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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.