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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.