "My little sister will understand me now," is a thought stronger than all obstacles in the way of our little Helen. After making some one understand her, she turned to me with a radiant face, and said, "I am not dumb now!" How often we have wished that you were here to watch each step of this new development.

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Helen has known for a long time that those around her communicated with each other in a different way from the one that she used, and she would sometimes try to imitate the motions of our lips; but she never seemed to realize until last winter that the deaf children were taught to speak, although she visited the Horace Mann school when she was here the first time. Ever since last March, when she was told that a deaf and blind girl in Norway had been taught to speak, she has been eager to learn, and would not give me a moment's peace until I took her to Miss Fuller for advice and help.

It was about the 26th of March when she received her first lesson in articulation, and so eager was she to learn this new means of communication, that in one hour she mastered perfectly six of the elements in m, p, a, s, t, i. Miss Fuller has given her eleven lessons in all. She has acquired all of the elements, -- not perfectly, for perfection must be the result of constant practice, but so well that she is easily understood. Her voice and pronunciation improve every day. Helen's great command of language and the ease with which she expresses her ideas have enabled her to learn speech more readily than ordinary deaf children do. Just as soon as she had mastered an element, the words in which it occurred presented themselves to her mind. Think of it! She achieved in less than two months what it takes the pupils of the schools for the deaf several years to accomplish, and then they do not speak as plainly as she does.

Helen's first articulate sentences were a paean of victory and a psalm of praise.

In the Academia delle Belle Arti of Bologna one beholds in the midst of numerous masterpieces the famous picture of St. Cecilia, surrounded by four other saints. It was painted by Raphael in 1513, on the commission of Cardinal Lorenzo Pucci, for the church of S. Giovanni in Monte, and is one of the finest works of the great master. It depicts most charmingly the impression produced by the celestial music. The youthful and beautiful patron saint of the divine art has just ceased playing the organ to her friends, and a heavenly echo falls upon their ears. Six angels, resting on the edge of a cloud, have caught up the melody and continue it by singing. So ravishing to them were the tones of an instrument touched by pure hands! Who can say that the unfettered voice of a blind and deaf-mute child, no longer fated to travel through life's long journey in perfect silence, is not as enchanting to the dwellers of the upper regions as were the solemn tones of St. Cecilia's organ?

The following letter, which I received from Helen on my arrival in Dresden, tells very interestingly and in a most accurate manner the story of the origin of her desire to learn to speak, and of her great delight in being able to use oral language: --

TUSCUMBIA, ALA., July 4, 1890.

MON TRES CHER AMI: -- I am spending my vacation at my beautiful sunny home, with my loving parents and my darling little sister. I was so eager to see my friends that I could hardly wait for cars to take me to them.

My father and mother were delighted to have their little daughter home again, and to hear her speak. It was a beautiful surprise, for I had not written to them that I was learning to speak. Are you very glad that I can talk, and that everybody understands me? It is very nice to speak like other people. I am so happy now! I never was so happy in my life before! When you come home you will take me in your lap and I will speak to you.

Teacher says she thinks you would like to hear how I first came to wish to speak with my mouth. I will tell you all about it, for I remember my thoughts distinctly.

When I was a little child a long time ago I was very sick indeed. Mother thought her little baby would not live, and she was very sorrowful. I did not die, but the cruel disease made me blind and deaf. It was very sad; do you not think so? But I do not remember about my illness, for I was only a wee infant. But after I got well I used to sit in my mother's lap nearly all the time, because I was very timid and did not like to be left alone for a moment. I would put my little hands on her face, because it amused me to feel her lips moving when she was talking, but I did not know then what she was doing. I did not know what talking was. I had forgotten all about it. I was very ignorant of all things. When I was a little older I used to play with some little negro children, and I noticed that they kept moving their lips just as mother did, and I would do it too; but sometimes it made me angry, and I would hold my playmates' mouths very hard. I did not know that it was wrong to do so. I could not understand why they did it. After that my dear teacher came to me, and taught me to spell with my fingers. Then I was overjoyed. You cannot imagine how happy we all were. I noticed that teacher moved her lips, and that everyone did the same, but it never made me angry any more, because I understood what my friends said to me, and I was very busy learning many wonderful things. Then I went to Boston to see you, and all of my dear friends; and you went with mother and teacher and me to the school for the deaf children. Teacher told me that they were learning to speak with their mouths. Then I was eager to learn myself, and I did learn to say mamma, papa, teacher and baby, but not very perfectly. I never thought that I should learn to talk like other people, until a very kind lady, who had taught Laura Bridgman when she was small, came to see me, and told me about a little deaf and blind girl she had seen in Norway, who had been taught to speak by a very good and patient gentleman. I was delighted to hear about my little friend Ragnhild Kaata, because I knew then that I should speak too. My dear teacher took me to see a lovely and patient lady named Miss Fuller. She began right away to teach me, and in a very short time I had learned all the sounds. I think Miss Fuller was very kind to teach me, and I love her a great deal. I practise constantly with teacher, and she says that my voice grows stronger and more sweet each day.

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It is very pleasant to have my great dog Lioness come to me when I call her. She is beautiful and strong and gentle. I hope you will let me bring her to Boston with me, -- will you?

I wish you could see the pretty donkey that Mr. Wade sent me! What fun Mildred and I have riding him! His name is Neddy. You will laugh when you see me riding a donkey.

I missed you very much while I was in Boston, and I was sorry you did not come home in June. I love you very dearly, and I would like to put my arms around your neck and hug and kiss you. Dear little sister sends you a kiss, too, and mother and father send kindest remembrances.

Just before I left Boston I went to see our dear poet, Mr. Whittier. He was very kind to me, because he loves all little children, and that makes him gentle and patient and courteous.

Mr. Brooks is helping teacher tell me about the dear God. He is our loving Father, and we are his dear little children. He thought about us, and sent us here to love one another and be very happy together.

I hope you will be well enough to write me a long letter from Italy. I want to know about Naples, Borne, Venice and Florence. I have some beautiful blue beads that came from Venice. Now, dear friend, good-bye.

Lovingly, your little friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

Whether viewed from a historical or a psychological stand-point this letter is of paramount importance. It is the only one from which we get a glimpse of Helen's feelings, as well as of the state in which her mind was before she came in contact with the outer world and began to understand the nature of things.

Another letter, addressed to Mr. Morrison Heady of Normandy, Kentucky, indicates how great is her delight at her ability to talk: --

SOUTH BOSTON, MASS, Feb. 27, 1891.

MY DEAR UNCLE MORRIE: -- Your little friend was delighted to receive a letter from you once more. She could not imagine what had happened to her dear Uncle Morrie. Your last letter never came to me, but I wrote to you twice, and when you did not answer my letters I thought you must be ill or else that you had gone to some other place to live. Of course I did not forget you. I never forget my dear friends. I love them too dearly for that. And now I have so much to tell you I hardly know what to write about first, for a great many things have happened to your little friend since you heard from her. But I think everyone likes pleasant surprises, so I will tell you something which will astonish you greatly. I am not dumb any more. I have really learned to speak. Oh, how happy I am to use my voice! Are you not glad you can speak?

Sunday was George Washington's birthday, and we celebrated it on Monday. I read a beautiful poem, "The Flower of Liberty," by my dear friend Dr. Holmes, and when I spoke some of it, the people clapped their hands because they were so glad that I could speak. I began to learn to speak last April, and I studied very hard indeed so that I could surprise my mother and father and all my dear home friends. I could hardly wait for the time to come for me to go home, I was so eager to speak to little sister, for you know she was too young to understand my fingers. Oh, how glad they all were to see dear teacher and me, and hear their little daughter speak! But after I had been at home a short time I felt a very little sick, and we went away to a beautiful, cool mountain, near Tuscumbia, called Fern Quarry. It was so cool and pleasant on the mountain that I soon grew better. I did nothing except play with Mildred and my little cousin Louise, and ride my donkey. But now I remember you never heard about Neddy. A kind gentleman named Mr. Wade gave him to me, and also a beautiful mastiff. Neddy is the funniest and roundest little fellow you ever saw, and as gentle as he can be. He would carry me up the steep mountain paths and through the fragrant woods very carefully, and Lioness would run by his side. Neddy is at home now, and sometimes he sends me a bray. Poor Lioness was killed. It fills my heart with sorrow to think that I shall never see my beautiful pet again.

I came back to Boston last November, and I was overjoyed to see my dear friends and meet Mr. Anagnos again, for he had been away in Europe and I had not seen him for a long time. He is very kind to me, and I love him more than ever. To-night he is going to tell us what he saw in the beautiful city of Naples. Last Friday night he lectured about his dear motherland, Greece; but I could not go to the hall because I was not well enough. I have had the scarlet fever, so I have been obliged to stay in the house nearly all the time since Christmas. I am not quite all well yet, but I shall be soon. I am very sorry to say that Mr. Anagnos does not wish me to study at all, so I cannot tell you about my studies. I read as much as I can. I have finished "Little Women" and several other books. I love dear little Bethy the best. She was so gentle and unselfish, but she faded away in the last volume, and I could not keep back my tears. But I tried to think how happy Bethy was with the dear God, and how glad he must have been to receive such a lovely flower from our earth.

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I read much about other lands, because you know I expect to travel some day and see the countries I read about.

Edith is a playful little girl, and loves to frolic as well as learn her lessons, and I think she is as happy as a kitten all the day long. Little Willie Robin is at the kindergarten, but I have seen her but once since she came. Mr. Anagnos often tells me about her. There is another little deaf and dumb child in Pennsylvania, named Tommy. Mr. Anagnos is going to have him come here as soon as he can. I shall write a letter to the children who see, and ask them to send their pennies to Mr. Anagnos, so that he can get Tommy a kind teacher, then the dear little boy's life will be full of joy.

I can hardly tell you which of the girls I love best. I love them all very dearly, and we have happy times together. Perhaps Sarah is a little the dearest. She is a sweet friend to me.

I see Miss Moulton sometimes, and I am sure she would send her love if she knew I was writing to you.

Mrs. Hopkins is teacher's and my mother, because she takes such good care of me while I am in Boston. But I cannot begin to tell you about all my friends, or I fear my letter would never end. My teacher, the nearest and most beloved of them all, sends you her love, and says she is very happy to hear that you are so well. And we both hope to hear from you often. Lovingly, your little heart, HELEN A. KELLER.

Mr. Heady, to whom Helen is greatly attached, is blind and deaf. He lost the sense of sight when he was sixteen years of age, and soon after, that of hearing. Nevertheless he is a man of letters and an author of merit. He has written, among other things, a most powerful and touching poem, entitled "The Double Night," from which we quote the closing stanza: --

"This death of sense makes life a breathing grave,
A vital death, a waking slumber!
'Tis as the light itself of God is fled, --
So dark is all around, so still, so dead;
Nor hope of change, one ray I find!
Yet must submit. Though fled fore'er the light,
Though utter silence bring me double night,
Though to my insulated mind
Knowledge her richest pages ne'er unfold,
And "human face divine" I ne'er behold --
Yet must submit, must be resigned!"

Doubtless Helen's well-known natural aptitude for linguistic pursuits has been of great assistance to her in her great task; but the key of her magnificent success is to be found in her resolute perseverance. This was inflexible. No matter how formidable were the difficulties that beset her path, she was determined to surmount them. One evening I found her laboring as hard as she could over the sound of the French diphthong eu, and she did not stop striving until she was able to pronounce it correctly in the word dieu.

Thus by constant practice and unremitting effort she has acquired a proficiency in the use of her vocal organs which is positively marvellous. Verily, her articulation is well-nigh perfect. There is no child in this country, either among those born deaf or among those who lost the sense of hearing before their second year, who can equal Helen in clearness of speech or in fluency of language. At the schools for the deaf in Milan and Zurich I heard several pupils talking more plainly than she does; but nowhere else did I do so, either in Europe or in America. At the Clarke institution in Northampton, which is the oldest and the best of the purely oral establishments on this continent, the scholars enjoy superior advantages in many respects, and are as well trained in lip reading as are those whom I saw in Italy, Switzerland, Germany and France; yet there is not one among them whose articulation is as distinct as Helen's.

The sound of the voice of this wonderful child is far from musical; but in its deep monotones there is a tremendous pathos, which cannot fail to touch the heart of the auditor.

The story of Helen's unparalleled achievement is told in detail in the following account, which was prepared at my suggestion by her teacher. Miss Sullivan, after placing her manuscript in my hands, wrote me a letter saying that, as she had given away her notes on this subject before my request was made, she had been obliged to write wholly from memory.

ARTICULATION. -- It was just three years from the day when Helen became conscious that she could communicate her physical wants, her thoughts, and her impressions through the arbitrary language of the fingers, to the time when she received her first lesson in the more natural and universal instrument of human intercourse, -- oral language.

Previous to March, 1890, no effort whatever had been made to teach her to speak, and her only utterances were instinctive, like those of a young child. Her mental condition at the commencement of her education made the employment of tangible forms for the embodiment of her thoughts almost a necessity, the two principal avenues of perception being hopelessly closed to her; and, as the manual alphabet appealed more directly and forcibly to her remaining sense of touch than any other known medium of communication, it was made the channel through which her ideas could flow. So proficient did she become in its use that ordinary spoken conversation could be communicated to her with comparative ease. Indeed, it may surprise those who have not been accustomed to think or the hand as an instrument of communication, to hear that this little girl could in a minute spell with her fingers eighty common words.

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For three years the manual alphabet had therefore been Helen's only medium of intercourse with the outside world, and by means of it she had acquired a comprehensive vocabulary, which enabled her to converse freely, read intelligently, and write good idiomatic English. Nevertheless, the impulse to utter audible sounds was strong within her, and the constant efforts which I made to repress this instinctive tendency were of no avail. It did not occur to me that my pupil might possess unusual aptitude for learning articulation. I knew that Laura Bridgman had shown the same intuitive desire to produce sounds, and had even learned to pronounce a few simple words, which she took great delight in using, and I did not doubt that Helen could accomplish as much as this. I thought, however, that the advantage she would derive would not repay her for the time and labor that such an experiment would cost.

Moreover, the absence of hearing renders the voice monotonous and often very disagreeable; and such speech is generally unintelligible except to those familiar with the speaker. Even if Helen could learn to speak, I regarded her inability to watch the lips of others as an insurmountable obstacle in the way of her intelligent use of oral language Too much stress, it seems to me, is often laid upon the importance of teaching a deaf child to articulate, -- a process which may he detrimental to the pupil's intellectual development. In the very nature of things articulation is an unsatisfactory means of education; while the use of the manual alphabet quickens and invigorates mental activity, since through it the deaf child is brought into close contact with the English language, and the highest and most abstract ideas may be conveyed to the mind readily and accurately. Helen's case proved it to be also an invaluable aid in acquiring articulation, as she was already perfectly familiar with words and the construction of sentences and had only mechanical difficulties to overcome.

Before describing the process of teaching Helen to speak, it may be well to state briefly to what extent she had used the vocal organs before she began to receive regular instruction in articulation. When she was stricken down with the illness which resulted in her loss of sight and hearing, at the age of nineteen months, she was fast learning to talk. The unmeaning babblings of the infant were becoming day by day conscious and voluntary signs of what she felt and thought. But the disease checked her progress in the acquisition of oral language, and when her physical strength returned it was found that she had ceased to speak intelligibly because she could no longer hear a sound. She continued to exercise her vocal organs mechanically, as ordinary children do. Her cries and laughter and the tones of her voice as she pronounced many word elements were perfectly natural, but the child evidently attached no significance to them, and with one exception they were produced not with any intention of communicating with those around her, but from the sheer necessity of exercising her innate, organic and hereditary faculty of expression. She always attached a meaning to the word water, which was one of the first sounds her baby lips learned to form, and it was the only word which she continued to articulate after she lost her hearing. Her pronunciation of this gradually became indistinct, and when I first knew her it was nothing more than a peculiar noise. Nevertheless, it was the only sign she ever made for water, and not until she had learned to spell the word with her fingers did she forget the spoken symbol. The word water and the gesture which corresponds to the word good-bye seem to have been all that the child remembered of the natural and acquired signs with which she had been familiar before her illness.

As she became acquainted with her surroundings through the sense of feeling (I use the word in the broadest sense, as including all tactile impressions), she felt more and more the pressing necessity of communicating with those around her. Her little hands felt of every object and observed every movement of the persons about her, and she was quick to imitate these movements. She was thus able to express her more imperative needs and many of her thoughts.

At the time when I became her teacher she had made for herself upwards of sixty signs, all of which were more or less ingenious, and were readily understood by those who knew her. Whenever she wished for anything very much she would gesticulate in a very expressive manner. Failing to make herself understood, she would become violent and often uncontrollable. This shows that in the years of her mental imprisonment she depended entirely upon the natural language of the heart for knowledge of the outside world; and it is interesting to observe that, although abandoned at this early age solely to resources of hereditary transmission and imitation, she did not work out for herself any sort of articulate language capable of expressing the ideas which were evolved from her busy brain. It seems, however, that, while she was still suffering from severe pain, she noticed the movements of her mother's lips when the latter was talking; for she recalls some of these early impressions in a letter written to Mr. Anagnos.

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For some time after Helen and I became constant companions we had no adequate means of communication, and the child was often thrown upon her own resources for amusement. She would sit beside me after a lesson, or wander restlessly about the house, making strange though rarely unpleasant sounds. When sitting, she would make noises, keeping one hand on her throat, while the fingers of the other hand noted the movements of her lips. Occasionally she would break out into a merry laugh at some passing fancy, and then she would reach out and touch the mouth of any one who happened to be near her, to see if she or he were laughing also. If she detected no smile, she would gesticulate excitedly, trying to convey her thought; but, if she failed to make her companion laugh, she would sit very still for a few moments, with an expression so troubled and disappointed that I shall never forget it. She was pleased with anything which made a noise. She liked to feel the cat purr; and if by chance she felt of a dog in the act of barking, she would show great pleasure. She always liked to stand by the piano when some one was playing and singing. She would keep one hand on the singer's mouth, while the other rested on the piano, and she derived so much enjoyment from a performance of this sort, that she would stand in the position described as long as any one would sing to her; and afterwards she would make a continuous sound which she called singing. The only words she had learned to pronounce with any degree of distinctness previous to March, 1890, were papa, mamma, baby, sister. These words she had caught without instruction from the lips of friends. It will be seen that they contain three vowel and six consonant elements, and they formed the foundation for her first real lesson in speaking. During the latter part of the winter of 1889-90 she became gradually conscious of the fact that her means of intercourse with others were different from those employed by her little friends and playmates who were only blind; and one day her thoughts on this subject found expression in the following questions: "How do the 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 that there was a school in Boston where deaf were taught to speak, but that they could see their teacher's month and learn partly in that way. There she interrupted me to say that she was sure she could feel my mouth very well.

A short time after this conversation a lady came to see Helen, and told her about little Ragnhild Kaata, a deaf and blind child she had seen in Norway, who had been taught to speak, and to understand by touching her teacher's lips what he said to her. Helen's joy over this good news can be better imagined than described. "I am so delighted," she said, "for now I know that I shall learn to speak too." I promised, if she would be patient, that I would take her to see a kind lady who knew all about teaching the deaf, and who would know whether it would be possible or not for her to learn to speak. "Oh, yes; I can learn," was her eager reply. "I know I can, because Ragnhild has learned to speak."

She did not mention the subject again that day; but it was evident that she thought of little else, and that night she was not able to sleep. 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. Accordingly I went with her early in March to ask the advice and assistance of Miss Sarah Fuller of the Horace Mann school. Miss Fuller was delighted with the child's enthusiasm and earnestness, and immediately began to teach her to speak. This she did by letting Helen feel of her tongue, lips and throat while she uttered slowly and distinctly a simple combination of word elements, like it, miss, kiss, me, see, etc.; and so great was the child's natural capacity for learning to articulate that at the end of the first lesson she was able to pronounce distinctly the following sounds: a, ä, â, e, i, o, c soft like s and hard like k; g hard; b, l, n, m, t, p, s, u, k, f and d. Hard consonants were and indeed still are very difficult for her to pronounce when occurring in connection with one another in the same word; she will often suppress the one and change the other, and sometimes she will replace both by an analogous sound with soft expiration. The confusion between l and r was very noticeable in her speech at first. She would repeatedly exchange the one for the other. The great difficulty in the pronunciation of the r made it one of the last elements to be mastered. The ch, sh and soft g also gave her much trouble, and she does not yet enunciate them clearly.

She was not content to be drilled in single sounds or meaningless combinations of letters. She was impatient to pronounce words and form sentences. The length of the word or the difficulty of the arrangement of the letters never seemed to discourage her. When she had been talking for less than a week, she met her friend, Mr. Rodocanachi, and immediately began to struggle with the pronunciation of his name; nor would she give it up until she was able to articulate the word distinctly. Her interest never diminished for a moment; and, in her eagerness to overcome the difficulties which beset her on all sides, she taxed her powers to the utmost, learning in eleven lessons all of the separate elements of speech.

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This task, I think, has never before been accomplished in so short a time. During these few weeks she was in a constant state of mental excitement, which finally affected her health seriously. In less than a month she was able to converse intelligibly in oral language. The child's own ecstasy of delight when she was first able to utter her thoughts and her joys in living and distinct speech, was shared by all who witnessed the achievement of this last and most remarkable of her undertakings. Her success was more complete and inspiring than even those had dreamed or expected who knew best her marvellous intelligence and great mental capacity.

She prefers to speak rather than to spell with her fingers, and is very much pleased when told by strangers that they understand her readily. She is now learning to read by touching our lips what we say to her, and is almost as quick at catching the meaning of words and phrases as we utter them, as she is at forming them for herself. She can even read in this way words in foreign languages with which she is not acquainted. She understands the necessity of close observation, and carefully notes the slightest vibrations resulting from articulation. Every day she makes fresh progress in the art of speaking.

Helen's attainments are so extraordinary that, judged by common standards, they appear incredible, and some of them have been characterized as myths. Intelligent people, and especially the teachers of the deaf-mutes, are disposed to question the veracity of what is said or written about them, and to consider these statements as fictitious. Dr. Job H. Williams, principal of the institution for the deaf-mutes at Hartford, Conn., was one of the doubters. He honestly believed that the reports concerning Helen's progress in language were "grossly exaggerated," and that her attempt at learning to talk was "the most absurd thing in the world;" but at the same time he was very desirous of ascertaining the exact facts in her case by careful investigation. At length his wishes were gratified. He had two long personal interviews with her, during which he conversed freely with her by means of his own fingers and by listening to her vocal utterances, and the result of these friendly meetings proved as disastrous to his skepticism as was the outcome of the encounter at Sedan to Napoleon's forces. He came, saw, heard, and became a captive under the sway of Helen's genius.

"Venit, vidit, audivit, victus est."

On his return to Hartford Dr. Williams gave a full account of his observations in the following article, which was published in the Courant of that city, Feb. 20, 1891: --

It was my privilege a few days ago to call on Helen Keller, the deaf and blind girl who has attracted so much attention among philanthropic and scientific people for the past three or four years. Much has been written of this marvellous child, -- much that, judged by all ordinary standards of attainment of deaf-mutes, or even by the attainments of the occasional brilliant exceptions, seemed almost incredible. I must confess that before I saw her for the first time, a little more than a year ago, I could not believe that the reports concerning her progress in language were not grossly exaggerated; but after seeing her and talking to her myself through the manual alphabet, I was prepared to believe almost anything regarding her progress in that direction. I never knew of a child deaf at so early an age as was Helen (sight and hearing were both lost at the age of nineteen months through disease) who made such rapid progress in the knowledge of the English language. It was simply phenomenal.

But the greatest wonder was yet to come. Soon we heard that Helen was trying to learn to talk. That seemed the most absurd thing in the world. To think of teaching speech to a child totally deaf and blind was preposterous; yet that seemingly impossible thing has been done. The age of miracles is not yet past.

Last Monday morning I sat down beside her and carried on a running conversation concerning a great variety of subjects for nearly half an hour, and during all that time her part of the conversation, which was animated and sprightly, and full of fun, was conducted entirely by speech, and speech so distinct that I failed to understand very little of what she said. She seemed never at a loss for language to express an idea, nor even to hesitate in giving it orally. It was an intelligible speech in a pleasant voice, and it was wonderful. In the course of our conversation Helen informed me that she could play on the piano, and when I asked her to play she sat down and played an air of a little song with her right hand, playing the same part with her left hand an octave below. It would hardly pass for first-class music, the time not being very accurate, but it was music. Then at my request she sang for me a line of the song she had just played, and the singing was more accurate in time, though less so in tune, than the playing.

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Her memory is as remarkable as her grasp of language and her power of speech, and probably is the chief source of her success in both these. She grasps an idea almost before it is given, and once hers it seems ineradicably fixed in her memory. A few days ago a book of poems printed in raised letters was presented to her. She opened it and read the first poem over twice, reading it aloud as she passed her fingers over the lines. Then the book was laid away and not referred to again until the next day, when it was found that she could repeat the whole poem of seven stanzas of four lines each, without missing a word.

Laura Bridgman was a brilliant example of what may be accomplished under great difficulties. Helen Keller is a prodigy. There is no one, nor ever was any one, to compare with her.

This communication speaks for itself. It tells the story of Helen's achievements candidly, and commends them in the highest and most appreciative terms.

Study of French.

"This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold linguist."
Shakespeare.

Helen is a born linguist. She has a natural taste for foreign languages, and is as fond of them as she is of her mother tongue. She delights in studying them, and possesses a most extraordinary faculty for acquiring them. This ability became manifest three years ago.

It was on the evening of the 8th of July, 1888, that Helen was for the first time informed of the numerous forms and variations which exist in human speech, and was profoundly impressed by this revelation. She showed great eagerness to learn more about them, and began immediately to make constant inquiries and to gain as much knowledge of them as she could. These efforts continued irregularly for several months, and resulted in the acquisition of a very large number of Latin, French, Greek and German words and familiar phrases. But she had no systematic instruction in any of these languages until the following year.

Early in the month of October, 1889, she asked one of the teachers in the girls' department to teach her French. Miss Marrett, to whom the request was made, responded heartily to the child's wishes, and began at once to give her lessons in a simple and natural way. Helen entered upon this new field of learning with her usual zest and energy, and it was not very long before her industry, stimulated by a fervent zeal for knowledge, triumphed over all difficulties. The names of things and of their qualities, the declensions of nouns and adjectives, the conjugations of verbs, the intricacies of grammatical gender, and the idiomatic uses of the different parts of speech, had no terrors for her. On the contrary, they afforded to the unremitting activity of her mental faculties wide scope for exercise. In about three months she was in possession not only of the keys to the treasure-house of her new venture, but of a great quantity of materials and of the art of handling them skillfully and of putting them to proper service in the construction of sentences. On the 18th of February, 1890, I received in Athens her first composition in French, which I am assured was written without any assistance on the part of her instructress, and which is copied here verbatim et literatim: --

SOUTH BOSTON, MASS., le 1 Fevrier, 1890.

BONJOUR, MON CHER AMI: -- J'ai recu votre lettre charmante. Vous etes bon, et je vous aime beaucoup. Comment vous portez-vous? J'espere que vous vous portez mieux. Je parle Francais et Anglais à present. Les petites filles sont tres-bonnes, et ma chere petite soeur est belle. Je me promene tous les jours pendant une heure. Aimiez-vous l'etude lorsque vous etiez jeune? J'aime à lire. Ma mere a beaucoup de belles fleurs chez nous. J' aime mieux les roses et violettes. Ma mere m'a ecrit que les rosiers sont pleins de boutons. Les oiseaux chantent doucement comme dans le mois de Mai. Je ne peut pas parle Francais ou l'ecrire avec beaucoup de facilite. Quelques enfants ont ete tres-malades avec le diphtheria au gorge. Lily Edson est mourut. Je suis tres-fachee de pauvre Lily. Ma mere, mon pere et ma jolie souer viendront a Boston le Juin next. Serez-vous heureux de les voir? Je serai bien aise d'aller avec vous a l'ecole de les petits enfants. Vous serez bien aise a savoir que je peux dire correctement tous les heure de le jour maintenant. J'espere que j'aurai une belle montre bientot. J'ai neuf ans, ma soeur n'a que trois ans et demi. Voulez-vous m'apporter des livres Francais de France? Je veux que j'etais a Athens avec vous pour jouir tous les belles choses. Ma chere institutrice a ete tres-malade, mais elle est beaucoup mieux maintenant. Je pense a vous toujours, et j'aime vous. J'aime m'amie, Mademoiselle Kehayia aussi. I1 fait beau temp au jourd' hui, mais il fait bien froid. Voulez-vous aller a Paris avec moi quelquefois, je veux voir de belles choses. M'excuser les fautes, s'il vous plait.

Pensez a moi et aimiez-moi toujours. Au revoir, mon cher ami. Ecris a moi bientot.

DE HELENE A. KELLER.

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No one can imagine how delighted and surprised I was at the sight of this epistle. Long ago I ceased to wonder at the magnitude of Helen's achievements; but, with all my faith in the vastness of her abilities, I was not quite prepared to believe that she would succeed in accomplishing in three months what no child in America in full possession of his faculties would be expected to do in less than a year. The thing seems incredible; yet the proof before us is so clear and convincing that it does not leave room for the slightest doubt.

The French composition was accompanied by the following letter: --

MY DEAR MR. ANAGNOS : -- You will laugh when you open your little friend's letter, and see all the queer mistakes she has made in French; but I think you will be pleased to know that I can write even a short letter in French. It makes me very happy to please you and my dear teacher. I wish I could see your little niece Amelia. I am sure we should love each other. I hope you will bring some of Virginia Evanghelides's poems home with you, and translate them for me.

Teacher and I have just returned from our walk. It is a beautiful day. We met a sweet little child. She was playing on the pier with a wee brother. She gave me a kiss and then ran away, because she was a shy little girl.

I wonder if you would like to have me tell you a pretty dream which I had a long time ago when I was a very little child? Teacher says it was a day-dream, and she thinks you would be delighted to hear it. One pleasant morning, in the beautiful springtime, I thought I was sitting on the soft grass under my dear mother's window, looking very earnestly at the rose-bushes which were growing all around me. It was quite early, the sun had not been up very long; the birds were just beginning to sing joyously. The flowers were still asleep. They would not awake until the sun had smiled lovingly upon them. I was a very happy little child, with rosy cheeks and large blue eyes, and the most beautiful golden ringlets you can imagine. The fresh morning air blew gently in my face, as if to welcome me and be my merry playmate, and the sun looked at me with a warm and tender smile. I clapped my chubby hands for joy when I saw that the rose-bushes were covered with lovely buds. Some were red, some were white, and others were delicate pink, and they were peeping out from between the green leaves like beautiful fairies. I had never seen anything so lovely before, for I was very young, and I could not remember how pretty the roses had been the summer before. My little heart was filled with a sweet joy, and I danced around the rose-bushes to show my delight. After a while I went very near to a beautiful white rose-bush, which was completely covered with buds and sparkling with dewdrops; I bent down one of the branches with a lovely pure white bud upon it, and kissed it softly many times. Just then I felt two loving arms steal gently around me, and loving lips kissing my eyelids, my cheeks and my mouth, until I began to think it was raining kisses, and at last I opened my eyes to see what it all meant, and found it was my precious mother, who was bending over me, trying to kiss me awake. Do you like my day-dream? If you do, perhaps I will dream again for you some time.

Teacher and all of your friends send you their love. I shall be so glad when you come home, for I greatly miss you. Please give my love to your good Greek friends, and tell them that I shall come to Athens some day. Lovingly, your little friend and playmate,

HELEN A. KELLER.

This letter is filled with exquisite imagery; it is replete with vivid pictorial metaphor, and is charged with pathos and poetic thought. It is the perfect fruit of Helen's ripening mind, with all the perfume and beauty of the unfolding flower upon it. Queen Olga of Greece, having been informed of its contents by an Athenian lady, expressed a desire to read it, and during its perusal she was so deeply touched that tears flowed unceasingly from her eyes. These glistening drops, coming as they did from the depth of her heart, were more precious than all the solid gems which could be crowded on her diadem. Like diamonds of the first water they shine most brilliantly on the crown of philanthropy, which she has won by her broad and warm sympathy with all classes of sufferers and by many deeds of benevolence, and which she wears with proverbial modesty. Kind thoughts and humane feelings are better than coronets, and the prerogatives of unselfish and unostentatious charity are grander and more permanent than those of royalty; for neither social discontent and popular fury, nor political conspiracies and military disloyalty and treason, can abrogate and annul them.

At my urgent request Miss Marrett has kindly consented to write a full account of the methods which she employed in teaching Helen, and of the great earnestness which the child displayed in studying a new language. Here is her story.

"Will you teach me French?" These were the words which Helen's fingers rapidly spelled to me one day, as we sat at the dinner-table, while her sweet face reflected all the eager longing which had suggested the question, and which made but one answer possible.

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The morning hours were full of work for both of us; but Helen most gladly sacrificed a part of her afternoon freedom, for the sake of this new language-study; and five o'clock always found her ready for the French lessons. Friends, books or playthings were quickly abandoned by this faithful little student, as soon as my presence warned her of the hour.

Sometimes she would quietly sit and wait for me. She made a beautiful picture, leaning forward in her rocking-chair, with her face turned toward the door, listening for my footsteps. She often enjoyed a walk in the afternoon; but she was very careful that it should be of such a length as to ensure promptness at the French lesson. Once or twice, when she had taken a longer walk than usual, and was thereby belated, she showed much anxiety, and urged her companions to run a part of the way home, that she might not "be very late to French." The thought that I would be waiting for her was in itself a sufficient incentive to speed. She never absented herself from the entire study hour without previous expressions of sincere regret.

Our first lesson comprised some of the sentences oftenest used in every-day conversation. Each sentence, preceded by its English equivalent, was slowly spelled to Helen, who, after once repeating it with her fingers, was ready to learn another. Many short sentences thus became familiar to her within the hour.

Her first perplexity was caused by the varying forms of the definite and indefinite articles; yet, when her questions regarding them had been answered, and she understood that memory must be the chief aid in the correct use of these words, she fitted them to the various nouns in her vocabulary, with an earnestness which was a certain prophecy of future accuracy; and in all her later work a mistake in their use was rarely made. Accuracy is indeed one of Helen's prominent characteristics. I noticed it especially in her writing. She liked to sit down with her Braille tablet and stiletto, and translate sentences from English into French. If she was at all doubtful of the spelling of any word, or the construction of any sentence, she indicated the doubt to me, by making with her fingers the letters of the word or sentence before she trusted them to the paper. She was much troubled by a mistake of any kind, and, if she discovered one, she was never willing to continue writing until it had been satisfactorily corrected. Idioms did not puzzle her. She seemed to apprehend intuitively that every language has its own peculiar modes of expression, and she also readily accepted the many different verb forms which the French lessons brought to her notice. It was seldom that she was confused, either in conversation or composition, by any verb structure which had been previously indicated in her French exercises.

Helen soon advanced to a point where I was sure of her enjoyment of a simple French story. The first one which she read was Un Enfant Perdu dans la Neige, taken from Paul Berry's little book, Le Second Livre des Enfants. I wrote the story in Braille; and Helen, being familiar with most of the words, translated it very rapidly. Soon afterwards she surprised me by telling it in French. She had remembered the construction and arrangement of the successive sentences with wonderful correctness.

From this time forth stories were often selected as the subject of our lessons, in response to her eager requests. These stories I usually read to Helen, pausing after each sentence or group of sentences for the interpretation which her fingers were so ready to give. Frequently she correctly translated new words, from their close association with some which were already well known. When I had finished reading a story, Helen enjoyed writing it in Braille, the order of the previous exercise being now reversed, my fingers furnishing the English words which Helen's stiletto rapidly translated into their original French forms. Her face all the while afforded a most beautiful revelation of the pleasure which she derived from this kind of work.

The children whom Helen met in these stories were very real to her, and she kept them in loving remembrance. She was much pleased whenever a prompt appearance at the breakfast table caused her to be likened to la petite Louise, a favorite story with her.

She was always amused when she found French words spelled like English ones, and having the same meaning. She would laugh, and say in her brightest way, "It is just like our word!" She was quick to notice when there was a similarity between French words and the corresponding ones of our language.

Certain French words were especially pleasing to her. As new ones were presented to her mind, there were always some which she designated as pretty words. They were almost invariably those which combined letters in such a way as to produce a musical sound.

The power of discrimination in the choice of words has been frequently illustrated in her English conversation and composition. She often showed her originality by changing given sentences, so as to express different or additional ideas, or by forming some wholly from her own mind. The word campagne had occurred several times in her lessons, but she had not learned the word for country in its broadest sense. Upon Washington's birthday she formed this sentence: "George Washington etait le pere de notre campagne." She wrote French letters to several friends, using words gained from the lessons in order to express her own thoughts; and she was quite adroit in composing sentences within the compass of her vocabulary. Her knowledge of the idioms and the construction of the French language was not, however, sufficient to enable her to reach perfection in this independent work. When her mistakes were made known to her, it was interesting to watch her face, as she contrasted them with the correct forms of expression. She quickly recognized the essential points of difference, and laughingly said, "I have been writing very funny French!"

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The desire which Helen showed for talking in French with some of her distant friends, suggested to me the thought of including a few letters in the translation exercises. These were selected from various sources, and were received by Helen with great enthusiasm. The following is one of the letters which she wrote in March, 1890, from an English dictation. This letter was one day found among other papers pertaining to last year's work, and given to Helen, who translated it with astonishing ease, hesitating with only a few of the words, each one of which she recalled with a little thought; yet she had not seen the letter for eight months.

MELROSE, le 27 Mars, 1890.

MA CHERE ELISE: -- Dans quelques jours j'aurai une semaine de vacances. Il m'est tres difficile de rester enfermee dans une salle d'etude, quand toute est si belle dehors! A present le temps est magnifique. Deja les cerisiers sont en fleurs, et les collines sont d' un vert tendre et frais. On entend les oiseaux chanter parmi les arbres en fleurs ainsi que le bourdonnement des insectes et le murmure des ruisseaux; on sent la douce haleine du vent impregnee du parfum des premieres fleurs. Oh! que je serai heureuse quand je pourrai etre libre comme les oiseaux de l'air, et courir tout le jour dans les pres et les bois! Voulez-vous venir passer les vacances avec moi, chere Elise? Je suis sure qu' une semaine a la campagne vous ferait du bien. Ma mere vous envoie ses amities, et vous prie de venir.

Ecrivez-moi quel jour et a quelle heure vous viendrez, et nous irons vous attendre a la gare. Je vous embrasse de tout mon coeur.

Votre amie devouee, R. H. K.

Helen has not yet been taught the use of French accents, and therefore they are omitted from the above letter. Her lessons with me preceded her first knowledge of the vowel elements gained from her work in articulation, and I did not attempt, at the beginning of her study of the French language, to introduce the accent marks, the meaning of which, at that time, would have been very obscure to her.

Helen was much distressed by a failure to remember anything which she had ever known, and it was seldom that she suffered this pain. It became evident, during our second lesson, that she would not need reviews. The sentences of the first lesson comprised so many new words, that I thought it best to have them repeated before more were learned. When I asked questions to suggest the sentences of the previous lesson, Helen said, in an emphatic, surprised way: "I know them: Please teach me something new!" I was, however, assured of her knowledge by a perfect recitation, and a review was never again requested.

Her interest in French was constant. There was no decrease of enthusiasm after the novelty of the first study hours had passed away, but she ever showed the spirit of a true scholar.

Paris was often before her mind, as the place to which the French lessons were surely leading her; and she would frequently give imaginary dialogues between herself and little French children. She liked to think of these dear friends of the future.

I shall always be grateful for the question which, with its answer, brought me for a few weeks so near to Helen's wonderful mind and heart, and revealed to me all the most precious characteristics of her rich nature.

Love of Nature.

"She lives upon the living light
Of nature and of beauty."
Bailey.

Helen is an enthusiastic admirer and a true and consistent lover of nature. She enjoys worshipping in its temples with Galen and Aristotle, Pliny and Buffon, Humboldt and Agassiz, Emerson and Thoreau, and joining them in their gratulatory hymns of praise. Her fondness for it is something more than fancy; it is a passion that gives to her young life a charming ardor and a delicate refinement. The glorious splendor and uniform motion of the heavenly bodies, and the ample theatre of our planet with its stately beauty and constant order, although invisible to her sightless eyes, are ever present to her mind; they rouse her imagination and kindle the liveliest of her feelings.

Helen's frequent allusions to springtime and to the budding trees and growing blades of grass show her susceptibility to the influences of the seasons, and her quick sense of the refreshment and renovation afforded by nature to heart and soul. At her timid but familiar knock the doors of the vast storehouses of the system of our mother earth are opened wide, and she finds therein never-failing sources of contemplation and amusement. Sunshine, balmy air, birds, beasts, verdant woods, the fragrant sweetness of plants, the pleasant fertility of the earth and all the tremendous varieties of the animal and vegetable kingdoms have a greater significance and a deeper meaning for her than for ordinary mortals. For her there are tales in leaves, romances in living creatures, stories in breezes and pictures in waves.

Never was a child more devoted to the adoration of nature, more sensitive to the changes of the seasons or more responsive to the stir of universal life, than Helen is. Witness the following letter to Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes: --

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DEAR DR. HOLMES: -- Your beautiful words about spring have been music in my heart, these bright April days. I love every word of "Spring" and "Spring Has Come." I think you will be glad to hear that these poems have taught me to enjoy and love the beautiful springtime, even though I cannot see the fair, frail blossoms which proclaim its approach, or hear the joyous warbling of the home-coming birds. But when I read "Spring Has Come," lo! I am not blind any longer, for I see with your eyes and hear with your ears. Sweet Mother Nature can have no secrets from me when my poet is near. I have chosen this paper because I want the spray of violets in the corner to tell you of my grateful love. I want you to see baby Tom, the little blind and deaf and dumb child who has just come to our pretty garden. He is poor and helpless and lonely now, but before another April education will have brought light and gladness into Tommy's life. If you do come, you will want to ask the kind people of Boston to help brighten Tommy's whole life. Your loving friend, HELEN KELLER.

This letter shows conclusively that nature is to Helen a grand spiritual symbol, moving her to meditative rapture. The outward spectacle is not accurately portrayed in her mind; but it is through the emotions enkindled in her breast that she perceives the external world. In the words of Wordsworth, she feels --

"A presence that disturbs her with the joy
Of elevated thoughts, a sense sublime
Of something far deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man, --
A motion and a spirit that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things."

Dr. Holmes published the first of Helen's letters to him in the Atlantic Monthly of May, 1890, and from the remarks with which he accompanied it the following extract is taken: --

A child fuller of life and happiness it would be hard to find. It seems as if her soul were flooded with light and filled with music that had found entrance to it through avenues closed to other mortals. It is hard to understand how she has learned to deal with abstract ideas, and so far to supplement the blanks left by the senses of sight and hearing that one would hardly think of her as wanting in any human faculty. . . . Surely for this loving and lovely child does

"the celestial light
Shine inward."

Sense of Beauty.

"Better be born with taste to little rent,
Than the dull monarch of a continent."
Armstrong.

Helen aspires to full communion with all that is highest in thought and feeling, and is endowed with a rare artistic temperament. She loves poetry, and finds it everywhere, because she has an abundance of it within herself. Her mind is so fine, her emotions so strong, and her fancy so potent, that she is deeply impressed with all things that are good and lovely, fair and charming, chaste and exquisite. She is keenly sensitive to beauty, and whenever she comes in contact with it, an electric spark of sympathy and appreciation flashes upon her soul, and her whole nature is astir with life and aglow with delight. Like Wordsworth, she sees with the inward eye and projects visions and pictures from her brain outward. Her inner sight is as illimitable as that of Keats, who, in order to depict the effect which looking at Chapman's Homer had upon his mind, could write, --

"Then felt I like some watcher of the skies,
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific, and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise,
Silent, upon a peak in Darien."

On a pleasant day in March, Helen, accompanied by her teacher and myself, visited the studio of a young and promising artist, Mr. Albert H. Munsell, who favored her with a cordial reception and with a clear description of his own works and of those of others. On her return to the institution she made the following memorandum of her impressions: --

MARCH 12, 1891. -- Yesterday was a beautiful spring day. It seemed to me that there was a scent of growing grasses in the soft, warm air. The ground beneath our feet was all aquiver with the stir of new life. My heart sang for very joy. I thought of my own dear home. I knew that in that sunny land spring had come in all its splendor. "All its birds and all its blossoms, all its flowers and all its grasses." Teacher and I took a long walk in the morning. In sheltered places we found tender blades of grass struggling through the moist earth. Welcome! cried we; welcome, brave little heralds of spring time! Soon the bluebird and the robin will be your merry play-fellows.

In the afternoon Mr. Anagnos, teacher and I visited Mr. Munsell's studio. I was delighted to hear about the beautiful pictures he has painted. I should like so much to be an artist! Mr. Munsell loves the sea in all its moods, -- when it is bright and frolicsome, when it is sad and troubled, and when it is angry and beats against the rocks in all its fierce rage. I liked the picture of a dear old lady with a snowy cap, and a gentle hand covering her eyes, very much indeed. The wedding ring upon her finger was worn till it looked like a thread of gold. She was weary, and she sat there thinking of her absent boys and hoping that they were safe. The picture of the sea in September was also beautiful. The artist called the paintings his children. It is a pretty fancy, I think.

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HELEN KELLER.

Some of Helen's compositions are not mere records of events, but sprightly narratives interwoven with reflections on various topics, which would not disgrace a much older writer. She is easily lifted from the world of facts and incidents into the realm of fancies and ideas. Her words and thoughts crowd so fast upon each other, that one may truly say that her forte is profusion and her foible prodigality. Her good things lie about in all directions so temptingly, like the diamonds in Sinbad's valley, that her visitor, in his hurry to fill his pockets and retire on the proceeds to Balsora, is apt to forget the larger aspects of that earth and sky which encompass her. But it is a teeming earth and a bracing sky.

Mr. Munsell was so charmed with Helen and her lively and winning ways that he decided to paint a portrait of her. He had several interviews with her, and made a careful study of the traits of her character. He has already advanced far enough in shaping and coloring his design to show that he has caught the spirit of the child, and that his picture promises to be an excellent likeness and a fine piece of artistic work.

Study of Music.

"L'oreille est le chemin du coeur."
Voltaire.

"The ear is the road to the heart," saith the famous philosopher and great thinker of France, and no one disputes the correctness of his statement. Students and scientific men agree about it, and acknowledge its truth with perfect unanimity. They all admit that of the five organs of sense hearing forms the broadest and most direct avenue to the human feelings and sentiments. It is the sole vehicle which transmits to the brain both the sounds and the results of their combination and sweet accord. It is through it alone that one can obtain an idea of melody, and understand the modulations which depend upon the succession of acute and grave tones.

In view of these facts, the question arises whether persons who are totally deaf can have any conception of rhythm and musical harmony, or any intelligence of the rate of movement, -- that is to say, time.

It is natural to surmise that the ruin of the mechanism of the ear necessarily involves the entire extinction and obliteration of all such effects and properties as are cognate to its nature and peculiar to its functions. Yet Helen's case does not bear out this supposition. On the contrary, it shows that the chasm caused by the destruction of the sense of hearing may be crossed by means of the chain of sensibility. True, this medium is at its fullest development very imperfect and inadequate as a substitute; nevertheless, it serves a high purpose.

Music has a powerful and inspiring influence upon Helen. The impressions of its strains, which she receives through the vibrations of the floor when any one plays on the pianoforte, the organ or the brass instruments, act with a magic force upon her brain. She seeks them with great delight, and they enliven her and transport her into a state of enchantment. So sensitive is her fine organism to the effects of music!

Last winter she was present at one of the concerts given in our hall by Mr. George J. Parker. At the end of the performance she greeted the distinguished vocalist most cordially, and requested him to sing for her. He readily consented to gratify her wishes, and proceeded to do so as soon as the audience had left the room. Helen stood close by him; and while with one of her hands she followed the movements of his lips and with the other those of his throat, she placed her face against his chest to watch its vibrations. The picture which the dear child presented in her eager effort to catch the tones and variations of his song was the most touching and pathetic I have ever seen. She looked as if she were hanging on his mouth, striving to get hold of the strings of the modulations of his voice and draw it out. At last she seemed to have grasped the essence of the melody, and when Mr. Parker had finished singing she said, "I can vibrate, too," and actually repeated one of the notes accurately.

Long before this occurrence, however, I had become thoroughly convinced that it was quite possible to teach Helen the elements of music. Wishing to obtain all the light that could be had from her study of this art, I arranged with one of our teachers, Miss M. E. Riley, to give her lessons on the pianoforte, and charged her not to deviate in the case of this deaf child from any of the rules and methods which she pursues in the instruction of her hearing pupils. Miss Riley's work with her little scholar began on the 18th of March, 1891, and continued for nearly two months and a half. The child entered upon her new undertaking with her wonted zest and with perfect confidence of success. Her progress in this unexplored and most difficult field for a person bereft of the sense of hearing was amazingly rapid, and it was faithfully recorded by her teacher in the following notes: --

MARCH 18, 1891. -- Helen took her first piano lesson. During the half hour she learned to tell the location of the white keys and to find them correctly. She also learned the proper position of the hands, which she acquired with facility.

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MARCH 19. -- Reviewed the preceding lesson, and practised raising the fingers from the knuckle joint. I explained whole notes, and she played them while I beat time upon her shoulder. In teaching rhythm I allow her first to beat it upon a desk and then play it upon the piano.

MARCH 20. -- Experimented with the metronome, which may be of assistance in teaching rhythm, for, by touching the pendulum lightly with the thumb and forefinger, she can feel its vibrations. I explained halves and quarters, and she played an exercise in whole notes.

MARCH 21. -- Continued practice in rhythm with the aid of the metronome.

MARCH 23. -- Study of rhythm continued. Helen seemed less quick in grasping the ideas presented, but redeemed herself on March 24, when she did excellent work. Tested her by playing and counting unevenly. She laughed, and said, "Not quite right." That she can make this distinction is encouraging.

MARCH 25. -- Explained the bar, or measure. Helen learned an exercise in quarter notes.

MARCH 26, 27, 28 and 30. Continuation of the same work.

MARCH 31. -- She learned an exercise for both hands, in different keys.

APRIL 6. -- Began teaching Helen the Braille musical notation, which she comprehends readily.

APRIL 8. -- Helen learned an exercise introducing eighths;

APRIL 16. -- She finished a little piece.

APRIL 18. -- A lesson upon three-four time, during which she asked, "Do we have two-four measure, -- two quarters?" which proves that she has given some thought to the subject.

APRIL 21. -- Helen learned another exercise in eighth notes. She said, "I have practised a great deal and struggled hard with my difficulties."

MAY 4. -- Several lessons have been spent upon a little piece called "The Echo," which she finished reading today. As a rule, Helen remembers her lessons very well, but occasionally she is obliged to re-read her music.

MAy 12. -- For a week we have been practising "The Echo." Helen has had difficulty in remembering it, but this afternoon she played it correctly. I read to her a few measures of "Home, Sweet Home," which introduces double notes and changes of fingering.

MAY 14. -- Tried the experiment of having Helen play "The Echo" with expression, believing that the manner in which she presses the keys and the stronger vibrations will tell her when she is playing louder.

JUNE 1. -- My belief proved to be correct.

Taking into account the short time which Helen has devoted to music, and its frequent interruptions, her progress has been excellent. She has indeed struggled nobly with her difficulties.

Helen has also learned a great deal of dynamics and the relation of muscular force to loud and soft effects. It is obvious, that her artistic sense is not an exotic plant; it is inherent in her nature. It springs from those finer emotions which make the organization of the soul, and it affects the whole of her being. Her gracefulness of bearing, no less than her faculty of appreciation of the accord of sweet sounds, is fed from within, and not cultivated from without. It is the instinctive expression of certain orderly and unconscious habits of feeling, foremost among which is sensitiveness to rhythm and response to it.

On the occasion of the commencement exercises at Tremont Temple Helen was introduced by Dr. Samuel Eliot, and played the little piece "Echo," which is mentioned in Miss Riley's notes. Her appearance on the platform in the capacity of a student of music was a perfect astonishment to all.

"Her graceful innocence, her every air
Of gesture, or least action, over-aw'd"

the audience, while her performance was heartily applauded for the absolute correctness which characterized it from beginning to end. Far be it from my intention to give the impression that Helen's playing was anything more than elementary; yet it was much more than could be accomplished in so short a time by any other blind child of her age. Moreover, the scene was one of absorbing interest. It was singularly charming to see her sitting at the pianoforte and moving her beautiful fingers over the keyboard with entire freedom and accuracy, and with striking confidence.

"Orpheus' self might heave his head
From golden slumber on a bed
Of heap'd Elysian flowers, and hear
Such strains as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite set free
His half-regained Eurydice."

Ocular Proof of Helen's Progress.

"Let proof speak."
Shakespeare.

Helen's march from the depths of seclusion and ignorance to the lofty regions of mental freedom and knowledge was a series of momentous triumphs, which dazzled the senses and captivated the imagination of all beholders. Her progress in the fields of learning is without parallel, and most of her attainments, judged by the common standard, seem incredible. Hence, in order to prove their reality and dispel all doubts as to their magnitude, we can offer no better and more convincing evidence than that which is afforded by her own writings. The specimens of these, which have been selected, represent two different periods in the course of her education, -- the earliest period and a recent one.

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Here is a fac-simile of Helen's first composition, addressed to her cousin Anna, which was written three months and fifteen days after she began to receive instruction from Miss Sullivan.

-TRANSCRIBED- helen write anna george will give helen apple simpson will shoot bird jack will give helen stick of candy doctor will give mildred medicine mother will make mildred new dress

This little note was scribbled on the 17th of June, 1887, and therefore it antedates by thirty-six days the first letter, which Helen wrote to her mother from Huntsville, where she was visiting relatives, on the 23d of July of the same year. Let us compare with this crude specimen of composition the following letter, which she wrote to one of New England's sweetest singers, John G. Whittier, on his eighty-third birthday, and we shall have an indisputable proof of what she accomplished in the course of three years and six months: --

-TRANSCRIBED- South Boston, Dec. 17, 1890

Dear kind Poet,

This is your birthday; that was the first thought which came to my mind when I awoke this morning; and it made me glad to think I could write you a letter and tell you how much your little blind friends love their sweet poet and his birthday This evening they are going to entertain their friends with readings from your poems and music. I hope the swift winged messenger of love will be here to carry some of the sweet melody to you, in your little study by the Merrimac. At first I was very sorry when I found that the sun had hidden his shining face behind dull clouds, but afterwards I thought why he did it, and then I was happy. The sun knows that you like to see the world covered with beautiful white snow, and so he kept back all of his brightness, and let the little white crystals form in the sky. When they are ready, they will softly fall and tenderly cover every object. Then the sun will appear in all his radiance and fill the world with light If I were with you today I would give you eighty-three kisses -- one for each year you have lived. Eighty-three years seems very long to me. Does it seem long to you? I wonder how many years there will be in eternity I am afraid I cannot think about so much time. I received the letter which you wrote to me last summer, and I thank you for it. I am staying in Boston now at the Institution for the Blind, but I have not commenced my studies yet, because my dearest friend, Mr. Anagnos wants me to rest and play a great deal. Teacher is well and sends her kind remmbrances -sic- to you The happy Christmas time is almost here! I can hardly wait for the fun to begin! I hope your Christmas Day will be a very happy one and that the New Year will be full of brightness and joy for you and everyone.

From your little friend

Helen A. Keller

This letter is one of the finest productions of Helen's brain. It conveys an adequate idea of the exuberant fancy as well as the naturalness of the little author, and shows that her early promise of abundant fruition has developed into a wonderful inflorescence of achievement. Its sentences are perfect and its phrases pure and sweet. To borrow the words of John Adams, --

"What joyous breathings of a glowing soul
Live in each page, and animate the whole."

Miss Sullivan's Account.

At my suggestion Miss Sullivan prepared a full account of Helen's mental development and of her marvellous progress in the acquisition of knowledge during the past three years. Her narrative is a statement of facts pure and simple; yet it reads more like a romance than a record of actual occurrences. Here is the tale of the achievements of the little pupil, as related by her tutor.

During the past three years Helen has continued to make rapid progress in the acquisition of knowledge. Indeed, the following account may seem incredible to those who have not seen her frequently, but all who have had an opportunity of watching her development from day to day will admit that my statements are not exaggerated. Knowing that the value of this sketch depends upon its exactness, I shall confine myself to the statement of facts, and to making such selections from Helen's own letters and compositions as will enable those who are interested in her progress to form an accurate conception of her achievements. I shall not, however, enter into the details of her education more fully than I have done in previous reports, for I have simply employed principles of instruction already well known; and all who have read Doctor Howe's reports in regard to the education of Laura Bridgman are familiar with the peculiar mental phenomena shown in the development of a mind debarred from the exhilarating influence of sight and sound.

Helen has spent the greatest part of the past three years in South Boston at the Perkins Institution, where she has enjoyed exceptional social and educational advantages. She has numerous and loving friends, not only in the school but throughout the city, whose delight it is to give her pleasure. She is so widely known, and the interest in her is so general, that wherever she goes she is the happy recipient of the kindest attentions; and the task of instructing her is greatly facilitated when she learns about things and people by actual contact with them. Her power of observation is thereby cultivated, and every faculty of her mind is strengthened.

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She is as eager and as enthusiastic in her pursuit of knowledge now as she was three years ago. She has one advantage over ordinary children, that nothing from without distracts her attention from her studies; so that each new thought makes upon her mind a distinct impression which is rarely forgotten.

Here is a letter which indicates Helen's breadth of information, as well as her affectionate qualities.

TUSCUMBIA, ALA., Oct. 9, 1890.

MY DEAR LITTLE FRIENDS: -- You must not think I have forgotten you, for I have thought about you very often this summer, and I want to see you very much indeed. I think I shall come to Boston after Christmas. I was disappointed not to come before, but I am very glad to stay with my parents and my little sister. They are lonely when I leave them.

I wish all of you could be here this lovely autumn day. The roses are blooming in all their beauty. I fancy they are saying a sweet good-bye, for soon Jack Frost will come, and then they must depart. The mother-plants are busy putting their little ones away in their warm cradles, to sleep till the springtime comes to awaken them. I am going to send you some magnolia seeds, and the pods where the seeds are formed, so that you can study about them. Perhaps they will grow, if you plant them in a warm place. The seeds are of a bright-red color when they first ripen. I shall also send you a cotton-pod and a fig-leaf. I think you never saw a fig-tree growing; but Miss Bennett will tell you all about it. A leaf shaped like a fig-leaf is called palmate, because it looks like the hand. The word comes from the Latin, and signifies the palm of the hand. The cotton is opening very slowly this year, and much of it is spoiled because it has rained continuously for more than a week, and a great deal of rain is not good for cotton. Oh, how delighted I was when the sun broke through the dense clouds, and I could feel its brightness once more!

I wish I could bring my great dog and my gentle donkey to Boston with me. You would like Lioness, she is such a good, faithful dog. I think Neddy would make you laugh, he is such a funny, round little fellow; and I am sure Edith would love to ride him. Little sister often rides Neddy by herself. Whenever he hears the dinner-bell ring he goes to the kitchen for some corncobs. I suppose he thinks we have corn for dinner every day. Sometimes I feed the turkeys, and they are so tame that they will come close enough for me to touch them.

We spent the summer on a beautiful mountain near here, where the air was fresh and cool. We call the place Fern Quarry, because there are so many pretty ferns there; and I named the place where our house stands Mount Pleasant. Neddy used to carry me through the woods and up the steep, rocky paths very carefully; but when he got on the road which leads to Tuscumbia, he would start for home as fast as he could trot.

Mildred and our little cousin, Louise Adams, were very happy together. They used to pick wild-flowers, catch butterflies, and play in some nice clean sand, until it was time for them to visit slumberland. Louise is a lovely little girl, with golden lovelocks, dark-blue eyes, and soft rosy cheeks. They make us think of two angels who had strayed away from their home in the sky. Every day we went to the springs, and drank the cool water that gushed out from the rocks, and in September we gathered large bouquets of ladies'-slipper and goldenrod, that grew on the hill near the spring. One day my dear brother Simpson found a little baby-bird, which had fallen out of its nest while the mother-bird was away. We played with it for a little while, and then Simpson put it back into the nest.

My vacation is over now, and I have my lessons every day. I study arithmetic, geography, botany and zoölogy. I have just learned about the wonderful little slime-animals, and to-morrow I shall learn about sponges or polyps, -- I am not sure which. In history I am studying about the brave Britons. How courageously they fought for their little island home! I shall be so glad to receive a letter from you, and hear what you are doing in school; and please tell me about the new scholars. I received Miss Marrett's and Miss Bennett's letters, and I thank them for writing to me. I was so very sorry to hear that Mrs. Hopkins' dear little bird, Dick, was dead. In the springtime I will try to get her a young mocking-bird. Were you all delighted to welcome Mr. Anagnos home? I know he must have been glad to see you all again.

With much love, from your little playmate,

HELEN A. KELLER.

While Helen's isolated condition brings with it this advantage, it involves also a corresponding drawback, -- the danger of unduly severe mental application. Her mind is so constituted that she is in a state of feverish unrest while conscious that there is something that she does not comprehend. I have never known her to be willing to leave a lesson when she felt that there was anything in it which she did not understand. If I suggest her leaving a problem in arithmetic until the next day, she invariably answers, "I think it will make my mind stronger to do it now."

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A few evenings ago we were discussing the tariff. Helen wanted me to tell her about it. I said, "No. You cannot understand it yet." She was quiet for a moment, and then asked, with not a little spirit, "How do you know that I cannot understand? I have a good mind! You must remember, dear teacher, that Greek parents were very particular with their children, and they used to let them listen to wise words, and I think they understood some of them." I have found it best not to tell her that she cannot understand, because she is almost certain to become excited over this suggestion.

Not long ago I tried to show her how to build a tower with her blocks. As the design was somewhat complicated, the slightest jar made the structure fall. After a time I became discouraged, and told her I was afraid she could not make it stand, but that I would build it for her; but she did not approve of this plan. She was determined to build the tower herself; and for nearly three hours she worked away, patiently gathering up the blocks whenever they fell, and beginning over again, until at last her perseverance was crowned with success. The tower stood complete in every part; but how gladly would I have spared her the nervous strain it had cost! Had she not been endowed by nature with a strong constitution, continuous mental excitement and concentration of attention, such as I have just described, would have long since undermined her health. Fortunately, she is very strong and active. She loves outdoor exercise, and enjoys a romp as well as any little girl I know. She is unusually large for her age, -- eleven years. She is well developed physically as well as mentally, and until the summer of 1890 her general health was excellent. Her excessively nervous temperament had not apparently exercised an injurious effect upon her corporal condition. Physicians invariably expressed surprise when assured that she slept soundly and had a good appetite.

A letter to her brother gives expression to her enjoyment of the school routine.

SOUTH BOSTON, MASS., Dec. 3, 1889.

MY DEAR BROTHER: -- I was made very happy by your nice letter. You are a dear, good brother, to write me such a nice long letter, and I love you more than I can ever tell. I am having a beautiful time in Boston. It is a very large and lovely city, and the people here are very kind to your little sister. I go to school every day, and learn ever so many things. Perhaps you would like to have me tell you what I do all day. At eight o'clock I study arithmetic. When I come home I will give you some very difficult examples to do. At nine I have gymnastics; and at ten, geography. After that I have lessons in form; and at twelve, zoölogy. I am making a watch-case for mother; but it is a secret, so please do not tell her. I have my lessons in the library. It is a pleasant place. There are books, stuffed animals and bright birds, -- only they are not alive, -- skeletons, models, and cases filled with beautiful shells and minerals. I wish you could see all the interesting things. Sunday I went to church on board a great war-ship. I saw four hundred and sixty sailors, many huge cannon, long swords and pistols. The men wore uniforms and funny caps. Wednesday the Earl of Meath came to see me; and Saturday the Countess came, but I did not see her. The Earl told me many things about his brave son, who serves the good Queen of England.

Now I must close. Write to me again soon, and please give my love to your friends at college.

With much love and many kisses, from your little sister,

HELEN A. KELLER.

During the month of July, 1890, soon after her return to her southern home, we noticed that she became each day more nervous and excitable. She lost her appetite, and was restless at night. At first we thought these symptoms might arise from the sudden change of climate at such a warm season of the year; but I now believe that her strength had been overtaxed in learning to speak. She had been ambitious to surprise her parents and other home friends, and the efforts which she made to conquer the difficulties of articulation were often painful to witness. If she is especially interested in anything, she does not forget it after the lesson is over, but continues to think about it even when otherwise occupied. There is no relaxation from mental effort except when she is asleep; and the enthusiasm with which she absorbs knowledge tempts Helen's instructors to allow her to exceed her strength, although they are not at the moment conscious that she is so doing.

I realized this clearly when the strain was removed which she had undergone in learning to speak. Absolute rest became an imperative necessity. We decided to take her to a quiet mountain region, where she gradually grew stronger, and by the middle of September her health had so much improved that she returned home and was allowed to resume some of her studies.

Until October, 1889, I had not deemed it best to confine Helen to any regular and systematic course of study. For the first two years of her intellectual life she was like a child in a strange country, where everything was new and perplexing; and, until she gained a knowledge of language, -- a mysterious and difficult undertaking for the little deaf and blind child, -- it was not possible to give her a definite course of instruction.

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Moreover, Helen's inquisitiveness was so great during these years, that it would have interfered with her progress in the acquisition of language, if a consideration of the questions which were constantly occurring to her had been deferred until the completion of a lesson. In all probability she would have forgotten the question, and a good opportunity to explain something of real interest to her would have been lost. Therefore it has always seemed best to me to teach anything whenever my pupil needed to know it, whether it had any bearing on the projected lesson or not; her inquiries have often led us far away from the subject under immediate consideration.

There was another reason for deferring the commencement of regular instruction. For more than two years Helen's mind was in a state of perpetual excitement. From the moment when it flashed upon her consciousness, like a revelation, that all objects have names, she became like one inspired, and I instinctively felt that she would accomplish more if allowed to follow her own natural impulses.

Here is a letter which shows how her mind grasps every new suggestion.

SOUTH BOSTON, Jan. 10, 1890.

MY DEAR MR. HALE: -- The beautiful shells have come, and I thank you for them. I shall keep them always, and it will make me very happy to think you found them on that faraway island, from which Columbus sailed to discover our dear country. When I am eleven years old it will have been four hundred years since he started with the three small ships to cross the great strange ocean. He was very brave. The little girls were delighted to see the lovely shells. I told them all I knew about them. Are you very glad that you could make so many people happy? I am! I should be very happy to come and teach you the Braille some time, if you have time to learn it, but I am afraid you are too busy. A few days ago I received a little box of violets from Lady Meath. The flowers were wilted, but the kind thought which made Lady Meath send them was as sweet and as fresh as newly pulled violets. With loving greetings to the little cousins and Mrs. Hale, and a sweet kiss for yourself,

From your little friend,

HELEN A. KELLER.

Another letter, written at an early date, will afford some idea of the way in which knowledge came to her.

TUSCUMBIA, ALA., Dec. 11, 1888.

MY DEAR MRS. HOPKINS: -- I have just fed my dear little white pigeon. My brother Simpson gave it to me last Sunday. I named it Annie, for my teacher. My puppy has had his supper and gone to bed. My rabbits are sleeping, too; and very soon I shall go to bed. Teacher is writing letters to her friends. Mother and father and their friends have gone to see a huge furnace. The furnace is to make iron. The iron ore is found in the ground; but it cannot be used until it has been brought to the furnace and melted, and all the dirt taken out, and just the pure iron left. Then it is all ready to be manufactured into engines, stoves, kettles and many other things.

Coal is found in the ground, too. Many years ago, before people came to live on the earth, great trees and tall grasses and huge ferns and all the beautiful flowers covered the earth. When the leaves and the trees fell, the water and the soil covered them; and then more trees grew and fell also, and were buried under water and soil. After they had all been pressed together for many thousands of years, the wood grew very hard, like rock, and then it was already for people to burn. Can you see leaves and ferns and bark on the coal? Men go down into the ground and dig out the coal, and steam-cars take it to the large cities, and sell it to people to burn, to make them warm and happy when it is cold out of doors.

Are you very lonely and sad now? I hope you will come to see me soon, and stay a long time.

With much love, from your little friend,

HELEN A. KELLER.

Since the above-mentioned date (October, 1889) Helen has pursued a regular course of study, including arithmetic, geography, zoölogy, botany and reading. This course has been continued throughout the intervening time with satisfactory results.

She has made considerable progress in the study of arithmetic. She readily explains the processes of multiplication, addition, subtraction and division, and seems to understand the operations perfectly. She has nearly finished Colburn's mental arithmetic, her last work being in improper fractions. She has also done some good work in written arithmetic. Her natural aptness for perceiving the relation of numbers is so acute, and her mind works so rapidly, that it often happens when I give her an example that she will give me the correct answer before I have time to write out the question. She pays little attention to the language used in stating a problem, and seldom stops to ask the meaning of unknown words or phrases until she is ready to explain her work. Her self-reliance is developed in a marked degree. She prefers rather to rely upon her own powers than be helped over any difficulties. Once, when a question puzzled her very much, I suggested that we take a walk and then perhaps she would understand it. She shook her head decidedly, and said: "My enemies would think I was running away. I must stay and conquer them now," and she did.

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The following letter will show how her mind, even three years ago, glanced from earth to sky: --

TUSCUMBIA, ALA., Jan. 29, 1889.

MY DEAR MISS BENNETT: -- I am delighted to write to you this morning. We have just eaten our breakfast. Mildred is running about downstairs. I have been reading in my book about astronomers. Astronomer comes from the Latin word astra, which means stars; and astronomers are men who study the stars, and tell us about them. When we are sleeping quietly in our beds, they are watching the beautiful sky through the telescope. A telescope is like a very strong eye. The stars are so far away that people cannot tell much about them, without very excellent instruments. Do you like to look out of your window, and see little stars? Teacher says she can see Venus from our window, and it is a large and beautiful star. The stars are called the earth's brothers and sisters.

There are a great many instruments besides those which the astronomers use. A knife is an instrument to cut with. I think the bell is an instrument, too. I will tell you what I know about bells.

Some bells are musical and others are unmusical. Some are very tiny and some are very large. I saw a very large bell at Wellesley. It came from Japan. Bells are used for many purposes. They tell us when breakfast is ready, when to go to school, when it is time for church, and when there is a fire. They tell people when to go to work, and when to go home and rest. The engine-bell tells the passengers that they are coining to a station, and it tells the people to keep out of the way. Sometimes very terrible accidents happen, and many people are burned and drowned and injured. The other day I broke my doll's head off; but that was not a dreadful accident, because dolls do not live and feel, like people. My little pigeons are well, and so is my little bird. I would like to have some clay. Teacher says it is time for me to study now. Good-bye.

With much love, and many kisses, HELEN A. KELLER.

Geography is her favorite study. About strange countries and their inhabitants she never tires of learning, and I venture to assert that very few boys or girls, even in the highest grades of the public schools, have a more extensive knowledge of foreign lands than has Helen. In this study she is greatly assisted by her vivid imagination, which translates words into images and sentences into pictures. She has received letters and tokens of affection from strangers in other nations, and so feels a real and personal interest in whatever concerns them. While Mr. Anagnos was travelling in Europe, he sent her a full description of each important city he visited. She looked forward to the coming of these letters with great eagerness, and it would have delighted the writer to see the pleasure which her bright face expressed during the reading of these communications.

She had conceived a great admiration for kings and queens, having an idea that queens must all be beautiful, and that kings are born good and wise. It was therefore a very painful surprise to her when she learned of the cruel punishments which the czar allows his officers to inflict upon some of his subjects. She said: "I think the czar cannot know that his officers do wrong. We must send a wise messenger to tell him that his people are unhappy."

The following letter will illustrate her interest in passing history, as well as her delight in crowned heads: --

TUSCUMBIA, ALA., December 8.

MY DEAR MADEMOISELLE RILEY: -- I think you will like to receive a letter from Helen A. Keller. I would like to run into the parlor, and have a good game of tickle with you. Are you very lonely? I miss all of my friends very much. I have been reading about kings and queens. Teacher says I am a beautiful princess. The Queen of Roumania is Elizabeth. She is a lovely queen. Her friends call her the Wild Rosebud of Wied. She was born in Wied, a pretty place on the Rhine River. She was taught to read and to sew and to cook, when she was a very small child. She had a poor little invalid brother. His name was William. Elizabeth was always very kind and patient with her little brother. The queen, their mother, had a garden made for the prince and princess to work in. They sowed grain and planted corn, milked their cows, and took care of their hens. When Elizabeth became the queen of Roumania the people were glad, and they call her the Little Mother, -- because she is always helping them, just like a real mother. Roumania is a little country, with high mountains all around it; and it is between Turkey and Russia. The Roumanians call their country a word that means my darling. The queen had one little daughter. Her name was Maria, but she died when she was only four years old. The poor queen was very sorrowful. Wilhelmina, the Princess of Holland, is a wee Dutch maiden. She is only four years old, but some day she will be queen of Holland.

Please give my love to Mrs. Hopkins, and tell her I wish Dick would fly to Alabama to see me. I will catch him and put him in a cage. I hope you will write me very soon. Now I must close.

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With much love, from your affectionate little friend,

HELEN A. KELLER.

On the general subject of geography let Helen also speak for herself in the following paper: --

AN EXERCISE IN GEOGRAPHY.

GEOGRAPHY is a description of the earth's surface, the countries upon it and the people who inhabit it; and it tells us about plants, animals and minerals, which we have never seen, and that are not found in our own country. The name comes from two Greek words, meaning the earth and to describe. I have been studying mathematical geography. I have learned about the form, size and motions of the earth, and of its division by circles, so that we can tell the position of places on it. The earth is a spheroid, -- nearly round, like a sphere, but a little flattened on two opposite sides, like an orange. It has several names. It is sometimes called a globe, a planet, or our world.

Mountains and valleys do not change the form of the earth sufficiently for us to notice it, because the earth is so very large that the mountains are not high enough to make any difference. The earth seems flat to us because it is so large, and we can only see a little of it. When I put grains of sand on a clay ball, they do not affect the shape of the ball.

Some people know the earth is round, because they have travelled around it many times; and when astronomers look at the moon through a telescope, they see a picture of the earth on the moon, and it is always round.

The earth has two motions, a daily rotation upon its axis, and a yearly revolution around the sun. The axis is not real. It is only an imaginary line, passing through the centre of the earth, between the flattened sides. When I put a wire through an orange, so that it connects the flattened sides, and turn the orange around on the wire, the wire is then the axis of the orange. The poles are the ends of the axis. The one which points to the North Star is called the North Pole, and the opposite end is called the South Pole.

The earth as always turning on its axis, from west to east. This motion is called its rotation. It takes the earth twenty-four hours to make a complete rotation. It is the rotation that makes night and day.

The sun appears to rise in the east. The compass is an instrument that has a little magnetic needle, that always points to the north. The four principal points of the compass are west, east, south and north. The points between are north-west, north-east, south-west and south-east.

While the earth is rotating upon its axis, it also revolves around the sun. The path which the earth travels is nearly a circle, and is called the earth's orbit. It takes the earth twelve months, or one year, to make its revolution around the sun, because it is a very long journey. When the earth has made one revolution, it does not stop, but continues to make an annual revolution, year after year. This revolution of the earth is one cause for the change of seasons. The earth does not seem to us to move. That is because we are moving, too, just as fast as the earth; but the wise men say that if we could stand on the moon, and look at the earth through a telescope, we should see that it moved very swiftly.

The earth may have a great many circumferences, -- just as many as there can be lines drawn around it. Its largest circumference passes around the earth at an equal distance from the poles. It measures 25,000 miles. The lines which are dawn parallel to the great circumference are called parallels, and they are used to measure latitude.

The earth's diameter is a straight line, passing through the centre, between two opposite points. The longest diameter would connect two points in the great circumference. Such a line would measure 8,000 miles. The shortest diameter would connect the poles, and such a line measures 26 miles shorter than the longest line. The equator divides the earth into two equal parts, or hemispheres. The horizon is the line where the sky seems to touch the earth. The zenith is the point in the sky just over our heads. Latitude is the distance north or south from the equator. All countries north of the equator are in north latitude, and those south of it are in south latitude. All places near the equator are in no latitude, and places near the poles are said to be in high latitude.

The meridian circles are imaginary lines, passing around the earth from north to south. A meridian is half a circle. Longitude is the distance east or west from a meridian. Longitude and latitude are reckoned by degrees. There are 90 degrees of north and 90 degrees of south latitude, and 180 degrees of west longitude and 180 degrees of east longitude. All places upon the same meridian have the same length of day and night, and have noon at the same time.

Meridians enable us to tell how far one place is from another, and their direction. England and America usually reckon longitude from the meridian at Greenwich; but sometimes Americans reckon it from the meridian at Washington.

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Antipodes are people who live on the opposite side of the globe from each other. The hottest part of the earth is at the equator. The heat is greatest there, because the sun is more nearly overhead all the time. The climate grows colder as we go from the equator towards either of the poles. There are five zones. They are north frigid, north temperate, torrid, south frigid and south temperate. The frigid zones have but two seasons, a long winter and a short summer. The temperate zones have four seasons, winter, spring, summer and autumn. The torrid zone has two seasons, the dry and wet, equally long. The days and nights at the equator are nearly equal throughout the year. As we leave the equator and go towards the poles, the nights and days are more and more unequal. In the summer the days are the longest in the temperate zones. The day at the poles is six months long, and the night is the same.

HELEN KELLER.

When asked which country she liked best, Helen replied instantly, "France!" and gave this as her reason: "The French people are so gay and have such beautiful fancies." After a moment she added: "They must be the happiest people in the world! Are they?"

She has been fortunate in meeting many persons who have travelled extensively, and are glad to answer her eager inquiries about the countries and people they have seen. As she rarely forgets anything she has been told, she has gathered a rich harvest of information in this way.

By the following letter we can see how Helen thought about foreign lands, and expected some day to visit them: --

INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND, SOUTH BOSTON.

MY DEAR MR. MURRAY: -- I thank you for your kind letter, and for your love. It gives me very great pleasure to know that good friends in far-away countries think of me and love me. I was so glad to hear about your dear little girls. I should be delighted to receive a letter from them some time. You did not think to tell me their names. I hope if they write to me, they will tell me something about Montreal, and I should be pleased to know what they study in school.

Boston is a beautiful and very large city. I like to live here very, very much. I learn many new things every day. I love all of my studies greatly. Geography tells me about the beautiful earth, and the countries which are upon it. Arithmetic tells me about numbers, and I like it exceedingly. Botany tells me interesting things about the flowers that I love so dearly. I miss my flowers very much. I have none to take care of here. Do your little girls have a pretty garden? Zoölogy tells me very curious things about animals. I think my dogs and kitties will laugh when I tell them that they are vertebrates, mammals, quadrupeds, and that a long time ago they were wild, like the wolf and the tiger. They will not believe it, I am sure. I am studying French, too. Je pense a vous, et a votre bonne petites filles! When I go to France I shall speak French to my new friends. J'ai une belle petite soeur. Elle s'appelle Mildred.

Now I must say au revoir. Please kiss the little girls for me, and write to me again some day.

With much love and a kiss, from your little friend,

HELEN A. KELLER.

In another of Helen's dreams, written in October, 1890, may be seen how vivid was my pupil's perception of the studies she pursued.

A DREAM.

I had a very amusing dream last night. I thought I was in England, but it was a great many hundreds of years ago; and I was puzzled, because I could not remember that I had been in a ship, or anything about crossing the ocean; but there I was, so I thought I would look around, and see all the curious things in this strange country. When I asked somebody -- I think it was a soldier, because he wore a helmet, a shield, and a long sword at his side -- what the name of the place was, he seemed much surprised, and said, Kent! and asked me where I had come from. I replied that I was a little American, from way across the sea, and that I would like to see King Ethelbert. He said he had never heard of America, but he would take me to the king's palace. He told me we should have to ride, because it was too far to walk; and so we got two beautiful horses, -- the war-horses the Britons loved so much, -- and drove very fast ; for the roads which the Romans had made, when they were in Britain, were still very good. Nearly all the people we passed on our way were Saxons. I asked my companion where the Britons were, and he told me that the Saxons had driven them into Wales, Cornwall and Devonshire. I was very sorry for the brave Britons, who had defended their little island home so long and courageously against the Romans. I thought the Saxons were very unjust to take the Briton's country from them. Prince Vortigern did not think they would do such a thing, or he would not have invited Hengist and Horsa to help him keep out the Scots and Picts; and I am sure he never would have married the beautiful Rowana.

At last we reached the palace. The king received us in a great hall. He was seated upon a throne, and wore very costly robes, trimmed with gold and precious stones, and upon his head be wore a crown. All around him stood his courtiers and the wise men of his kingdom. Augustine, the monk from Rome, was telling King Ethelbert about Christ and the Christian religion. The king believed all that the monk told him, and was converted. Then his courtiers and wise men believed also, and in a short time Kent became a Christian kingdom. The king gave Augustine permission to build a little church, close to the palace, on the spot where the beautiful cathedral of Canterbury now stands. He also told his nephew, Prince Cebert, to build two churches, one where there was a temple to Apollo, and the other where there was a temple to the goddess Diana. The first was where Westminster Abbey now stands, and the second was where Saint Paul's Church stands now.

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When the king noticed me he was very kind and polite. I told him I came from the beautiful country called America, and would like to visit all the interesting places in his country. He sent a guide to show me the way. I saw the great wall, seventy miles long, which three Roman emperors, Agricola, Hadrian and Serverus had built; but the wall was crumbling to ruins, and the grass and weeds were growing all over it. I drank some cool water from the wells which the Romans had sunk, and sat on the Stonehenge, one of the altars that the Druids had built before the Romans invaded the islands.

After that I went to Cornwall, and the Britons showed me the ruins of King Arthur's castle. I also visited the tin mines, and talked with the miners. They told me that in stormy weather, when they are at work, they can hear the noise of the waves thundering above their heads; and I think it must have been the angry waves beating against the rugged sea-coast of Cornwall that awoke me in the middle of my dream.

HELEN KELLER.

OCTOBER 10, 1890.

No attempt has been made to make her lessons in zoölogy and botany formally scientific. I have introduced these studies thus early in her education, for the purpose of cultivating her senses, furnishing themes for thought, and improving her language. That they have served these purposes will be seen from the following essays.

EXERCISE IN BOTANY.

PLANTS have two kinds of organs. They are organs of vegetation, consisting of roots, stem and leaves, and those of reproduction, consisting of flowers, fruit and seed. The organs of vegetation nourish the plant and enable it to grow. Those of reproduction form new plants. Roots grow downward, and take part of the nourishment from the soil. They send off little branches, called fibres or rootlets. Stems grow upward, and bear leaves and flowers.

Leaves are usually thin, flat and green, turning one face upward to the sky, and the other toward the ground. They make the foliage, and take part of the food from the air. In the leaves the food is changed into something that will nourish the plant; and the food, after it is digested, makes the plant grow.

The smallest geranium and the largest tree are alike in their organs, only the tree is more extended. Plants reproduce new plants by seeds. First they bloom. Then the blossom develops into the fruit, and the essential part of the fruit is the seed. The essential part of the seed is the embryo. It is a little plantlet, ready formed in the seed.

Flowers are more interesting to us because of their sweet fragrance, exquisite shapes and delicate texture. Flowers consist of a calyx, corolla, stamens and pistil. The calyx and corolla make what is called the floral envelope. They protect the stamens and pistils. Calyx is the Latin name for flower-cup. The calyx is the outer covering of the blossom. The corolla is the inner set of leaves. The corolla usually has bright colors, and is very beautiful. The leaves of the calyx are called sepals, and those of the corolla petals. The stamens in the morning-glory are fastened to the bottom of the corolla, and there are five of them. Each stamen consists of two parts, filament and anther. The filament is the stalk, and the anther is a case at the top of the filament, containing pollen. The stamens and the pistil are the essential parts of the flower. The pistil is the body in which the seeds are formed. The morning-glory has one pistil. The rose and buttercup have a great many.

The pistil consists of three parts: the ovary at the bottom, which becomes the seed-vessel; a slender part in the middle, called the style; and the stigma at the top. Some of the pollen is blown on the stigma to make the seed ripen. The ovules are the little bodies that form the seeds. Some flowers do not have all these parts. The filament and style are sometimes absent, for they are not necessary. The ovary, stigma and anther are always present. The corolla, stamens, and sometimes the calyx, fall off after blooming; but the ovary remains, and becomes the fruit. So the fruit is the ripened ovary. It may be a strawberry, a peach, a grain, a nut or a pod, -- like the lily pod, or morning-glory pod. The radical is the stemlet of the embryo, and cotyledons are the seed-leaves. The seeds do not begin to grow as soon as they are ripe. They lie dormant fur a long while, -- in most plants until the next spring after they ripen, and in some until the spring after that.

EXERCISE IN ZOÖLOGY: The Bee.

THE bees, ants, wasps, hornets and ichneumon flies belong to the order Hymenoptera. Bees are the most perfect of all the insects. There are solitary bees and social bees. The solitary bees live in holes in the earth, like the ants, or in silk-lined earthen cocoons. The social bees live in large communities, and they have a queen to reign over them.

A hive contains three kinds of bees: First, a queen bee, distinguished from the others by the greater length of her body and shorter wings. Second, worker-bees, and these are all females, but they do not lay eggs. There are many thousands of them in a hive. They are the smallest-sized bees in the hive, and they are armed with a sting. Third, drones, or males. There are about 1,500 drones in the hive; and they are larger than the workers, and of a darker color, and they make a greater noise in flying. They have no sting. All the work of the community is done by the workers. They make the wax and construct the cells and collect the honey and feed the brood. The drones are the father-bees. The queen bee lays all the eggs. The eggs remain about three days in the cells before being hatched. Then a little white, worm-like animal makes its appearance. This larva is fed with honey for some days, and then changes into the pupa. After passing a few days in this state, it comes out a perfect winged insect.

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The body of the bee is about half an inch long, and is of a dark-brown color. It is covered with tiny hairs, which assist it greatly in collecting the pollen of flowers, which it moistens with its mouth, and passes it on from one pair of legs to another, till it is safely put away in the little baskets which are attached to the middle and hind legs. These little baskets are smooth and glossy on the outside; while the inner surface is lined with strong hairs, which keep the pollen from falling out. The queen and drones are not supplied with baskets, because they do not have to gather the pollen.

Propolis is also carried in the baskets. It is a viscous substance, by which the combs are fastened to the roof and the wall of the hive, and by which any openings are closed, to keep out wee animals and the cold. The three pairs of legs are furnished at the joints with stiff hairs, forming brushes, some round and some flat, for brushing off the pollen. These wonderful little legs terminate each in two hooks, by means of which the bee attaches itself to the roof of the hive and to another bee.

The head is much flattened, and is shaped something like a triangle. It is furnished with two large eyes, which are thickly studded with hairs, to keep out the dust; and besides the large eyes, the bee is provided with three small eyes, situated on the very crown of the head. The antennæ are two tubes, about as thick as a hair, and they are between the eyes, and a little below the ocelli, or small eyes. They consist of twelve joints, and they are very flexible. Their extremities are tipped with small round knobs, and they are very, very sensitive organs of touch. The bees use these organs to recognize one another and their queen. The mouth includes the tongue, the mandibles, the maxillæ, the labrum, with the proboscis connected with it, and four palpi, or feelers. The tongue is very small. The mandibles have a lateral motion, are furnished with teeth, and serve as tools. The proboscis is adapted for lapping up the sweet juices secreted in the flowers.

The palpi are used to ascertain the nature of food the bees wish. The two pairs of wings are attached to the thorax. Behind the wings, on each side of the thorax, are situated several little spiracles, through which the bee breathes, like other insects. The rushing of the air through these spiracles, against the wings, while in motion, is thought to be the cause of the humming sound made by the bee. The three pairs of legs are also attached to the thorax. The head and abdomen are jointed to the thorax by means of a slender ligament. The abdomen consists of six scaly rings.

The bee has two stomachs. The first is a large membraneous bag, with a pointed opening, where the honey enters. It is a good deal like the crop of a bird. No digestion takes place in it, and its muscular walls can throw back the honey into the mouth, when the bee is ready to deposit it in the cells, or to give it to the young bees. Digestion takes place in the second stomach, which is longer than the first, and is connected with it and the intestines. The abdomen also contains the venom-bag and the sting. The sting is exceedingly fine, and at the end is armed with minute teeth. When the sting pierces the flesh, the poison is squeezed into the wound from the venom-bag. The abdomen also receives the honey, from which the wax is made. Wax-scales are found in pairs, in tiny openings under the lower segments of the abdomen. Only eight scales are furnished by each bee.

The queen bee is easily recognized by the slowness of her flight, by her size, and by the respect and attention paid her. She lives in the interior of the hive, and seldom goes out; and if she leaves the hive, the whole swarm will follow her. When the queen is ready to deposit the eggs, she examines the cells carefully, to see that they are all right; for the cells of the queens, males and workers are not alike. The queen puts the eggs from which workers are to come in six-sided cells. The cells of the drones are irregular in form; and those of the queens are large, and more circular. The first eggs laid are workers. While the queen is laying these eggs, the cells for the drones are being constructed. When they are ready, the queen lays the male eggs. The royal cells are completed last, and the queen deposits just one egg in each royal cell.

When the eggs are laid, the workers supply the cells with pollen, mixed with honey and water. This is the food for the larvae, and is sometimes called bee-bread. The larvæ are small white worms, without feet. The workers remain five days in this state, the males six and a half, and the females five. At the end of this time the openings of the cells are closed with a mixture of wax and propolis, and the larvæ begin to spin a silken cocoon, which is completed in thirty-six hours. In three days more the larva changes into the pupa, and on the twentieth it comes out a perfect worker. The males come out four days afterwards. It takes the bee two days to acquire strength for flying. During this time it is fed and carefully tended by the nurse bees. Several workers may be hatched in the same cell, but the royal cells are never used but once, being destroyed when the queen escapes. The eggs and larvæ of the royal family do not look different from the workers', but the young are more carefully nursed, and fed with a better kind of food, which causes them to grow so rapidly that in five days they are ready to spin their web; and on the sixteenth day they become perfect queens. Only one queen can reign in the hive, and the young ones are guarded carefully from the mother queen, because she might sting them to death if they were allowed to come out.

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When the workers have secreted a sufficient amount of wax, they begin to build the combs. The cells are formed in parallel and vertical layers, and are separated from each other, so that the bees can pass in and out. The cells are six-sided, and the bottom of each cell is flattened. When the bees are making the cells, they stand as close together as possible, and deposit the wax side by side. All the drones are killed in July or August, and the workers begin to collect the honey for the winter store. They sleep during the cold winter days, and awaken when the warm spring comes. They are very busy little workers, and they put up honey enough for themselves, and share with us, too. The most delicious honey is made in France, Greece and Switzerland; and much very good honey is made in England and America.

Not satisfied with exercises alone, Helen also put her knowledge of bees into the form of a story.

THE STORY OF THE BEES.

ONE beautiful morning, last June, a sweet little girl thought she would go out in the garden and pick some flowers for one of her playmates, who was sick and obliged to stay shut up in the house this fragrant summer morning. "Tommy shall have the most beautiful flowers in the garden," thought Edith, as she took her little basket and pruning scissors, and ran out into the garden. She looked like a lovely fairy or a sunbeam, flitting about the rosebushes. I think she was the most exquisite rose in all the garden herself. Her heart was full of thoughts of Tommy, while she worked away busily. "I wish I knew something that would please Tommy more than anything else!" she said to herself. "I would love to make him happy!" and she sat down on the edge of a beautiful fountain to think.

While she sat there thinking two dear little birds began to take their bath in the lovely, sparkling water, that rippled and danced in the sunshine. They would plunge into the water and come out dripping, perch on the side of the fountain for a moment, and plunge in again. Then they would shake the bright drops from their feathers, and fly away singing sweeter than ever. Edith thought the little birds enjoyed their bath as much as her baby brother did his.

When they had flown away to a distant tree, Edith noticed a beautiful pink rosebud, more beautiful than any she had yet seen. "Oh, how lovely you are!" she cried; and, running to the bush where it was, she bent down the branch, that she might examine it more closely, when out of the heart of the rose came a small insect, and stung her pretty cheek. The little girl began to weep loudly, and ran to her father, who was working in another part of the yard. "Why, my little girl!" said he, "a bee has stung you." He drew out the sting, and bathed her swollen cheek in cool water, at the same time telling her many interesting things about the wonderful little bees.

"Do not cry any more, my child," said her father, "and I will take you to see a kind gentleman who keeps many hives of bees."

"Oh, thank you!" cried Edith, brushing away the tears. "I will run and get ready now."

The bee master, as every body called the old man who kept the bees, was very glad to show his little pets, and to tell Edith all he knew about them. He led her to a hive, made wholly of glass, so that she might watch the bees at their work.

"There are three kinds of bees in every hive," said the gentleman. "That large bee in the middle is the queen bee. She is the most important bee in the hive. She has a sting, but seldom makes use of it. Those busy little bees are the worker bees. It was probably a worker that stung you this morning, my little girl," said the bee master.

Edith thought she did not like the worker bees as well as the others; but when she heard what industrious little workers they are, and how they take all the care of the young bees, build the cells of wax, and bring in the honey, she felt much more affection for them.

"That large, lazy-looking bee is the drone, or the father bee. Drones have no sting; and, as they do not help gather the honey, they are all killed during the summer months by the workers."

"What has the queen to do?" asked Edith.

"Oh!" replied the gentleman, "she is the mother bee; and she is so very busy that often she lays a thousand eggs in a single day. She is very wise, too, about some things. She never lays an egg from which is to come a queen in any but a royal cell."

"What a busy queen she must be, with so many children to take care of!" exclaimed Edith.

"No," answered the bee master, "she leaves the whole care of her large family to some of the worker bees, called nurses. A few of the working bees act as body-guard to her majesty, and never did a queen have braver or more faithful protectors."

"What do the bees do in winter, when there are no flowers from which to gather honey?" inquired Edith.

"They sleep during the long, cold winter days, and awaken when the warm spring sun returns," replied her kind instructor.

"Now," said Edith's father, "we had better go, or you will not get to see Tommy to-day."

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Then the little girl thanked her new friend for telling her so much about his interesting pets, and promised to come and see him as often as she could.

"Oh, father!" cried Edith, as they walked homeward, "I am almost glad that the naughty little bee stung me this morning for now I shall have something amusing to tell Tommy."

HELEN KELLER.

My pupil's interest was not confined to bees, as may be seen from the following sketch: --

A FAIRY STORY.

SOUTH BOSTON, April 18, 1890.

YESTERDAY I had such a beautiful surprise! You cannot imagine what it was, so I will tell you. It was a lovely little fairy, with large and beautifully colored wings. No, it was not a bird. The wings were not made of feathers, but of soft velvet, and there were four of them. The body was round and slender, and there were three pairs of funny little red legs growing from it; and, funniest of all, two delicate antennæ, which look like horns, stood straight up on its head, and the little creature kept moving them about in a very restless way.

Now, can you guess the name of my fairy? Yes, it was a moth; but it had two other names besides. The long one, which the wise men gave it, is Polyphemus, and I call her Beauty. Where do you suppose Beauty came from? Why, she came from a tiny country called Cocoonland. Perhaps you wonder where Cocoonland is? It is not put down on the maps; but if you come to see me, I will show it to you. Cocoonland is a very still place; and quiet was just what Beauty needed while she was a pupa. She slept long and peacefully, because she knew that dear Mother Nature wished her to sleep until her body had undergone a wonderful change. Beauty did not know what she would look like when she awoke, but she was content to wait.

When the warm sun stole into Cocoonland, Beauty awoke, and began to move about a little. Then how great was her surprise when she discovered that Mother Nature had given her four beautiful wings! "Why," said she, "I cannot use these beautiful wings in this small place. There must be another world somewhere. I will try and see if I cannot find it. There is nobody here to admire me, and I am too charming to stay in this sleepy place." And right away she began searching for an opening, which would lead her to the brighter world; but she could not find one, so she went to work, and made one large enough to draw herself through. And where do you think she landed? I must tell you, for I am sure you could not guess. She landed on my bureau, -- very tired, and much troubled by the bright sunshine. She did not expect to find quite such a bright world, and it was very difficult for her to get around in so much light. Poor Beauty was made very happy when I found her, and took her in my warm hand, for she was so lonely and sad without friends. She was delighted when I admired her beautiful wings, and in the evening she was quite content in her new home; and when the gas was lighted she began to lay some pretty little eggs in my hand.

SUNDAY MORNING, APRIL 20. Beauty has not eaten anything since she came to live with us until today. This morning I put her on a bunch of Mayflowers, and just as soon as she touched them, she began to sip the honey.

MONDAY MORNING, APRIL 21. Beauty is growing stronger. Last night she used her wings for the first time. We left her in the back parlor when we went to bed, and this morning I found her in the front parlor, under the mantlepiece, where the Mayflowers are. Her wings are very brittle now, and not nearly so pretty as they were at first. She has not laid any eggs since Saturday.

TUESDAY, APRIL 22. Oh, how lovely! A beautiful yellow butterfly has come to stay with Beauty. The little cousins are as happy as happy can be, on a bunch of fresh Mayflowers.

In the next essay Helen weaves fancy and fact charmingly together.

JACKY AND MAYO.

I KNOW a little boy who has a fine large dog named Mayo. The boy's name is Jacky. Papa calls him Baby Jack. Jacky was four years old his last birthday. His mamma thinks he is the prettiest baby in all the land; and you would think so too, if you knew him. He has big, brown eyes, and hair the color of the sun, and soft, rosy cheeks. When people meet Jacky and his mother walking in the park, they say: "See that beautiful little fellow! I wonder who he is!" When papa comes home at night he takes Jacky in his arms, and puts back the tangled golden curls from his smooth forehead, and kisses him many times, saying: "What has Baby Jack been doing today ?"

Do you think there ever was another baby quite as beautiful as this one I am telling you about?

Mayo is an Irish setter, very proud of his curly red coat and silken ears. Jacky and Mayo are the best of friends. They play together all the day long. It is fun to watch them while they frolic. Jacky tries to ride Mayo; but Mayo does not like that, so he turns over in the middle of the road, and Jacky gets his clean white dress all soiled and much rumpled. Both the boy and the dog think that the greatest fun of all. Sometimes Jacky puts his chubby arms around Mayo's neck, and says: "Oh, what a good doggie you are! I love you as hard as I can!" Mayo wags his tail and licks Jacky's hands, as if to say: "I love you, too, little playmate!" When the sun goes down in the west, and the stars begin their twinkling, Jacky and his faithful companion have their supper and go to bed. And now I must leave the sweet child and his kind friend, for I cannot follow them into dreamland yet.

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HELEN A. KELLER.

The intellectual improvement which Helen has made in the past two years is shown more clearly in her greater command of language and in her ability to recognize nicer shades of meaning in the use of words than in any other branch of her education.

From the very first she evinced an extraordinary aptitude for learning language. She has always been able to remember words and phrases without making any special effort to do so, and she seems to know intuitively how to use them correctly. Not a day passes that she does not learn many new words, nor are these merely the names of tangible and sensible objects. For instance, she one day wished to know the meaning of the following words: phenomenon, comprise, energy, reproduction, extraordinary, perpetual and mystery. Some of these words have successive steps of meaning, beginning with what is simple and leading on to what is the essence of abstraction. It would have been, for example, a hopeless task to lead Helen's mind to comprehend the more abstruse meanings of the word mystery; but she understood readily that it signified something hidden or concealed, and when she makes greater progress, she will grasp its more abstruse meaning as easily as she now does the simpler signification. In investigating any subject there must occur at the beginning words and phrases which cannot be adequately understood until the pupil has made considerable advancement; yet I have thought it best to go on giving my pupil simple definitions, thinking that, although these may be somewhat vague and provisional, they will come to one another's assistance, and that what is obscure today will be plain tomorrow.

I am constantly asked, by those familiar with the difficulties of teaching language to deaf-mutes, how Helen has acquired such a comprehensive command of English in so short a time. In teaching her I have no particular system or theory. I regard my pupil as a free and active being, whose own spontaneous impulses must be my surest guide. I have always talked to Helen exactly as I would talk to a seeing and hearing child, and I have insisted that other people should do likewise. Whenever any one asks me if she will understand this or that word I always reply: "Never mind whether she understands each separate word of a sentence or not. She will guess the meanings of the new words from their connection with others which are already intelligible to her."

In selecting books for Helen to read, it has never occurred to me to choose them with reference to her misfortune. She always reads such publications as seeing and hearing children of her age read and enjoy. Of course in the beginning it was necessary that the things described should be familiar and interesting, and the English pure and simple. As soon as Helen's curiosity in regard to any subject is aroused, it is surprising to see how certain obstacles which a moment before seemed to bar her progress vanish like clouds before the brightness of her awakened intellect. I remember distinctly when she first attempted to read a little story. She had learned the letters of the alphabet, and for some time had amused herself by making simple sentences, using slips on which the words were printed in raised letters; but these sentences had no special relation to one another. One morning we caught a mouse, and it occurred to me, with a live mouse and a live cat to stimulate her interest, that I might arrange some sentences in such a way as to form a little story, and thus give her a new conception of the use of language. So I put the following sentences in the frame, and gave it to Helen: "The cat is on the box. A mouse is in the box. The cat can see the mouse. The cat would like to eat the mouse. Do not let the cat get the mouse. The cat can have some milk, and the mouse can have some cake." The word the she did not know, and of course she wished it explained. At that stage of her advancement it would have been impossible to explain its use, and so I did not try, but moved her finger on to the next word, which she recognized with a bright smile. Then, as I put her hand upon puss sitting on the box, she made a little exclamation of surprise, and the rest of the sentence became perfectly clear to her mind. When she had read the words of the second sentence, I showed her that there really was a mouse in the box. She then moved her finger to the next line with an expression of eager interest. "The cat can see the mouse." Here I made the cat look at the mouse, and let Helen feel that the cat's face was turned that way. The expression of the little girl's countenance showed that she was perplexed. I called her attention to the following line, and, although she knew only the three words, cat, eat, and mouse, she grasped the idea. She pulled the cat away and put her on the floor, at the same time covering the box with the frame. When she read, "Do not let the cat get the mouse!" she recognized the negation in the sentence, and seemed to know intuitively that the cat must not get the mouse. "Get" and "let" were new words. She was perfectly familiar with the words of the last sentence, and was delighted when allowed to act them out. By signs she made me understand that she wished another story, and I gave her a book containing very short stories, written in the most elementary style. She ran her fingers along the lines, finding the words she knew and guessing at the meaning of others, in a way that would convince the most conservative of educators that a little deaf child, if given the opportunity, will learn to read as easily and naturally as ordinary children.

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How rapid has been Helen's progress in story-telling may be seen from the following tale, which also shows her tenderness of heart.

A SAD STORY.

ABOUT eight o'clock, one very cold evening last winter, a little girl and her teacher were hurrying along Broadway, South Boston, anxious to reach their bright, warm home; for, although they were very warmly dressed, their feet and hands were almost frozen, and the falling snowflakes made it difficult for them to find their way safely. "How cold those little boys, standing under the street light, must be!" thought the little girl. "I wonder why they do not go home, out of the storm." Her teacher explained to her that they were little newsboys, and that they were trying to sell their papers, because some of them were poor, and needed money to buy food for themselves. The child's eyes filled with tears, to think how sad and lonely the little fellows looked, and when she got home she wrote this sad story. It is only a story, but I think it may have happened to just one little newsboy.

One bitterly cold night last January a little newsboy stood before a large house on Broadway, in South Boston, trying to sell his papers. Dear little stranger! how sad and lonely he looked, standing there close to the lamp post crying, Herald, Globe, and Evening Record. The busy people hurried past him, eager to reach their own pleasant homes and loved ones. Very, very few paused to buy a paper from the little fellow, who stood shivering with cold under the street light. The poor boy gazed up at the windows of the great house, and thought how warm and comfortable the children inside were; and his eyes filled with tears at the thought of his own loneliness. He leaned against the lamp post, tired and cold and hungry. He could hardly stand alone, but after a moment he said to himself, "I must try to sell just one paper, or I shall starve before day." He made a great effort to move; and just then the door of the great house opened, and a little girl called him to approach. He climbed the slippery steps as fast as he could.

"Come in!" said the kind-hearted little girl, "and warm yourself by the fire. I fear you are almost frozen, and I am sure you are hungry, too." She took his rough, cold hand in hers, and gently led him into the hall. "Thank you!" said the poor boy, gratefully.

Then he whispered mournfully, "I have had nothing to eat since morning."

"How very pitiful!" said the child tenderly. "You shall have a nice warm supper in a few minutes."

But suddenly one of the servants appeared in the hall, and ordered the ragged stranger out of the house.

"Oh, Mary!" cried the little girl, "he is cold and weary and hungry. Please let him sit by the fire and get warm, and have something to eat."

"No!" said Mary decidedly. "Your mother would be displeased if she knew such a person was in the house." Then she pushed the weeping boy out on the steps, in the snow and the cold, and closed the door.

"Poor little brother!" cried Violet, opening the door again. "Wait a moment, and I will give you some money, and you can buy something to eat."

She vanished, and returned in a moment with a bright silver dollar her papa had given her that morning, to buy a new toy. She gave it to the boy with a sweet kiss and a gentle good-bye. "Try to be cheerful!" she said, "and whenever you come on this street, I will try to see you and speak to you." Then she shut the door.

The little newsboy was too cold and desolate to think of food. He longed to lie down in some sheltered place, and rest. He walked on and on, until he came to a quiet street, where there were few people passing, and looked around for a sheltered nook; but he saw none, so he crept close to a stone wall, and lay down with his papers in his arms, and the bright silver dollar the little girl had given him clasped tight in one hand.

In the morning a gentleman found the little newsboy still sleeping peacefully, and when he brushed away the soft, white snow that covered his pale face, he saw that the child was dead.

HELEN KELLER.

I am convinced that the freedom and accuracy which characterize Helen's use of English are due quite as much to her familiarity with books as to her natural aptitude for learning language. When at the institution she spends much of her time in the library. Books are to her unfailing sources of delight. She often reads for two or three hours in succession, and then lays aside her book reluctantly. One day as we left the library I noticed that she appeared more serious than usual, and I asked the cause. "I am thinking how much wiser we always are when we leave here than we are when we come," was her reply.

In a letter written to a little friend last January, she describes the library quite fully. Here is a part of the letter: --

I am sitting in a sunny corner of the library, with many curious and interesting companions. The books please me most, because they have so much to tell me about everything. They are very wise. The beautiful shells and the minerals have many secrets to tell us, but we have to study a great deal before we can find them out. The stuffed animals and the models help to make my lessons easy.

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When asked why she loved books so much, she once replied: "Because they tell me so much that is interesting about things I cannot see, and they are never tired or troubled like people. They tell me over and over what I want to know."

She runs the forefinger of her right hand over the printed pages, perceiving at a glance, as it were, the main points; and she not only grasps the ideas quickly, but she also has the faculty of embodying them in language quite different from that used by the author.

While reading to her from Dickens's "Child's History of England," I had many opportunities of testing her power of comprehension. When we came to the sentence, "Still the spirit of the Britons was not broken," I asked what she thought that meant. She replied: "I think it means that the brave Britons were not discouraged because the Romans had won so many battles, and they wished all the more to drive them away." It would not have been possible for her to give satisfactory definitions of the words in this sentence; and yet she had caught the author's meaning, and was able to give her understanding of it in her own way. The very next lines are still more idiomatic: "When Suetonius left the country they fell upon his troops and retook the island of Anglesea." Here is her interpretation of the sentence: "It means that when the Roman general had gone away, the Britons began to fight again; and because the Roman soldiers had no general to tell them what to do, they were overcome by the Britons and lost the island they had captured."

The more Helen reads and the more extended her knowledge becomes, the greater will be her power of comprehension and the more full her appreciation of the force and beauty of our glorious tongue. Although her vocabulary is now large and she is constantly meeting with new words, her conversation is simple and natural, but more mature than that of ordinary children. The tendency mentioned in my last report, -- to omit in conversation words and phrases not absolutely necessary, -- has, I am glad to say, been entirely overcome. In order to secure variety of expression, I have required her to state the same fact in as many different ways as possible. She enjoys this play on words, as she calls it, and it certainly is a most profitable amusement. The progress which she has already made in language is most gratifying, and promises well for the future.

Constant practice has given to the sense of touch a delicacy and precision such as are seldom attained by blind and never by seeing persons. Sometimes it seems as if her very soul were in her fingers, she finds so much to excite wonder even in common things. People frequently say to me: "She sees more with her fingers than we do with our eyes." Those who know her are often astonished at the amount of information she will get from a casual examination of an object.

She will name every article of furniture in a room where she has only been for a few moments. Whenever she visits a new place it is my custom to require her to give either with her fingers or pencil a description of what she sees there. This helps her to form accurate mental pictures of things and places, and I find that it has assisted her greatly in forming conceptions of things which she has not touched but merely read or heard about. The following is Helen's account of a visit to the country: --

A VISIT TO THE COUNTRY.

LAST May, when the golden sunshine filled our beautiful world with warmth and brightness, teacher and I went to Beverly, to spend a few days with some very kind friends. It was delightful to smell the fresh country air, and to know that the sky was blue, and to feel the soft grass under our feet; and, best of all, we could enjoy the delicious sea breeze, that came straight to us from the ocean. And such fun! such fun! as we did have, picking daisies and buttercups and red clovers, and climbing apple-trees, to touch the young birds very gently. The apple blossoms made such a dainty shelter for the nests that it made me wish I were a little bird, so that I could build my house up in an apple-tree. I think it would be lovely to sing sweetly all the day long, high up in a tree! Do you? But I think little girls can enjoy more than the birds or the trees or the flowers, because they have minds which can think about everything.

One sunny day we went to see our dear poet, Mr. Whittier. He was very kind to me, because he loves children, and likes to make them happy. I told him about Beauty -her moth- and about my home and dear baby sister. He was very kind to show me all the things in his study, to entertain me. Then I had some nice cake, and we thanked the kind gentleman for his courtesy and came away.

It was Decoration Day; and whenever the train stopped, we saw people carrying flowers to put on the graves of brave soldiers. Once we crossed the Merrimac River; but it was not a busy river that day, for all the factories were closed, and the people were having a holiday. I shall always call the Merrimac Whittier's River, because he lives near it, and loves it; and I like to call the Charles Holmes' Gentle River, because it is very dear to him.

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When our visit was over we returned to the city, with hands full of country beauties, -- buttercups and daisies, and other wild flowers; and we gave them to the poor little city children we met in the streets. HELEN A. KELLER.

She prefers intellectual to manual occupations, and is not so fond of fancy work as many of the blind children are; yet she is eager to join them in whatever they are doing. She has learned to sew, knit and crochet fairly well, and is especially happy when allowed to sit and work with the other girls, occasionally stopping to chat with them. She has learned to use the Caligraph typewriter, and writes very correctly but not rapidly as yet, having had less than a month's practice.

More than two years ago a cousin taught her the telegraph alphabet by making the dots and dashes on the back of her hand with his finger. Whenever she meets any one who is familiar with this system, she is delighted to use it in conversation. I have found it a convenient medium of communicating with Helen when she is at some distance from me, for it enables me to talk with her by tapping upon the floor with my foot. She feels the vibrations and understands what is said to her.

She easily seizes upon any means of intercourse with others, and remembers most tenaciously the various methods of communication taught her by different people. Three years ago last June, 1888, when we were in Washington, Professor Bell taught her in a few moments an arrangement of the letters of the alphabet upon the palm of the hand which would enable anyone to converse with her. The letters are written on a glove. By touching these letters as one would the keys of a piano, words may be spelled, and after a little practice this method of communication can be very rapidly used; but Helen expresses her thoughts so quickly and naturally by means of the manual alphabet that I did not think it worth while to require her to use this new method, and I supposed she had forgotten it; but on meeting Professor Bell a year ago last May, she began to talk with him in this way.

While visiting the school for deaf-mutes at Beverly last summer she learned many of the natural signs and was greatly amused by them. Her quick and graceful movements delighted her deaf friends, and indeed few of them were more expert than their little visitor in reading the natural language of the heart.

As has been stated in previous reports, Helen's hands are not her only medium of contact with the outer world. Her whole body is so finely organized and so susceptible to outside influences that it renders her mind excellent service. She is conscious of the slightest change in the atmosphere. I never think of telling her the state of the weather. Awaking one morning after several days of continuous rain, she asked: "Are you not glad it is pleasant today?" When I asked her how she knew that it was pleasant, she replied: "I know it because I feel the brightness."

Quick music animates her, while slow strains have the opposite effect. She says: "Gay music makes my heart dance."

She derives much pleasure and not a little profit from taste and smell. She is passionately fond of flowers, and can quickly distinguish the different varieties by their fragrance; but I think the delicate texture and exquisite shapes of flowers afford her as much pleasure as their perfume. It is natural that people should pity Helen because she cannot see the flowers or the blue sky, or hear the songs of birds; and yet her enjoyment of what she can perceive is very great. Her vivid imagination and sympathetic nature enable her moreover to enter into the enjoyment of others. In a letter written to me, dated July 6, 1889, she says: --

I cannot see the bright faces of the flowers when I walk in the garden, but I know they are all around me, because I have touched them many times and because the air is full of their fragrance. Mother has some beautiful lilies now. Can you hear the lily-bells when they whisper together very softly?

To Helen all life is sacred, and she loves to think of the flowers and the trees as children of sweet Mother Nature. I have never known her to evince antipathy towards any living thing except a serpent; and last summer she made a great effort to overcome the natural aversion which she felt on touching the smooth, cold body of a snake, which one of the boys had killed. "We must try not to hate snakes," she said to her brother, "because they cannot help being very ugly."

Her love of animals and the tender care she takes of her pets need not here be referred to at length. She is now the happy possessor of a fine mastiff and a very gentle donkey, both gifts from a dear friend in Pennsylvania. The following is the letter she wrote to the gentleman on first receiving the puppy: --

SOUTH BOSTON, MASS., Nov. 20, 1889.

MY DEAR MR. WADE: -- I have just received a letter from my mother, telling me that the beautiful mastiff puppy you sent me had arrived in Tuscumbia safely. Thank you very much for the nice gift. I am very sorry that I was not at home to welcome her; but my mother and my baby sister will be very kind to her while her mistress is away. I hope she is not lonely and unhappy. I think puppies can feel very homesick, as well as little girls. I should like to call her Lioness, for your dog. May I? I hope she will be very faithful, -- and brave, too.

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I am studying in Boston, with my dear teacher. I learn a great many new and wonderful things. I study about the earth, and the animals, and I like arithmetic exceedingly. I learn many new words, too. Exceedingly is one that I learned yesterday. When I see Lioness I will tell her many things which will surprise her greatly. I think she will laugh when I tell her that she is a vertebrate, a mammal, a quadruped; and I shall be very sorry to tell her that she belongs to the order Carnivora. I study French, too. When I talk French to Lioness I will call her mon beau chien. Please tell Lion that I will take good care of Lioness. I shall be happy to have a letter from you when you like to write to me.

From your loving little friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

P. S. I am studying at the Institution for the Blind.

H. A. K.

The following sketch ingeniously weaves fancy and fact together, and shows what an important place her dog occupies in Helen's thoughts.

THE DOG.

Come here, Lioness, I have many strange things to tell you about yourself. You may not believe it all, but it is true, and you must be still, like a good dog, and listen to what I have to say.

Of course you know that you belong to the animal kingdom. You never could have thought you were a plant or a mineral, and everything else in the world belongs to the animal kingdom. You have a backbone, and that is why you are called a vertebrate; and when you have some cunning little puppies, you will feed them with milk, as other mammals do, and that is why the wise men put you in the class Mammalia. Then, Lioness, you know perfectly well that you like raw meat better than anything else; and animals that eat raw meat are carnivorous.

How many feet have you? Can't you count four? See, here are your two fore paws, and there are your two hind legs; and animals which have four feet are quadrupeds.

Your legs are not as slender as Guy's, but they are very muscular. You are covered with pretty, soft, brown hair. It is straight, but generally dogs wear curled coats. Your chest is broad and deep, so that you can take a good breath when you wish to run swiftly. Your head is pointed, but not nearly so much so as Spoke's. Your mouth is filled with powerful teeth, similar in shape to the cat's teeth. You must not pull away your head so, for it is true! You are like Pussy in many things. Your tongue is soft, and you use it to lap up liquids. You never perspire through your skin as other animals do. When your body is heated, the moisture passes off from your tongue. That is why you always run with your tongue hanging out of your mouth. The under parts of your feet are padded, like the cat's. There are five toes on your fore feet, and five on your hind feet. The two middle ones are longest and equal. The fifth toes of your hind feet never touch the ground. Each toe has a strong, blunt claw, -- which is not retractile. Hence you cannot walk as noiselessly as the Kitty. Your claws are better fitted for digging and holding.

Your senses of sight, hearing and smell are very perfect, but your sense of taste is not well developed. If you are hungry, you will eat things which are not good at all. You can live a long time without food or drink. You have relations in all countries. Wherever there is a man, the dog is his best friend. You love people much better than the place where you live; but I am afraid, dear, you dislike cats. You turn round many times before you lie down. Can you tell me why? You prick up your ears, and bark at the least noise; and I am sure there never was such a brave and faithful dog as you are, my own Lioness.

HELEN KELLER.

The pleasure which these pets give her is shown in a letter written in September, 1890. Here is a part of it.

We are all very well and happy at Fern Quarry. I take long rides through the pleasant woods on my donkey's back. Neddy does not care much about the pretty wild-flowers or the buds, but he is very glad when I dismount and let him hunt for something to eat. My beautiful, strong mastiff, Lioness, always goes with us, and lies by a log while we rest.

Helen's feelings toward animals may be further seen in the following sketch from her pen.

JAN. 14, 1890.

PEARL AND HER PIGEONS.

WHEN Pearl was seven years old her brother Freddie gave her two pretty white pigeons. The little girl was as happy as a queen when she saw her pretty pets. She named one Dot and the other Phil. Pearl loved dearly to play with them, but she did not like to keep them shut up in a cage. Sometimes she would open the window, and say to them: "Fly away, my dearies, and play with other birds! I do not wish to keep you here this beautiful morning." They would flutter their wings joyously, peck her hand, and make a funny little noise, which sounded very much like "good-bye, sweet mistress! We will return soon, and tell you all about the sunny world, and what the birds are doing." When Pearl went out in the garden to pull flowers, or give her dollies a ride, the pigeons would come to her, and light upon her head; and sometimes they would poke their bills into her mouth for a kiss. She fed them with crumbs from her hand, and every morning she gave them some fresh, sparkling water to bathe in.

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Phil called Dot his little wife, and he often invited her to take a walk with him. When Dot was not busy she went with him. In the beautiful springtime Dot laid five white eggs and sat on them till the wee birds crept out. Dot and Phil were as happy as they could be, and so proud of their little family! Pearl put crumbs enough for all beside the nest, which pleased Mother Dot very much. Then she would sit down beside the cage and watch the mother-pigeon, patiently teaching the little ones to eat. One morning Pearl heard one of the small pigeons say, "Oh, mamma, where do these nice crumbs come from?" The mother-pigeon replied: "Pearl, a kind-hearted little girl, puts them here." "Why," said the foolish little thing, "I am surprised to know it." Pearl often heard the mother-bird putting her little family to sleep; and she would say to her darling baby brother: "Listen, dear! I hear the mother-pigeon cooing softly to her little ones." HELEN A. KELLER.

It is her loving and sympathetic heart, rather than her bright intellect, which endears Helen 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 Helen's. It is pleasant also to think that she will ever see only the noblest 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 everyone. So we see, pathetic as little 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.

Here is a paragraph which proves how her childish affections enter into her earliest efforts at story-telling.

WILLIE AND HIS SISTER.

ONCE there was a beautiful little boy named Willie; and he had a sweet sister, younger than himself, who always loved to play with Willie. Her name was Dolly. The children looked very pretty together. The little boy had bright golden ringlets and roguish blue eyes and two round cheeks. They were as rosy as red apples. The little girl had long brown curls, large brown eyes, and a most fair and beautiful complexion. Sometimes the children would walk out together, and look at the little birds, hopping about their nests. They would fill their white aprons with the fragrant flowers, and run gayly to the house to give them to precious mamma.

A letter written to her French teacher takes the form of a story, and indicates at once the sensitive and philosophic character of Helen's mind. TUSCUMBIA, ALA., May 17, 1889.

MY DEAR MISS MARRETT: -- I am thinking about a dear little girl, who wept very hard. She wept because her brother teased her very much. I will tell you what he did, and I think you will feel very sorry for the little child. She had a most beautiful doll given her. Oh, it was a lovely and delicate doll! but the little girl's brother, a tall lad, had taken the doll, and set it up in a high tree in the garden, and had run away. The little girl could not reach the doll, and could not help it down, and therefore she cried. The doll cried, too, and stretched out its arms from among the green branches, and looked distressed. Soon the dismal night would come, -- and was the doll to sit up in the tree all night, and by herself? The little girl could not endure that thought. "I will stay with you," said she to the doll, although she was not at all courageous. Already she began to see quite plainly the little elves in their tall pointed hats, dancing down the dusky alleys, and peeping from between the bushes, and they seemed to come nearer and nearer; and she stretched her hands up towards the tree in which the doll sat, and they laughed, and pointed their fingers at her. How terrified was the little girl; but if one has not done anything wrong, these strange little elves cannot harm one. "Have I done anything wrong? Ah, yes!" said the little girl. "I have laughed at the poor duck, with the red rag tied round its leg. It hobbled, and that made me laugh; but it is wrong to laugh at the poor animals! "

Is it not a pitiful story? I hope the father punished the naughty little boy. Shall you be very glad to see my teacher next Thursday? She is going home to rest, but she will come back to me next autumn.

Lovingly, your little friend,

HELEN ADAMS KELLER.

In the same tender vein is another sketch, which shows the strength of home ties in my pupil's mind.

SISTER MABEL.

Harry is twelve years old. He has two little sisters, both younger than himself. Mabel is ten and Kitty is five years of age. They live in a beautiful and quiet village, in a far-away Southern country, where the sun shines brightly nearly all the year, and where the little birds fill the air with their glad songs from morning until night, and where each gentle breeze is sweet with the perfume of roses, jasmines and magnolias.

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Harry and Kitty have a little garden on the sunny side of the house, which they plant and carefully tend. Harry digs and ploughs the ground, because he is taller and stronger than Kitty. When the ground is all ready, Kitty helps sow the seeds, and covers them lightly with soil. Then they bring water from the well to sprinkle over them. The little boy and his wee sister are very happy together.

Mabel loves to watch them at play from her window. Mabel is an invalid. She has never been able to run and frolic with her brother and sister, but Mabel is not often sad. She sits by the window, with the warm sunshine upon her pretty brown hair and pale face, and chats happily to the other children while they work or play. Sometimes a sad feeling comes into Mabel's heart, because she cannot run and skip like other little girls; but she wipes away the tears quickly, when she sees her brother or sister coming towards her, and tries to greet them with a pleasant smile; for Mabel does not wish to make them unhappy. She often tells Kitty pretty stories she has read, and is always delighted to help Harry with his lessons. I am very sure Mabel helps everybody with her sunny smiles and gentle words. Harry is sure to bring Mabel the first juicy peach which ripens, and dear little Kitty never forgets to give her the first sweet hyacinth which blooms in the little garden.

When Harry was ten years old his father gave him a pretty pony, named Don, -- a beautiful pet, and very gentle. Nearly every pleasant morning after breakfast Harry and Kitty would go to the stable, and saddle and bridle Don. Then they would lead him around to the side of the house, under Mabel's window; and there he would stand quietly, until the other children were ready for their ride, and let Mabel pat his soft nose, while he ate the delicious lumps of sugar which she kept for him.

Don has a good friend named Jumbo. Jumbo is a splendid mastiff, with large, kind eyes. Don is never happy if Jumbo is not at his side. Jumbo will sit on his hind legs, and look up at Don; and Don will bend his beautiful head, and look at Jumbo. Mabel thinks they have some way of talking to each other; for why should not animals have thoughts and a language as well as we?

Harry would mount Don first. Then Kitty's mother would put a blanket before the saddle, and place Kitty upon it; and Harry would put his arms around her, and give her the reins, and away they would go! First, they would ride through the village, and then they would take the broad country road.

They would sometimes stop Don, to admire the green fields and lovely wild-flowers that grew by the way. On their way home they would dismount, and gather the most beautiful flowers they could find for Mabel. Then Harry would drive, and Kitty would hold the flowers in her lap. The boy and girl made a pretty picture, sitting so gracefully on the pony's back, and many people looked at them. Mabel always kissed her hand to them when she saw them coming up the path.

HELEN A. KELLER.

LITERARY COMPOSITIONS.

Helen's marvellous progress in the acquisition of language and the accumulation of knowledge is clearly seen in her writings. These are quite voluminous. They treat of a great variety of subjects, and show that in fertility of mind and versatility of thought, in liveliness of imagination and simplicity of expression, and in extent of information and a gracious delicacy of touch, no child of her age can surpass her.

In addition to the numerous letters and sketches which have been already incorporated in this narrative to illustrate the various phases of Helen's development, a few more are given below.

SOUTH BOSTON, MASS., Dec 3, 1889.

MY DEAR MOTHER: -- Your little daughter is very happy to write to you this beautiful morning. It is cold and rainy here to-day. Yesterday the Countess of Meath came again to see me. She gave me a beautiful bunch of violets. Her little girls are named Violet and May. The Earl said he should be delighted to visit Tuscumbia the next time he comes to America. Lady Meath said she would like to see your flowers, and hear the mocking-birds sing. When I visit England they want me to come to see them, and stay a few weeks. They will take me to see the Queen.

I had a lovely letter from the poet Whittier. He loves me. Mr. Wade wants teacher and me to come to see him next spring. May we go? He says you must feed Lioness from your hand, because she will be more gentle if she does not eat with other dogs.

Mr. Wilson came to call on us one Thursday. I was delighted to receive the flowers from home. They came while we were eating breakfast, and my friends enjoyed them with me. We had a very nice dinner on Thanksgiving day, -- turkey and plum-pudding. Last week I visited a beautiful art store. I saw a great many statues, and the gentleman gave me an angel.

Sunday I went to church on board a great war-ship. After the services were over the soldier-sailors showed us around. There were four hundred and sixty sailors. They were very kind to me. One carried me in his arms so that my feet would not touch the water. They wore blue uniforms and queer little caps. There was a terrible fire Thursday. Many stores were burned, and four men were killed. I am very sorry for them. Tell father, please, to write to me. How is dear little sister? Give her many kisses for me. Now I most close. With much love, from your darling child, HELEN A. KELLER.

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Helen became especially interested in Dr. Holmes, as may be seen by her letter to the popular juvenile monthly.

SOUTH BOSTON, March, 1890.

DEAR SAINT NICHOLAS: -- I am very happy because you are going to print my little story. I hope the little boys and girls who read Saint Nicholas will like it. I wonder if any of them have read a sad, sweet story called "Little Jakey." I am very sure they would like it, for Jakey is the dearest little fellow you can imagine. His life was not so full of brightness as "Little Lord Fauntleroy's," because he was poor and blind; but I love them both, and call them my dear little friends. This is the way Jakey tells of his blindness: "Ven Gott make my eyes, my moder say he not put ze light in zem."

I used to think -- when I was a very small child, before I had learned to read -- that everybody was always happy, and at first I was grieved to know about pain and great sorrows; but now I understand that if it were not for these things people would never learn to be brave and patient and loving.

One bright Sunday, a little while ago, I went to see a very kind and gentle poet. I will tell you the name of one of his beautiful poems, and you will then be able to guess his name. The "Opening of the Piano" is the poem. I knew it and several others by heart; and I had learned to love the sweet poet long before I ever thought I should put my arms around his neck, and tell him how much pleasure he had given me, and all of the little blind children, -- for we have his poems in raised letters. The poet was sitting in his library, by a cheerful fire, with his much-loved books all about him. I sat in his great easy chair, and examined the pretty things, and asked Dr. Holmes questions about people in his poems. Teacher told me about the beautiful river that flows beneath the library window. I think our gentle poet is very happy when he writes in this room, with so many wise friends near him.

Please give my love to all of your little readers.

From your loving friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

This interest took form in an essay on the subject of Dr. Holmes's most beautiful poem.

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.

See! What a beautiful shell! And it is as curious as it is beautiful! It was once the home of a timid little animal called the Pearly Nautilus, -- because of its shell, which is as pure and beautiful as a pearl.

On very still nights, when there is not a breeze stirring the waves, the Nautilus has sometimes been seen floating upon the water, with head and tentacles spread out, and the shell gliding over the blue ocean like a lovely fairy boat. That is why our clear poet has called it the "Ship of Pearl."

This wonderful child of the sea lives a solitary life, far away in the deep waters of the Indian Ocean. He belongs to the large and interesting family of mollusks; but he does not seem to enjoy the society of his less beautiful cousins, for he hides from them, in his own lovely shell.

In his babyhood the Nautilus lived in a wee curled shell, no larger than a pea; but, as his body grew, he stretched out the wonder-working mantle which Mother Nature has given to all mollusks, and took tiny bits of lime out of the water, and enlarged his shell with them. Silently and patiently he toiled, adding chamber after chamber to his dainty dwelling-place, until it was completed. Then he died, leaving us his beautiful home; and we love and admire it, because of the wonderful story it tells us. This is the way our dear poet tells the story: --

Year after year beheld the silent toil
That spread his lustrous coil.
Still as the spiral grew
He left the past year's dwelling for the new,
Stole with soft step its shining archway through,
Built up the idle door,
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.

One can imagine the pleasure she took in writing this letter to the author.

SOUTH BOSTON, MASS., March 1, 1890.

DEAR, KIND POET: -- I have thought of you many times since that bright Sunday when I bade you goodbye; and I am going to write you a letter, because I love you. I am sorry that you have no little children to play with sometimes; but I think you are very happy with your books, and your many, many friends. On Washington's birthday a great many people came here to see the little blind children; and I read for them from your poems, and showed them some beautiful shells, which came from a little island near Palos.

I am reading a very sad story, called "Little Jakey." Jakey was the sweetest little fellow you can imagine, but he was poor and blind. I used to think -- when I was small, and before I could read -- that everybody was always happy, and at first it made me very sad to know about pain and great sorrow; but now I know that we could never learn to be brave and patient, if there were only joy in the world.

I am studying about insects in zoölogy, and I have learned many things about butterflies. They do not make honey for us, like the bees, but many of them are as beautiful as the flowers they light upon, and they always delight the hearts of little children. They live a gay life, flitting from flower to flower, sipping the drops of honeydew, without a thought for the morrow. They are just like little boys and girls when they forget books and studies, and run away to the woods and the fields, to gather wild flowers, or wade in the ponds for fragrant lilies, happy in the bright sunshine.

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If my little sister comes to Boston next June, will you let me bring her to see you? She is a lovely baby, and I am sure you will love her.

Now I must tell my gentle poet good-bye, for I have a letter to write home before I go to bed.

From your loving little friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

In reply to this tribute came a sympathetic letter from the poet.

BEVERLY FARMS, Mass., Aug. 1, 1890.

MY DEAR LITTLE FRIEND HELEN: -- I received your welcome letter several days ago, but I have so much writing to do that I am apt to make my letters wait a good while before they get answered.

It gratifies me very much to find that you remember me so kindly. Your letter is charming, and I am greatly pleased with it. I rejoice to know that you are well and happy. I am very much delighted to hear of your new acquisition -- that you "talk with your mouth" as well as with your fingers. What a curious thing speech is! The tongue is so serviceable a member (taking all sorts of shapes, just as is wanted), -- the teeth, the lips, the roof of the mouth, all ready to help, and so heap up the sound of the voice into the solid bits which we call consonants, and make room for the curiously shaped breathings which we call vowels! You have studied all this, I don't doubt, since you have practised vocal speaking.

I am surprised at the mastery of language which your letter shows. It almost makes me think the world would get along as well without seeing and hearing as with them. Perhaps people would be better in a great many ways, for they could not fight as they do now. Just think of an army of blind people, with guns and cannon! Think of the poor drummers! Of what use would they and their drumsticks be? You are spared the pain of many sights and sounds, which you are only too happy in escaping. Then think how much kindness you are sure of as long as you live. Everybody will feel an interest in dear little Helen; everybody will want to do something for her; and, if she becomes an ancient, gray-haired woman, she is still sure of being thoughtfully cared for.

Your parents and friends must take great satisfaction in your progress. It does great credit, not only to you, but to your instructors, who have so broken down the walls that seemed to shut you in that now your outlook seems more bright and cheerful than that of many seeing and hearing children.

Good-bye, dear little Helen! With every kind wish from your friend, OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

In many ways friends from far and near have tried to brighten Helen's life. One day she was surprised and delighted to receive a letter from Mrs. Laura E. Richards, telling her that the Messrs. Bradstreet of Gardiner, Me., had named a beautiful ship for her.

GARDINER, July 8, 1890.

MY DEAR HELEN: -- You probably do not remember me among the many, many people you saw in Boston; but you will know who I am, when I tell you that Mr. Anagnos is my brother-in-law, and Rosy Richards is my daughter. I write to tell you something which I think will please you. There are two gentlemen here in Gardiner, named Bradstreet, who have what is called a lumber company. That is, they buy quantities of logs, -- thousands and thousands of them, -- up among the forests of northern Maine. These logs are fastened together in long rafts, and brought down the Kennebec River to the Bradstreet Brothers' great saw-mill, where they are cut up into planks and boards, and then sent all over the country.

Now, these two gentlemen have just had a fine new vessel built, to carry their lumber wherever it is wanted; and they thought it would be a very pleasant thing to name the vessel -- what do you think? -- the HELEN KELLER. In the first place, they think it a very pretty name; and in the second place, they thought you might like to know that, far away in Maine, there are people who know about you, and think of you, although they have never seen you. So now -- only think! there are two Helen Kellers! One stays at home, and studies and plays; and the other goes sailing all over the world, over the blue sea, carrying wood from the forests of America to far-away lands. Is not this a pleasant thought, dear? I hope the winds and the waves will be very kind and gentle to the new Helen, -- that her shining white sails may be filled by favoring breezes, and that the ripples may break lovingly about her prow. If you are pleased at the naming of the ship, perhaps you would like to write a little note to the Messrs. Bradstreet, telling them so; or, if you had rather, you can send the message through me. Rosy sends you a great deal of love; and I am, dear Helen, cordially your friend, LAURA E. RICHARDS.

Here is Helen's reply: --

TUSCUMBIA, ALA., July 14, 1890.

MY DEAR MRS. RICHARDS: -- I remember you very well, and Miss Alice and dear Rosy. I was delighted to hear that I had such a beautiful namesake. I think it was very, very kind of the gentlemen to think of me, and call their great new ship for me; and I thank you for writing such a nice letter about it. I have been at home three weeks now, and oh, how happy I have been with my dear parents and my precious little sister! I have the gentlest donkey you can imagine, and a splendid mastiff dog named Lioness. Please give my dear love to your children, and give Rosy a sweet kiss for me.

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Lovingly, your little friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

In obedience to Mrs. Richards' suggestion, the grateful girl wrote also this graceful letter to the Messrs. Bradstreet.

TUSCUMBIA, ALA., July 14, 1890.

MY DEAR, KIND FRIENDS: -- I thank you very, very much for naming your beautiful new ship for me. It makes me very happy to know that I have kind and loving friends in the far-away State of Maine. I did not imagine, when I studied about the forests of Maine, that a strong and beautiful ship would go sailing all over the world, carrying wood from those rich forests, to build pleasant homes and schools and churches in distant countries. I hope the great ocean will love the new Helen, and let her sail over its blue waves peacefully. Please tell the brave sailors, who have charge of the HELEN KELLER, that little Helen who stays at home will often think of them with loving thoughts. I hope I shall see you and my beautiful namesake some time.

With much love, from your little friend,

HELEN A. KELLER.

To the Messrs. BRADSTREET.

The following response from the owners of the vessel gave Helen great delight.

SOUTH GARDINER, Me., Aug. 4, 1890.

DEAR HELEN: -- We were very glad to receive your letter, and to know that you were pleased to have our new vessel named for you.

The new Helen was safely launched, and has your name, in bright new letters, on her bow and stern, and on her flag.

We will give your kind message to the captain and the sailors; and think they will be proud to have it, and that they will try to be worthy of your loving thoughts, and to sail the new vessel safely for many years.

Yours truly, J. S. & F. T. BRADSTREET.

Helen's mental versatility is well illustrated by this letter to her mother.

SOUTH BOSTON, MASS., New Year, 1890.

MY PRECIOUS MOTHER: -- I wish you, father, Mildred and my brother, at home, a very bright and happy New Year. I received your nice letter this morning, and I was so glad to hear from home! I wish I were there to enjoy the lovely flowers and the pleasant weather. I think Charlie would be happy to take us to ride when it is so pleasant. You must pat his soft nose for me. I am sorry that my white pigeon does not come to the house any more, but I hope she and her little family have a cosy home at the stable.

Poor Daisy cannot learn to sing; but next spring she will lay some pretty eggs and sit on them till her babies come out. Then she will carefully tend them until they grow up.

Did Pearl and Jumbo hunt the birds with Simpson? Mr. Wade says I may call my puppy Lioness, because I do not like Eversham at all. If I knew how large Lioness's neck was I would send her a lovely collar, with her name on it. I had some new building blocks Christmas, so you may give my others to Mildred, if she would like to play with them. The Christmas box from home came all right, and when teacher told me it had come, I danced, and hopped, and skipped into the hall to see it. I think my wrapper is beautiful and warm, and I thank you, dear mamma, for it.

We all enjoyed the delicious cake and cream candy very, very much. Teacher wants me to thank you for her nice gift, and she will write when she is better. Poor teacher is sick in bed, and Doctor Belt says she must not get up until she is stronger.

Miss Marrett's flowers were wilted. It was too far for them to travel. Mr. Wade's did not have so far to go, so perhaps they kept fresh. Yesterday I received a little box of flowers from Lady Meath, all the way from England. They were so wilted I could not tell that they were violets.

I am glad you all had a pleasant Christmas. We had a very merry time. A kind man brought me a pretty cedar-tree from the forest, and we put it in the parlor. Do you suppose the little cedar was grieved to leave its friends and companions in the forest, and be taken to our parlor? Perhaps trees do not know about grief and sadness. I hope it was very happy to stay with us.

Mrs. Hopkins popped some corn and strung it, and we trimmed the tree with it, and hung bags of candy and oranges all over it, to make it look pretty. Then dear old Santa Claus hung gifts on every branch; and he had some which were too large to hang on the tree, so he put them under the tree.

Christmas morning we had great fun, finding the gifts and giving them to our friends. I had a pretty rose-jar, filled with dried rose-leaves and spices; a dainty handkerchief case, and four beautiful handkerchiefs, with my initials embroidered in the corner; a lovely doll from Eva (I call her Little Red Riding Hood, because she is dressed in red, and has a pretty red bonnet); a cunning little basket, to keep my worsted in when I am knitting, so that it will not roll on the floor and get soiled; three bottles of perfume; some building-blocks from Mr. Endicott, and a beautiful rocking-chair. I love to sit in my chair, and rock gently to and fro, while the warm, beautiful sun comes in at the window, with a bright "Good-morning, little maid!" for you know the sun loves everybody, and sends his little sunbeams to warm and gladden everything in our world.

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Vacation is over, and the girls have all returned from their homes. Santa Claus was very kind to them. He left them many presents, and a great deal of happiness. I wish I could see my tall brother and my pretty sister. I am glad Mildred liked her mittens. Did she like the funny man blowing his trumpet?

Monday I went to see Miss Freeman, with Miss Riley, to spend the day. I had a splendid time with the children. Mr. Hale came in after dinner. He says the little cousins are all well. I had a beautiful calendar from Miss Moulton, which I will send you. I think you will enjoy looking at the pretty children as much as I did. I tried to watch the Old Year out and the New Year in; but I fell asleep, and when I awoke, the sun was up, and he said: "Oh, little girl, you have travelled nine times around me upon your beautiful chariot! "

I am glad that little Arthur can walk. Tell Mildred to kiss him for me. Tell Simpson to answer my letter soon.

With a happy New Year for all, from your loving little daughter, HELEN.

Another letter is a simple illustration of the openness of Helen's heart to the beauty and meaning of nature.

TUSCUMBIA, ALA., May 27, 1889.

MY DEAR MISS RILEY: -- I wish you were here in the warm, sunny south today. Little sister and I would take you out into the garden, and pick the delicious raspberries and a few strawberries for you. How would you like that? The strawberries are nearly all gone. In the evening, when it is cool and pleasant, we would walk in the yard, and catch the grasshoppers and butterflies. We would talk about the birds and flowers and grass and Jumbo and Pearl. If you liked, we would run and jump and hop and dance, and be very happy. I think you would enjoy hearing the mocking-birds sing. One sits on the twig of a tree, just beneath our window, and he fills the air with his glad songs. But I am afraid you cannot come to Tuscumbia; so I will write to you, and send you a sweet kiss and my love. How is Dick? Daisy is happy, but she would be happy ever if she had a little mate. My little children are all well except Nancy, and she is quite feeble. My grandmother and aunt Corinne are here. Grandmother is going to make me two new dresses. Give my love to all the little girls, and tell them that Helen loves them very, very much. Eva sends love to all.

With much love and many kisses, from your affectionate little friend, HELEN ADAMS KELLER.

The following is one of many charming letters which I received from Helen during our separation, -- a period of three and a half months. I had been with her by day and by night for more than two years, and for some time I had felt the need of rest; but the thought of leaving my beloved pupil even for a few months was so painful to me that I deferred my departure as long as possible. It had not occurred to Helen that her teacher could go away without her, and not until my trunk was packed did she fully realize that I was actually departing. Her distress was very great; but when the time for saying farewell arrived she was calm, and fully resolved not to "grieve teacher by crying," and her unselfishness and resolute behavior showed alike her love and self-control.

TUSCUMBIA, ALA., Aug. 7, 1889.

DEAREST TEACHER: -- I am very glad to write to you this evening, for I have been thinking much about you all day. I am sitting on the piazza, and my little white pigeon is perched on the back of my chair, watching me write. Her little brown mate has flown away with the other birds; but Annie is not sad, for she likes to stay with me. Fauntleroy is asleep upstairs, and Nancy is putting Lucy to bed. Perhaps the mocking-bird is singing them to sleep. All the beautiful flowers are in bloom now. The air is sweet with the perfume of jasmines, heliotropes and roses. It is getting warm here now, so father is going to take us to the Quarry on the 20th of August. I think we shall have a beautiful time out in the cool, pleasant woods. I will write and tell you all the pleasant things we do. I am so glad that Lester and Henry are good little infants. Give them many sweet kisses for me.

What was the name of the little boy who fell in love with the beautiful star? Eva has been telling me a story about a lovely little girl named Heidi. Will you please send it to me? I shall be delighted to have a typewriter.

Little Arthur is growing very fast. He has on short dresses now. Cousin Leila thinks he will walk in a little while. Then I will take his soft chubby hand in mine, and go out in the bright sunshine with him. He will pull the largest roses, and chase the gayest butterflies. I will take very good care of him, and not let him fall and hurt himself. Father and some other gentlemen went hunting yesterday. Father killed thirty-eight birds. We had some of them for supper, and they were very nice. Last Monday Simpson shot a pretty crane. The crane is a large and strong bird. His wings are as long as my arm, and his bill is as long as my foot. He eats little fishes, and other small animals. Father says he can fly nearly all day without stopping.

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Mildred is the dearest and sweetest little maiden in the world. She is very roguish, too. Sometimes, when mother does not know it, she goes out into the vineyard, and gets her apron full of delicious grapes. I think she would like to put her two soft arms around your neck and hug you.

Sunday I went to church. I love to go to church, because I like to see my friends.

A gentleman gave me a beautiful card. It was a picture of a mill, near a beautiful brook. There was a boat floating on the water, and the fragrant lilies were growing all around the boat. Not far from the mill there was an old house, with many trees growing close to it. There were eight pigeons on the roof of the house, and a great dog on the step. Pearl is a very proud mother-dog now. She has eight puppies, and she thinks there never were such fine puppies as hers.

I read in my books every day. I love them very, very, very much. I do want you to come back to me soon. I miss you so very, very much. I cannot know about many things, when my dear teacher is not here. I send you five thousand kisses, and more love than I can tell. I send Mrs. H. much love and a kiss. From your affectionate little pupil,

HELEN A. KELLER.

III. MORAL NATURE.

"All true glory rests,
All praise of safety, and all happiness,
Upon the moral law. "
Wordsworth.

Wonderful as are Helen's intellectual achievements, her spiritual nature furnishes the crown of her glory. Her moral qualities are of the highest order, and command even greater admiration than that due to her mental gifts. She stands as one of the rarest and most perfect types of ethical excellence. In most respects she resembles St. Clara.

"Her heart is pure. Obedience is her guide,
And chastity walks ever by her side."

She is a child of high principle and unimpeachable integrity. Her conduct is irreproachable in every particular. She never speaks a false or unkind word, nor harms a living creature. She has a noble and courageous regard for truth, and her supreme loyalty to it is the light of her whole life. In her written words her language is a beautifully accurate symbol of her thought; and it is with strict propriety that one can apply to her Goethe's beautiful words:

"Dieses ist der Sinn der Wahrheit
Der sich nur mit Shönem schmükt,
Und getrost der höchsten klarheit
Hellsten Tag's entgegenblickt."

Helen's thoughts dwell in a world of beauty and majesty, and she shines like a new resplendent gem in the treasure-house of humanity. She is pure and fresh as a violet, and --

"Chaste as the icicle
That's curded by the frost from purest snow
And hangs on Dian's temple."

She is thoroughly imbued with the spirit of uprightness, fights heroically the battles of justice and equity, and sacrifices every instinct of selfishness on the altar of generosity. Her sense of honor keeps pace with her sensibility, and maintains the equilibrium of her mind. She has no memory for injuries, and no inclination for revenge. She knows absolutely nothing of the unkindness, hostility, narrow-mindedness, hatefulness and wickedness of the world around her. Hope, faith and love are so deeply graved upon her soul, that she finds strength when affliction's surges roll maddest, and light and sweet music when she else is blind and deaf.

Helen has implicit trust and confidence in the good intent of every one.

"Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast,
The worst suggested, she believes the best."

Rarely has she failed to seek for a charitable excuse for the author of a mean act, of which she had become cognizant. She is always prepared to throw gently the mantle of clemency over all wrongdoers. When she was told of the wickedness of a colored servant who had stolen a breast-pin which had been accidentally sent to the wash, she replied, pityingly, "the poor thing did not know that it was not right to do so!" On another occasion, while she was reading a letter from home, in which one of her pet animals was characterized as stupid, she remarked: "Mother does not realize that Cedric is very young!" Even when she was profoundly grieved at the loss of her favorite dog, which had been barbarously killed, near her house, she tried to palliate the cruelty of its slayers by saying that they were ignorant of its goodness. Instances of this kind, showing that Helen is ever ready to go in search of an apology for transgressors, are very numerous. She earnestly believes that there is good in every human being, and feels a deep interest in the welfare of all. Her concern for the happiness of others manifests itself in various ways, and forms the key-note of the harmony of her character.

Many are the moral qualities which adorn this remarkable child; but a sympathetic and unselfish temper is her greatest ornament, "a pearl without price." These attributes, enhanced by her natural grace and vitalized by her sweetness and modesty, render her a fairy queen who draws to herself hundreds of hearts, -- a kindly magician who turns all her visitors into friends and admirers.

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Sainte-Beuve says, "some natures are born pure and have received quand même the gift of innocence." Unmistakably Helen's is one of these. She certainly belongs to the class of the choicest spirits.

"She is divinely kissed and sent
To fill the people with ideal worlds."

She seems to have a mission from above, which is to inspire faith in what is beautiful in humanity. Her soul is a reservoir bursting for an outlet. She is a messenger of helpfulness and joy. She preaches a gospel of hope and cheer, of mercy and generosity, of patience and universal goodness. Her love for her fellow-sufferers so thrills her that it goes out from her with inspiring and sympathetic touch for all. We stand by her, listening enraptured to the messages which she brings to us from higher spheres, and we cannot he thankful enough for the precious gift of her life.

Mr. William Wade of Hulton, Penn., whom Helen visited at his home in the summers of 1890 and 1891, was so deeply impressed by her moral and intellectual qualities that he wrote a brief account of them, which we take pleasure in printing in this connection.

The wonderful story of Helen Keller is known the world over. In London and Paris the case is noted as the most remarkable on record, and few are the hamlets in America where her achievements are not familiar. The development of this child has indeed been a miracle. In two years' time, she changed from a sightless creature, unable to articulate, whose condition was not far removed from that of a mere animal, into a human being full of the tenderest beauty of thought and gifted with a mental capacity far beyond her years. So marvellous has been this change that the accounts of Helen Keller consist wholly of a history of her wonderful progress; and it is well that the triumph of faithful, loving and intelligent teaching should be made widely known and emphatically dwelt upon. It shows that no cloud is so heavy and dark that loving devotion may not lift it, and let the sunshine through to a darkened mind; and it inspires hope and courage in those who seek to ameliorate the condition of afflicted humanity.

Nevertheless, the most wonderful part of Helen Keller's story has not yet been told; and what remains is more impressive and of more lasting value than the record of her remarkable accomplishments. The child herself is a greater wonder than her progress; her marvellous inner nature a greater glory to humanity than her learning. A mightier power than any ever known to schools of learning was needed to fill that little heart with the most overflowing sympathy, the most complete unselfishness, and the rarest delicacy and beauty of thought and expression. Her devoted teacher, Miss Sullivan, could not be human if devoid of pride in the astonishing success which has attended her efforts to rescue this darkened mind from its bondage; yet it must be that her love for the exquisite beauty of her charge's heart and mind far excels her pride in the accomplishment of such a wonderful work.

It has been doubted whether the loving, unselfish disposition portrayed in "Little Lord Fauntleroy" could be a real characteristic of any human being; it has been said that the story was a fancy sketch; yet any one who has seen Helen and watched her ways, and the display of her feelings, knows that she is superior even to the creation of Mrs. Burnett's pen, in those attributes which raise mortals to the sky.

Let me give a few of the many instances of her exquisite tenderness of heart and keenness of mind. She visited the country place of a friend last summer on her way home. There she was to see and ride a donkey that had been promised to her, and which was to be sent to her home; and she was delighted at the prospect of owning and riding the quadruped. As soon as she arrived she was mounted on her donkey, her eagerness being so great that Miss Sullivan deemed it better to indulge her, tired as she was with her long night journey. The saddle not fitting the donkey, her seat was not firm; but no thought of fear crossed her mind, and a glory of delight shone over her face as her Neddy trotted off, Helen swaying from side to side, never losing her balance. Tired as she must have been, she did not think of relinquishing her ride until Miss Sullivan said, "Teacher is tired!" but then Helen slipped off like a flash, merely delaying to get permission to take Neddy to the stable and feed him.

On another occasion, when she was having a ride on a pony, led by her entertainer's groom, all paused under the shade of a tree to cool off. On inquiring the cause of the delay, she was told it was to rest and get cool. After a short time site was asked if she was ready to go again, and she said: "Is Michael rested?" This groom, an ignorant Irish laborer, would have worn his shoes out before admitting that doing anything for Helen tired him.

At supper, the little boy of the house was absent, and she was asked, "Isn't Archer a naughty boy to be away from his supper?" But Helen shook her head emphatically as soon as the first three letters of naughty were spelled out, and she replied promptly: "No. Something has kept him. Perhaps he didn't hear the bell!" and when the boy did come in, -- with the explanation that he had been away after the donkeys, who had broken out of their pasture, -- she was in a state of triumphant delight, and would not be satisfied until Archer came to be kissed.

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Donkeys are the most provokingly slow of all animals, and Helen's idea of riding was to go at a sharp trot, -- the faster the better; but, had she known that this involved the application of a stick to her Neddy, not a step faster than a walk would she have had him go; so the plan was adopted of procuring a heavy club, and whacking every resounding article we came near; and once this club was put in Helen's hand with the suggestion that she should use it "to make Neddy go." An expression of horrified disgust came over her face. "Oh, no; this is better!" she replied; this being a twig that might have tickled one of the donkey's ears, but certainly would not have stimulated him out of the slowest of walks.

From her summer home in the mountains of Alabama she writes that she has Neddy, and "he carries me very carefully up the steep hills, and when he is tired I dismount and let him eat the sweet grass."

The saddle did not fit the donkey very well. A slight abrasion of the skin resulted, and great was Helen's grief to think that she had made a sore on her Neddy, and she wrote me that she would not ride him any more until it was well; though the sore probably annoyed the donkey less than would a fly alighting on one of his ears.

A donkey foal only a few weeks old was caught and held for her to examine; but, on learning that its mother was crowding in to where the colt was, she said: "Oh, let it go. Its mother will be worried about it."

Three great mastiffs were kept at her entertainer's place, and they soon seemed to understand that Helen was fond of them, even though she did not call them; and these dogs would lick her hands and rub against her without her manifesting anything but the greatest delight.

Of course special effort was made to add to her enjoyment in every way. She was taken out to drive, allowed to ride on horseback and donkeyback, encouraged to play with the dogs and donkeys. Her heart was fixed on returning home; but, with a rare loveliness of spirit, she allowed no expression of this feeling to escape her. She devoted herself with all her heart to the amusements provided for her; and it was only when she had finally taken the train to start for Alabama, that the intensity of her longing for home was made manifest by her constant inquiries at each stoppage of the train: "Where are we? How long shall we stop?"

Playing at hide and seek, she accidentally caught a moth in her fingers, and with shouts of delight she ran to exhibit it. She couldn't let it go. "One of Mother Nature's darlings has got lost!" she said, "yet it must not be hurt;" and so, after careful inspection of it, a glass was prepared to put it in, over which a paper was drawn, in which she punched air-holes to give it air until but little of the paper was left intact.

A seedling oak, with the acorn attached, was given her to show how it grew; and she was told that this particular one had been cut off by the mowing machine, and had sprouted. "Poor thing! Mother Nature wants it to grow after so much hardship!" so it had to be planted, and is now marked "Helen's Oak."

Even the worms destructive to vegetation were not naughty in her estimation. "They are baby worms! They do not know better! They must eat something!"

A clergyman much interested in the teaching of the blind, asked what her religious knowledge was, and her teacher, after explaining that it was but rudimentary, asked her: "Baby, do you pray?" Low, in those exquisitely muffled tones of hers, came the answer: --

"I pray the prayer of Plato old, --
God make me beautiful within,
And may mine eyes the good behold
In everything save sin."

A cry of delight burst from the auditors, followed by the comment from one of them: "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, oh Lord!" How entirely this was her own thought was shown by Miss Sullivan's question, "why, baby, where did you learn that?" and her reply that it was from Mr. Whittier; and then she added: "I like it." Many must have been the triumphs of Mr. Whittier, yet I am sure that none can have given him the pleasure that it will give him to learn of this quotation from his poems. What nobler shrine could the poet's work have than the lovely, innocent heart of this little child?

A dog to whom she was much attached, -- and who was so attached to her that Lioness mourned, refusing to be comforted, for days after Helen left home, -- was brutally killed. Helen was intensely grieved; but amidst her tears she found the loving, forgiving spirit to say: "They could not have known what a good dog Lioness was, or they would not have done it and to a child friend she wrote: "It must have terrified Lioness so much to have any one unkind to her, we all loved her so."

How exquisite her interest in the little blind deaf-mute boy, Tommy Stringer, and her earnest devotion to securing the money needed for his education, -- a devotion rewarded at this time by the donation of over $1,600 to her "beautiful plan." How tender the pathos of her expression of thanks to contributors to her fund: "I know what it is to be in darkness. I was not happy then. I do not think I often smiled before teacher came to me, and taught me how many wonderful and beautiful things there were in the world; and my heart has been full to the brim with love and happiness ever since!" or her remark in her letter of thanks to those who contributed to her fund, through the journal called Forest and Stream: "It seems lovely that the death of my brave, loving Lioness should be the means of helping dear little Tommy!" the touching incident of the death of her dog having interested lovers of dogs in her proposed fund, which she started by giving the money designed to purchase her a new dog. As showing the interest she awakened in this fund of hers, it may be noted that from dog-lovers in England she received something over sixty dollars.

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This year she was a guest at the wedding of a friend's daughter. Going up to the bride after the ceremony, she put her loving arms around her neck, and said: "May your whole life be filled with gladness!" To appreciate the full beauty of the thought which led to this benediction, it must be remembered that this was the first wedding she ever attended. The formal benediction was delivered by a bishop, by no means the least distinguished in the Episcopal church; yet such a blessing, from so lovely a child of the infinite love, should carry with it as noble and high a prayer to the All-Loving, as even the benediction of bishop, priest or deacon.

Helen's acquirements teach us how much can be done for the most hopelessly afflicted; but Helen herself teaches a nobler lesson, and makes firm in our souls a higher conviction, -- that in every human heart which strives to be "clean within" an all-merciful, all-loving Father is ever ready to abide; and to all doubters of human goodness the lesson is taught that there is goodness of heart, loveliness of mind and elevation of spirit innate in human nature, ready to show themselves when the baser growths, which tend to infest our souls, are kept out.

Here is a little child, who has compassed but eleven short years, and has lived but three, yet is all that our Heavenly Father would have us be, and who preëminently symbolizes the saying "of such is the kingdom of heaven." Cannot we all learn the lesson set for us?

If the Perkins Institution had done nothing more than develop the system by which such a wonderful mind and heart as Helen's has been rescued from darkness, it would have done, in that alone, a greater work for the world than has been accomplished by many philosophers.

Sympathy and Affection.

"Holy aspirations start
Like blessed angels from the heart,
And bind -- for earth's dark ties are riven --
Her spirit to the gate of heaven."
Prentice.

Helen combines, in a manner possible only to the highest type of nature, intellectual vigor with extreme tenderness of heart. Her mental activity is so great that her knowledge seems to grow with leaps and bounds. At its service there is a brain alive with infinite motion, abounding in rich variety, fertile, resourceful, quickening, expansive. She unrolls out of her cerebral region, by means of vivid energy, new worlds, peopled with thought, throbbing with humanity and teeming with ideas, which are positive figures in her mental kaleidoscope.

This intellectual vivacity draws its motive power and vitality from the heart, as does the ardor of her spirit. Here is a spring of holy aspirations, a source of impulses of kindly interest in the well-fare and happiness of all human beings. Compassion is one of Helen's dominant feelings. Her sympathies are as deep and as broad as her generosity is catholic. She feels alike for those who are within her reach and for those who are at a distance. As Alice Carey puts it,--

"Her loving heart is the mirror
Of the things that are near and far,
Like the wave that reflects in its bosom
The flower and the distant star."

Or, according to Béranger, it is like a musical instrument which sounds as soon as it is touched.

"Son coeur est un luth suspendu;
Sitôt qu' on le touche il resonne."

A stream of affection flows steadily from Helen's heart and freshens everything around her. Nothing can exceed the intensity of her love, which is, --

"A vision to the blind,
To the deaf melody, and to the cold, dead clay
Of common life a resurrection day."

Her attachment to her parents, her teacher and her friends is of great depth and strength. She is passionately fond of each and all of them. She is a devoted daughter, a loving sister, a grateful -MISSING PAGE-

fun to begin. I am making a pretty present for teacher, but I cannot tell you what it is, because she may read this letter. We have a gift for Mildred which will make her laugh.

Mr. Anagnos is very well. He comes to see me as often as he can. He loves your little girl very much, and she loves him dearly. Thursday we were invited to meet some ladies at Miss Curtis'. One of them had just arrived from Europe. She told something about the pope which I did not know before. He never walks or rides as other people do, but when he wishes to go anywhere his attendants carry him in a great chair. He always wears a white gown, and visitors kiss his hand. I have a kind friend in the beautiful and ancient city of Rome. Her name is Mrs. Terry, -- Mrs. Howe's sister. She sent me a pretty blotter by Mr. Anagnos. Is it not nice to know about people in distant lands? I wonder where my beautiful namesake is now. Somewhere on the great ocean or in a safe harbor, I suppose. This afternoon I expect to see a little native Esquimaux lady, at Tremont Temple. I have a little playful kitty. I love to dangle a string for the pretty, graceful thing to catch in her velvety paws.

I am reading the wonderful story of "Life and her Children," and also "Little Women." I hope to begin my French lessons soon. Kiss my dearest sister for me, and tell her that I say to all my friends, Mildred is as sweet as a violet, --

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"Blue and fair are her eyes,
Golden is her pretty hair,
And rosy and soft are her rounded cheeks."

Now, kindest father in all the world, your child must say good-bye. I hope Christmas at home will be a very happy day, and that the new year will be full of brightness and joy for you and mother and everyone. Teacher would send her love if she were here. You must not call her a fraud and a humbug. She is my own precious teacher, you know. From your loving and absent child, HELEN A. KELLER.

SOUTH BOSTON, June 10, 1891.

MY DEAR MOTHER: -- Time walks very fast indeed, but I shall not let him depart with this beautiful June day until I have written you a little letter. I hope you are all well at home, and enjoy the lovely June roses. It is beautiful and warm here in Boston now, and the country all about the city is fresh and green. A week ago last Sunday, Mrs. Hopkins, teacher and I went out of town in search of buttercups and daisies, and we came home with our arms full of the pretty, dainty things. So many things have happened since I wrote you that I hardly know what to write about first. We have had a great deal of company from different parts of our country. A little deaf child and his papa from New York, a Dr. Dye and his wife from Little Rock, Ark., a lady and her little daughter from Colorado, and many others. A week ago yesterday was Commencement day. The children looked very pretty in their white dresses and bright ribbons. I recited about Italy and the beautiful Italian cities. I saw many dear friends there, -- Dr. Brooks, Mrs. Howe, Dr. Eliot, Dr. Peabody, Mr. Dwight and many others. Before the exercises began Elsie Tyler sent me a pretty fan, which pleased baby Tom exceedingly. Last Saturday we went to see Dr. Brooks, and had a beautiful time with him. We laughed a great deal, and I told Dr. Brooks that I had found out that it is good to laugh, for laughter banishes all sad thoughts. Last night we had a singing recital in our hall. The Merry Warblers sang Jack and Jill, and it was so funny we clapped until they sang it over. A week from next Friday we are going to Gardiner, Me., and the Monday after we start for home. We shall only stay a short time at Hulton, because I am so very eager to get home. Oh, how glad I shall be to be with you and father and little sister once more! Please give my tender love to father, and kiss sister for me. And now, mother dear, so sweet and fair to me, good-bye, and I pray God bless and keep you happy forever. From your loving child,

HELEN A. KELLER.

Helen's affection is not concentrated on human beings alone. The never-failing springs of her love and sympathy overflow on all living creatures. Of the birds in the woods, the sheep in the pasture, the ass on which she rides, the dogs, the bees, the rabbits, she always speaks very kindly and cares for them most tenderly. She possesses in a large measure the sense of the common brotherhood of nature and the consequent magnetic sympathy with the inhabitants of the field and forest, which lends so singular a charm to her personality. She finds great happiness in ministering to the needs of the animals, and in having them around her. She has no fear of them. The very wolves, which all men were afraid to encounter, were caressed by St. Francis of Assisi. In the same way Helen expressed an earnest wish to have a tame bear brought to her from Africa. She can hardly believe that there is any harm in the creature. She never hesitates to lay her hand on fierce dogs which she finds in the shows, so implicit is her confidence in their powers of discrimination.

What Helen did for Tommy Stringer.

"Nature is fine in love; and, where 'tis fine,
It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves."
Shakespeare.

Helen's intense love of everything that heaven and man have made, and most especially of all living and breathing creatures, opened to her a path to "fair, new spheres of pure activity," and led her to make strenuous efforts for the accomplishment of a grand deed, -- the rescue of a little boy afflicted like herself. Tommy Stringer, of Washington, Penn., became blind and deaf-mute as the result of a severe illness; but, unlike Helen, he had neither a comfortable and pleasant home nor affectionate parents to devote themselves to him. He was motherless, and, as his father was not able to take care of him, he drifted into the Allegheny general hospital, where he was kept for a time. Here he was in charge of a kind night nurse, who attended to his physical wants while she was on duty, and let him sleep from morning to evening. His future seemed anything but bright. He was destined to drop into one of the ordinary receptacles for helpless paupers. There was no other place for him in the great and wealthy state of Pennsylvania!

Rev. J. G. Brown of Pittsburgh, who made the acquaintance of Helen and of her teacher during their visit to Mr. William Wade of Hulton, Penn., heard of Tommy, and, in one of the notes which he exchanged with Miss Sullivan in the course of the summer, alluded to the condition of the unfortunate child. On being informed of this correspondence, Helen joined in it by writing to Dr Brown. In the answer which this gentleman sent to her some time after, he spoke of the opening of the new school for the blind in Pittsburgh, and of his failure to secure a tutor for the little blind and deaf-mute boy. To this letter Helen replied promptly as follows: --

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TUSCUMBIA, ALA., Oct. 29, 1890.

MY DEAR MR. BROWN: -- I was very glad to get your letter, and I thank you for writing to me. I was delighted to hear that the little blind children were going to have a nice school like other boys and girls. It will make them so happy to learn about all the beautiful things which our dear heavenly Father has given us to enjoy. Then their minds will be filled with beautiful light, and their hearts will be filled with love and gentle thoughts. I ask my dear heavenly Father every day to bless the little new school, and to send the dear little deaf and blind child a teacher like mine. I wish he lived near me, so that I could teach him some myself. Please give the dear little fellow my love. Teacher sends her kind regards, and hopes God will bless your good work. Now good-bye, dear friend. I hope that I shall see you again some time.

Lovingly, your little friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

Tommy's case now took hold of Helen's mind, and stirred her soul to its profoundest depths. It became an object of constant thought, and exercised all her faculties and energies. As soon as she returned to school after the summer vacation, she began to talk about him, and was very eager to have him brought to Boston, and placed under instruction. Her pleading in his behalf was ceaseless and resistless. When she was told that a great deal of money would be required to hire a competent teacher, "we will raise it" was her prompt reply. She commenced at once to solicit contributions from her friends, and at the same time to practise strict economy by denying herself the pleasure of drinking soda-water, of which she is exceedingly fond, in order to save her pennies for the benefit of her little brother in affliction.

While Helen was working assiduously for Tommy's deliverance, applications came to us from different sources in Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, urging his admission to the kindergarten for the blind, which our correspondents averred was the only place in the United States for such a child. Dr. Alexander Graham Bell, whose opinion was asked as to what should be done with the unfortunate boy, advised his friends to send him to Boston, if they could prevail upon us to take care of him. The attention of several members of our board of trustees was called to the matter, and they all gave their cordial consent to Tommy's reception at the school. One of them, Mr. William Endicott, Jr., said to me: "Do not hesitate to have the little fellow brought to the kindergarten. There will be no difficulty in raising a sufficient sum of money to pay his expenses. I shall be glad to contribute some of it myself." Then he added: "Luckily, the number of these hapless children is very small; and, as there is nowhere in the country a place open to them, why do you not arrange to take care of all of them?" Contrast these sentiments with the proposal of one of the managers of the Allegheny general hospital, -- to send poor Tommy to the almshouse; or with the contemptible suggestion made by a member of the Pittsburgh society for prevention of cruelty to animals at one of its meetings, -- that a part of the money given by the lovers of dogs for the little boy's benefit should be paid to the hospital for the mischief which he did during his stay there, -- and then you will feel that it is a privilege to belong to Boston, and breath in the atmosphere of its benevolence.

Before Tommy's admission to the kindergarten an unexpected incident invested his case with a halo of romance, and rendered his cause very popular. Last winter Helen's faithful dog Lioness, with which she was presented by her generous friend, Mr. William Wade, and which proved to be a trusty companion and an affectionate playmate, was ruthlessly shot and brutally killed, while running harmlessly at large in a public square, by a policeman in Sheffield, Ala. The beautiful spirit of the child was shown in connection with this dastardly deed. Though distressed beyond measure at her loss, she did not allow her grief to affect her charitable disposition, and all that she would say about the semi-barbarian murderers of her pet was this: "I am sure they never could have done it, if they had only known what a dear good dog Lioness was!"

These words, conveyed to Mr. Wade, and published by him in the Forest and Stream of New York, touched deeply the hearts of many of the readers of that periodical. As a consequence, a shower of offers came from England, Canada and this country to provide another canine friend for the child. Mr. George O. Goodhue of Danville, Quebec, started a subscription list, with a view of raising sufficient funds for the purchase of a new mastiff. Mr. George R. Krehl of London, editor of the Stock Keeper, asked the privilege of making up whatever balance might be needed to complete the requisite amount, or of defraying the whole of the cost in case Mr. Goodhue's project should fail. Mr. J. Otis Fellows of Hornellsville, N. Y., proposed to present Helen with Eriant, an elder sister of Lioness; and, while he was making inquiries as to where the animal should be sent, Mr. Wade insisted upon paying its price, and his wish prevailed.

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That Helen was very grateful to her generous friend for this fresh token of his affection goes without saying. At the same time she was quite anxious that Tommy's future career should be held as of greater importance than her pleasures, and that it should receive adequate consideration. She was delighted to have her lost companion replaced; but the deliverance of the little boy from the labyrinth of isolation was of the utmost concern to her. This feeling became manifest to all who conversed or corresponded with her, and it was delicately expressed in a letter which she wrote to one of Mr. Wade's children in acknowledgment of some toy animals received from him. Here is her note.

SOUTH BOSTON, Feb. 17, 1891.

"Valentine, O Valentine,
Pretty little love of mine."

I send you many sweet thanks for your dear love, and for the gentle pets you sent to tell me of my dear Valentine. I have been sick for a long time, and am not quite all well yet, but teacher said I could write to you a little letter. I am so glad that your papa is coming to Boston. You must ask him to bring you with him. We will have great fun at the dog show, I think. Did you know that my beautiful Lioness was dead? She was killed while playing with some other dogs near my home. My heart is so sad about it. The tears come whenever I think how terrified she must have been to have people unkind to her. We had all loved her so. I cannot tell how I knew that my beautiful dog's expression softened and became more intelligent when I caressed her, but I am sure it was true. She would lay her great head in my lap whenever I told her how fine dogs ought to behave, and I am sure she understood. At first I was delighted to hear that your papa had another dog for me, but now I fear that something might happen to it, and that would be too dreadful. I would rather try to be happy without one, than that the faithful friend should be killed. Tell your papa that when I am well I am going to write a letter to the boys and girls in Boston, and tell them about darling little Tommy, and ask them to send their pennies to Mr. Anagnos so that he can bring Tommy to Boston in April. I hope I can teach him something myself. Now, my own Valentine, I must say a loving good-bye. Give your papa and mamma and dear sister Lois my love and many kisses. Your Valentine,

HELEN KELLER.

A few weeks later she wrote to Mr. Goodhue of Danville, Canada, bringing Tommy's case to his notice in a most graceful manner.

SOUTH BOSTON, MASS., March 9, 1891.

MY DEAR FRIEND, MR. GOODHUE: -- I am going to write you a little letter, just to tell you how happy I am to know that I have a dear friend far away in Canada, who was grieved because I should never see my beautiful Lioness any more. When Mr. Wade wrote and told me about you, I knew that you were very good and generous, and I could not help loving you very much indeed. I would like to know if you have any little boys and girls, and if you have I would love to hear about them and their pets. I love great, faithful dogs like Lioness, but I love little boys and girls still more. Has Mr. Wade told you about Tommy, the little blind and deaf child? The light and all pleasant sounds went out of his life when he was only four years old. He has no gentle mother to lead him about, and his father is too poor to send him here to Boston to be educated. Is it not pitiful? I tell all of my friends about the dear little fellow, because I am sure they will want to help bring light and music into his sad life. How happy Tommy would be if he knew that knowledge and joy were awaiting him with a bright smile at the blind children's kindergarten! And now good-bye, dear friend. Lovingly, HELEN A. KELLER.

The dog lovers in America, wishing to gratify Helen's overmastering desire, concluded to strengthen her hands in her benevolent work by raising a fund in her name for the benefit of her little protégé.

The announcement of this decision filled her heart with unspeakable joy. In writing to Mr. Krehl in London to thank him for his offer to buy a mastiff for her, she availed herself of the opportunity to acquaint him with what was to be done in Tommy's behalf, and to tell him what blessings education would bring to the unfortunate child. Here is the text of her letter.

INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND,
SOUTH BOSTON, MASS., March 20, 1891.

MY DEAR FRIEND, MR. KREHL: -- I have just heard, through Mr. Wade, of your kind offer to buy me a gentle dog, and I want to thank you for the kind thought. It makes me very happy indeed to know that I have such dear friends in other lands. It makes me think that all people are good and loving. I have read that the English and Americans are cousins; but I am sure it would be much truer to say that we are brothers and sisters. Many friends have told me about your great and magnificent city, and I have read a great deal that wise Englishmen have written. I have begun to read "Enoch Arden," and I know several of the great poet's poems by heart. I am eager to cross the ocean, for I want to see my English friends and their good and wise queen. Once the Earl of Meath came to see me, and he told me that the queen was much beloved by her people, because of her gentleness and wisdom. Some day you will be surprised to see a little strange girl coming into your office; but when you know it is the little girl who loves dogs and all other animals, you will laugh, and I hope you will give her a kiss, just as Mr. Wade does. He has another dog for me, and he thinks she will be as brave and faithful as my beautiful Lioness. And now I want to tell you what the dog lovers in America are going to do. They are going to send me some money for a poor little deaf and dumb and blind child. His name is Tommy, and he is five years old. His parents are too poor to pay to have the little fellow sent to school; so, instead of giving me a dog, the gentlemen are going to help make Tommy's life as bright and joyous as mine. Is it not a beautiful plan? Education will bring light and music into Tommy's soul, and then he cannot help being happy.

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From your loving little friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

In response to this note, Mr. Krehl sent a generous contribution for Tommy, and at the same time offered to take charge of any subscriptions which charitable people in England might be disposed to forward to him.

On the sixth of April last Tommy was brought to the kindergarten in Jamaica Plain whither Helen and her teacher repaired to take care of him, and train him until the services of a special tutor should be engaged. His arrival was hailed with exultation, and it was made known to those who were especially interested in the little fellow's case in the most hopeful terms. She wrote to Mr. Goodhue as follows: --

KINDERGARTEN FOR THE BLIND,
JAMAICA PLAIN, April 11, 1891.

MY DEAR FRIEND, MR. GOODHUE: -- I hope you have not thought that your little friend Helen did not appreciate the beautiful gifts which you sent her. You cannot imagine how delighted she was with the roses! I did not know that such choice ones would grow in a greenhouse. At my home they grow out in the beautiful sunshine, where sweet Mother Nature loves to see her little ones. When I am at home I like to get up bright and early in the morning, and go out in the garden before the sunbeams have flown off with the dew-drops. How beautiful the lovely buds are! each with a glistening gem hid away among its delicate petals.

But why do you suppose I have not written to you before? I am sure you cannot guess, so I shall have to tell you. Dear little Tommy has come! He is very small and helpless, just like an infant. He has had no loving mother to teach him how to do like other children, and that is why he cannot walk and eat as other little boys do. But teacher will be very gentle and patient with him, and soon his mind will escape from its dark prison and be filled with light and music, -- that is what education will do for baby Tom.

I am going to write my dear friend Dr. Holmes a letter tomorrow, and I shall write on the dainty paper which you sent me. The violets will remind him of the wonderful, beautiful things which are happening everywhere these lovely spring days. Mother writes that my home is beautiful now with its wealth of blossoms and its soft, fragrant air. The little birds are busy building their nests. The bluebird with his azure plumes, the thrush clad all in brown, the robin jerking his spasmodic throat, the oriole drifting like a flake of fire, the jolly bobolink and his happy mate, the mocking-bird imitating the notes of all, the red-bird with his one sweet trill, and the busy little wren, are all making the trees in our front yard ring with their glad songs. You must tell me what birds live in Quebec.

We lead a very pleasant time at the dog show. Mr. Wade was there, and did everything to make us have a nice time. I liked Lord Melrose, the gentle-faced St. Bernard, the best. I could feel the gentleness in his look, and I was delighted when he laid his great head on my shoulder and kissed my cheek.

Please give my love to Louise and Henry and Herman. I hope Louise will write to me soon. I had almost forgot to tell you something which I am sure will please you.

Everybody at the Institution had some of the delicious maple-honey and piece of maple-sugar, so you see you were the means of making many people happy. Is not that very pleasant news? Teacher sends kindest regards, and thanks you for her share in the pleasures which your visit brought to all of us.

Lovingly, your little friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

To Mr. Wade she sent the following note, in which she describes Tommy's condition briefly but very accurately.

KINDERGARTEN FOR THE BLIND, April 18, 1891.

DEAR, KIND MR. WADE: -- I have some beautiful news for you. Little Tommy, our sweet human plantlet, is here in this pretty child's garden, and teacher and I will give him his first lessons. I did not imagine he would be so small and helpless, but we love him all the more for his helplessness. We have taught him to walk a little by himself, and to take some food, and soon we hope to give him his first word. I can hardly wait patiently for the time to come when he will have learned to spell with his baby fingers. I forgot to tell you that he is a pretty little fellow, with soft, dimpled hands. I think it will make the kind gentlemen who are giving money for Tommy's education glad to know that they are helping bring light and gladness into a little life which is all dark and still now. I shall write Mr. Millais a letter, and thank him for the kind gift. How grateful Tommy will be by and bye for this love and kindness! . . . HELEN A. KELLER.

To Mr. Millais, the famous English artist, Helen wrote the following letter in acknowledgment of a contribution which he sent to her fund for Tommy.

PERKINS INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND,
SOUTH BOSTON, MASS., April 30, 1891.

MY DEAR MR. MILLAIS: -- Your little American sister is going to write you a letter, because she wants you to know how pleased she was to hear you were interested in our poor little Tommy, and had sent some money to help educate him. It is very beautiful to think that people far away in England feel sorry for a little helpless child in America. I used to think, when I read in my books about your great city, that when I visited it the people would be strangers to me, but now I feel differently. It seems to me that all people who have loving, pitying hearts, are not strangers to each other. I can hardly wait patiently for the time to come when I shall see my dear English friends, and their beautiful island home. My favorite poet has written some lines about England which I love very much. I think you will like them too, so I will try to write them for you.

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"Hugged in the clinging billow's clasp,
From seaweed fringe to mountain heather,
The British oak with rooted grasp
Her slender handful holds together,
With cliffs of white and bowers of green,
And ocean narrowing to caress her,
And hills and threaded streams between,
Our little mother isle, God bless her!"

You will be glad to hear that Tommy has a kind lady to teach him, and that he is a pretty, active little fellow. He loves to climb much better than to spell, but that is because he does not know yet what a wonderful thing language is. He cannot imagine how very, very happy he will be when he can tell us his thoughts, and we can tell him how we have loved him so long.

Tomorrow April will hide her tears and blushes beneath the flowers of lovely May. I wonder if the May-days in England are as beautiful as they are here.

Now I must say good-bye. Please think of me always as your loving little sister, HELEN KELLER.

Although Helen's correspondence was steadily increasing and taxing her strength to the utmost, she did not omit to write to Dr. Brown of Pittsburgh, telling him how comfortably Tommy was situated at the kindergarten, and how great would be his happiness when his mind should be released from its confinement.

SOUTH BOSTON, May 26, 1891.

MY DEAR MR. BROWN: -- I have been meaning to write to you ever since our dear little Tommy came to Boston, but I have had a great many letters to write, thanking kind friends who have sent me money to help educate the poor little child. I cannot begin to tell you how delighted I was when Mr. Anagnos said Tommy's little life should be made happy. And now the dear little helpless creature is as happy as he can be, in the lovely child's garden, which Mr. Anagnos and the good people of Boston have made for little sightless plantlets. He has a sweet, gentle teacher, and more kind and interested friends than he can count for many months. We are all waiting eagerly for the happy day when language will make a little human being of him. Oh, what a joyful day it will be! Then his mind will open like a beautiful flower, and his heart will be filled with gratitude and love for the kind friends who have helped bring light and music into his soul. Teacher sends her kind regards. Lovingly, your friend,

HELEN KELLER.

While Helen and her teacher were still in charge of little Tommy, the ladies' visiting committee held at the kindergarten a reception, which proved to be one of the events of the season, and which was attended by a very large number of people representing the intelligence, the benevolence and the wealth of Boston. Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes and the Rev. Phillips Brooks were present, by special invitation. The latter complied readily with Helen's urgent request that he should serve as her interpreter, and made in behalf of her little protégé a brief but most eloquent appeal, which was substantially as follows: --

The history of little Tommy is a short one, but very touching. There came from the west some word of this boy, who was deaf, dumb and blind. Helen has undertaken as her special purpose to provide for his education. Some months ago her pet dog, which she prized very highly, wandered away from home and was killed; and when people began to raise money by subscription to buy another mastiff for her, she generously proposed to have all the contributions turned over to Mr. Anagnos for the benefit of Tommy. The total sum thus far obtained from various sources is about three hundred dollars. This amount will pay the child's expenses only for a part of the year. More is needed; and it is hoped that the balance will soon be made up. Helen is asking her friends to help her in this work, and surely the appeal of one such child in behalf of another cannot go unanswered.

Bishop Brooks' eloquent address had a most favorable effect upon the audience. Several contributions were made there and then, and the number of the subscribers was growing day by day. Nevertheless, Helen could not rest until her dream of Tommy's welfare was fully realized. He became the chief theme of her correspondence and the main topic of her conversation. Her efforts in his behalf were truly strenuous. Of the numerous stirring appeals which she wrote for his benefit, here is one addressed to little boys and girls, a fac-simile of which was published through the kindness of her friend, Mr. George O. Goodhue, in the Daily Witness of Montreal.

SOUTH BOSTON, MASS.

DEAR LITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS: -- You will be surprised to receive a letter from a little girl whom you have never seen, but I think she will not seem quite such a stranger when you know that she loves you and would be delighted to give each of you a loving kiss; and my heart tells me we should be very happy together, for do we not love the same things: playful young kittens, great dogs, gentle horses, roguish donkeys, pretty singing birds, the beautiful springtime, and everything good and lovely that dear Mother Nature has given us to enjoy? and, with so many pleasant things to talk about, how could we help being happy?

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But now I am going to tell you about a dear little boy who does not know how to be joyful, because he cannot hear or speak or see, and he has no kind lady to teach him. His name is Tommy, and he is only five years old. His home is near Pittsburgh, Penn. The light went out of the poor little boy's eyes and the sound went out of his ears when he was a very small infant, because he was very sick indeed and suffered greatly. And is it not sad to think that Tommy has no gentle mother to love and kiss her little child? He has a good papa, but he is too poor to do much to make his little son's life happier. Can you imagine how sad and lonely and still little Tommy's days are? I do not think you can, because the light has never gone out of your bright eyes, nor the pleasant sounds out of those pretty ears like pink-white shells. But I know you would like to help make your new friend happy and I will tell you how you can do it. You can save the pennies which your papas give you to buy candy and other nice things, and send them to Mr. Anagnos, so that he can bring Tommy to the kindergarten and get a kind lady to teach him. Then he will not be sad any more, for he will have other children to play with him and talk to him, and when you come to visit the institution you will see him and dear little Willie playing together as happy and frolicsome as two kittens; and then you will be happy too, for you will be glad that you helped make Tommy's life so bright.

Now, dear little friends, good-bye. Do not forget that you can do something beautiful, for it is beautiful to make others happy.

Lovingly, your friend, HELEN KELLER.

Mr. Amos L Root of Medina, Ohio, editor of the Gleanings in Bee Culture, published a similar appeal in his journal, with excellent results. It was accompanied by a letter from Mr. Goodhue, and illustrated by two photogravures of Helen, which he was so kind as to lend to us for this sketch.

These appeals, together with those which appeared repeatedly in the Boston newspapers, were generously responded to. Contributions came from far and near, and Helen never failed to acknowledge propriâ manû et propriis verbis the smallest of them. From a very large collection of letters which she wrote in this connection, averaging eight per day, we select the following for publication.

SOUTH BOSTON, March 6, 1891.

DEAR, KIND LADY: -- You cannot imagine how delighted I was when I heard the beautiful news. I clapped my hands for joy, and many loving thoughts came into my heart. Oh, how I wish dear little Tommy knew what happiness is awaiting him at the kindergarten with a bright smile! The money which you sent to Mr. Anagnos seemed to me like it beautiful bunch of spring wild flowers, because, you see, it will bring so much sweetness into Tommy's life. Please give Anna and Martha and dear little George my best love, and tell Anna she must ask Miss Poulsson how the Mikado spends his time. I am sure the real Mikado never did such a thing.

Lovingly, your happy friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

Mrs. JOHN C. PHILLIPS.

SOUTH BOSTON, Mass., April 27, 1891.

MY DEAR DR. ELLIS: -- I want to thank you for the money which you sent to Mr. Jackson to help educate our little Tommy. It makes me very happy to know that baby Tom has so many kind friends who will love and protect him always. Mr. Brooks once told me that love was the most beautiful thing in the world, and now I am sure it is, for nothing but love could brighten Tommy's whole life. I think we ought to love those who are weak and helpless even more tenderly than we do others who are strong and beautiful. My heart has been full of love for Tommy ever since Mr. Brown wrote to me about him last summer, and I was sure that everybody would wish to help him if only they knew his sad story. I have read that there are lonesome and dismal places in this great world, but I cannot imagine anything so sad and lonely as a little child's heart who has no loving mother to caress and care for him. But we shall all be so good and gentle with little Tommy that he will think the world is full of loving mothers and patient fathers. I am very sorry to tell you that teacher and I were obliged to leave Tommy last Friday, but his own teacher will come to him on Monday. We all hope you will tell Tommy's story in your paper, and ask the good people to help him.

Lovingly, your little friend, HELEN KELLER.

Rev. GEORGE E. ELLIS, D.D.

BOSTON, MASS., April 21, 1891.

MY DEAR MISS BETTIE DAVIS: -- I have just received your postal, telling me of your wish to help little Tommy. It makes me very happy to know that my friends in the beautiful sunny South are going to help me educate dear Tommy. You would love him if you could only see what a helpless little child lie is. My teacher and I are giving him his first lessons, and we are hoping that his mind will soon escape from its lonely prison into the bright world of knowledge. You have my correct address. With much love to your pupils and yourself, from

HELEN A. KELLER.

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SOUTH BOSTON, April 28, 1891.

MY DEAR MISS ROTCH: -- I thank you, dear, kind lady, for the money which you sent me to help educate little Tommy. How beautiful it is to be able to bring so much brightness and joy into the lives of dear little boys and girls who would be very sad and lonely if kind-hearted people did not help them. Mr. Anagnos has told me how very generous you and your dear mother have been to the little sightless children, and I love you both dearly, even though I do not think I have ever seen you. My heart is full of happiness today because Tommy's teacher is coming. I remember the day that my own precious teacher came to me, and how she taught me about the wonderful, beautiful things of which I was quite ignorant. So you see I know what pleasant things are coming to our little Tom, and I am happy because of the great happiness which is coming to him. Please give my love to your mother, and tell her Helen would like very much to kiss so kind a lady.

Lovingly, your little friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

MISS EDITH ROTCH

SOUTH BOSTON, May 21, 1891.

DEAR LADIES: -- It makes me very happy indeed to write you a little letter this lovely morning. I was delighted to receive the money that you and your good and kind brother sent to me for our little Tommy. How beautiful it is for the people of this great busy city to care for this helpless little one! I have been reading and studying about the great cities in Italy and they seem to me very beautiful and magnificent; but I love Boston more dearly than any of them, because her people are so tender and careful of those of her children who are not as strong and beautiful as others. And I think loving and caring for the happiness of little blind children is a love work.

Thanking you once more, dear friends, for your interest in our little Tommy, I will say good-bye. I hope the soft summer air will make you both quite well and strong.

Lovingly, your little friend, HELEN KELLER.

To the Misses GLOVER.

SOUTH BOSTON, May 21, 1891.

DEAR, GENTLE LADY: -- I remember you very well, your hand seemed very soft and light upon mine, and I was glad because you had a tall, strong son to care for you tenderly. I thank you for thinking about me, and for sending me the money for little Tommy. The pretty blue flowers in the corner of my paper will tell you, if you listen to them, that Helen will never forget you, nor her lovely visit to Lexington.

Lovingly, your little friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

Mrs. LUCY S. DODGE.

SOUTH BOSTON, May 25, 1891.

THE HAPPY DOZEN, -- DEAR FRIENDS: -- Please accept the loving thanks of your little friend, Helen Keller, for the eight dollars which you sent to help educate little Tommy. When he is older he will feel very grateful to the many, many persons who have shown a tender interest in him. When he has discovered the wonderful secret of language, his mind will spring joyously from its dark, still prison, into the beautiful light and music of knowledge-land. I hope my friend Marion has told you that I should be very glad to have you all come and see me some day. With love for all, from HELEN KELLER.

MARION B STONE, MARY F. DONELY,
FANNIE J. BRADLEY, MAY BURRAGE,
and eight others.

SOUTH BOSTON, May 25, 1891.

MY DEAR MR. TYLER: -- I thank you very much for the five dollars which you sent me for little Tom, but I thank you a great deal more for the loving thought which made you wish to do something for a poor little helpless child. Tommy knows very little about oysters now, but I think it will not be long before he will laugh quite hard if you tell him that they grow on cotton-trees. I am glad my dear friends are all well at Cohasset. Please give them love and kisses from Helen. I hope I shall see you all at Tremont Temple next Tuesday.

Lovingly, your little friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

Mr. DANIEL G. TYLER, Cohasset, Mass.

SOUTH BOSTON, May 26, 1891.

MY DEAR FRIEND: -- I thank you very much for the five dollars which you sent me to help educate baby Tom. If you could see what a helpless and small child he is, you would understand why I love him, and you, too, would be filled with pity and love for the little fellow. Please go to the child's garden at Jamaica Plain and see him.

Very truly yours, HELEN KELLER.

Mr. A. E. WYMAN, Newtonville, Mass.

SOUTH BOSTON, May 26, 1891.

MY DEAR FRIEND: -- I thank you for the money that you sent me for little Tommy, and for the kind thoughts which were expressed in your letter. I am sure that the kind-hearted people in this dear city will see that baby Tom's life is made as happy as education can make it. The little boys and girls who are every day enjoying the beautiful light and the songs of happy birds will not let their brother live always in darkness and stillness. They will lead him gently and patiently into the bright world of thought. So you see I have no fears at all for Tommy.

From your loving friend, HELEN KELLER.

Mrs. M. S. HARRINGTON, 760 Dudley St., Dorchester.

SOUTH BOSTON, June 10, 1891.

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MY DEAR MRS. REED: -- Will you please tell the little girls who sent me the money for Tommy, that I thank them for the gift, and for the sweet sympathy which they have taken in a dear little child whose life is not so bright as theirs? It always makes me glad to receive money from little children, because it is beautiful for them to share their joy with others. I am sure it makes them more gentle and loving to know that there is suffering and unhappiness in this beautiful world, and that they can help to make it brighter by being kind and generous.

From your loving little friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

Mrs. K. T. REED

When the subscriptions reached the sum of six hundred dollars, it was deemed advisable to publish the names of the donors and the amount of their gifts. Helen was told to send with the list of acknowledgments a brief note to each of the newspaper managers, thanking them for the friendly interest which they had taken in Tommy's case, and requesting them to urge the children to continue to work for him until the fund should be completed. This was all that she was asked to do, nothing more. She went immediately to her desk with a sufficient supply of paper, and, without any further suggestion, she wrote, instead of a circular, individual letters to the different editors, no two of which were alike either in matter or form. Here they are.

SOUTH BOSTON, May 13, 1891.

Editor of the BOSTON TRANSCRIPT.

MY DEAR MR. CLEMENT: -- Will you please publish, in your paper, the enclosed list of the friends who have sent us money to help educate our little Tommy? I am sure the kindhearted people who read the Transcript will be glad to hear that "Baby Tom" is growing very happily in the pretty child's garden at Jamaica Plain. He has not learned any words yet, but he is finding out about things, and by and by he will discover that language is the most beautiful and wonderful thing of all, for when we can read and talk we are not blind and deaf any longer. The wise and great people can then tell us all that they see and hear. I hope loving children and their kind friends will continue to work for Tommy until his fund is completed, and his whole life is made bright and joyous.

From your loving little friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

SOUTH BOSTON, May 13, 1891.

Editor of the BOSTON HERALD,

My DEAR MR. HOLMES: -- Will you kindly print, in the Herald, the enclosed list? I think the readers of your paper will be glad to know that so much has been done for dear little Tommy, and that they will all wish to share in the pleasure of helping him. He is very happy indeed at the kindergarten, and is learning something every day. He has found out that doors have locks, and that little sticks and bits of paper can be got into the key-hole quite easily; but he does not seem very eager to get them out after they are in. He loves to climb the bedposts and unscrew the steam valves much better than to spell, but that is because he does not understand that words would help him to make new and interesting discoveries. I hope that good people will continue to work for Tommy until his fund is completed, and education has brought light and music into his little life. From your little friend, HELEN KELLER.

SOUTH BOSTON, May 13, 1891.

Editor of the BOSTON JOURNAL.

MY DEAR COLONEL CLAPP: -- I hope you will publish, in the Journal, the enclosed list of the friends who have helped bring gladness into the life of our dear little Tommy. There are many, many other good people, I am sure, who when they read in the papers what has been done for "Baby Tom," will wish to do something for him. It is beautiful to try to make little children happy and helpful, and that is what education will do for Tommy. And something makes me sure that every little boy and girl who hears about Tommy's sad, still life will be eager to help make it bright and beautiful. Hoping that we shall continue to receive money for Tommy's fund,

I am your little friend, HELEN KELLER.

SOUTH BOSTON, May 13, 1891.

Editor of the BOSTON GLOBE.

MY DEAR COLONEL TAYLOR: -- I know you are little Tommy's friend, so you will be glad to publish the enclosed list in the Globe. We want Tommy's friends to know what has already been done for him, and we hope they will continue to work for him until his fund has been completed and his whole life has been made bright and helpful. It makes me happy when people want to help Tommy, for I know how beautiful knowledge is. I remember when I was quite ignorant of all things, and I was not happy then. I do not think I often smiled before teacher came to me, and taught me how full of beautiful, wonderful things the world was; and my heart has been full to the brim with love and gladness ever since. And now I am eager for the same joy to come to dear little Tommy.

From your little friend, HELEN A. KELLER.

This note, the greater portion of which was reproduced in fac-simile, was prefaced with the following editorial remark: "Here is a letter from Helen Keller, who is deaf, dumb and blind. Yet the editor of the Globe never received a letter better than hers in diction or spirit."

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SOUTH BOSTON, May 13, 1891.

Editor of the ADVERTISER.

DEAR SIR: -- Will you please publish, in your paper, the enclosed list of the friends who have sent us money to help educate our dear little Tommy? I am very grateful to all the kind people who are working for the dear little fellow, and so are all of his friends. I think it is very beautiful to see the little children whose own lives are full of sunshine and love, trying to bring light and gladness into Tommy's heart. I hope you will tell them all that the best thing in the world is to love everybody and try to make them happy.

From your little friend, HELEN KELLER.

SOUTH BOSTON, May 13, 1391.

Editor of the BOSTON POST.

MY DEAR MR. GOODRICH: -- It will make the friends of little Tommy very grateful if you will have the enclosed list printed in the Post. And will you please tell the loving little children and their friends, who are working for Tommy, that he is as happy and playful as a little kitten. He has found out that the world is full of loving friends, so he climbs into everybody's arms, and is quite content if his friends love him. He has learned to walk and to feed himself, and to get into all sorts of mischief when his teacher is not watching him. I am sure the little boys and girls who have been helping to make little Tom's life happy will be glad to hear that he has a bright intelligent face, and two dimpled and baby-like hands. I hope the children who see and hear will continue to work for him until his fund is completed, and education has filled his soul with light and music. From your little friend,

HELEN A. KELLER.

SOUTH BOSTON, May 13, 1891.

Editor of the CHRISTIAN REGISTER.

MY DEAR MRS. BARROWS: -- I know that you must be one of baby Tom's friends, and so you will glad to publish in the Christian Register the enclosed list of those who have sent us money for his fund. And will you please tell the readers of your paper that little Tommy is very happy and playful in his new home. He very soon discovered that the child's garden was a pleasant place to grow in; but he was too small and weak to grow all by himself, so he reached up his little hands and climbed right into our arms. He has not learned any words yet, but he is finding out about things, and some day it will flash into his mind that everything has a name. Then he will be happier than any king. I wonder how all the beautiful words came to be! I suppose God thought about language, so it grew. I remember perfectly the first embossed book I ever saw. I was very much puzzled by the queer feeling of letters. I was like Tommy then, and I could not imagine what wonderful secrets there were hid away in the pages of a book. Think what joy is waiting for little Tom! I hope loving little children, and all those who love to see them good and happy, will continue to take an interest in "Baby Tom," and see that the little human plantlet has everything it needs in order to grow. Lovingly yours,

HELEN A. KELLER.

SOUTH BOSTON, May 13, 1891.

Editor of the BOSTON TRAVELLER.

MY DEAR MR. WINSHIP: -- You will make a little girl very happy by publishing the enclosed list in the Traveller. I am sure that kind-hearted people will be glad to hear that so much money has been given towards dear little Tommy's education. I knew that everybody would wish to help Tommy when they knew his sad story. It is so very pitiful to be blind and deaf and small and helpless all together. But people are so kind and gentle with "Baby Tom" that he does not think there is any unkindness in all the world. I hope loving little children and their generous friends will continue to work for Tommy until his fund is completed. From your little friend,

HELEN A. KELLER.

SOUTH BOSTON, May 19, 1891.

To the Editor of FOREST AND STREAM: -- Will you please thank the kind gentlemen who sent me the money for little Tommy, and tell them that they have helped make two children very happy? It seems beautiful to me to think that the death of my brave, loving Lioness should be the means of bringing so much happiness into the life of our dear little Tommy. I feel very grateful to the friends, far over the seas, who are taking an interest in baby Tom's education. Some day I hope I shall see each one of the dear friends whose names you sent me, and then I shall thank them myself. I enclose the receipt for the money. Thanking you, dear editor, for your kindness, I am your loving little friend, HELEN KELLER.

Throughout these letters, as well as in the rest of her correspondence, Helen gives abundant evidence of choice thoughts and healthy aspirations, of mental vigor and a fine sense of fitness, of astonishing versatility and intellectual keenness, of unconquerable energy and unalloyed satisfaction in laboring to smooth the pathway of life for her fellow sufferers.

The total amount of money thus far subscribed for Tommy's benefit through the united efforts of all his friends is $1,636.31, which sum will suffice to pay his expenses for about two years. In pleading the little boy's case and striving to enlist public interest in him, Helen was actuated by the highest motives and stirred by the noblest impulses. She often disclosed such unexpected resources of reasoning, combined with an uncommon depth of feeling, and rose to such fervor of appeal, as to surprise and overwhelm her hearers or correspondents, and to make herself fairly irresistible. There burns in her soul a quenchless zeal and an absorbing desire to snatch away from the jaws of misery and ignorance all afflicted children, and to lift them up to the fellowship of men. Her life writes out the perfect law of love, not in verbal terms, but in deeds that reveal all its depth and breadth and height. Of the many flowers that bloom on her heart and beautify it, sympathy with all sufferers and eagerness to be of service to them are the finest and most fragrant.

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"The words which she utters
Are of her soul a part,
And the good seed she scatters
Is springing from the heart."

Helen's arduous work for the deliverance of little Tommy from the abyss of darkness and stillness is an inspiring proof of the blessedness of her own emancipation from the same dreary prison. Her eager solicitude to secure for all others the privileges which she now enjoys, is the fruitage of the tree of benevolence, which is deeply rooted in her heart and sends forth branches toward heaven.

Reason, Religion and Optimism.

"Life and sense,
Fancy and understanding: whence the soul
Reason receives, and reason is her being."
Milton.

Helen is an acute thinker. Her nature is eminently rational. Her conclusions are usually deduced from the unerring dictates of her faculties. Reason is her sun. It is the noble spark kindled from heaven. Under its light she carries on her mental operations, and if any statement is made to her she at once seeks for evidence to substantiate it. She receives gladly the opinions of others; but in forming her own she depends upon the exercise or her intellect. Like the bee, she gathers substance from abroad, but digests that which is obtained by her own virtue. She finds unspeakable pleasure when calling into activity the powers or her mind. That she uses them constantly, witness the following extract from one of Miss Sullivan's letters, dated Tuscumbia, May 24, 1889.

A short time ago A. undertook to give Helen an idea of deity. She began by telling her that "God is everywhere." The child instantly asked to be shown him. A. found herself in a difficult position, but she proceeded to add to Helen's perplexity by telling her that "God made her and all the people in the world out of dust." This bit of information amused the little woman greatly. In speaking of it to her mother afterwards she said: "A. told me many funny things. She says Mr. God is everywhere, but has not a body like that of my father, and does not live in a house!" Then the poor, puzzled child added: "A. says God made me out of dust! I think she is a great joker! I am made of flesh and blood and bones, and I was born nearly nine years ago. A. must not make too many mistakes!"

Helen's natural religious inclinations are of the best kind. She worships everything that is highest and noblest in human life. To use a phrase of Mr. Frothingham, "she adores the substance of deity." At the same time, she longs to get at the root of things by reflection and careful examination and is not disposed to accept all sorts of conflicting speculations and assertions as absolute truth. Hers is a rational nature par excellence. This is clearly shown in her keen criticisms and penetrating remarks on all matters which seem to her out of the ordinary course of things, and for the occurrence of which no logical explanation or satisfactory proof can be adduced. Her reason is very strong and discriminating, and she is quite prone to dispel instinctively the smoke of incense arising from the altars of superstition. In her mental field there is no congenial soil for the spontaneous growth of a luxuriant supernaturalism, which in many instances, instead of lighting, dims and darkens the spiritual faculty.

The way in which the first rays of religious ideas dawned upon the mind of the child confirms Max Müller's teachings rather than the theories of Herbert Spencer. Charmed with the beauties of nature and refreshed with its bountiful gifts, Helen began to contemplate its mysteries and majesties, and to inquire about the origin and the first cause of things. She grew more and more musing and meditative on these subjects in proportion to the increase of her intelligence. Her questions about the creation and the government of the world were constant and very searching. Finally she became quite eager to learn everything relating to cosmogony. Here was presented a rare and most glorious opportunity for having one of the acutest and most brilliant minds try to evolve the light of religious ideas from within instead of taking it from without, and form its conceptions of deity and divine attributes in perfect freedom from external influences, and authoritative bias. To the adoption of this course no objection was raised from her parents, and, if it had been pursued, it would have been of inestimable value in more ways than one. Aside from throwing some light on several psychological questions, it would have encouraged the child to rely upon her own resources in the solution of serious problems, and to acquire habits of mind which would enable her to seek truth resolutely and perceive it in a clear light. Moreover, it would have prepared the way for her indissoluble unification with nature and its laws and with the principles of all being. Unfortunately, Miss Sullivan took a different view of the matter. She could not rise above the sway of popular notions and common prejudices. While the little pupil's inquisitiveness and diligence in prying into things hidden gave evidence that her ideas were steadily unfolding and ripening into reverence, the teacher was quite alarmed at this mental activity, fearing lest it should lead to the disturbance of the "harmonious development of the soul." Hence she deemed it her duty to prevent such a catastrophe by turning the current of Helen's thoughts into the ordinary channels of theology.

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Thus the old story of Laura Bridgman was repeated again, and one of the finest and grandest intellectual and spiritual temples, which in its completion would have afforded extraordinary opportunities for scientific investigation and the discovery of truth in its simplest form, was destroyed before its dome was finished.

Miss Sullivan has prepared a detailed account of Helen's religious instruction, which is herewith given in full: --

RELIGION. -- The evolution of the mind of this remarkable child in the province of religious thought is both interesting and instructive. It was the earnest desire of those upon whom devolved the responsibility of Helen's education that her mind should not be biased by outside influences. It was hoped that one so peculiarly endowed by nature as Helen, would, if left entirely to her own resources, throw some light upon such psychological questions as were not exhaustively investigated by Dr. Howe; but their hopes were not to be realized. In the case of Helen, as in that of Laura Bridgman, disappointment was inevitable. It is impossible to isolate a child in the midst of society, so that he shall not he influenced by the beliefs of those with whom he associates. In Helen's case such an end could not have been attained without depriving her of that intercourse with others, which is so essential to the development of her social nature.

It must have been evident to those who watched the rapid unfolding of Helen's faculties that it would not be possible to keep her inquisitive spirit for any length of time from reaching out toward the unfathomable mysteries of life. But great care has been taken not to lead her thoughts prematurely to the consideration of subjects which perplex and confuse all minds. Children ask profound questions, but they often receive shallow answers, or, to speak more correctly, they are quieted by such answers.

"Where did I come from, and where shall I go when I die?" were questions asked by my pupil nearly three years ago. But the explanations which she was able to understand at that time did not satisfy, although they forced her to remain silent, until her mind should begin to put forth its higher powers, and generalize from innumerable impressions and ideas which streamed in upon it from books and from her daily experiences. Without any particular direction being given to her mind, it naturally sought for the cause of things.

As her observation of phenomena became more extensive and her vocabulary richer and more subtle, enabling her to express her own conceptions and ideas clearly, and also to comprehend the thoughts and experiences of others, she became acquainted with the limit of human creative power, and perceived that some power, not human, must have created the earth, the sun, and the thousand natural objects with which she was perfectly familiar.

Finally, she one day demanded a name for the power, the existence of which she had already conceived in her own mind. The study of the natural sciences and geography had done much to arouse her curiosity with regard to the origin of things. She began to realize, in a dim and childlike way, the vastness and manifold variety of the works of nature.

Through Charles Kingsley's "Greek Heroes" she had become familiar with the beautiful stories of the Greek gods and goddesses, and she must have met with the words God, heaven, soul, and a great many similar expressions, in the books she eagerly devoured.

Strange to say, she never asked the meaning of such words, nor made any comment whatever when they occurred; and until February, 1889, no one had ever spoken to her of God. At that time, a dear relative who was also an earnest Christian tried to tell her about God; but, as this lady was not able to clothe her ideas in words suited to the comprehension of the child, they made little impression upon Helen's mind. When I subsequently talked with her she said: "I have something very funny to tell you. A. says God made me and every one out of sand; but it must be a joke. I am made of flesh and blood and bone, am I not?" Here she examined her arm with evident satisfaction, laughing heartily to herself. After a moment she went on: "A. says God is everywhere, and that He is all love; but I do not think a person can be made out of love. Love is only something in our hearts. Then A. said another very comical thing. She says He -meaning God- is my dear father. It made me laugh quite hard, for I know my father is Arthur Keller."

I saw that the child was not in a fit state of mind to receive the spiritual truths which her kinswoman had so inopportunely tried to impart, and I explained to her that she was not yet able to understand what had been told her, and so easily led her to see that it would be better not to talk about such things until she was wiser.

She had met with the expression Mother Nature in the course of her reading, and for a long period of time thereafter she was in the habit of ascribing to Mother Nature whatever she felt to be beyond the power of man to accomplish. She would say, when speaking of the growth of a plant, "Mother Nature sends the sunshine and the rain to make the trees and the grass and the flowers grow." The following extract from my journal will show what were her ideas at this time: --

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Helen seemed a little serious after supper, and Mrs. H. asked her of what she was thinking. "I am thinking how very busy dear Mother Nature is in the springtime," she replied. When asked why she thought so, she answered: "Because she has so many children to take care of. She is the mother of everything; the flowers and trees and winds."

"How does Mother Nature take care of the flowers?" was the next question. "She sends the sunshine and rain to make them grow," Helen replied; and after a moment she added "I think the sunshine is Nature's warm smile, and the rain-drops are her tears."

Later she said: "I do not know if Mother Nature made me. I think my mother got me from heaven, but I do not know where that place is. I know that daisies and pansies come from seeds which have been put in the ground; but children do not grow out of the ground, I am sure. I have never seen a plant-child! But I cannot imagine who made Mother Nature, can you? I love the beautiful spring, because the budding trees and the blossoming flowers and the tender green leaves till my heart with joy. I must go now to see my garden. The daisies and the pansies will think I have forgotten them."

After May, 1890, it was evident to me that she had reached a point where it was impossible to conceal from her the religious beliefs held by those with whom she was constantly coming in contact. She almost overwhelmed me with inquiries which were the natural outgrowth of her quickened intelligence.

Early in May she wrote on her tablet the following list of questions: --