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I SHOULD like to tell you about a visit we have just received from Helen Keller, the little blind girl and deaf-mute. You, doubtless, know something of her story (1) -- how, when she was eighteen months old, she was very, very ill, and when at last the slow recovery came, her parents were horrified to find that she had become perfectly deaf and also blind. For nearly seven years these poor parents had no means of communication with their little girl or she with them. When Helen was seven, five years ago, Mr. Keller wrote to the Perkins Institute for the Blind, in Boston, asking that a teacher might be sent to them in northern Alabama. Miss Sullivan, who at one time had been perfectly blind, and who had taken the course at the Institute, was sent to the Kellers, and remained for two years, teaching Helen and her family how to communicate with one another by means of the manual for the deaf and dumb.

It was then deemed best for Helen to go to the Institute, since she could advance more rapidly there. She has now been there three years, under the charge of Miss Sullivan the entire time.

Once a year she goes home to Alabama for a visit, always accompanied by her dear friend and teacher.

When our principal informed us of Helen's prospective visit, we all were pleased; but still the thought came that it would be very difficult to talk with her, and also a pitiful and rather trying experience to see a person in such a sad condition. We are now very thankful that the opportunity was given us to meet this wonderful child.

Helen came one afternoon with Miss Sullivan and Miss Marrett, another teacher in the school, and also one of our graduates.

In the evening the students were all invited into the drawing-room to meet the visitors and to see what wonders have been done for this once helpless child. She stood with her arm about Miss Sullivan's neck, a tall child for her age, with a very bright and smiling face.

As the different girls came up to meet her, Miss Sullivan repeated their names to Helen by means of the deaf-and-dumb alphabet, and Helen spoke to them.

You ask how can that be?

One of the most marvelous things of all is, that she has learned to articulate. Think of it! She has never heard a human voice in her life. Of course, her articulation is very imperfect; but when she speaks slowly, one can understand quite well what she says. Her teachers think that in a year or two her utterance will be perfectly distinct. Her voice is necessarily peculiar, and listening to its monotonous tones, one can better appreciate how important hearing is to modulation and expression.

About thirty girls were introduced to her, for each of whom she had a pleasant word. I think in no one case did she forget a name.

She felt of the faces, hair, and dress, learning each feature, while every personal peculiarity seemed firmly fixed in her mind.

Some of the girls told her they had recently been to Concord and Lexington, whereupon Helen began to describe her visit there. She spoke of the hills about Concord looking like "beautiful clouds"; and said that the "bending trees were there, the folding ferns among the grass, and the fairies and wood-elves whispering among the violets."

She said she visited the Alcotts' house, and could well imagine "Jo, sitting by the window, writing; Amy, near by, drawing; and sweet Beth sewing; while Meg and Mr. Brooke were merrily chatting together."

Some one mentioned "The Minute-Man," Mr. French's statue, marking the famous battle-ground at Concord; and Helen cried eagerly, "Yes! and 'fired the shot heard round the world!'" quoting from Emerson's beautiful ode, the first lines of which have been inscribed upon the pedestal of the statue

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world!

Soon she added, "Is n't it dreadful for men to kill each other? But I think it is good not to be afraid of death, and to be ready to fight for one's country. My father would n't be afraid to die; he fought in the Rebellion."

Helen is a rather pretty child, and has perfect manners. She is very affectionate, and seems devotedly attached to Miss Sullivan. Every few minutes she would caress her, with a loving smile; and she seems to have a similar affection for all her friends. She has great tact, and has that innate refinement of word and action which it is so delightful to see.

She has been doing a beautiful work of charity. She owned a fine mastiff last winter, which died, and the loss made her quite sad. Some friends raised three hundred dollars, and sent it to her as a gift with which to buy another dog. In the mean time Helen heard of a boy, five years old, Tommy Stringer, who also was blind and deaf. Her tender sympathy was aroused, and she immediately decided to use her money for Tommy's needs. But the yearly expense for one person at the Institute is more than twice as much money as Helen had. Quite confident of success, the little girl wrote letters to nine newspapers, each differently expressed, stating Tommy's needs. As a consequence many subscriptions were sent to Helen, and Tommy has now been an inmate of the asylum for a year or more.

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In telling us of Tommy, she said, "When he was a little baby, his dear mama died and then he was sick, and the light went out of his eyes, and the hearing from his ears. Now he has come to be educated. And by and by," she added, "when he knows more words, he will understand what a wonderful thing language is, and how education brings music and love to body and soul." It is difficult to realize that such words are from the lips of a child not then twelve years old.

The next morning Helen was taken up into the cast-room. She was led first to the cast of Niobe, and allowed to pass her fingers over the face. She knows a few pieces of sculpture, but this was quite new to her, and she had never heard the pitiful story of the poor mother robbed of her little ones.

Passing her hands softly over the features, she said, "She is a woman"; and then, quite low, "She looks sad." The young Nero's bust was shown, and she said, "He is young and pretty."

"Do you know anything about Nero?" asked one of the girls. "Oh, yes," she replied quickly. "He was a king of Rome." After this the head of Nero as an old man was shown her. She looked grave while touching his face, and said slowly, "He is changed. The nose is the same, but he is so proud," and she pursed up her lips in imitation of his.

A little baby's image pleased her very much, and she murmured softly to herself while caressing the round face and chubby limbs; then, looking up with a sweet smile, repeated some verses describing a child.

Dante's cast interested her exceedingly. She did not know anything about him, except that he was a poet. When she was told that he was a patriot, exiled from home and a wanderer for many years, she said thoughtfully, "He loved Italy." We next took her into the art-room, and showed her some of the articles used for studies in still-life.

She was especially pleased with an old spinning-wheel; and the instant her fingers touched the flax, she cried, "Flax! It is blue!" Her teacher hastened to tell her that it is only the flower that is blue, and that flax itself is white. Helen quickly began:

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day.

"Yes," said Miss Sullivan; "the poet referred to the flowers."

She was delighted with a tambourine, and wished to know how it was used. She was sorry to lay it aside. Of course she cannot hear a sound from musical instruments, but the vibrations please her wonderfully, and she is very fond of music. One of the girls played to her upon the piano, and it was a pretty sight to watch the changes of light in her face. She could scarcely keep quiet to listen; and when the "Skirt Dance" was played her hands and feet kept time constantly to the music. She afterward sat down herself and played a simple exercise which she had learned.

She held quite a little reception later in the day, and many people from town came in to see her -- professors and their wives, and many children of her own age. Helen asked the latter such pointed questions that they were often at a loss to reply, and appealed to their mothers for help. To one little boy she said, "What is your favorite city?" The little boy looked perplexed, and finally, anxious to make a reply, said, "Boston." "Mine are Venice and Florence," said Helen, "among those I have read of. My own home I love best of all." When Professor Coy was introduced, she remarked naively, "I have heard of coy maidens, but not of men." With a French gentleman she spoke a few words in French, and then added, "I think Paris is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. The French are very gay, are they not?" "Yes, too gay sometimes," he replied. Oh," she said, "some day I want to know French." "We will speak it together the next time we meet," he answered as he shook hands with her, and she smiled a bright reply.

-Letter in Helen Keller's handwriting.-

Dear St. Nicholas;

It gives me very great pleasure to send you my autograph because I want the boys and girls who read St. Nicholas to know how blind children write. I suppose some of them wonder how we keep the lines straight so I will try to tell them how it is done. We have a grooved board which we put between the pages when we wish to write. The parallel grooves correspond to lines and when we have pressed the paper into them by means of the blunt end of the pencil it is very easy to keep the words even. The small letters are all made in the grooves, while the long ones extend above and below them. We guide the pencil with the right hand, and feel carefully with the fore finger of the left hand to see that we shape and space the letters correctly. It is very difficult at first to form them plainly but if we keep on trying it gradually becomes easier, and after a great deal of practice we can write legible letters to our friends. Then we are very, very happy. Sometime they may visit a school for the blind. If they do, I am sure, they will wish to see the pupils write.

Very sincerely, your little friend
Helen Keller

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Thus, for each one she had some cordial word of greeting.

"My favorite study is geography," she remarked, "because then I can learn all about the world and its different countries,"

Some one gave her a "Jack-in-the-pulpit," and inquired,

Does he preach ? "Oh, yes," she answered. "He preaches to all the other flowers, but he is not so large as dear Dr. Brooks" -- referring to Phillips Brooks, who is one of her stanch friends. "Yes, I love to play," she replied to a question from a little girl; "but I like best to study; and I love poetry. Who is your favorite poet? Mine is Holmes." Mr. Holmes is a personal friend of hers, and she also knows Mr. Whittier and has visited him. Helen's is a poetical nature, and with her strong imagination and quick mind her language is often beautiful and full of pretty metaphors and similes.

A purse was made up for Tommy, which delighted her very much.

In the afternoon we all gathered in the chapel, and heard from Miss Marrett something about the system of teaching in the asylum. In speaking of the library, she alluded to Dickens's works. Helen, reading the words by the medium of Miss Sullivan's fingers, bent forward eagerly and asked, "How does Dickens write?"

None of us could say, and after a few. moments' waiting she told us, her face aglow with fun, "All of er Twist!"

When Miss Marrett finished, Helen told Miss Sullivan, "I would like to speak to the young ladies." She was led to the desk, and spoke with self-possession somewhat like this:

"Dear friends of Andover, I want to thank you for my pleasant visit here, which I shall never forget; and my mother will be so very happy when she hears how kind you have been to me. Thank you, too, so much, for your kind gift to Tommy; he will be so glad. I think our kind Heavenly Father has given us a beautiful world, and his goodness is written all over the walls of nature. I hope, when you come to Boston, you will come to our school and see us there, and meet Tommy. We shall be very glad to see you. Good-by."

It was inexpressibly touching to see the little blind girl, to hear her simple words. She had never seen this "beautiful world," and yet found so much in it to love and to enjoy.

Though we had always thought of little Helen with the greatest pity, we shall ever remember her as one of the happiest and most blessed of children.