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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.