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The Story of My Life

AMERICAN FC '
15
NEV, , NY 10011

Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2010 with funding from

Lyrasis Members and Sloan Foundation

http://www.archive.org/details/storyofmylifeOOhele

Photograph by Folk, l8gS

HELEN KELLER AND MISS SULLIVAN

THE
STORY OF MY LIFE

By HELEN KELLER

WITH

HER LETTERS (1887—1901)

AND

A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT
OF HER EDUCATION, INCLUDING
PASSAGES FROM THE REPORTS
AND LETTERS OF HER TEACHER,
ANNE MANSFIELD SULLIVAN

By John Albert Macy

ILLUSTRATE®

GARDEN CITY NEW YORK

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1914

4Eo

ALEXANDER GRAHAM BELL

XXTHO has taught the deaf to speak

and enabled the listening ear to hear

speech from the Atlantic to the ^ockies^

1 DeDkate

this Story of My Life.

EDITOR'S PREFACE

THIS book is in three parts. The first two, Miss Keller's
story and the extracts from her letters, form a com-
plete account of her life as far as she can give it. Much
of her education she cannot explain herself, and since a knowl-
edge of that is necessary to an understanding of what she has
written, it was thought best to supplement her autobiography
with the reports and letters of her teacher, Miss Anne Mansfield
Sullivan. The addition of a further account of Miss Keller's
personality and achievements may be unnecessary; yet it will
help to make clear some of the traits of her character and the
nature of the work which she and her teacher have done.

For the third part of the book the Editor is reponsible, though
all that is valid in it he owes to authentic records and to the
advice of Miss Sullivan.

The Editor desires to express his gratitude and the gratitude
of Miss Keller and Miss Sullivan to The Ladies' Home Journal
and to its editors, Mr. Edward Bok and Mr. William V.
Alexander, who have been unfailingly kind and have given for
use in this book all the photographs which were taken expressly
for the Journal; and the Editor thanks Miss Keller's many
friends who have lent him her letters to them and given him valu-
able information; especially Mrs. Laurence Hutton, who supplied
him with her large collection of notes and anecdotes ; Mr. John
Hitz, Superintendent of the Volta Bureau for the Increase and
Diffusion of Knowledge relating to the Deaf; and Mrs. Sophia
C. Hopkins, to whom Miss Sullivan wrote those illuminating
letters, the extracts from which give a better idea of her methods
with her pupil than anything heretofore published.

Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin and Company have courteously
permitted the reprinting of Miss Keller's letter to Dr. Holmes,
which appeared in "Over the Teacups," and one of Whittier's
letters to Miss Keller. Mr. S. T. Pickard, Whittier's literary
executor, kindly sent the original of another letter from Miss
Keller to Whittier.

John Albert Macy.
Cambridge, Massachusetts, February i, 1903,

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAG8

Editor's Preface VII

PART I

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

PAGB

Chapters I— XXIII 3

PART II

PAGE

Introduction to Letters ...... 143

Letters . . 145

PART III

A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT OF HELEN KELLER'S LIFE

AND EDUCATION
CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Writing of the Book . . . .283

II. Personality 286

III. Education 297

IV. Speech 384

V. Literary Style 394

Index j 433

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Helen Keller and Miss Sullivan

Frontispiece

FACING PAG::

32
76

88
126

Ivy Green," the Keller Homestead .
(Showing also the small house where Helen Kel'er was born)

Helen Keller at the Age of Seven
Helen Keller and Jumbo .....
Miss Keller and Dr. Alexander Graham Bell
Miss Keller at Work in Her Study

Miss Keller and " Phiz "

Miss Keller, Miss Sullivan and Mr. Joseph Jefferson 130
Miss Keller, Miss Sullivan and Dr. Edward Everett

Hale 136

. 138

. 250

. 258

. 292

• 396

Miss Keller and " Mark Twain "

The Vibrations of the Piano

Helen Keller in 1904

Reading Raised Print .

Mr. John Hitz Reading to M«so Keller

FACSIMILE OF PART OF LETTER TO
PHILLIPS BROOKS

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Facsimile of the braille manuscript of the passage on page 24, with equivalents
— slightly reduced. (Underlined combinations of letters have one sign in braille.
Note the omission of the vowels before "r" in "learn," and the joining of the sign for
"to" with the word that follows it.)

PART I
THE STORY OF MY LIFE

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

CHAPTER I

IT is with a kind of fear that I begin to write
the history of my life. I have, as it were,
a superstitious hesitation in lifting the veil
that clings about my childhood like a golden mist.
The task of writing an autobiography is a difficult
one. When I try to classify my earliest impressions,
I find that fact and fancy look alike across the years
that link the past with the present. The woman
paints the child's experiences in her own fantasy. A
few impressions stand out vividly from the first
years of my life; but "the shadows of the prison-
house are on the rest." Besides, many of the joys
and sorrows of childhood have lost their poignancy ;
and many incidents of vital importance in my early
education have been forgotten in the excitement of
great discoveries. In order, therefore, not to be
tedious I shall try to present in a series of sketches
only the episodes that seem to me to be the most
interesting and important.

I was born on June 27, 1880, in Tuscumbia, a
little town of northern Alabama.

The family on my father's side is descended from
Caspar Keller, a native of Switzerland, who settled
in Maryland. One of my Swiss ancestors was the
first teacher of the deaf in Zurich and wrote a book
on the subject of their education — rather a singular

4 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

coincidence; though it is true that there is no king
who has not had a slave among his ancestors, and
no slave who has not had a king among his.

My grandfather, Caspar Keller's son, "entered"
large tracts of land in Alabama and finally settled
there. I have been told that once a year he went
from Tuscumbia to Philadelphia on horseback to
purchase supplies for the plantation, and my aunt
has in her possession many of the letters to his
family, which give charming and vivid accounts of
these trips.

My Grandmother Keller was a daughter of one
of Lafayette's aides, Alexander Moore, and grand-
daughter of Alexander Spotswood, an early Colonial
Governor of Virginia. She was also second cousin
to Robert E. Lee.

My father, Arthur H. Keller, was a captain in the
Confederate Army, and my mother, Kate Adams,
was his second wife and many years younger. Her
grandfather, Benjamin Adams, married Susanna E.
Goodhue, and lived in Newbury, Massachusetts, for
many years. Their son, Charles Adams, was born in
Newburyport, Massachusetts, and moved to Helena,
Arkansas. When the Civil War broke out, he fought
on the side of the South and became a brigadier-
general. He married Lucy Helen Everett, who
belonged to the same family of Everetts as Edward
Everett and Dr. Edward Everett Hale. After
the war was over the family moved to Memphis,
Tennessee.

I lived, up to the time of the illness that deprived
me of my sight and hearing, in a tiny house consist-
ing of a large square room and a small one, in which
the servant slept. It is a custom in the South to

■o

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 5

build a small house near the homestead as an annex
to be used on occasion. Such a house my father
built after the Civil War, and when he married my
mother they went to live in it. It was completely
covered with vines, climbing roses and honeysuckles.
From the garden it looked like an arbour. The little
porch was hidden from view by a screen of yellow
roses and Southern smilax. It was the favourite
haunt of humming-birds and bees.

The Keller homestead, where the family lived,
was a few steps from our little rose-bower. It was
called " Ivy Green" because the house and the sur-
rounding trees and fences were covered with
beautiful English ivy. Its old-fashioned garden
was the paradise of my childhood.

Even in the days before my teacher came, I used
to feel along the square stiff boxwood hedges, and,
guided by the sense of smell, would find the first
violets and lilies. There, too, after a fit of temper, I
went to find comfort and to hide my hot face in the
cool leaves and grass. What joy it was to lose
myself in that garden of flowers, to wander happily
from spot to spot, until, coming suddenly upon a
beautiful vine, I recognized it by its leaves and
blossoms, and knew it was the vine which covered
the tumble-down summer-house at the farther end
of the garden ! Here, also, were trailing clematis,
drooping jessamine, and some rare sweet flowers
called butterfly lilies, because their fragile petals
resemble butterflies' wings. But the roses — they
were loveliest of all. Never have I found in the
greenhouses of the North such heart-satisfying roses
as the climbing roses of my southern home. They
used to hang in long festoons from our porch, filling

6 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

the whole air with their fragrance, untainted by any
earthy smell; and in the early morning, washed in
the dew, they felt so soft, so pure, I could not help
wondering if they did not resemble the asphodels of
God's garden.

The beginning of my life was simple and much
like every other little life. I came, I saw, I con-
quered, as the first baby in the family always does.
There was the usual amount of discussion as to a
name for me. The first baby in the family was not
to be lightly named, every one was emphatic about
that. My father suggested the name of Mildred
Campbell, an ancestor whom he highly esteemed,
and he declined to take any further part in the dis-
cussion. My mother solved the problem by giving
it as her wish that I should be called after her mother,
whose maiden name was Helen Everett. But in the
excitement of carrying me to church my father
lost the name on the way, very naturally, since it
was one in which he had declined to have a part.
When the minister asked him for it, he just remem-
bered that it had been decided to call me after my
grandmother, and he gave her name as Helen
Adams.

I am told that while I was still in long dresses
I showed many signs of an eager, self-asserting
disposition. Everything that I saw other people do
I insisted upon imitating. At six months I could
pipe out " How d'ye, " and one day I attracted every
one's attention by saying "Tea, tea, tea" quite
plainly. Even after my illness I remembered one of
the words I had learned in these early months. It
was the word "water," and I continued to make
some sound for that word after all other speech was

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 7

lost. I ceased making the sound "wah-wah" only
when I learned to spell the word.

They tell me I walked the day I was a year old.
My mother had just taken me out of the bath-tub
and was holding me in her lap, when I was suddenly
attracted by the flickering shadows of leaves that
danced in the sunlight on the smooth floor. I
slipped from my mother's lap and almost ran toward
them. The impulse gone, I fell down and cried
for her to take me up in her arms.

These happy days did not last long. One brief
spring, musical with the song of robin and mocking-
bird, one summer rich in fruit and roses, one autumn
of gold and crimson sped by and left their gifts at
the feet of an eager, delighted child. Then, in the
dreary month of February, came the illness which
closed my eyes and ears and plunged me into the
unconsciousness of a new-born baby. They called
it acute congestion of the stomach and brain. The
doctor thought I could not live. Early one morning,
however, the fever left me as suddenly and mysteri-
ously as it had come. There was great rejoicing in
the family that morning, but no one, not even the
doctor, knew that I should never see or hear again.

I fancy I still have confused recollections of that
illness. I especially remember the tenderness with
which my mother tried to soothe me in my waking
hours of fret and pain, and the agony and bewilder-
ment with which I awoke after a tossing half sleep,
and turned my eyes, so dry and hot, to the wall,
away from the once-loved light, which came to me
dim and yet more dim each day. But, except for
these fleeting memories, if, indeed, they be memories,
it all seems very unreal, like a nightmare. Gradual}*

8 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

I got used to the silence and darkness that surrounded
me and forgot that it had ever been different, until
she came — my teacher — who was to set my spirit
free. But during the first nineteen months of my
life I had caught glimpses of broad, green fields,
a luminous sky, trees and flowers which the dark-
ness that followed could not wholly blot out. If
we have once seen, "the day is ours, and what the
day has shown."

CHAPTER II

/ cannot recall what happened during the first
tenths after my illness. I only know that I sat in
my mother's lap or clung to her dress as she went
about her household duties. My hands felt every
object and observed every motion, and in this way I
learned to know many things. Soon I felt the need
of some communication with others and began to
make crude signs. A shake of the head meant " No' '
and a nod, " Yes, " a pull meant " Come " and a push,
" Go. " Was it bread that I wanted ? Then I would
imitate the acts of cutting the slices and buttering
them. If I wanted my mother to make ice-cream
for dinner I made the sign for working the freezer
and shivered, indicating cold. My mother, more-
over, succeeded in making me understand a good
deal. I always knew when she wished me to bring
her something, and I would run upstairs or any-
where else she indicated. Indeed, I owe to her
loving wisdom all that was bright and good in my
long night.

I understood a good deal of what was going on
about me. At five I learned to fold and put away
the clean clothes when they were brought in from
the laundry, and I distinguished my own from the
rest. I knew by the way my mother and aunt
dressed when they were going out, and I invariably
begged to go with them. I was always sent for
when there was company, and when the guests took

io THE STORY OF MY LIFE

their leave, I waved my hand to them, I think with
a vague remembrance of the meaning of the gesture.
One day some gentlemen called on my mother, and
I felt the shutting of the front door and other sounds
that indicated their arrival. On a sudden thought
I ran upstairs before any one could stop me, to put
on my idea of a company dress. Standing before
the mirror, as I had seen others do, I anointed mine
head with oil and covered my face thickly with
powder. Then I pinned a veil over my head so
that it covered my face and fell in folds down to my
shoulders, and tied an enormous bustle round my
small waist, so that it dangled behind, almost
meeting the hem of my skirt. Thus attired I went
down to help entertain the company.

I do not remember when I first realized that I was
different from other people ; but I knew it before my
teacher came to me. I had noticed that my mother
and my friends did not use signs as I did when they
wanted anything done, but talked with their mouths.
Sometimes I stood between two persons who were
conversing and touched their lips. I could not
understand, and was vexed. I moved my lips and
gesticulated frantically without result. This made
me so angry at times that I kicked and screamed
until I was exhausted.

I think I knew when I was naughty, for I knew
that it hurt Ella, my nurse, to kick her, and when
my fit of temper was over I had a feeling akin to
regret. But I cannot remember any instance in
which this feeling prevented me from repeating
the naughtiness when I failed to get what I wanted.

In those days a little coloured girl, Martha Wash-
ington, the child of our cook, and Belle, an old setter

THE STORY OF MY LIFE

and a great hunter in her day, were my constant
companions. Martha Washington understood my
signs, and I seldom had any difficulty in making her
do just as I wished. It pleased me to domineer over
her, and she generally submitted to my tyranny
rather than risk a hand-to-hand encounter. I was
strong, active, indifferent to consequences. I knew
my own mind well enough and always had my own
way, even if I had to fight tooth and nail for it. We
spent a great deal of time in the kitchen, kneading
dough balls, helping make ice-cream, grinding coffee,
quarreling over the cake-bowl, and feeding the hens
and turkeys that swarmed about the kitchen steps.
Many of them were so tame that they would eat
from my hand and let me feel them. One big
gobbler snatched a tomato from me one day and
ran away with it. Inspired, perhaps, by Master
Gobbler's success, we carried off to the woodpile a
cake which the cook had just frosted, and ate every
bit of it. I was quite ill afterward, and I wonder
if retribution also overtook the turkey.

The guinea-fowl likes to hide her nest in out-of-
the-way places, and it was one of my greatest
delights to hunt for the eggs in the long grass. I
could not tell Martha Washington when I wanted
to go egg-hunting, but I would double my hands
and put them on the ground, which meant some-
thing round in the grass, and Martha always under-
stood. When we were fortunate enough to find a
nest I never allowed her to carry the eggs home,
making her understand by emphatic signs that she
might fall and break them.

The sheds where the corn was stored, the stable
where the horses were kept, and the yard where the

12 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

cows were milked morning and evening were unfail-
ing sources of interest to Martha and me. The
milkers would let me keep my hands on the cows
while they milked, and I often got well switched by
the cow for my curiosity.

The making ready for Christmas was always a
delight to me. Of course I did not know what it
was all about, but I enjoyed the pleasant odours
that filled the house and the tidbits that were given
to Martha Washington and me to keep us quiet.
We were sadly in the way, but that did not interfere
with our pleasure in the least. They allowed us to
grind the spices, pick over the raisins and lick the
stirring spoons. I hung my stocking because the
others did; I cannot remember, however, that the
ceremony interested me especially, nor did my
curiosity cause me to wake before daylight to look
for my gifts.

Martha Washington had as great a love of mischief
as I. Two little children were seated on the veranda
steps one hot July afternoon. One was black as
ebony, with little bunches of fuzzy hair tied with
shoestrings sticking out all over her head like cork-
screws. The other was white, with long golden
curls. One child was six years old, the other two or
three years older. The younger child was blind —
that was I— and the other was Martha Washington.
We were busy cutting out paper dolls ; but we soon
wearied of this amusement, and after cutting up
our shoestrings and clipping all the leaves off the
honeysuckle that were within reach, I turned my
attention to Martha's corkscrews. She objected at
first, but finally submitted. Thinking that turn
and turn about is fair play, she seized the scissors

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 13

and cut off one of my curls, and would have cut them
all off but for my mother's timely interference.

Belle, our dog, my other companion, was old and
lazy and liked to sleep by the open fire rather than
to romp with me. I tried hard to teach her my sign
language, but she was dull and inattentive. She
sometimes started and quivered with excitement,
then she became perfectly rigid, as dogs do when
they point a bird. I did not then know why
Belle acted in this way; but I knew she was not
doing as I wished. This vexed me and the lesson
always ended in a one-sided boxing match. Belle
would get up, stretch herself lazily, give one or two
contemptuous sniffs, go to the opposite side of the
hearth and lie down again, and I, wearied and
disappointed, went off in search of Martha.

Many incidents of those early years are fixed in
my memory, isolated, but clear and distinct, making
the sense of that silent, aimless, dayless life all the
more intense.

One day I happened to spill water on my apron,
and I spread it out to dry before the fire which was
flickering on the sitting-room hearth. The apron
did not dry quickly enough to suit me, so I drew
nearer and threw it right over the hot ashes. The
fire leaped into life ; the flames encircled me so that
in a moment my clothes were blazing. I made a
terrified noise that brought Viny, my old nurse,
to the rescue. Throwing a blanket over me, she
almost suffocated me, but she put out the fire.
Except for my hands and hair I was not badly
burned.

About this time I found out the use of a key.
One morning I locked my mother up in the pantry,

14 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

where she was obliged to remain three hours, as the

servants were in a detached part of the house. She
kept pounding on the door, while I sat outside on
the porch steps and laughed with glee as I felt the
jar of the pounding. This most naughty prank of
mine convinced my parents that I must be taught
as soon as possible. After my teacher, Miss Sullivan,
came to me, I sought an early opportunity to lock
her in her room. I went upstairs with something
which my mother made me understand I was to
give to Miss Sullivan ; but no sooner had I given it to
her than I slammed the door to, locked it, and hid
the key under the wardrobe in the hall. I could not
be induced to tell where the key was. My father
was obliged to get a ladder and take Miss Sullivan
out through the window — much to my delight.
Months after I produced the key.

When I was about five years old we moved from
the little vine-covered house to a large new one.
The family consisted of my father and mother, two
older half-brothers, and, afterward, a little sister,
Mildred. My earliest distinct recollection of my
father is making my way through great drifts
of newspapers to his side and finding him alone,
holding a sheet of paper before his face. I was
greatly puzzled to know what he was doing. I
imitated this action, even wearing his spectacles,
thinking they might help solve the mystery. But I
did not find out the secret for several years. Then
I learned what those papers were, and that my
father edited one of them.

My father was most loving and indulgent, devoted
to his home, seldom leaving us, except in the hunting
season. He was a great hunter, I have been told,

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 15

and a celebrated shot. Next to his family he loved
his dogs and gun. His hospitality was great, almost
to a fault, and he seldom came home without bring-
ing a guest. His special pride was the big garden
where, it was said, he raised the finest watermelons
and strawberries in the county ; and to me he brought
the first ripe grapes and the choicest berries. I
remember his caressing touch as he led me from tree
to tree, from vine to vine, and his eager delight in
whatever pleased me.

He was a famous story-teller ; after I had acquired
language he used to spell clumsily into my hand
his cleverest anecdotes, and nothing pleased him
more than to have me repeat them at an opportune
moment.

I was in the North, enjoying the last beautiful
days of the summer of 1896, when I heard the news of
my father's death. He had had a short illness, there
had been a brief time of acute suffering, then all was
over. This was my first great sorrow — my first
personal experience with death.

How shall I write of my mother ? She is so near
to me that it almost seems indelicate to speak of her.

For a long time I regarded my little sister as an
intruder. I knew that I had ceased to be my
mother's only darling, and the thought filled me with
jealousy. She sat in my mother's lap constantly,
where I used to sit, and seemed to take up all her
care and time. One day something happened which
seemed to me to be adding insult to injury.

At that time I had a much-petted, much-abused
doll, which I afterward named Nancy. She was,
alas, the helpless victim of my outbursts of temper
and of affection, so that she became much the won e

16 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

for wear. I had dolls which talked, and cried, and
opened and shut their eyes ; yet I never loved one of
them as I loved poor Nancy. She had a cradle, and
I often spent an hour or more rocking her. I
guarded both doll and cradle with the most jealous
care; but once I discovered my little sister sleeping
peacefully in the cradle. At this presumption on
the part of one to whom as yet no tie of love bound
me I grew angry. I rushed upon the cradle and
overturned it, and the baby might have been killed
had my mother not caught her as she fell. Thus it
is that when we walk in the valley of twofold solitude
we know little of the tender affections that grow out
of endearing words and actions and companionship.
But afterward, when I was restored to my human
heritage, Mildred and I grew into each other's hearts,
so that we were content to go hand-in-hand wherever
caprice led us, although she could not understand
my finger language, nor I her childish prattle.

CHAPTER III

Meanwhile the desire to express myself grew.
The few signs I used became less and less adequate,
and my failures to make myself understood were in-
variably followed by outbursts of passion. I felt as if
invisible hands were holding me, and I made frantic
efforts to free myself. I struggled — not that strug-
gling helped matters, but the spirit of resistance was
strong within me ; I generally broke down in tears and
physical exhaustion. If my mother happened to be
near I crept into her arms, too miserable even to
remember the cause of the tempest. After awhile
the need of some means of communication became
so urgent that these outbursts occurred daily, some-
times hourly.

My parents were deeply grieved and perplexed.
We lived a long way from any school for the blind
or the deaf, and it seemed unlikely that any one
would come to such an out-of-the-way place as
Tuscumbia to teach a child who was both deaf and
blind. Indeed, my friends and relatives sometimes
doubted whether I could be taught. My mother's
only ray of hope came from Dickens's "American
Notes." She had read his account of Laura Bridg-
man, and remembered vaguely that she was deaf
and blind, yet had been educated. But she also
remembered with a hopeless pang that Dr. Howe,
who had discovered the way to teach the deaf and
blind, had been dead many years. His methods had

1 8 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

probably died with him ; and if they had not, how
was a little girl in a far-off town in Alabama to receive
the benefit of them ?

When I was about six years old, my father heard
of an eminent oculist in Baltimore, who had been
successful in many cases that had seemed hopeless.
My parents at once determined to take me to
Baltimore to see if anything could be done for
my eyes.

The journey, which I remember well, was very
pleasant. I made friends with many people on the
train. One lady gave me a box of shells. My father
made holes in these so that I could string them, and
for a long time they kept me happy and contented.
The conductor, too, was kind. Often when he went
his rounds I clung to his coat tails while he collected
and punched the tickets. His punch, with which
he let me play, was a delightful toy. Curled up in
a corner of the seat I amused myself for hours
making funny little holes in bits of cardboard.

My aunt made me a big doll out of towels. It was
the most comical, shapeless thing, this improvised
doll, with no nose, mouth, ears or eyes — nothing
that even the imagination of a child could convert
into a face. Curiously enough, the absence of eyes
struck me more than all the other defects put
together. I pointed this out to everybody with
provoking persistency, but no one seemed equal to
the task of providing the doll with eyes. A bright
idea, however, shot into my mind, and the problem
was solved. I tumbled off the seat and searched
under it until I found my aunt's cape, which was
trimmed with large beads. I pulled two beads off
and indicated to her that I wanted her to sew them

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 19

on my doll. She raised my hand to her eyes in a
questioning way, and I nodded energetically. The
beads were sewed in the right place and I could not
contain myself for joy; but immediately I lost all
interest in the doll. During the whole trip I did not
have one fit of temper, there were so many things
to keep my mind and ringers busy.

When we arrived in Baltimore, Dr. Chisholm
received us kindly : but he could do nothing. He said;
however, that I could be educated, and advised my
father to consult Dr. Alexander Graham Bell, of
Washington, who would be able to give him infor-
mation about schools and teachers of deaf or blind
children. Acting on the doctor's advice, we went
immediately to Washington to see Dr. Bell, my
father with a sad heart and many misgivings, I
wholly unconscious of his anguish, finding pleasure
in the excitement of moving from place to place.
Child as I was, I at once felt the tenderness and
sympathy which endeared Dr. Bell to so many
hearts, as his wonderful achievements enlist their
admiration. He held me on his knee while
I examined his watch, and he made it strike
for me. He understood my signs, and I knew it
and loved him at once. But I did not dream that
that interview would be the door through which I
should pass from darkness into light, from isolation
to friendship, companionship, knowledge, love.

Dr. Bell advised my father to write to Mr.
Anagnos, director of the Perkins Institution in
Boston, the scene of Dr. Howe's great labours
for the blind, and ask him if he had a teacher com-
petent to begin my education. This my father did
at once, and in a few weeks there came a kind letter

2o THE STORY OF MY LIFE

from Mr. Anagnos with the comforting assurance
that a teacher had been found. This was in the
summer of 1886. But Miss Sullivan did not arrive
until the following March.

Thus I came up out of Egypt and stood before
Sinai, and a power divine touched my spirit and
gave it sight, so that I beheld many wonders. And
from the sacred mountain I heard a voice which
said, " Knowledge is love and light and vision. "

CHAPTER IV

The most important day I remember in all my
life is the one on which my teacher, Anne Mansfield
Sullivan, came to me. I am filled with wonder when
I consider the immeasurable contrast between the
two lives which it connects. It was the third of
March, 1887, three months before I was seven years
old.

On the afternoon of that eventful day, I stood
on the porch, dumb, expectant. I guessed vaguely
from my mother's signs and from the hurrying to and
fro in the house that something unusual was about
to happen, so I went to the door and waited on the
steps. The afternoon sun penetrated the mass of
honeysuckle that covered the porch, and fell on my
upturned face. My fingers lingered almost uncon-
sciously on the familiar leaves and blossoms which
had just come forth to greet the sweet southern
spring. I did not know what the future held of
marvel or surprise for me. Anger and bitterness
had preyed upon me continually for weeks and a
deep languor had succeeded this passionate struggle.

Have you ever been at sea in a dense fog, when it
seemed as if a tangible white darkness shut you in,
and the great ship, tense and anxious, groped her
way toward the shore with plummet and sounding-
line, and you waited with beating heart for some-
thing to happen? I was like that ship before my
education began, only I was without compass or

a2 THE STORY OP MY LIFE

sounding-line, and had no way of knowing how near
the harbour was. " Light ! give me light ! " was the
wordless cry of my soul, and the light of love shone
on me in that very hour.

I felt approaching footsteps. I stretched out my
hand as I supposed to my mother. Some one took
it, and I was caught up and held close in the arms of
her who had come to reveal all things to me, and,
more than all things else, to love me.

The morning after my teacher came she led me
into her room and gave me a doll. The little
blind children at the Perkins Institution, had sent
it and Laura Bridgman had dressed it ; but I did
not know this until afterward. When I had played
with it a little while, Miss Sullivan slowly spelled into
my hand the word "d-o-1-1. " I was at once inter-
ested in this finger play and tried to imitate it.
When I finally succeeded in making the letters
correctly I was flushed with childish pleasure and
pride. Running downstairs to my mother I held up
my hand and made the letters for doll. I did not
know that I was spelling a word or even that words
existed; I was simply making my fingers go in
monkey-like imitation. In the days that followed
I learned to spell in this uncomprehending way a
great many words, among them pin, hat, cup and
a few verbs like sit, stand and walk. But my
teacher had been with me several weeks before I
understood that everything has a name.

One day, while I was playing with my new doll,
Miss Sullivan put my big rag doll into my lap also,
spelled "d-o-1-1" and tried to make me understand
that "d-o-1-1" applied to both. Earlier in the day
we had had a tussle over the words "m-u-g" and

Photograph by Deane, i83r
HELEN KELLER AT THE AGE OF SEVEN

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 23

" w-a-t-e-r. " Miss Sullivan had tried to impress
it upon me that "m-u-g" is mug and that
"w-a-t-e-r" is water, but I persisted in confound-
ing the two. In despair she had dropped the
subject for the time, only to renew it at the first
opportunity. I became impatient at her repeated
attempts and, seizing the new doll, I dashed it upon
the floor. I was keenly delighted when I felt the
fragments of the broken doll at my feet. Neither
sorrow nor regret followed my passionate outburst.
I had not loved the doll. In the still, dark world in
which I lived there was no strong sentiment or
tenderness. I felt my teacher sweep the fragments
to one side of the hearth, and I had a sense of satis-
faction that the cause of my discomfort was removed.
She brought me my hat, and I knew I was going out
into the warm sunshine. This thought, if a wordless
sensation may be called a thought, made me hop
and skip with pleasure.

We walked down the path to the well-house,
attracted by the fragrance of the honeysuckle with
which it was covered. Some one was drawing water
and my teacher placed my hand under the spout.
As the cool stream gushed over one hand she spelled
into the other the word water, first slowly, then
rapidly. I stood still, my whole attention fixed
upon the motions of her fingers. Suddenly I felt a
misty consciousness as of something forgotten — a
thrill of returning thought; and somehow the
mystery of language was revealed to me. I knew
then that "w-a-t-e-r" meant the wonderful cool
something that was flowing over my hand. That
living word awakened my soul, gave it light, hope,
joy, set it free ! There were barriers still, it

24 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

is true, but barriers that could in time be swept
away.*

I left the well-house eager to learn. Everything
had a name, and each name gave birth to a new
thought. As we returned to the house every object
which I touched seemed to quiver with life. That
was because I saw everything with the strange, new
sight that had come to me. On entering the door
I remembered the doll I had broken. I felt my way
to the hearth and picked up the pieces. I tried
vainly to put them together. Then my eyes filled
with tears; for I realized what I had done, and for
the first time I felt repentance and sorrow.

I learned a great many new words that day. I do
not remember what they all were; but I do know
that mother, father, sister, teacher were among
them — words that were to make the world blos-
som for me, "like Aaron's rod, with flowers." It
would have been difficult to find a happier child than
I was as I lay in my crib at the close of that eventful
day and lived over the joys it had brought me, and
for the first time longed for a new day to come.

♦See Miss Sullivan's letter, page 316.

CHAPTER V

I recall many incidents of the summer of
1887 that followed my soul's sudden awaken-
ing. I did nothing but explore with my hands
and learn the name of every object that I touched ;
and the more I handled things and learned their
names and uses, the more joyous and confident
grew my sense of kinship with the rest of the world.

When the time of daisies and buttercups came
Miss Sullivan took me by the hand across the fields,
where men were preparing the earth for the seed, to
the banks of the Tennessee River, and there, sitting
on the warm grass, I had my first lessons in the
beneficence of nature. I learned how the sun and
the rain make to grow out of the ground every tree
that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, how
birds build their nests and live and thrive from land
to land, how the squirrel, the deer, the Hon and
every other creature finds food and shelter. As my
knowledge of things grew I felt more and more the
delight of the world I was in. Long before I learned
to do a sum in arithmetic or describe the shape of
the earth, Miss Sullivan had taught me to find
beauty in the fragrant woods, in every blade of grass,
and in the curves and dimples of my baby sister's
hand. She linked my earliest thoughts with nature,
and made me feel that " birds and flowers and I were
happy peers."

But about this time I had an experience which

26 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

taught me that nature is not always kind. One
day my teacher and I were returning from a long
ramble. The morning had been fine, but it was
growing warm and sultry when at last we turned our
faces homeward. Two or three times we stopped to
rest under a tree by the wayside. Our last halt was
under a wild cherry tree a short distance from the
house. The shade was grateful, and the tree was
so easy to climb that with my teacher's assistance
I was able to scramble to a seat in the branches. It
was so cool up in the tree that Miss Sullivan proposed
that we have our luncheon there. I promised to
keep still while she went to the house to fetch it.

Suddenly a change passed over the tree. All the
sun's warmth left the air. I knew the sky was
black, because all the heat, which meant light to
me, had died out of the atmosphere. A strange
odour came up from the earth. I knew it, it was the
odour that always precedes a thunderstorm, and a
nameless fear clutched at my heart. I felt abso-
lutely alone, cut off from my friends and the firm
earth. The immense, the unknown, enfolded me.
I remained still and expectant; a chilling terror
crept over me. I longed for my teacher's return;
but above all things I wanted to get down from
that tree.

There was a moment of sinister silence, then a
multitudinous stirring of the leaves. A shiver ran
through the tree, and the wind sent forth a blast that
would have knocked me off had I not clung to the
branch with might and main. The tree swayed and
strained. The small twigs snapped and fell about
me in showers. A wild impulse to jump seized me,
but terror held me fast. I crouched down in the

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 27

fork of the tree. The branches lashed about me. I
felt the intermittent jarring that came now and then,
as if something heavy had fallen and the shock had
traveled up till it reached the limb I sat on. It
worked my suspense up to the highest point, and
just as I was thinking the tree and I should fall
together, my teacher seized my hand and helped
me down. I clung to her, trembling with joy to feel
the earth under my feet once more. I had learned
a new lesson — that nature ' ' wages open war
against her children, and under softest touch hides
treacherous claws."

After this experience it was a long time before I
climbed another tree. The mere thought filled me
with terror. It was the sweet allurement of the
mimosa tree in full bloom that finally overcame my
fears. One beautiful spring morning when I was
alone in the summer-house, reading, I became
aware of a wonderful subtle fragrance in the air. I
started up and instinctively stretched out my hands.
It seemed as if the spirit of spring had passed through
the summer-house. " What is it ? " I asked, and the
next minute I recognized the odour of the mimosa
blossoms. I felt my way to the end of the garden,
knowing that the mimosa tree was near the fence,
at the turn of the path. Yes, there it was, all quiver-
ing in the warm sunshine, its blossom -laden branches
almost touching the long grass. Was there ever
anything so exquisitely beautiful in the world before !
Its delicate blossoms shrank from the slightest
earthly touch; it seemed as if a tree of paradise
had been transplanted to earth. I made my way
through a shower of petals to the great trunk and
for one minute stood irresolute ; then, putting my foot

28 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

in the broad space between the forked branches, I
pulled myself up into the tree. I had some difficulty
in holding on, for the branches were very large and
the bark hurt my hands. But I had a delicious
sense that I was doing something unusual and
wonderful, so I kept on climbing higher and higher,
until I reached a little seat which somebody had
built there so long ago that it had grown part of the
tree itself. I sat there for a long, long time, feeling
like a fairy on a rosy cloud. After that I spent many
happy hours in my tree of paradise, thinking fair
thoughts and dreaming bright dreams.

CHAPTER VI

I had now the key to all language, and I was
eager to learn to use it. Children who hear acquire
language without any particular effort; the words
that fall from others' lips they catch on the wing,
as it were, delightedly, while the little deaf child
must trap them by a slow and often painful process.
But whatever the process, the result is wonderful.
Gradually from naming an object we advance step
by step until we have traversed the vast distance
between our first stammered syllable and the sweep
of thought in a line of Shakespeare.

At first, when my teacher told me about a new
thing I asked very few questions. My ideas were
vague, and my vocabulary was inadequate; but as
my knowledge of things grew, and I learned more
and more words, my field of inquiry broadened,
and I would return again and again to the same
subject, eager for further information. Sometimes
a new word revived an image that some earlier
experience had engraved on my brain.

I remember the morning that I first asked the
meaning of the word, "love." This was before I
knew many words. I had found a few early violets
in the garden and brought them to my teacher.
She tried to kiss me ; but at that time I did not like
to have any one kiss me except my mother. Miss
Sullivan put her arm gently round me and spelled
into my hand, "I love Helen."

3o THE STORY OF MY LIFE

"What is love?" I asked.

She drew me closer to her and said, "It is here,"
pointing to my heart, whose beats I was conscious
of for the first time. Her words puzzled me very
much because I did not then understand anything
unless I touched it.

I smelt the violets in her hand and asked, half
in words, half in signs, a question which meant,
"Is love the sweetness of flowers?"

"No," said my teacher.

Again I thought. The warm sun was shining
on us.

"Is this not love?" I asked, pointing in the
direction from which the heat came, "Is this not
love?"

It seemed to me that there could be nothing more
beautiful than the sun, whose warmth makes all
things grow. But Miss Sullivan shook her head,
and I was greatly puzzled and disappointed. I
thought it strange that my teacher could not show
me love.

A day or two afterward I was stringing beads of
different sizes in symmetrical groups — two large
beads, three small ones, and so on. I had made
many mistakes, and Miss Sullivan had pointed
them out again and again with gentle patience.
Finally I noticed a very obvious error in the
sequence and for an instant I concentrated my atten-
tion on the lesson and tried to think how I should
have arranged the beads. Miss Sullivan touched
my forehead and spelled with decided emphasis,
"Think."

In a flash I knew that the word was the name of
the process that was going on in my head. Thiy

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 31

was my first conscious perception of an abstract
idea.

For a long time I was still — I was not thinking of
the beads in my lap, but trying to find a meaning
for "love" in the light of this new idea. The sun
had been under a cloud all day, and there had been
brief showers; but suddenly the sun broke forth in
all its southern splendour.

Again I asked my teacher, "Is this not love ?"

"Love is something like the clouds that were in
the sky before the sun came out," she replied.
Then in simpler words than these, which at that
time I could not have understood, she explained:
"You cannot touch the clouds, you know; but you
feel the rain and know how glad the flowers and the
thirsty earth are to have it after a hot day. You
cannot touch love either ; but you feel the sweetness
that it pours into everything. Without love you
would not be happy or want to play."

The beautiful truth burst upon my mind — I felt
that there were invisible lines stretched between
my spirit and the spirits of others.

From the beginning of my education Miss Sullivan
made it a practice to speak to me as she would speak
to any hearing child; the only difference was that
she spelled the sentences into my hand instead of
speaking them. If I did not know the words and
idioms necessary to express my thoughts she sup-
plied them, even suggesting conversation when
I was unable to keep up my end of the dialogue.

This process was continued for several years; for
the deaf child does not learn in a month, or even
in two or three years, the numberless idioms and
expressions used in the simplest daily intercourse.

32 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

The little hearing child learns these from constant
repetition and imitation. The conversation he
hears in his home stimulates his mind and suggests
topics and calls forth the spontaneous expression of
his own thoughts. This natural exchange of ideas is
denied to the deaf child. My teacher, realizing this,
determined to supply the kinds of stimulus I lacked.
This she did by repeating to me as far as possible,
verbatim, what she heard, and by showing me how
I could take part in the conversation. But it was a
long time before I ventured to take the initiative,
and still longer before I could find somethmg
appropriate to say at the right time.

The deaf and the blind find it very difficult to
acquire the amenities of conversation. How much
more this difficulty must be augmented in the case of
those who are both deaf and blind ! They cannot
distinguish the tone of the voice or, without assist-
ance, go up and down the gamut of tones that
give significance to words; nor can they watch
the expression of the speaker's face, and a look is
often the very soul of what one says.

p
<

CHAPTER VII

The next important step in my education was
learning to read.

As soon as I could spell a few words my teacher
gave me slips of cardboard on which were printed
words in raised letters. I quickly learned that each
printed word stood for an object, an act, or a quality.
I had a frame in which I could arrange the words
in little sentences; but before I ever put sentences
in the frame I used to make them in objects. I
found the slips of paper which represented, for
example, "doll," "is," "on," "bed" and placed
each name on its object ; then I put my doll on the
bed with the words is, on, bed arranged beside the
doll, thus making a sentence of the words, and at
the same time carrying out the idea of the sentence
with the things themselves.

One day, Miss Sullivan tells me, I pinned the word
girl on my pinafore and stood in the wardrobe.
On the shelf I arranged the words, is, in,
wardrobe. Nothing delighted me so much as
this game. My teacher and I played it for hours
at a time. Often everything in the room was
arranged in object sentences.

From the printed slip it was but a step to the
printed book. I took my "Reader for Beginners"
and hunted for the words I knew; when I found
them my joy was like that of a game of hide-
and-seek. Thus I began to read. Of the time

34 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

when I began to read connected stories I shall
speak later.

For a long time I had no regular lessons. Even
when I studied most earnestly it seemed more
like play than work. Everything Miss Sullivan
taught me she illustrated by a beautiful story or a
poem. Whenever anything delighted or interested
me she talked it over with me just as if she were a
little girl herself. What many children think of
with dread, as a painful plodding through grammar,
hard sums and harder definitions, is to-day one of
my most precious memories.

I cannot explain the peculiar sympathy Miss
Sullivan had with my pleasures and desires. Perhaps
it was the result of long association with the
blind. Added to this she had a wonderful faculty
for description. She went quickly over uninterest-
ing details, and never nagged me with questions
to see if I remembered the day-before-yesterday's
lesson. She introduced dry technicalities of science
little by little, making every subject so real that I
could not help remembering what she taught.

We read and studied out of doors, preferring the
sunlit woods to the house. All my early lessons have
in them the breath of the woods — the fine, resinous
odour of pine needles, blended with the perfume of
wild grapes. Seated in the gracious shade of a wild
tulip tree, I learned to think that everything has a
lesson and a suggestion. "The loveliness of things
taught me all their use." Indeed, everything that
could hum, or buzz, or sing, or bloom, had a part in
my education — noisy-throated frogs, katydids and
crickets held in my hand until, forgetting their
embarrassment, they trilled their reedy note, little

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 35

'lorvny chickens and wildflowers, the dogwood
blossoms, meadow-violets and budding fruit trees.
I felt the bursting cotton-bolls and fingered their soft
fiber and fuzzy seeds ; I felt the low soughing of the
wind through the cornstalks, the silky rustling of
the long leaves, and the indignant snort of my pony,
as we caught him in the pasture and put the bit in
his mouth — ah me ! how well I remember the spicy,
clovery smell of his breath !

Sometimes I rose at dawn and stole into the
garden while the heavy dew lay on the grass and
flowers Few know what joy it is to feel the roses
pressing softly into the hand, or the beautiful motion
of the lilies as they sway in the morning breeze.
Sometimes I caught an insect in the flower I was
plucking, and I felt the faint noise of a pair of wings
rubbed together in a sudden terror, as the little
creature became aware of a pressure from without.

Another favourite haunt of mine was the orchard,
where the fruit ripened early in July. The large,
downy peaches would reach themselves into my
hand, and as the joyous breezes flew about the trees
the apples tumbled at my feet. Oh, the delight
with which I gathered up the fruit in my pinafore,
pressed my face against the smooth cheeks of the
apples, still warm from the sun, and skipped back
to the house !

Our favourite walk was to Keller's Landing, an old
tumble-down lumber-wharf on the Tennessee River,
used during the Civil War to land soldiers. There
we spent many happy hours and played at learning
geography. I built dams of pebbles, made islands
and lakes, and dug river-beds, all for fun, and never
dreamed that I was learning a lesson. I listened

36 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

with increasing wonder to Miss Sullivan's descrip-
tions of the great round world with its burning
mountains, buried cities, moving rivers of ice, and
many other things as strange. She made raised
maps in clay, so that I could feel the mountain
ridges and valleys, and follow with my fingers the
devious course of rivers. I liked this, too ; but the
division of the earth into zones and poles confused
and teased my mind. The illustrative strings and
the orange stick representing the poles seemed so
real that even to this day the mere mention of
temperate zone suggests a series of twine circles ;
and I believe that if any one should set about it
he could convince me that white bears actually
climb the North Pole.

Arithmetic seems to have been the only study I
did not like. From the first I was not interested
in the science of numbers. Miss Sullivan tried to
teach me to count by stringing beads in groups, and
by arranging kintergarten straws I learned to add
and subtract. I never had patience to arrange
more than five or six groups at a time. When I
had accomplished this my conscience was at rest
for the day, and I went out quickly to find my
playmates.

In this same leisurely manner I studied zoology
and botany.

Once a gentleman, whose name I have forgotten,
sent me a collection of fossils — tiny mollusk shells
beautifully marked, and bits of sandstone with the
print of birds' claws, and a lovely fern in bas-relief.
These were the keys which unlocked the treasures
of the antediluvian world for me. With trembling
fingers I listened to Miss Sullivan's descriptions of

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 37

the terrible beasts, with uncouth, unpronounceable
names, which once went tramping through the
primeval forests, tearing down the branches of
gigantic trees for food, and died in the dismal
swamps of an unknown age. For a long time these
strange creatures haunted my dreams, and this
gloomy period formed a somber background to
the joyous Now, filled with sunshine and roses
and echoing with the gentle beat of my pony's
hoof.

Another time a beautiful shell was given me, and
with a child's surprise and delight I learned how a
tiny mollusk had built the lustrous coil for his dwell-
ing place, and how on still nights, when there is no
breeze stirring the waves, the Nautilus sails on the
blue waters of the Indian Ocean in his "ship of
pearl." After I had learned a great many interest-
ing things about the life and habits of the children
of the sea— how in the midst of dashing waves the
little polyps build the beautiful coral isles of the
Pacific, and the foraminifera have made the chalk-
hills of many a land — my teacher read me "The
Chambered Nautilus," and showed me that the
shell-building process of the mollusks is symbolical
of the development of the mind. Just as the wonder,
working mantle of the Nautilus changes the material
it absorbs from the water and makes it a part of
itself, so the bits of knowledge one gathers
undergo a similar change and become pearls of
thought.

Again, it was the growth of a plant that furnished
the text for a lesson. We bought a lily and set it in
a sunny window. Very soon the green, pointed buds
showed signs of opening. The slender, fingerlike

38 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

leaves on the outside opened slowly, reluctant, I
thought, to reveal the loveliness they hid; once
having made a start, however, the opening process
went on rapidly, but in order and systematically.
There was always one bud larger and more beau-
tiful than the rest, which pushed her outer covering
back with more pomp, as if the beauty in soft, silky
robes knew that she was the lily-queen by right
divine, while her more timid sisters doffed their
green hoods shyly, until the whole plant was one
nodding bough of loveliness and fragrance.

Once there were eleven tadpoles in a glass globe
set in a window full of plants. I remember the
eagerness with which I made discoveries about them.
It was great fun to plunge my hand into the bowl
and feel the tadpoles frisk about, and to let them
slip and slide between my fingers. One day a more
ambitious fellow leaped beyond the edge of the bowl
and fell on the floor, where I found him to all
appearance more dead than alive. The only sign of
life was a slight wriggling of his tail. But no sooner
had he returned to his element than he darted to
the bottom, swimming round and round in joyous
activity. He had made his leap, he had seen the
great world, and was content to stay in his pretty
glass house under the big fuchsia tree until he
attained the dignity of froghood. Then he went to
live in the leafy pool at the end of the garden,
where he made the summer nights musical with his
quaint love-song.

Thus I learned from life itself. At the beginning
I was only a little mass of possibilities. It was my
teacher who unfolded and developed them. When
she came, everything about me breathed of love and

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 39

joy and was full of meaning. She has never since
let pass an opportunity to point out the beauty that
is in everything, nor has she ceased trying in thought
and action and example to make my life sweet and
useful.

It was my teacher's genius, her quick sympathy,
her loving tact which made the first years of my
education so beautiful. It was because she seized
the right moment to impart knowledge that made
it so pleasant and acceptable to me. She realized
that a child's mind is like a shallow brook which
ripples and dances merrily over the stony course of
its education and reflects here a flower, there a
bush, yonder a fleecy cloud; and she attempted to
guide my mind on its way, knowing that like a
brook it should be fed by mountain streams and
hidden springs, until it broadened out into a deep
river, capable of reflecting in its placid surface,
billowy hills, the luminous shadows of trees and
the blue heavens, as well as the sweet face of a
little flower.

Any teacher can take a child to the classroom,
but not every teacher can make him learn. He
will not work joyously unless he feels that liberty is
his, whether he is busy or at rest ; he must feel the
flush of victory and the heart-sinking of disappoint-
ment before he takes with a will the tasks distasteful
to him and resolves to dance his way bravely through
a dull routine of textbooks.

My teacher is so near to me that I scarcely think
of myself apart from her. How much of my delight
in all beautiful things is innate, and how much is
due to her influence, I can never tell. I feel that
her being is inseparable from my <~>wn, and that

4o THE STORY OF MY LIFE

the footsteps of my life are in hers. All the best
of me belongs to her — there is not a talent, or an
aspiration or a joy in me that has not been awakened
by her loving touch.

CHAPTER VIII

The first Christmas after Miss Sullivan came to
Tuscumbia was a great event. Every one in the
family prepared surprises for me; but what pleased
me most, Miss Sullivan and I prepared surprises for
everybody else. The mystery that surrounded the
gifts was my greatest delight and amusement. My
friends did all they could to excite my curiosity by
hints and half-spelled sentences which they pre-
tended to break off in the nick of time. Miss Sullivan
and I kept up a game of guessing which taught me
more about the use of language than any set lessons
could have done. Every evening, seated round a
glowing wood fire, we played our guessing game,
which grew more and more exciting as Christmas
approached.

On Christmas Eve the Tuscumbia schoolchildren
had their tree, to which they invited me. In the
centre of the schoolroom stood a beautiful tree
ablaze and shimmering in the soft light, its branches
loaded with strange, wonderful fruit. It was a
moment of supreme happiness. I danced and
capered round the tree in an ecstasy. When I
learned that there was a gift for each child, I was
delighted, and the kind people who had prepared
the tree permitted me to hand the presents to the
children. In the pleasure of doing this, I did not
stop to look at my own gifts ; but when I was ready
for them, my impatience for the real Christmas to
begin almost got beyond control. I knew the gifts

42 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

I already had were not those of which friends had
thrown out such tantalizing hints, and my teacher
said the presents I was to have would be even nicer
than these. I was persuaded, however, to content
myself with the gifts from the tree and leave the
others until morning.

That night, after I had hung my stocking, I
lay awake a long time, pretending to be asleep
and keeping alert to see what Santa Claus would
do when he came. At last I fell asleep with a
new doll and a white bear in my arms. Next morn-
ing it was I who waked the whole family with
my first "Merry Christmas !" I found surprises,
not in the stocking only, but on the table, on all the
chairs, at the door, on the very window-sill ; indeed,
I could hardly walk without stumbling on a bit of
Christmas wrapped up in tissue paper. But when
my teacher presented me with a canary, my cup of
happiness overflowed.

Little Tim was so tame that he would hop on
my finger and eat candied cherries out of my hand.
Miss Sullivan taught me to take all the care of my
new pet. Every morning after breakfast I prepared
his bath, made his cage clean and sweet, filled his
cups with fresh seed and water from the well-house,
and hung a spray of chickweed in his swing.

One morning I left the cage on the window-seat
while I went to fetch water for his bath. When
I returned I felt a big cat brush past me as I opened
the door. At first I did not realize what had hap-
pened; but when I put my hand in the cage and
Tim's pretty wings did not meet my touch or his
small pointed claws take hold of my finger, I knew
that I should never see my sweet little singer again.

CHAPTER IX

The next important event in my life was my visit
to Boston, in May, 1888. As if it were yesterday I
remember the preparations, the departure with my
teacher and my mother, the journey, and finally the
arrival in Boston. How different this journey was
from the one I had made to Baltimore two years
before ! I was no longer a restless, excitable little
creature, requiring the attention of everybody on the
train to keep me amused. I sat quietly beside Miss
Sullivan, taking in with eager interest all that she
told me about what she saw out of the car window :
the beautiful Tennessee River, the great cotton-
fields, the hills and woods, and the crowds of laughing
negroes at the stations, who waved to the people on
the train and brought delicious candy and popcorn
balls through the car. On the seat opposite me sat
my big rag doll, Nancy, in a new gingham dress
and a beruffled sunbonnet, looking at me out of two
bead eyes. Sometimes, when I was not absorbed
in Miss Sullivan's descriptions, I remembered
Nancy's existence and took her up in my arms, but
I generally calmed my conscience by making myself
believe that she was asleep.

As I shall not have occasion to refer to Nancy
again, I wish to tell here a sad experience she had
soon after our arrival in Boston. She was covered
with dirt — the remains of mud pies I had com-
pelled her to eat, although she had never shown

44 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

any special liking for them. The laundress at the
Perkins Institution secretly carried her off to give
her a bath. This was too much for poor Nancy.
When I next saw her she was a formless heap of
cotton, which I should not have recognized at all
except for the two bead eyes which looked out at me
reproachfully.

When the train at last pulled into the station at
Boston it was as if a beautiful fairy tale had come
true. The "once upon a time" was now; the "far-
away country" was here.

We had scarcely arrived at the Perkins Institution
for the Blind when I began to make friends with the
little blind children. It delighted me inexpressibly
to find that they knew the manual alphabet. What
joy to talk with other children in my own language )
Until then I had been like a foreigner speaking
through an interpreter. In the school where Laura
Bridgman was taught I was in my own country. It
took me some time to appreciate the fact that my
new friends were blind. I knew I could not see;
but it did not seem possible that all the eager, loving
children who gathered round me and joined heartily
in my frolics were also blind. I remember the sur-
prise and the pain I felt as I noticed that they placed
their hands over mine when I talked to them and
that they read books with their fingers. Although
I had been told this before, and although I under-
stood my own deprivations, yet I had thought
vaguely that since they could hear, they must
have a sort of "second sight," and I was not
prepared to find one child and another and yet
another deprived of the same precious gift.
But they were so happy and contented that 1 lost

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 45

all sense of pain in the pleasure of their com-
panionship.

One day spent with the blind children made me
feel thoroughly at home in my new environment,
and I looked eagerly from one pleasant experience
to another as the days flew swiftly by. I could not
quite convince myself that there was much world
left, for I regarded Boston as the beginning and the
end of creation.

While we were in Boston we visited Bunker
Hill, and there I had my first lesson in
history. The story of the brave men who had
fought on the spot where we stood excited me
greatly. I climbed the monument, counting
the steps, and wondering as I went higher and
yet higher if the soldiers had climbed this great
stairway and shot at the enemy on the ground
below.

The next day we went to Plymouth by water.
This was my first trip on the ocean and my first
voyage in a steamboat. How full of life and
motion it was ! But the rumble of the machinery
made me think it was thundering, and I began to
cry, because I feared if it rained we should not be
able to have our picnic out of doors. I was more
interested, I think, in the great rock on which the
Pilgrims landed than in anything else in Plymouth.
I could touch it, and perhaps that made the coming
of the Pilgrims and their toils and great deeds seem
more real to me. I have often held in my hand a
little model of the Plymouth Rock which a kind
gentleman gave me at Pilgrim Hall, and I have
fingered its curves, the split in the centre and the
embossed figures "1620," and turned over in my

46 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

mind all that I knew about the wonderful story
of the Pilgrims.

How my childish imagination glowed with the
splendour of their enterprise ! I idealized them as
the bravest and most generous men that ever sought
a home in a strange land. I thought they desired
the freedom of their fellow men as well as their own.
I was keenly surprised and disappointed years later
to learn of their acts of persecution that make us
tingle with shame, even while we glory in the courage
and energy that gave us our "Country Beautiful."

Among the many friends I made in Boston were
Mr. William Endicott and his daughter. Their
kindness to me was the seed from which many
pleasant memories have since grown. One day we
visited their beautiful home at Beverly Farms.
I remember with delight how I went through their
rose-garden, how their dogs, big Leo and little
curly-haired Fritz with long ears, came to meet me,
and how Nimrod, the swiftest of the horses, poked
his nose into my hands for a pat and a lump of
sugar. I also remember the beach, where for the
first time I played in the sand. It was hard, smooth
sand, very different from the loose, sharp sand,
mingled with kelp and shells, at Brewster. Mr.
Endicott told me about the great ships that came
sailing by from Boston, bound for Europe. I saw
him many times after that, and he was always a
good friend to me; indeed, I was thinking of him
when I called Boston "the City of Kind Hearts."

CHAPTER X

Just before the Perkins Institution closed for the
summer, it was arranged that my teacher and I
should spend our vacation at Brewster, on Cape
Cod, with our dear friend, Mrs. Hopkins. I was
delighted, for my mind was full of the prospective
joys and of the wonderful stories I had heard about
the sea.

My most vivid recollection of that summer is the
ocean. I had always lived far inland and had never
had so much as a whirl of salt air ; but I had read in a
big book called "Our World" a description of the
ocean which filled me with wonder and an intense
longing to touch the mighty sea and feel it roar.
So my little heart leaped high with eager excitement
when I knew that my wish was at last to be realized.

No sooner had I been helped into my bathing-suit
than I sprang out upon the warm sand and without
thought of fear plunged into the cool water. I felt
the great billows rock and sink. The buoyant
motion of the water filled me with an exquisite,
quivering joy. Suddenly my ecstasy gave place to
terror; for my foot struck against a rock and the
next instant there was a rush of water over my head.
I thrust out my hands to grasp some support, I
clutched at the water and at the seaweed which
the waves tossed in my face. But all my frantic
efforts were in vain. The waves seemed to be
playing a game with me, and tossed me from one to

48 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

another in their wild frolic. It was fearful ! The
good, firm earth had slipped from my feet, and
everything seemed shut out from this strange,
all-enveloping element — life, air, warmth and love.
At last, however, the sea, as if weary of its new toy,
threw me back on the shore, and in another instant I
was clasped in my teacher's arms. Oh, the comfort
of the long, tender embrace ! As soon as I had
recovered from my panic sufficiently to say anything,
I demanded: "Who put salt in the water?"

After I had recovered from my first experience
in the water, I thought it great fun to sit on a big
rock in my bathing-suit and feel wave after wave
dash against the rock, sending up a shower of spray
which quite covered me. I felt the pebbles rattling
as the waves threw their ponderous weight against
the shore; the whole beach seemed racked by their
terrific onset, and the air throbbed with their pulsa-
tions. The breakers would swoop back to gather
themselves for a mightier leap, and I clung to the
rock, tense, fascinated, as I felt the dash and roar of
the rushing sea !

I could never stay long enough on the shore. The
tang of the untainted, fresh and free sea air was like
a cool, quieting thought, and the shells and pebbles
and the seaweed with tiny living creatures attached
to it never lost their fascination for me. One day
Miss Sullivan attracted my attention to a strange
object which she had captured basking in the shallow
water. It was a great horseshoe crab — the first one
I had ever seen. I felt of him and thought it very
strange that he should carry his house on his back.
It suddenly occurred to me that he might make a
delightful pet ; so I seized him by the tail with both

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 49

hands and carried him home. This feat pleased me
highly, as his body was very heavy, and it took all
my strength to drag him half a mile. I would not
leave Miss Sullivan in peace until she had put the
crab in a trough near the well where I was confident
he would be secure. But next morning I went to
the trough, and lo, he had disappeared ! Nobody
knew where he had gone, or how he had escaped.
My disappointment was bitter at the time ; but little
by little I came to realize that it was not kind or
wise to force this poor dumb creature out of his
element, and after awhile I felt happy in the thought
that perhaps he had returned to the sea.

CHAPTER XI

In the autumn I returned to my Southern home
with a heart full of joyous memories. As I recall
that visit North I am filled, with wonder at the
richness and variety of the experiences that cluster
about it. It seems to have been the beginning of
everything. The treasures of a new, beautiful world
were laid at my feet, and I took in pleasure and infor-
mation at every turn. I lived myself into all things.
I was never still a moment; my life was as full of
motion as those little insects that crowd a whole
existence into one brief day. I met many people
who talked with me by spelling into my hand, and
thought in joyous sympathy leaped up to meet
thought, and behold, a miracle had been wrought !
The barren places between my mind and the minds
of others blossomed like the rose.

I spent the autumn months with my family at our
summer cottage, on a mountain about fourteen miles
from Tuscumbia. It was called Fern Quarry,
because near it there was a limestone quarry, long
since abandoned. Three frolicsome little streams
ran through it from springs in the rocks above, leap-
ing here and tumbling there in laughing cascades
wherever the rocks tried to bar their way. The
opening was filled with ferns which completely
covered the beds of limestone and in places hid the
streams. The rest of the mountain was thickly
wooded. Here were great oaks and splendid ever

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 51

greens with trunks like mossy pillars, from the
branches of which hung garlands of ivy and mistletoe,
and persimmon trees, the odour of which pervaded
every nook and corner of the wood — an 'illusive,
fragrant something that made the heart glad. In
places the wild muscadine and scuppernong vines
stretched from tree to tree, making arbours which
were always full of butterflies and buzzing insects.
It was delightful to lose ourselves in the green
hollows of that tangled wood in the late afternoon,
and to smell the cool, delicious odours that came
up from the earth at the close of day.

Our cottage was a sort of rough camp, beautifully
situated on the top of the mountain among oaks
and pines. The small rooms were arranged on
each side of a long open hall. Round the house
was a wide piazza, where the mountain winds blew,
sweet with all wood-scents. We lived on the piazza
most of the time — there we worked, ate and played.
At the back door there was a great butternut tree,
round which the steps had been built, and in front
the trees stood so close that I could touch them and
feel the wind shake their branches, or the leaves twirl
downward in the autumn blast.

Many visitors came to Fern Quarry. In the
evening, by the campfire, the men played cards and
whiled away the hours in talk and sport. They told
stories of their wonderful feats with fowl, fish and
quadruped — how many wild ducks and turkeys they
had shot, what " savage trout " they had caught, and
how they had bagged the craftiest foxes, outwitted
the most clever 'possums and overtaken the fleetest
deer, until I thought that surely the lion, the tiger,
the bear and the rest of the wild tribe would not be

AMERICAN FOUNDATION FOR THE BLIND
15 WEST 16thSiK£ET
NEW YORK, NY 10311

52 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

able to stand before these wily hunters. ' ' To-morrow
to the chase!" was their good-night shout as the
circle of merry friends broke up for the night. The
men slept in the hall outside our door, and I could
feel the deep breathing of the dogs and the hunters
as they lay on their improvised beds.

At dawn I was awakened by the smell of coffee,
the rattling of guns, and the heavy footsteps of the
men as they strode about, promising themselves the
greatest luck of the season. I could also feel the
stamping of the horses, which they had ridden out
from town and hitched under the trees, where they
stood all night, neighing loudly, impatient to be
off. At last the men mounted, and, as they say in
the old songs, away went the steeds with bridles
ringing and whips cracking and hounds racing
ahead, and away went the champion hunters "with
hark and whoop and wild halloo !"

Later in the morning we made preparations for a
barbecue. A fire was kindled at the bottom of a
deep hole in the ground, big sticks were laid cross-
wise at the top, and meat was hung from them and
turned on spits. Around the fire squatted negroes,
driving away the flies with long branches. The
savoury odour of the meat made me hungry long
before the tables were set.

When the bustle and excitement of preparation
was at its height, the hunting party made its appear-
ance, struggling in by twos and threes, the men hot
and weary, the horses covered with foam, and the
jaded hounds panting and dejected — and not a
single kill ! Every man declared that he had seen
at least one deer, and that the animal had come very
close ; but however hotly the dogs might pursue the

THE STORY OP MY LIFE 53

game, however well the guns might be aimed, at the
snap of the trigger there was not a deer in sight.
They had been as fortunate as the little boy who
said he came very near seeing a rabbit — he saw his
tracks. The party soon forgot its disappointment,
however, and we sat down, not to venison, but to a
tamer feast of veal and roast pig.

One summer I had my pony at Fern Quarry. I
called him Black Beauty, as I had just read the book,
and he resembled his namesake in every way, from
his glossy black coat to the white star on his fore-
head. I spent many of my happiest hours on his
back. Occasionally, when it was quite safe, my
teacher would let go the leading-rein, and the pony
sauntered on or stopped at his sweet will to eat grass
or nibble the leaves of the trees that grew beside the
narrow trail.

On mornings when I did not care for the ride, my
teacher and I would start after breakfast for a ramble
in the woods, and allow ourselves to get lost amid
the trees and vines, with no road to follow except
the paths made by cows and horses. Frequently
we came upon impassable thickets which forced us
to take a roundabout way. We always returned to
the cottage with armfuls of laurel, goldenrod, ferns
and gorgeous swamp-flowers such as grow only in
the South.

Sometimes I would go with Mildred and my little
cousins to gather persimmons. I did not eat them;
but I loved their fragrance and enjoyed hunting
for them in the leaves and grass. We also went
nutting, and I helped them open the chestnut burrs
and break the shells of hickory-nuts and walnuts
— the big, sweet walnuts !

54 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

At the foot of the mountain there was a railroad,
and the children watched the trains whiz by.
Sometimes a terrific whistle brought us to the steps,
and Mildred told me in great excitement that a cow
or a horse had strayed on the track. About a mile
distant there was a trestle spanning a deep gorge.
It was very difficult to walk over, the ties were wide
apart and so narrow that one felt as if one were
walking on knives. I had never crossed it until
one day Mildred, Miss Sullivan and I were lost in
the woods, and wandered for hours without finding
a path.

Suddenly Mildred pointed with her little hand and
exclaimed, " There's the trestle !" We would have
taken any way rather than this ; but it was late and
growing dark, and the trestle was a short cut home.
I had to feel for the rails with my toe ; but I was not
afraid, and got on very well, until all at once there
came a faint "puff, puff" from the distance.

"I see the train!" cried Mildred, and in another
minute it would have been upon us had we not
climbed down on the crossbraces while it rushed over
our heads. I felt the hot breath from the engine
on my face, and the smoke and ashes almost choked
us. As the train rumbled by, the trestle shook and
swayed until I thought we should be dashed to the
chasm below. With the utmost difficulty we
regained the track. Long after dark we reached
home and found the cottage empty ; the family were
all out hunting for us.

CHAPTER XII

After my first visit to Boston, I spent almost
every winter in the North. Once I went on a visit
to a New England village with its frozen lakes and
vast snow fields. It was then that I had oppor-
tunities such as had never been mine to enter into
the treasures of the snow.

I recall my surprise on discovering that a mys-
terious hand had stripped the trees and bushes,
leaving only here and there a wrinkled leaf. The
birds had flown, and their empty nests in the bare
trees were filled with snow. Winter was on hill
and field. The earth seemed benumbed by his icy
touch, and the very spirits of the trees had with-
drawn to their roots, and there, curled up in the
dark, lay fast asleep. All life seemed to have ebbed
away, and even when the sun shone the day was

Shrunk and cold,
As if her veins were sapless and old,
And she rose up decrepitly
For a last dim look at earth and sea.

The withered grass and the bushes were transformed
into a forest of icicles.

Then came a day when the chill air portended
a snowstorm. We rushed out-of-doors to feel the
first few tiny flakes descending. Hour by hour
the flakes dropped silently, softly from their airy
height to the earth, and the country became more
and more level. A snowy night closed upon the

56 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

world, and in the morning one could scarcely recog-
nize a feature of the landscape. All the roads were
hidden, not a single landmark was visible, only a
waste of snow with trees rising out of it.

In the evening a wind from the northeast sprang
up, and the flakes rushed hither and thither in
furious melee. Around the great fire we sat and
told merry tales, and frolicked, and quite forgot that
we were in the midst of a desolate solitude, shut in
from all communication with the outside world.
But during the night the fury of the wind increased
to such a degree that it thrilled us with a vague
terror. The rafters creaked and strained, and the
branches of the trees surrounding the house rattled
and beat against the windows, as the winds rioted up
and down the country.

On the third day after the beginning of the storm
the snow ceased. The sun broke through the clouds
and shone upon a vast, undulating white plain.
High mounds, pyramids heaped in fantastic shapes,
and impenetrable drifts lay scatttered in every
direction.

Narrow paths were shoveled through the drifts.
I put on my cloak and hood and went out. The
air stung my cheeks like fire. Half walking in the
paths, half working our way through the lesser
drifts, we succeeded in reaching a pine grove just
outside a broad pasture. The trees stood motion-
less and white like figures in a marble frieze. There
was no odour of pine-needles. The rays of the sun
fell upon the trees, so that the twigs sparkled like
diamonds and dropped in showers when we touched
them. So dazzling was the light, it penetrated even
the darkness that veils my eyes.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 57

As the days wore on, the drifts gradually shrunk,
but before they were wholly gone another storm
came, so that I scarcely felt the earth under my
feet once all winter. At intervals the trees lost their
icy covering, and the bulrushes and underbrush
were bare ; but the lake lay frozen and hard beneath
the sun.

Our favourite amusement during that winter was
tobogganing. In places the shore of the lake rises
abruptly from the water's edge. Down these steep
slopes we used to coast. We would get on our
toboggan, a boy would give us a shove, and off we
went ! Plunging through drifts, leaping hollows,
swooping down upon the lake, we would shoot across
its gleaming surface to the opposite bank. What
joy ! What exhilarating madness ! For one wild,
glad moment we snapped the chain that binds us to
earth, and joining hands with the winds we felt
ourselves divine I

CHAPTER XIII

It was in the spring of 1890 that I learned to
speak.* The impulse to utter audible sounds had
always been strong within me. I used to make
noises, keeping one hand on my throat while the
other hand felt the movements of my lips. I was
pleased with anything that made a noise and liked
to feel the cat purr and the dog bark. I also liked
to keep my hand on a singer's throat, or on a piano
when it was being played. Before I lost my sight
and hearing, I was fast learning to talk, but after
my illness it was found that I had ceased to speak
because I could not hear. I used to sit in my
mother's lap all day long and keep my hands on her
face because it amused me to feel the motions of her
lips; and I moved my lips, too, although I had for-
gotten what talking was. My friends say that I
laughed and cried naturally, and for awhile I made
many sounds and word-elements, not because they
were a means of communication, but because the
need of exercising my vocal organs was imperative.
There was, however, one word the meaning of
which I still remembered, water. I pronounced
it "wa-wa." Even this became less and less
intelligible until the time when Miss Sullivan
began to teach me. I stopped using it only after
I had learned to spell the word on my fingers.

I had known for a long time that the people about

*For Miss Sullivan's account see page 386.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 59

me used a method of communication different from
mine ; and even before I knew that a deaf child could
be taught to speak, I was conscious of dissatisfac-
tion with the means of communication I already
possessed. One who is entirely dependent upon the
manual alphabet has always a sense of restraint, of
narrowness. This feeling began to agitate me with
a vexing, forward-reaching sense of a lack that
should be filled. My thoughts would often rise and
beat up like birds against the wind ; and I persisted
in using my lips and voice. Friends tried to dis-
courage this tendency, fearing lest it would lead
to disappointment. But I persisted, and an acci-
dent soon occurred which resulted in the breaking
down of this great barrier — I heard the story of
Ragnhild Kaata.

In 1890 Mrs. Lamson, who had been one of
Laura Bridgman's teachers, and who had just
returned from a visit to Norway and Sweden, -came
to see me, and told me of Ragnhild Kaata, a deaf
and blind girl in Norway who had actually been
taught to speak. Mrs. Lamson had scarcely
finished telling me about this girl's success before
I was on fire with eagerness. I resolved that I, too,
would learn to speak. I would not rest satisfied
until my teacher took me, for advice and assistance,
to Miss Sarah Fuller, principal of the Horace Mann
School. This lovely, sweet-natured lady offered to
teach me herself, and we began the twenty-sixth of
March, 1890.

Miss Fuller's method was this: she passed my
hand lightly over her face, and let me feel the posi-
tion of her tongue and lips when she made a sound.
I was eager to imitate every motion and in an hour

60 THE STORY OP MY LIFE

had learned six elements of speech : M, P, A, S, T, I.
Miss Fuller gave me eleven lessons in all. I shall
never forget the surprise and delight I felt when I
uttered my first comiected sentence, "It is warm."
True, they were broken and stammering syllables;
but they were human speech. My soul, conscious of
new strength, came out of bondage, and was
reaching through those broken symbols of speech
to all knowledge and all faith.

No deaf child who has earnestly tried to speak
the words which he has never heard — to come out
of the prison of silence, where no tone of love, on
song of bird, no strain of music ever pierces the
stillness — can forget the thrill of surprise, the joy of
discovery which came over him when he uttered
his first word. Only such a one can appreciate the
eagerness with which I talked to my toys, to stones,
trees, birds and dumb animals, or the delight I felt
when at my call Mildred ran to me or my dogs
obeyed my commands. It is an unspeakable boon
to me to be able to speak in winged words that need
no interpretation. As I talked, happy thoughts
fluttered up out of my words that might perhaps
have struggled in vain to escape my fingers.

But it must not be supposed that I could really
talk in this short time. I had learned only the
elements of speech. Miss Fuller and Miss Sullivan
could understand me, but most people would not
have understood one word in a hundred. Nor is it
true that, after I had learned these elements, I did
the rest of the work myself. But for Miss Sullivan's
genius, untiring perseverance and devotion, I could
not have progressed as far as I have toward natural
speech. In the first place. I laboured night and

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 61

day before I could be understood even by my most
intimate friends ; in the second place, I needed Miss
Sullivan's assistance constantly in my efforts to
articulate each sound clearly and to combine all
sounds in a thousand ways. Even now she calls
my attention every day to mispronounced words.

All teachers of the deaf know what this means, and
only they can at all appreciate the peculiar diffi-
culties with which I had to contend. In reading
my teacher's lips I was wholly dependent on my
fingers : I had to use the sense of touch in catching
the vibrations of the throat, the movements of the
mouth and the expression of the face; and often
this sense was at fault. In such cases I was forced
to repeat the words or sentences, sometimes for
hours, until I felt the proper ring in my own
voice. My work was practice, practice, practice.
Discouragement and weariness cast me down fre-
quently; but the next moment the thought that I
should soon be at home and show my loved ones
what I had accomplished, spurred me on, and I
eagerly looked forward to their pleasure in my
achievement.

"My little sister will understand me now," was a
thought stronger than all obstacles. I used to
repeat ecstatically, "I am not dumb now." I could
not be despondent while I anticipated the delight of
talking to my mother and reading her responses from
her lips. It astonished me to find how much easier
it is to talk than to spell with the fingers, and I dis-
carded the manual alphabet as a medium of com-
munication on my part ; but Miss Sullivan and a few
friends still use it in speaking to me, for it is more
convenient and more rapid than lip-reading.

62 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Just here, perhaps, I had better explain our use
of the manual alphabet, which seems to puzzle
people who do not know us. One who reads or talks
to me spells with his hand, using the single-hand
manual alphabet generally employed by the deaf.
I place my hand on the hand of the speaker so
lightly as not to impede its movements. The
position of the hand is as easy to feel as it is to see.
I do not feel each letter any more than you see each
letter separately when you read. Constant practice
makes the fingers very flexible, and some of my
friends spell rapidly — about as fast as an expert
writes on a typewriter. The mere spelling is, of
course, no more a conscious act than it is in writing.

When I had made speech my own, I could not wait
to go home. At last the happiest of happy moments
arrived. I had made my homeward journey, talking
constantly to Miss Sullivan, not for the sake of talk-
ing, but determined to improve to the last minute.
Almost before I knew it, the train stopped at the
Tuscumbia station, and there on the platform stood
the whole family. My eyes fill with tears now as I
think how my mother pressed me close to her,
speechless and trembling with delight, taking in
every syllable that I spoke, while little Mildred
seized my free hand and kissed it and danced, and
my father expressed his pride and affection in a big
silence. It was as if Isaiah's prophecy had been
fulfilled in me, "The mountains and the hills shall
break forth before you into singing, and all the
trees of the field shall clap their hands I"

CHAPTER XIV

The winter of 1892 was darkened by the one cloud
in my childhood's bright sky. Joy deserted my
heart, and for a long, long time I lived in doubt,
anxiety and fear. Books lost their charm for me,
and even now the thought of those dreadful days
chills my heart. A little story called "The Frost
King," which I wrote and sent to Mr. Anagnos, of
the Perkins Institution for the Blind, was at the
root of the trouble. In order to make the matter
clear, I must set forth the facts connected with this
episode, which justice to my teacher and to myself
compels me to relate.*

I wrote the story when I was at home, the autumn
after I had learned to speak. We had stayed up at
Fern Quarry later than usual. While we were there,
Miss Sullivan had described to me the beauties of the
late foliage, and it seems that her descriptions revived
the memory of a story, which must have been read to
me, and which I must have unconsciously retained.
I thought then that I was "making up a story," as
children say, and I eagerly sat down to write it
before the ideas should slip from me. My thoughts
flowed easily ; I felt a sense of joy in the composition.
Words and images came tripping to my finger ends,
and as I thought out sentence after sentence, I
wrote them on my braille slate. Now, if words
and images come to me without effort, it is a pretty

*For the documents in this matter see page 396.

64 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

sure sign that they are not the offspring of my own
mind, but stray waifs that I regretfully dismiss.
At that time I eagerly absorbed everything I read
without a thought of authorship, and even now I
cannot be quite sure of the boundary line between
my ideas and those I find in books. I suppose that
is because so many of my impressions come to me
through the medium of others' eyes and ears.

When the story was finished, I read it to my
teacher, and I recall now vividly the pleasure I felt
in the more beautiful passages, and my annoyance
at being interrupted to have the pronounciation of
a word corrected. At dinner it was read to the
assembled family, who were surprised that I could
write so well. Some one asked me if I had read it
in a book.

This question surprised me very much ; for I had
not the faintest recollection of having had it read
to me. I spoke up and said, " Oh, no, it is my story,
and I have written it for Mr. Anagnos."

Accordingly I copied the story and sent it to him
for his birthday. It was suggested that I should
change the title from "Autumn Leaves" to "The
Frost King," which I did. I carried the little story
to the post-office myself, feeling as if I were walking
on air. I little dreamed how cruelly I should pay
for that birthday gift.

Mr. Anagnos was delighted with "The Frost
King," and published it in one of the Perkins
Institution reports. This was the pinnacle of my
happiness, from which I was in a little while dashed
to earth. I had been in Boston only a short time
tvhen it was discovered that a story similar to " The
Frost King," called "The Frost Fairies " by Miss

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 65

Margaret T. Canby, had appeared before I was born
in a book called " Birdie and His Friends." The two
stories were so much alike in thought and language
that it was evident Miss Canby's story had been
read to me, and that mine was — a plagiarism. It
was difficult to make me understand this ; but when
I did understand I was astonished and grieved. No
child ever drank deeper of the cup of bitterness
than I did. I had disgraced myself ; I had brought
suspicion upon those I loved best. And yet how
could it possibly have happened? I racked my
brain until I was weary to recall anything about the
frost that I had read before I wrote "The Frost
King"; but I could remember nothing, except the
common reference to Jack Frost, and a poem for
children, "The Freaks of the Frost," and I knew I
had not used that in my composition.

At first Mr. Anagnos, though deeply troubled,
seemed to believe me. He was unusually tender
and kind to me, and for a brief space the shadow
lifted. To please him I tried not to be unhappy,
and to make myself as pretty as possible for the
celebration of Washington's birthday, which took
place very soon after I received the sad news.

I was to be Ceres in a kind of masque given
by the blind girls. How well I remember the grace-
ful draperies that enfolded me, the bright autumn
leaves that wreathed my head, and the fruit and
grain at my feet and in my bands, and beneath all
the gaiety of the masque le oppressive sense of
coming ill that made my ht.-rt heavy.

The night before the ce.e oration, one of the
teachers of the Institution ind asked me a ques-
tion connected with "The Frost King," and I was

66 THE STORY OP MY LIFE

telling her that Miss Sullivan had talked to me
about Jack Frost and his wonderful works. Some-
thing I said made her think she detected in my
words a confession that I did remember Miss
Canby's story of " The Frost Fairies," and she laid
her conclusions before Mr. Anagnos, although I had
told her most emphatically that she was mistaken.

Mr. Anagnos, who loved me tenderly, thinking that
he had been deceived, turned a deaf ear to the plead-
ings of love and innocence. He believed, or at
least suspected, that Miss Sullivan and I had delib-
erately stolen the bright thoughts of another and
imposed them on him to win his admiration. I was
brought before a court of investigation composed
of the teachers and officers of the Institution, and
Miss Sullivan was asked to leave me. Then I was
questioned and cross-questioned with what seemed
to me a determination on the part of my judges to
force me to acknowledge that I remembered having
had %t The Frost Fairies" read to me. I felt in every
question the doubt and suspicion that was in their
minds, and I felt, too, that a loved friend was looking
at me reproachfully, although I could not have put
all this into words. The blood pressed about my
thumping heart, and I could scarcely speak, except
in monosyllables. Even the consciousness that it
was only a dreadful mistake did not lessen my suffer-
ing, and when at last I was allowed to leave the
room, I was dazed and did not notice my teacher's
caresses, or the tender words of my friends, who said
I was a brave little girl and they were proud of me.

As I lay in my bed that night, I wept as I hope
few children have wept. I felt so cold, I imagined
I should die before morning, and the thought com-

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 07

forted me. I think if this sorrow had come to me
when I was older, it would have broken my spirit
beyond repairing. But the angel of forgetfulness
has gathered up and earned away much of
the misery and all the bitterness of those sad
days.

Miss Sullivan had never heard of "The Frost
Fairies" or of the book in which it was published.
With the assistance of Dr. Alexander Graham
Bell, she investigated the matter carefully, and at
last it came out that Mrs. Sophia C. Hopkins had a
copy of Miss Canby's "Birdie and His Friends" in
1888, the year that we spent the summer with her
at Brewster. Mrs. Hopkins was unable to find her
copy ; but she has told me that at that time, while
Miss Sullivan was away on a vacation, she tried to
amuse me by reading from various books, and
although she could not remember reading ' ' The
Frost Fairies" any more than I, yet she felt sure
that "Birdie and His Friends" was one of them.
She explained the disappearance of the book by the
fact that she had a short time before sold her house
and disposed of many juvenile books, such as old
school-books and fairy tales, and that "Birdie and
His Friends" was probably among them.

The stories had little or no meaning for me then ;
but the mere spelling of the strange words was suffi-
cient to amuse a little child who could do almost
nothing to amuse ■ herself ; and although I do not
recall a single circumstance connected with the read-
ing of the stories, yet I cannot help thinking that I
made a great effort to remember the words, with the
intention of having my teacher explain them when
she returned. One thing is certain, the language

68 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

was ineffaceably stamped upon my brain, though for
a long time no one knew it, least of all myself.

When Miss Sullivan came back, I did not speak
to her about "The Frost Fairies," probably because
she began at once to read " Little Lord Fauntleroy,"
which filled my mmd to the exclusion of everything
else. But the fact remains that Miss Canby's story-
was read to me once, and that long after I had
forgotten it, it came back to me so naturally that I
never suspected that it was the child of another
mind.

In my trouble I received many messages of love
and sympathy. All the friends I loved best, except
one, have remained my own to the present time.
Miss Canby herself wrote kindly, "Some day you
will write a great story out of your own head, that
will be a comfort and help to many." But this kind
prophecy has never been fulfilled. I have never
played with words again for the mere pleasure of
the game. Indeed, I have ever since been tortured
by the fear that what i write is not my own. For a
long time, when I wrote a letter, even to my mother,
I was seized with a sudden feeling of terror, and I
would spell the sentences over and over, to make
sure that I had not read them in a book. Had it
not been for the persistent encouragement of Miss
Sullivan, I think I should have given up trying to
write altogether.

I have read "The Frost Fairies" since, also the
letters I wrote in which I used other ideas of Miss
Canby's I find in one of them, a letter to Mr.
Anagnos, dated September 29, 1891, words and senti-
ments exactly like those of the book. At the time
I was writing "The Frost King," and this letter.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 69

like many others, contains phrases which show that
my mind was saturated with the story. I represent
my teacher as saying to me of the golden autumn
leaves, " Yes, they are beautiful enough to comfort
us for the flight of summer" — an idea direct from
Miss Canby's story.

This habit of assimilating what pleased me and
giving it out again as my own appears in much of
my early correspondence and my first attempts at
writing. In a composition which I wrote about
the old cities of Greece and Italy, I borrowed my
glowing descriptions, with variations, from sources
I have forgotten. I knew Mr. Anagnos's great love
of antiquity and his enthusiastic appreciation of all
beautiful sentiments about Italy and Greece. I
therefore gathered from all the books I read every
bit of poetry or of history that I thought would give
him pleasure. Mr. Anagnos, in speaking of my
composition on the cities, has said, "These ideas are
poetic in their essence." But I do not understand
how he ever thought a blind and deaf child of eleven
could have invented them. Yet I cannot think that
because I did not originate the ideas, my little com-
position is therefore quite devoid of interest. It
shows me that I could express my appreciation of
beautiful and poetic ideas in clear and animated
language.

Those early compositions were mental gymnastics.
I was learning, as all young and inexperienced
persons learn, by assimilation and imitation, to put
ideas into words. Everything I found in books that
pleased me I retained in my memory, consciously
or unconsciously, and adapted it. The young
writer, as Stevenson has said, instinctively tries to

7o THE STORY OF MY LIFE

copy whatever seems most admirable, and he shifts
his admiration with astonishing versatility. It is
only after years of this sort of practice that even
great men have learned to marshal the legion of
words which come thronging through every byway
of the mind.

I am afraid I have not yet completed this process.
It is certain that I cannot always distinguish my
own thoughts from those I read, because what I read
become the very substance and texture of my mind.
Consequently, in nearly all that I write, I produce
something which very much resembles the crazy
patchwork I used to make when I first learned to
sew. This patchwork was made of all sorts of odds
and ends — pretty bits of silk and velvet; but the
coarse pieces that were not pleasant to touch always
predominated. Likewise my compositions are made
up of crude notions of my own, inlaid with the
brighter thoughts and riper opinions of the authors
I have read. It seems to me that the great difficulty
of writing is to make the language of the educated
mind express our confused ideas, half feelings, half
thoughts, when we are little more than bundles of
instinctive tendencies. Trying to write is very
much like trying to put a Chinese puzzle together.
We have a pattern in mind which we wish to work
out in words; but the words will not fit the spaces,
or, if they do, they will not match the design. But
we keep on trying because we know that others
have succeeded, and we are not willing to acknowl-
edge defeat.

"There is no way to become original, except to
be born so," says Stevenson, and although I may
not be original, I hope sometime to outgrow my

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 71

artificial, periwigged compositions. Then, perhaps,
my own thoughts and experiences will come to
the surface. Meanwhile I trust and hope and
persevere, and try not to let the bitter memory
of "The Frost King" trammel my efforts.

So this sad experience may have done me good
and set me thinking on some of the problems of
composition. My only regret is that it resulted in
i:he loss of one of my dearest friends, Mr. Anagnos.

Since the publication of "The Story of My Life"
in the Ladies' Home Journal, Mr. Anagnos has made
a statement, in a letter to Mr. Macy, that at the
time of the "Frost King" matter, he believed I
was innocent. He says, the court of investigation
before which I was brought consisted of eight people :
four blind, four seeing persons. Four of them,
he says, thought I knew that Miss Canby's story
had been read to me, and the others did not hold
this view. Mr. Anagnos states that he cast his vote
with those who were favourable to me.

But, however the case may have been, with
whichever side he may have cast his vote, when I
went into the room where Mr. Anagnos had so often
held me on his knee and, forgetting his many cares,
had shared in my frolics, and found there persons
who seemed to doubt me, I felt that there was some-
thing hostile and menacing in the very atmosphere,
and subsequent events have borne out this impres-
sion. For two years he seems to have held the belief
that Miss Sullivan and I were innocent. Then he
evidently retracted his favourable judgment, why
I do not know. Nor did I know the details of the
investigation. I never knew even the names of the
roembers of the "court" who did not speak to me.

72 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

I was too excited to notice anything, too frightened
to ask questions. Indeed, I could scarcely think
what I was saying, or what was being said to me.

I have given this account of the "Frost King"
affair because it was important in my life and edu-
cation; and, in order that there might be no mis-
understanding, I have set forth all the facts as
they appear to me, without a thought of defending
myself or of laying blame on any one.

CHAPTER XV

The summer and winter following the "Frost
King" incident I spent with my family in Alabama.
I recall with delight that home -going. Everything
had budded and blossomed. I was happy. "The
Frost King" was forgotten.

When the ground was strewn with the crimson
and golden leaves of autumn, and the musk-scented
grapes that covered the arbour at the end of the
garden were turning golden brown in the sunshine,
I began to write a sketch of my life — ■ a year after I
had written "The Frost King."

I was still excessively scrupulous about everything
I wrote. The thought that what I wrote might
not be absolutely my own tormented me. No
one knew of these fears except my teacher. A
strange sensitiveness prevented me from referring
to che " Frost King " ; and often when an idea flashed
out in the course of conversation I would spell softly
to her, " I am not sure it is mine." At other times,
in the midst of a paragraph I was writing, I said to
myself, " Suppose it should be found that all this
was written by some one long ago ! " An impish fear
clutched my hand, so that I could not write any more
that day. And even now I sometimes feel the same
uneasiness and disquietude. Miss Sullivan consoled
and helped me in every way she could think of ; but
the terrible experience I had passed through left a
lasting impression on my mind, the significance of

74 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

which I am only just beginning to understand. It
was with the hope of restoring my self-confidence
that she persuaded me to write for the Youth's
Companion a brief account of my life. I was then
twelve years old. As I look back on my struggle
to write that little story, it seems to me that I must
have had a prophetic vision of the good that would
come of the undertaking, or I should surely have
failed.

I wrote timidly, fearfully, but resolutely, urged
on by my teacher, who knew that if I persevered, I
should find my mental foothold again and get a grip
on my faculties. Up to the time of the "Frost
King" episode, I had lived the unconscious life
of a little child; now my thoughts were turned
inward, and I beheld things invisible. Gradually
I emerged from the penumbra of that experience
with a mind made clearer by trial and with a
truer knowledge of life.

The chief events of the year 1893 were my trip
to Washington during the inauguration of President
Cleveland, and visits to Niagara and the World's
Fair. Under such circumstances my studies were
constantly interrupted and often put aside for many
weeks, so that it is impossible for me to give a con-
nected account of them.

We went to Niagara in March, 1893. It is difficult
to describe my emotions when I stood on the point
which overhangs the American Fails and felt the air
vibrate and the earth tremble.

It seems strange to many people that I should be
impressed by the wonders and beauties of Niagara.
They are always asking: " What does this beauty
or that music mean to you? You cannot see the

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 75

waves rolling up the beach or hear their roar.
What do they mean to you?" In the most evident
sense they mean everything. I cannot fathom or
define their meaning any more than I can fathom
or define love or religion or goodness.

During the summer of 1893, Miss Sullivan and I
visited the World's Fair with Dr. Alexander
Graham Bell. I recall with unmixed delight those
days when a thousand childish fancies became
beautiful realities. Every day in imagination I
made a trip round the world, and I saw many
wonders from the uttermost parts of the earth —
marvels of invention, treasures of industry and skill
and all the activities of human life actually passed
under my finger tips.

I liked to visit the Midway Plaisance. It seemed
like the "Arabian Nights," it was crammed so full
of novelty and interest. Here was the India of my
books in the curious bazaar with its Shivas and
elephant-gods ; there was the land of the Pyramids
concentrated in a model Cairo with its mosques
and its long processions of camels ; yonder were the
lagoons of Venice, where we sailed every evening
when the city and the fountains were illuminated.
I also went on board a Viking ship which lay a short
distance from the little craft. I had been on a
man-of-war before, in Boston, and it interested me
to see, on this Viking ship, how the seaman was once
all in all — how he sailed and took storm and calm
alike with undaunted heart, and gave chase to
whosoever reechoed his cry, "We are of the sea !"
and fought with brains and sinews, self-reliant,
self-sufficient, instead of being thrust into the back-
ground by unintelligent machinery, as Jack is

76 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

to-day. So it always is — " man only is interesting
to man."

At a little distance from this ship there was a
model of the Santa Maria, which I also examined.
The captain showed me Columbus's cabin and the
desk with an hour-glass on it. This small instru-
ment impressed me most because it made me think
how weary the heroic navigator must have felt as
he saw the sand dropping grain by grain while
desperate men were plotting against his life.

Mr. Higinbotham, President of the World's
Fair, kindly gave me permission to touch the
exhibits, and with an eagerness as insatiable as
that with which Pizarro seized the treasures of
Peru, I took in the glories of the Fair with my
fingers. It was a sort of tangible kaleidoscope,
this white city of the West. Everything fascinated
me, especially the French bronzes. They were so
lifelike, I thought they were angel visions which the
artist had caught and bound in earthly forms.

At the Cape of Good Hope exhibit, I learned much
about the processes of mining diamonds. Whenever
it was possible, I touched the machinery while it
was in motion, so as to get a clearer idea how the
stones were weighed, cut, and polished. I searched
in the washings for a diamond and found it myself
— the only true diamond, they said, that was ever
found in the United States.

Dr. Bell went everywhere with us and in his
own delightful way described to me the objects of
greatest interest. In the electrical building we
examined the telephones, autophones, phonographs,
and other inventions, and he made me understand
how it is possible to send a message on wires that

Photograph by Marshall, 1902

MISS KELLER AND DR. ALEXANDER GRAHAM BELT.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 77

mock space and outrun time, and, like Prometheus,
to draw fire from the sky. We also visited the
anthropological department, and I was much intei
ested in the relics of ancient Mexico, in the rud« stone
implements that are so often the only record of an
age — the simple monuments of nature's unlettered
children (so I thought as I fingered them) that seem
bound to last while the memorials of kings and
sages crumble in dust away— and in the Egyptian
mummies, which I shrank from touching. From
these relics I learned more about the progress of
man than I have heard or read since.

All these experiences added a great many nrw
terms to my vocabulary, and in the three weeks I
spent at the Fair I took a long leap from the htU-z
child's interest in fairy tales and toys to the apprr>
ciation of the real and the earnest in the workada
world*

CHAPTER XVI

Before October, 1893, I had studied various sub-
jects by myself in a more or less desultory manner.
I read the histories of Greece, Rome and the United
States. I had a French grammar in raised print,
and as I already knew some French, I often amused
myself by composing in my head short exercises,
using the new words as I came across them, and
ignoring rules and other technicalities as much as
possible. I even tried, without aid, to master the
French pronunciation, as I found all the letters and
sounds described in the book. Of course this was
tasking slender powers for great ends ; but it gave me
something to do on a rainy day, and I acquired a
sufficient knowledge of French to read with pleasure
La Fontaine's "Fables," " Le Medecin Malgre Lui"
and passages from "Athalie."

I also gave considerable time to the improvement
of my speech. I read aloud to Miss Sullivan and
recited passages from my favourite poets, which I
had committed to memory; she corrected my pro-
nunciation and helped me to phrase and inflect.
It was not, however, until October, 1893, after I
had recovered from the fatigue and excitement of
my visit to the World's Fair, that I began to have
lessons in special subjects at fixed hours.

Miss Sullivan and I were at that time in Hulton,
Pennsylvania, visiting the family of Mr. William
Wade. Mr. Irons, a neighbour of theirs, was a good

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 70

i^atin scholar; it was arranged that I should study
under him. I remember him as a man of rare
sweet nature and of wide experience. He taught
me Latin grammar principally ; but he often helped
me in arithmetic, which I found as troublesome as
it was uninteresting. Mr. Irons also read with me
Tennyson's "In Memoriam." I had read many-
books before, but never from a critical point of view.
I learned for the first time to know an author, tc
recognize his style as I recognize the clasp of a
friend's hand.

At first I was rather unwilling to study Latin
grammar. It seemed absurd to waste time analyzing
every word I came across — noun, genitive, singular,
feminine — when its meaning was quite plain. I
thought I might just as well describe my pet in order
to know it — order, vertebrate ; division, quadruped ;
class, mammalia; genus, felinus; species, cat; indi-
vidual, Tabby. But as I got deeper into the subject,
I became more interested, and the beauty of the
language delighted me. I often amused myself by
reading Latin passages, picking up words I under
stood and trying to make sense. I have never
ceased to enjoy this pastime.

There is nothing more beautiful, I think, than
the evanescent fleeting images and sentiments pre-
sented by a language one is just becoming familiar
with — ideas that flit across the mental sky, shaped
and tinted by capricious fancy. Miss Sullivan
sat beside me at my lessons, spelling into my
hand whatever Mr. Irons said, and looking up
new words for me. I was just beginning to read
Caesar's "Gallic War" when I went to my home is
Alabama.

CHAPTER XVII

In the summer of 1894, I attended the meet-
ing at Chautauqua of the American Association
to Promote the Teaching of Speech to the Deaf.
There it was arranged that I should go to the
Wright-Humason School for the Deaf in New York
City. I went there in October, 1894, accompanied
by Miss Sullivan. This school was chosen especially
for the purpose of obtaining the highest advantages
in vocal culture and training in lip-reading. In
addition to my work in these subjects, I studied,
during the two years I was in the school, arithmetic,
physical geography, French and German.

Miss Reamy, my German teacher, could use the
manual alphabet, and after I had acquired a small
vocabulary, we talked together in German whenever
we had a chance, and in a few months I could under-
stand almost everything she said. Before the end
of the first year I read"Wilhelm Tell" with the
greatest delight. Indeed, I think I made more
progress in German than in any of my other studies.
I found French much more difficult. I studied it
with Madame Olivier, a French lady who did not
know the manual alphabet, and who was obliged to
give her instruction orally. I could no\ read her
lips easily ; so my progress was much slower than in
German. I managed, however, to read " Le Medecin
Malgre Lui" again. It was very amusing; but I did
not like it nearly so well as "Wilhelm Tell."

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 3i

My progress in lip-reading and speech was not what
my teachers and I had hoped and expected it would
be. It was my ambition to speak like other people,
and my teachers believed that this could be accom-
plished ; but, although we worked hard and faithfully
yet we did not quite reach our goal. I suppose we
aimed too high, and disappointment was therefore
inevitable. I still regarded arithmetic as a system
of pitfalls. I hung about the dangerous frontier
of "guess," avoiding with infinite trouble to myself
and others the broad valley of reason. When
I was not guessing, I was jumping at conclusions,
and this fault, in addition to my dullness,
aggravated my difficulties more than was right or
necessary.

But although these disappointments caused me
great depression at times, I pursued my other
studies with unflagging interest, especially physical
geography. It was a joy to learn the secrets of
nature: how — in the picturesque language of the
Old Testament — the winds are made to blow from
the four corners of the heavens, how the vapours
ascend from the ends of the earth, how rivers are
cut out among the rocks, and mountains overturned
by the roots, and in what ways man may overcome
many forces mightier than himself. The two years
in New York were happy ones, and I look back to
them with genuine pleasure.

I remember especially the walks we all took
together every day in Central Park, the only part of
the city that was congenial to me. I never lost a
jot of my delight in this great park. I loved to have
it described every time I entered it; for it was
beautiful in all its aspects, and these aspects were

82 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

so many that it was beautiful in a different way each
day of the nine months I spent in New York.

In the spring we made excursions to various
places of interest. We sailed on the Hudson River
and wandered about on its green banks, of which
Bryant loved to sing. I liked the simple, wild
grandeur of the palisades. Among the places I
visited were West Point, Tarry town, the home
of Washington Irving, where I walked through
"Sleepy Hollow."

The teachers at the Wright-Humason School were
always planning how they might give the pupils
every advantage that those who hear enjoy — how
they might make much of few tendencies and
passive memories in the cases of the little ones —
and lead them out of the cramping circumstances
in which their lives were set.

Before I left New York, these bright days were
darkened by the greatest sorrow that I have ever
borne, except the death of my father. Mr. John P.
Spaulding, of Boston, died in February, 1896.
Only those who knew and loved him best can
understand what his friendship meant to me.
He, who made every one happy in a beautiful,
unobtrusive way, was most kind and tender to Miss
Sullivan and me. So long as we felt his loving
presence and knew that he took a watchful interest
in our work, fraught with so many difficulties, we
could not be discouraged. His going away left a
vacancy in our lives that has never been filled.

CHAPTER XVIII

In October, 1896, I entered the Cambridge School
for Young Ladies, to be prepared for Radcliffe.

When I was a little girl, I visited Wellesley
and surprised my friends by the announcement,
"Some day I shall go to college — but I shall go to
Harvard!" When asked why I would not go to
Wellesley, I replied that there were only girls there.
The thought of going to college took root in my heart
and became an earnest desire, which nnpelled me to
enter into competition for a degree with seeing and
hearing girls, in the face of the strong opposition of
many true and wise friends. When I left New York
the idea had become a fixed purpose; and it was
decided that I should go to Cambridge. This was
the nearest approach I could get to Harvard and to
the fulfillment of my childish declaration.

At the Cambridge School the plan was to have
Miss Sullivan attend the classes with me and
interpret to me the instruction given.

Of course my instructors had had no experience
in teaching any but normal pupils, and my only
means of conversing with them was reading
their lips. My studies for the first year were
English history, English literature, German, Latin,
arithmetic, Latin composition and occasional
themes. Until then I had never taken a course of
study with the idea of preparing for college ; but I
had been well drilled in English by Miss Sullivan,

84 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

and it soon became evident to my teachers that I
needed no special instruction in this subject beyond
a critical study of the books prescribed by the
college. I had had, moreover, a good start in
French, and received six months' instruction in
Latin; but German was the subject with which I
was most familiar.

In spite, however, of these advantages, there
were serious drawbacks to my progress. Miss
Sullivan could not spell out in my hand all that the
books required, and it was very difficult to have
text-books embossed in time to be of use to me,
although my friends in London and Philadelphia
were willing to hasten the work. For a while,
indeed, I had to copy my Latin in braille, so that
I could recite with the other girls. My instructors
soon became sufficiently familiar with my imperfect
speech to answer my questions readily and correct
mistakes. I could not make notes in class or write
exercises; but I wrote all my compositions and
translations at home on my typewriter.

Each day Miss Sullivan went to the classes with
me and spelled into my hand with infinite patience
all that the teachers said. In study hours she had
to look up new words for me and read and reread
notes and books I did not have in raised print. The
tedium of that work is hard to conceive. Frau
Grote, my German teacher, and Mr. Gilman, the
principal, were the only teachers in the school who
learned the finger alphabet to give me instruction.
No one realized more fully than dear Frau Grote
how slow and inadequate her spelling was. Never-
theless, in the goodness of her heart she labouriously
spelled out her instructions to me in special lesson?

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 85

twice a week, to give Miss Sullivan a little rest.
But, though everybody was kind and ready to help
us, there was only one hand that could turn drudgery
into pleasure.

That year I finished arithmetic, reviewed my
Latin grammar, and read three chapters of Caesar's
"Gallic War." In German I read, partly with my
fingers and partly with Miss Sullivan's assistance,
Schiller's "Lied von der Glocke" and "Taucher/'
Heine's "Harzreise," Freytag's "Aus dem Staat
Friedrichs des Grossen," Riehl's "Fluch Der
Schonheit," Lessing's "Minna von Barnhelm," and
Goethe' s ' ' Aus meinem Leben. ' ' I took the greatest
delight in these German books, especially Schiller's
wonderful lyrics, the history of Frederick the Great's
magnificent achievements and the account of
Goethe's life. I was sorry to finish "Die Harz-
reise," so full of happy witticisms and charming
descriptions of vine-clad hills, streams that sing and
ripple in the sunshine, and wild regions, sacred to
tradition and legend, the gray sisters of a long-
vanished, imaginative age — descriptions such as
can be given only by those to whom nature is "a
feeling, a love and an appetite."

Mr. Gilman instructed me part of the year in
English literature. We read together "As You
Like It," Burke's "Speech on Conciliation with
America," and Macaulay's "Life of Samuel
Johnson." Mr, Oilman's broad views of history
and literature and his clever explanations made
my work easier and pleasanter than it could have
been had I only read notes mechanically with the
necessarily brief explanations given in the classes,
Burke's speech was more instructive than any

06 THE STORY OF MY L1FJ&

other book on a political subject that I had ever

read. My mind stirred with the stirring times, and
the characters round which the life of two contend-
ing nations centred seemed to move right before
me. 1 wondered more and more, while Burke's
masterly speech rolled on in mighty surges of
eloquence, how it was that King George and his
ministers could have turned a deaf ear to his warn-
ing prophecy of our victory and their humiliation.
Then I entered into the melancholy details of the
relation in which the great statesman stood to his
party and to the representatives of the people. I
thought how strange it was that such precious seeds
of truth and wisdom should have fallen among the
tares of ignorance and corruption.

In a different way Macaulay's "Life of Samuel
Johnson" was interesting. My heart went out to
the lonely man who ate the bread of affliction in
Grub Street, and yet, in the midst of toil and cruel
suffering of body and soul, always had a kind word,
and lent a helping hand to the poor and despised.
I rejoiced over all his successes, I shut my eyes to
his faults, and wondered, not that he had them, but
that they had not crushed or dwarfed his soul. But
in spite of Macaulay's brilliancy and his admirable
faculty of making the commonplace seem fresh and
picturesque, his positiveness wearied me at times,
and his frequent sacrifices of truth to effect kept
me in a questioning attitude very unlike the atti-
tude of reverence in which I had listened to the
Demosthenes of Great Britain.

At the Cambridge school, for the first time in my
life, I enjoyed the companionship of seeing and hear-
ing girls of my own age. I lived with several others

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 87

in one of the pleasant houses connected with the
school, the house where Mr. Howells used to live,
and we all had the advantage of home life. I joined
them in many of their games, even blind man's
buff and frolics in the snow ; I took long walks with
them; we discussed our studies and read aloud the
things that interested us. Some of the girls learned
to speak to me, so that Miss Sullivan did not have
to repeat their conversation.

At Christmas, my mother and little sister spent
the holidays with me, and Mr. Gilman kindly offered
to let Mildred study in his school. So Mildred
stayed with me in Cambridge, and for six happy
months we were hardly ever apart. It makes me
most happy to remember the hours we spent helping
each other in study and sharing our recreation
together.

I took my preliminary examinations for Radcliffe
from the 2 9th of June to the 3rd of July in 1897. The
subjects I offered were Elementary and Advanced
German, French, Latin, English, and Greek and
Roman history, making nine hours in all. I passed
in eveiything, and received "honours" in German
and English.

Perhaps an explanation of the method that was
in use when I took my examinations will not be
amiss here. The student was required to pass in
sixteen hours — twelve hours being called elementary
and four advanced. He had to pass five hours at
a time to have them counted. The examination
papers were given out at nine o'clock at Harvard
and brought to Radcliffe by a special messenger.
Each candidate was known, not by his name,
but by a number. I was No. 233, but, as J

88 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

had to use a typewriter, my identity could not be
concealed.

It was thought advisable for me to have my
examinations in a room by myself, because the noise
of the typewriter might disturb the other girls.
Mr. Gilman read all the papers to me by means of
the manual alphabet. A man was placed on guard
at the door to prevent interruption.

The first day I had German. Mr. Gilman sat
beside me and read the paper through first, then
sentence by sentence, while I repeated the words
aloud, to make sure that I understood him perfectly.
The papers were difficult, and I felt very anxious as
I wrote out my answers on the typewriter. Mr.
Gilman spelled to me what I had written, and I made
such changes as I thought necessary, and he inserted
them. I wish to say here that I have not had this
advantage since in any of my examinations. At
Radcliffe no one reads the papers to me after they
are written, and I have no opportunity to correct
errors unless I finish before the time is up. In
that case I correct only such mistakes as I can
recall in the few minutes allowed, and make notes
of these corrections at the end of my paper. If I
passed with higher credit in the preliminaries than
in the finals, there are two reasons. In the finals,
no one read my work over to me, and in the
preliminaries I offered subjects with some of which
I was in a measure familiar before my work in the
Cambridge school ; for at the beginning of the year
I had passed examinations in English, History,
French and German, which Mr. Gilman gave me
from previous Harvard papers.

Mr. Gilman sent my written work to the examiners

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 89

with a certificate that I, candidate No. 233, had
written the papers.

All the other preliminary examinations were
conducted in the same manner. None of them was
so difficult as the first. I remember that the day
the Latin paper was brought to us, Professor
Schilling came in and informed me I had passed
satisfactorily in German. This encouraged me
greatly, and I sped on to the end of the ordeal
with a light heart and a steady hand.

CHAPTER XIX

When I began my second year at the Gilman
school, I was full of hope and determination to
succeed. But during the first few weeks I was con-
fronted with unforeseen difficulties. Mr. Gilman had
agreed that that year I should study mathematics
principally. I had physics, algebra, geometry,
astronomy, Greek and Latin. Unfortunately, many
of the books I needed had not been embossed in
time for me to begin with the classes, and I lacked
important apparatus for some of my studies. The
classes I was in were very large, and it was impossible
for the teachers to give me special instruction.
Miss Sullivan was obliged to read all the books to me,
and interpret for the instructors, and for the first
time in eleven years it seemed as if her dear hand
would not be equal to the task.

It was necessary for me to write algebra and
geometry in class and solve problems in physics, and
this I could not do until we bought a braille writer,
by means of which I could put down the steps and
processes of my work. I could not follow with my
eyes the geometrical figures drawn on the black-
board, and my only means of getting a clear idea of
them was to make them on a cushion with straight
and curved wires, which had bent and pointed ends.
I had to carry in my mind, as Mr. Keith says in his
report, the lettering of the figures, the hypothesis
and conclusion, the construction and the process of

THE STORY OF MY LIFF 91

the proof. In a word, every study had its obstacles.
Sometimes I lost all courage and betrayed my
feelings in a way I am ashamed to remember,
especially as the signs of my trouble were afterward
used against Miss Sullivan, the only person of all the
kind friends I had there, who could make the crooked
straight and the rough places smooth,

Little by little, however, my difficulties began to
disappear. The embossed books and other appa-
ratus arrived, and I threw myself into the work with
renewed confidence. Algebra and geometry were
the only studies that continued to defy my efforts
to comprehend them. As I have said before, I
had no aptitude for mathematics; the different
points were not explained to me as fully as I wished.
The geometrical diagrams were particularly vexing
because I could not see the relation of the different
parts to one another, even on the cushion. It was
not until Mr. Keith taught me that I had a clear
idea of mathematics.

I was beginning to overcome these difficulties
when an event occurred which changed everything.

Just before the books came, Mr. Gilman had begun
to remonstrate with Miss Sullivan on the ground
that I was working too hard, and in spite of my
earnest protestations, he reduced the number of
my recitations. At the beginning we had agreed
that I should, if necessary, take five years to prepare
for college, but at the end of the first year the
success of my examinations showed Miss Sullivan,
Miss Harbaugh (Mr. Gilman' s head teacher), and
one other, that I could without too much effort
complete my preparation in two years more. Mr.
Gilman at first agreed to this ; but when my tasks

92 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

had become somewhat perplexing, he insisted that
I was overworked, and that I should remain at his
school three years longer. I did not like his plan,
for I wished to enter college with my class.

On the seventeenth of November I was not very
well, and did not go to school. Although Miss
Sullivan knew that my indisposition was not serious,
yet Mr. Gilman, on hearing of it, declared that
I was breaking down and made changes in my
studies which would have rendered it impossible for
me to take my final examinations with my class.
In the end the difference of opinion between Mr.
Gilman and Miss Sullivan resulted in my mother's
withdrawing my sister Mildred and me from the
Cambridge School.

After some delay it was arranged that I should
continue my studies under a tutor, Mr. Merton S.
Keith, of Cambridge. Miss Sullivan and I spent the
rest of the winter with our friends, the Chamberlins
in Wrentham, twenty-five miles from Boston.

From February to July, 1898, Mr. Keith came out
to Wrentham twice a week, and taught me algebra,
geometry, Greek and Latin. Miss Sullivan inter-
preted his instruction.

In October, 1898, we returned to Boston. For
eight months Mr. Keith gave me lessons five times a
week, in periods of about an hour. He explained
each time what I did not understand in the previous
lesson, assigned new work, and took home with him
the Greek exercises which I had written during the
week on my typewriter, corrected them fully, and
returned them to me.

In this way my preparation for college went
on without interruption. I found it much easier and

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 93

pleasanter to be taught by myself than to receive
instruction in class. There was no hurry, no con-
fusion. My tutor had plenty of time to explain
what I did not understand, so I got on faster and did
better work than I ever did in school. I still found
more difficulty in mastering problems in mathe-
matics than I did in any other of my studies. I
wish algebra and geometry had been half as easy
as the languages and literature. But even mathe-
matics Mr. Keith made interesting; he succeeded in
whittling problems small enough to get through
my brain. He kept my mind alert and eager, and
trained it to reason clearly, and to seek conclusions
calmly and logically, instead of jumping wildly into
space and arriving nowhere. He was always gentle
and forbearing, no matter how dull I might be, and
believe me, my stupidity would often have exhausted
the patience of Job.

On the 29th and 30th of June, 1899, I took my
final examinations for Radcliffe College. The first
day I had Elementary Greek and Advanced Latin,
and the second day Geometry, Algebra and Advanced
Greek.

The college authorities did not allow Miss Sullivan
to read the examination papers to me ; so Mr. Eugene
C. Vining, one of the instructors at the Perkins
Institution for the Blind, was employed to copy the
papers for me in American braille. Mr. Vining was
a stranger to me, and could not communicate with
me, except by writing braille. The proctor was also
a stranger, and did not attempt to communicate
with me in any way.

The braille worked well enough in the languages,
but when it came to geometry and algebra, difficulties'

94 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

arose.* I was sorely perplexed, and felt discouraged
wasting much precious time, especially in algebra.
It is true that I was familiar with all literary
braille in common use in this country — English,
American, and New York Point; but the various
signs and symbols in geometry and algebra in the
three systems are very different, and I had used only
the English braille in my algebra.

Two days before the examinations, Mr. Vining
sent me a braille copy of one of the old Harvard
papers in algebra. To my dismay I found that it
was in the American notation. I sat down immedi-
ately and wrote to Mr. Vining, asking him to explain
the signs. I received another paper and a table of
signs by return mail, and I set to work to learn the
notation. But on the night before the algebra
examination, while I was struggling over some very
complicated examples, I could not tell the combina-
tions of bracket, brace and radical. Both Mr.
Keith and I were distressed and full of forebodings
for the morrow; but we went over to the college
a little before the examination began, and had
Mr. Vining explain more fully the American
symbols.

In geometry my chief difficulty was that I had
always been accustomed to read the propositions in
line print, or to have them spelled into my hand;
and somehow, although the propositions were right
before me, I found the braille confusing, and could
not fix clearly in my mind what I was reading. But
when I took up algebra I had a harder time still.
The signs, which I had so lately learned, and which
I thought I knew, perplexed me. Besides, I could

*See Miss Keller's letter, page 259.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 95

not see what I wrote on my typewriter. I had
always done my work in braille or in my head.
Mr. Keith had relied too much on my ability to
solve problems mentally, and had not trained me to
write examination papers. Consequently my work
was painfully slow, and I had to read the examples
over and over before I could form any idea of
what I was required to do. Indeed, I am not sure
now that I read all the signs correctly. I found it
very hard to keep my wits about me.

But I do not blame any one. The administrative
board of Radclifle did not realize how difficult they
were making my examinations, nor did they under-
stand the peculiar difficulties I had to surmount.
But if they unintentionally placed obstacles in
my way, I have the consolation of knowing that
I overcame them all.

CHAPTER XX

The struggle for admission to college was ended,
and I could now enter Radcliffe whenever I pleased.
Before I entered college, however, it was thought
best that I should study another year under Mr.
Keith. It was not, therefore, until the fall of 1900
that my dream of going to college was realized.

I remember my first day at Radcliffe. It was a
day full of interest for me. I had looked forward to
it for years. A potent force within me, stronger
than the persuasion of my friends, stronger even
than the pleadings of my heart, had impelled me to
try my strength by the standards of those who see
and hear. I knew that there were obstacles in the
way; but I was eager to overcome them. I had
taken to heart the words of the wise Roman who
said, " To be banished from Rome is but to live out-
side of Rome." Debarred from the great highways
of knowledge, I was compelled to make the journey
across country by unfrequented roads — that was
all; and I knew that in college there were many
bypaths where I could touch hands with girls who
were thinking, loving and struggling like me.

I began my studies with eagerness. Before me
I saw a new world opening in beauty and light, and
I felt within me the capacity to know all things.
In the wonderland of Mind I should be as free
as another. Its people, scenery, manners, joys,
tragedies should be living, tangible interpreters of

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 97

the real world. The lecture-halls seemed filled
with the spirit of the great and the wise, and I
thought the professors were the embodiment of
wisdom. If I have since learned differently, I am
not going to tell anybody.

But I soon discovered that college was not quite
the romantic lyceum I had imagined. Many of the
dreams that had delighted my young inexperience
became beautifully less and "faded into the light
of common day." Gradually I began to find that
there were disadvantages in going to college.

The one I felt and still feel most is lack of time.
I used to have time to think, to reflect, my mind and
I. We would sit together of an evening and listen
to the inner melodies of the spirit, which one hears
only in leisure moments when the words of some
loved poet touch a deep, sweet chord in the soul that
until then had been silent. But in college there is
no time to commune with one's thoughts. \, One goes
to college to learn, it seems, not to think. When
one enters the portals of learning, one leaves the
dearest pleasures— solitude, books and imagination
— outside with the whispering pines. I suppose I
ought to find some comfort in the thought that I am
laying up treasures for future enjoyment, but I am
improvident enough to prefer present joy to hoard-
ing riches against a rainy day.

My studies the first year were French, German,
history, English composition and English literature.
In the French course I read some of the works of
Corneille, Moliere, Racine, Alfred de Musset and
Sainte-Beuve, and in the German those of Goethe
and Schiller. I reviewed rapidly the whole period
of history from the fall of the Roman Empire to the

98 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

eighteenth century, and in English literature studied
critically Milton's poems and " Areopagitica."

I am frequently asked how I overcome the pecu-
liar conditions under which I work in college. In
the classroom I am of course practically alone. The
professor is as remote as if he were speaking through
a telephone. The lectures are spelled into my hand
as rapidly as possible, and much of the individuality
of the lecturer is lost to me in the effort to keep in the
race. The words rush through my hand like hounds
in pursuit of a hare which they often miss. But in
this respect I do not think I am much worse off than
the girls who take notes. If the mind is occupied
with the mechanical process of hearing and putting
words on paper at pell-mell speed, I should not
think one could pay much attention to the subject
under consideration or the manner in which it is
presented. I cannot make notes during the lectures,
because my hands are busy listening. Usually I
jot down what I can remember of them when I
get home. I write the exercises, daily themes,
criticisms and hour-tests, the mid-year and final
examinations, on my typewriter, so that the profes-
sors have no difficulty in rinding out how little I
know. When I began the study of Latin prosody,
I devised and explained to my professor a system of
signs indicating the different meters and quantities.

I use the Hammond typewriter. I have tried
many machines, and I find the Hammond is the
best adapted to the peculiar needs of my work.
With this machine movable type shuttles can be
used, and one can have several shuttles, each
with a different set of characters — Greek, French,
or mathematical, according to the kind of writing

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 99

one wishes to do on the typewriter. Without it, I
doubt if I could go to college.

Very few of the books required in the various
courses are printed for the blind, and I am obliged
to have them spelled into my hand. Consequently
I need more time to prepare my lessons than other
girls. The manual part takes longer, and I have
perplexities which they have not. There are days
when the close attention I must give to details chafes
my spirit, and the thought that I must spend hours
reading a few chapters, while in the world without
other girls are laughing and singing and dancing,
makes me rebellious; but I soon recover my buoy-
ancy and laugh the discontent out of my heart.
For, after all, every one who wishes to gain true
knowledge must climb the Hill Difficulty alone,
and since there is no royal road to the summit, I
must zigzag it in my own way. I slip back many
times, I fall, I stand still, I run against the edge of
hidden obstacles. I lose my temper and find it again
and keep it better, I trudge on, I gain a little, I feel
encouraged, I get more eager and climb higher and
begin to see the widening horizon. Every struggle
is a victory. One more effort and I reach the
luminous cloud, the blue depths of the sky, the
uplands of my desire. I am not always alone, how-
ever, in these struggles. Mr. William Wade and
Mr. E. E. Allen, Principal of the Pennsylvania
Institution for the Instruction of the Blind, get
for me many of the books I need in raised print.
Their thoughtfulness has been more of a help and
encouragement to me than they can ever know.

Last year, my second year at Radcliffe, I studied
English comoosition, the Bible as English literature,

ioo THE STORY OF MY LIFE

the governments of America and Europe, the Odes ot
Horace, and Latin comedy. The class in composi-
tion was the pleasant est. It was very lively. The
lectures were always interesting, vivacious, witty;
for the instructor, Mr. Charles Townsend Copeland,
more than any one else I have had until this
year, brings before you literature in all its
original freshness and power. For one short
hour you are permitted to drink in the eternal
beauty of the old masters without needless inter-
pretation or exposition. You revel in their fine
thoughts. You enjoy with all your soul the sweet
thunder of the Old Testament, forgetting the exist-
ence of Jahweh and Elohim ; and you go home feel-
ing that you have had ' ' a glimpse of that perfection
in which spirit and form dwell in immortal har-
mony; truth and beauty bearing a new growth
on the ancient stem of time."

This year is the happiest because I am
studying subjects that especially interest me,
economics, Elizabethan literature, Shakespeare
under Professor George L. Kittredge, and the
History of Philosophy under Professor Josiah
Royce. Through philosophy one enters with sym-
pathy of comprehension into the traditions of
remote ages and other modes of thought, which
erewhile seemed alien and without reason.

But college is not the universal Athens I thought
it was. There one does not meet the great and the
wise face to face ; one does not even feel their living
touch. They are there, it is true; but they seem
mummified. We must extract them from the
crannied wall of learning and dissect and analyze
them before we can be sure that we have a Milton or

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 101

an Isaiah, and not merely a clever imitation. Many
scholars forget, it seems to me, that our enjoyment of
the great works of literature depends more upon the
depth of our sympathy than upon our understand-
ing. The trouble is that very few of their laborious
explanations stick in the memory. The mind drops
them as a branch drops its overripe fruit. It is
possible to know a flower, root and stem and all, and
all the processes of growth, and yet to have no appre-
ciation of the flower fresh bathed in heaven's dew.
Again and again I ask impatiently, "Why concern
myself with these explanations and hypotheses?"
They fly hither and thither in my thought like blind
birds beating the air with ineffectual wings. I do not
mean to object to a thorough knowledge of the
famous works we read. I object only to the inter-
minable comments and bewildering criticisms that
teach but one thing: there are as many opinions as
there are men. But when a great scholar like
Professor Kittredge interprets what the master said,
it is "as if new sight were given the blind." He
brings back Shakespeare, the poet.

There are, however, times when I long to sweep
away half the things I am expected to learn ; for the
overtaxed mind cannot enjoy the treasure it has
secured at the greatest cost. It is impossible, I
think, to read in one day four or five different books
in different languages and treating of widely different
subjects, and not lose sight of the very ends for which
one reads. When one reads hurriedly and nervously,
having in mind written tests and examinations,
one's brain becomes encumbered with a lot of choice
bric-a-brac for which there seems to be little use.
A.t the present time my mind is so full of hetero

102 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

geneous matter that I almost despair of ever being
able to put it in order. Whenever I enter the region
that was the kingdom of my mind I feel like the
proverbial bull in the china shop. A thousand odds
and ends of knowledge come crashing about my head
like hailstones, and when I try to escape them,
theme-goblins and college nixies of all sorts pursue
me, until I wish — oh, may I be forgiven the wicked
wish ! — that I might smash the idols I came to
worship.

But the examinations are the chief bugbears of
my college life. Although I have faced them many
times and cast them down and made them bite the
dust, yet they rise again and menace me with pale
looks, until like Bob Acres I feel my courage oozing
out at my finger ends. The days before these ordeals
take place are spent in cramming your mind with
mystic formulae and indigestible dates — unpalatable
diets, until you wish that books and science and you
were buried in the depths of the sea.

At last the dreaded hour arrives, and you are a
favoured being indeed if you feel prepared, and are
able at the right time to call to your standard
thoughts that will aid you in that supreme effort.
It happens too often that your trumpet call is
unheeded. It is most perplexing and exasperating
that just at the moment when you need your
memory and a nice sense of discrimination, these
faculties take to themselves wings and fly away,
The facts you have garnered with such infinite
trouble invariably fail you at a pinch.

"Give a brief account of Huss and his work."
Huss ? Who was he and what did he do ? The name
•ooks strangely familiar. You ransack your budget

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 103

of historic facts much as you would hunt for a bit of
silk in a rag-bag. You are sure it is somewhere in
your mind near the top — you saw it there the other
day when you were looking up the beginnings of the
Reformation. But where is it now? You fish out
all manner of odds and ends of knowledge — revolu-
tions, schisms, massacres, systems of government;
but Huss — where is he ? You are amazed at all the
things you know which are not on the examination
paper. In desperation you seize the budget and
dump everything out, and there in a corner is your
man, serenely brooding on his own private thought,
unconscious of the catastrophe which he has brought
upon you.

Just then the proctor informs you that the time
is up. With a feeling of intense disgust you kick
the mass of rubbish into a corner and go home, your
head full of revolutionary schemes to abolish the
divine right of professors to ask questions without
the consent of the questioned.

It comes over me that in the last two or three
pages of this chapter I have used figures which will
turn the laugh against me. Ah, here they are — the
mixed metaphors mocking and strutting about before
me, pointing to the bull in the china shop assailed
by hailstones and the bugbears with pale looks,
an unanalyzed species ! Let them mock on. The
words describe so exactly the atmosphere of jostling,
tumbling ideas I live in that I will wink at them for
once, and put on a deliberate air to say that my
ideas of college have changed.

While my days at Radcliffe were still in the future,
they were encircled with a halo of romance, which
they have lost ; but in the transition from romantic

io4 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

to actual I have learned many things I should
never have known had I not tried the experiment.
One of them is the precious science of patience,
which teaches us that we should take our education
as we would take a walk in the country, leisurely,
our minds hospitably open to impressions of every
sort. Such knowledge floods the soul unseen with
a soundless tidal wave of deepening thought.
"Knowledge is power." Rather, knowledge is
happiness, because to have knowledge — broad, deep
knowledge — is to know true ends from false, and
lofty things from low. To know the thoughts and
deeds that have marked man's progress is to feel
the great heart-throbs of humanity through the
centuries; and if one does not feel in these pulsa-
tions a heavenward striving, one must indeed be
deaf to the harmonies of life.

CHAPTER XXI

I have thus far sketched the events of my life,
but I have not shown how much I have depended
on books not only for pleasure and for the wisdom
they bring to all who read, but also for that knowl-
edge which comes to others through their eyes and
their ears. Indeed, books have meant so much
more in my education than in that of others, that
I shall go back to the time when I began to read.

I read my first connected story in May, 1887, when
I was seven years old, and from that day to this I
have devoured everything in the shape of a printed
page that has come within the reach of my hungry
finger tips. As I have said, I did not study regu-
larly during the early years of my education; nor
did I read according to rule.

At first I had only a few books in raised print —
"readers" for beginners, a collection of stories for
children, and a book about the earth called "Our
World." I think that was all ; but I read them over
and over, until the words were so worn and pressed
I could scarcely make them out. Sometimes Miss
Sullivan read to me, spelling into my hand little
stories and poems that she knew I should under-
stand; but I preferred reading myself to being
read to, because I liked to read again and again
the things that pleased me.

It was during my first visit to Boston that I really
began to read in good earnest. I wa? permitted to

105

106 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

spend a part of each day in the Institution library,
and to wander from bookcase to bookcase, and take
down whatever book my fingers lighted upon. And
read I did, whether I understood one word in ten
or two words on a page. The words themselves
fascinated me; but I took no conscious account of
what I read. My mind must, however, have been
very impressionable at that period, for it retained
many words and whole sentences, to the meaning of
which I had not the faintest clue; and afterward,
when I began to talk and write, these words and
sentences would flash out quite naturally, so that
my friends wondered at the richness of my vocab-
ulary. I must have read parts of many books (in
those early days I think I never read any one book
through) and a great deal of poetry in this uncom-
prehending way, until I discovered "Little Lord
Fauntleroy," which was the first book of any conse-
quence I read understandingly.

One day my teacher found me in a corner of the
library pouring over the pages of "The Scarlet
Letter." I was then about eight years old. I
remember she asked me if I liked little Pearl, and
explained some of the words that had puzzled me.
Then she told me that she had a beautiful story
about a little boy which she was sure I should like
better than " The Scarlet Letter." The name of the
story was "Little Lord Fauntleroy," and she
promised to read it to me the following summer.
But we did not begin the story until August; the
first few weeks of my stay at the seashore were so full
of discoveries and excitement that I forgot the very
existence of books. Then my teacher went to visit
some friends in Boston, leaving me for a short time.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 207

When she returned almost the first thing we did
fcras to begin the story of " Little Lord Fauntleroy."
I recall distinctly the time and place when we read
the first chapters of the fascinating child's story. It
was a warm afternoon in August. We were sitting
together in a hammock which swung from two solemn
pines at a short distance from the house. We had
hurried through the dish-washing after luncheon,
in order that we might have as long an afternoon as
possible for the story. As we hastened through the
long grass toward the hammock, the grasshoppers
swarmed about us and fastened themselves on our
clothes, and I remember that my teacher insisted
upon picking them all off before we sat down, which
seemed to me an unnecessary waste of time. The
hammock was covered with pine needles, for it had
not been used while my teacher was away. The
warm sun shone on the pine trees and drew out all
their fragrance. The air was balmy, with a tang of
the sea in it. Before we began the story Miss
Sullivan explained to me the things that she knew
I should not understand, and as we read on she
explained the unfamiliar words. At first there were
many words I did not know, and the reading was
constantly interrupted ; but as soon as I thoroughly
comprehended the situation, I became too eagerly
absorbed in the story to notice mere words, and I
am afraid I listened impatiently to the explanations
that Miss Sullivan felt to be necessary. When her
fingers were too tired to spell another word, I had for
the first time a keen sense of my deprivations. I
took the book in my hands and tried to feel
the letters with an intensity of longing that I can
never forget.

o8 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Afterward, at my eager request, Mr. Anagnos had
this story embossed, and I read it again and again,
until I almost knew it by heart ; and all through my
childhood "Little Lord Fauntleroy" was my sweet
and gentle companion. I have given these details
at the risk of being tedious, because they are in such
vivid contrast with my vague, mutable and confused
memories of earlier reading.

From "Little Lord Fauntleroy" I date the begin-
ning of my true interest in books. During the next
two years I read many books at my home and on my
visits to Boston. I cannot remember what they all
were, or in what order I read them ; but I know that
among them were "Greek Heroes," La Fontaine's
"Fables," Hawthorne's "Wonder Book," "Bible
Stories," Lamb's "Tales from Shakespeare," "A
Child's History of England" by Dickens, "The
Arabian Nights," "The Swiss Family Robinson,"
"The Pilgrim's Progress," "Robinson Crusoe,"
"Little Women," and "Heidi," a beautiful little
story which I afterward read in German. I read them
in the intervals between study and play with an
ever-deepening sense of pleasure. I did not study nor
analyze them — I did not know whether they were
well written or not; I never thought about style or
authorship. They laid their treasures at my feet,
and I accepted them as we accept the sunshine and
the love of our friends. I loved "Little Women"
because it gave me a sense of kinship with girls and
boys who could see and hear. Circumscribed as my
life was in so many ways, I had to look between the
covers of books for news of the world that lay
outside my own.

I did not care especiallv for "The Pilgrim's

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 109

Progress," which I think I did not finish, or for the
"Fables." I read La Fontaine's "Fables" first in an
English translation, and enjoyed them only after a
half-hearted fashion. Later I read the book again in
French, and I found that, in spite of the vivid word-
pictures, and the wonderful mastery of language, I
liked it no better. I do not know why it is, but
stories in which animals are made to talk and act like
human beings have never appealed to me very
strongly. The ludicrous caricatures of the animals
occupy my mind to the exclusion of the moral.

Then, again, La Fontaine seldom, if ever, appeals
to our higher moral sense. The highest chords he
strikes are those of reason and self-love. Through
all the fables runs the thought that man's morality
springs wholly from self-love, and that if that self-
love is directed and restrained by reason, happiness
must follow. Now, so far as I can judge, self-love
is the root of all evil ; but, of course, I may be wrong,
for La Fontaine had greater opportunities of observ-
ing men than I am likely ever to have. I do not
object so much to the cynical and satirical fables as
to those in which momentous truths are taught by
monkeys and foxes.

But I love " The Jungle Book" and " Wild Animals
I Have Known." I feel a genuine interest in the
animals themselves, because they are real animals
and not caricatures of men. One sympathizes with
their loves and hatreds, laughs over their comedies,
and weeps over their tragedies. And if they point
a moral, it is so subtle that we are not conscious
of it.

My mind opened naturally and joyously to a con-
ception of antiquity. Greece, ancient Greece, exer-

no THE STORY OF MY LIFE

cised a mysterious fascination over me. In my
fancy the pagan gods and goddesses still walked on
earth and talked face to face with men, and in my
heart I secretly built shrines to those I loved best.
I knew and loved the whole tribe of nymphs and
heroes and demigods — no, not quite all, for the
cruelty and greed of Medea and Jason were too
monstrous to be forgiven, and I used to wonder why
the gods permitted them to do wrong and then
punished them for their wickedness. And the
mystery is still unsolved. I often wonder how

God can dumbness keep

While Sin creeps grinning through His house of Time.

It was the Iliad that made Greece my paradise.
I was familiar with the story of Troy before I read
it in the original, and consequently I had little
difficulty in making the Greek words surrender their
treasures after I had passed the borderland of
grammar. Great poetry, whether written in Greek or
in English, needs no other interpreter than a respon-
sive heart. Would that the host of those who
make the great works of the poets odious by their
analysis, impositions and laborious comments
might learn this simple truth ! It is not necessary
that one should be able to define every word and give
it its principal parts and its grammatical position in
the sentence in order to understand and appre-
ciate a fine poem. I know my learned professors
have found greater riches in the Iliad than I
shall ever find; but I am not avaricious. I am
content that others should be wiser than I. But
with all their wide and comprehensive knowledge,
they cannot measure their enjoyment of that splen-

THE STORY OF MY LIFE in

did epic, nor can I. When I read the finest pass-
ages of the Iliad, I am conscious of a soul-sense
that lifts me above the narrow, cramping circum-
stances of my life. My physical limitations are
forgotten — my world lies upward, the length and
the breadth and the sweep of the heavens are
mine !

My admiration for the ^Eneid is not so great,
but it is none the less real. I read it as much as
possible without the help of notes or dictionary, and
I always like to translate the episodes that pleased
me especially. The word-painting of Virgil is won-
derful sometimes; but his gods and men move
through the scenes of passion and strife and pity
and love like the graceful figures in an Elizabethan
mask, whereas in the Iliad they give three leaps
and go on singing. Virgil is serene and lovely
like a marble Apollo in the moonlight; Homer is a
beautiful, animated youth in the full sunlight with
the wind in his hair.

How easy it is to fly on paper wings ! From
"Greek Heroes" to the Iliad was no day's journey,
nor was it altogether pleasant. One could have
traveled round the world many times while I trudged
my weary way through the labyrinthine mazes of
grammars and dictionaries, or fell into those dreadful
pitfalls called examinations, set by schools and
colleges for the confusion of those who seek after
knowledge. I suppose this sort of Pilgrim's Progress
was justified by the end ; but it seemed interminable
to me, in spite of the pleasant surprises that met me
now and then at a turn in the road.

I began to read the Bible long before I could under-
stand it. Now it seems strange to me that there

ii2 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

should have been a time when my spirit was deaf
to its wondrous harmonies ; but I remember well a
rainy Sunday morning when, having nothing else to
do, I begged my cousin to read me a story out of the
Bible. Although she did not think I should under-
stand, she began to spell into my hand the story
of Joseph and his brothers. Somehow it failed to
interest me. The unusual language and repetition
made the story seem unreal and far away in the
land of Canaan, and I fell asleep and wandered
off to the land of Nod, before the brothers came with
the coat of many colours unto the tent of Jacob and
told their wicked lie ! I cannot understand why the
stories of the Greeks should have been so full of
charm for me, and those of the Bible so devoid of
interest, unless it was that I had made the acquaint-
ance of several Greeks in Boston and been inspired
by their enthusiasm for the stories of their country ;
whereas I had not met a single Hebrew or Egyptian,
and therefore concluded that they were nothing
more than barbarians, and the stories about
them were probably all made up, which hypothesis
explained the repetitions and the queer names.
Curiously enough, it never occurred to me to call
Greek patronymics " queer. "

But how shall I speak of the glories I have since
discovered in the Bible? For years I have read it
with an ever-broadening sense of joy and inspiration ;
and I love it as I love no other book. Still there is
much in the Bible against which every instinct of
my being rebels, so much that I regret the necessity
which has compelled me to read it through from
beginning to end. I do not think that the knowledge
which I have gained of its history and sources com-

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 313

pensates me for the unpleasant details it has forced
upon my attention. For my part, I wish, with Mr.
Ho wells, that the literature of the past might be
purged of all that is ugly and barbarous in it,
although I should object as much as any one to
having these great works weakened or falsified.

There is something impressive, awful, in the sim-
plicity and terrible directness of the book of Esther.
Could there be anything more dramatic than the
scene in which Esther stands before her wicked lord ?
She knows her life is in his hands ; there is no one to
protect her from his wrath. Yet, conquering her
woman's fear, she approaches him, animated by the
noblest patriotism, having but one thought: "If I
perish, I perish ; but if I live, my people shall live. "

The story of Ruth, too — how Oriental it is ! Yet
how different is the life of these simple country folks
from that of the Persian capital ! Ruth is so loyal
and gentle-hearted, we cannot help loving her, as
she stands with the reapers amid the waving corn.
Her beautiful, unselfish spirit shines out like a bright
star in the night of a dark and cruel age. Love like
Ruth's, love which can rise above conflicting creeds
and deep-seated racial prejudices, is hard to find in
all the world.

The Bible gives me a deep, comforting sense that
"things seen are temporal, and things unseen are
eternal. "

I do not remember a time since I have been capable
of loving books that I have not loved Shakespeare.
I cannot tell exactly when I began Lamb's "Tales
from Shakespeare"; but I know that I read them
at first with a child's understanding and a child's
wonder. "Macbeth" seems to have impressed me

ii4 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

most. One reading was sufficient to stamp every
detail of the story upon my memory forever. For a
long time the ghosts and witches pursued me even
into Dreamland. I could see, absolutely see, the
dagger and Lady Macbeth's little white hand — the
dreadful stain was as real to me as to the grief-
stricken queen.

I read " King Lear" soon after " Macbeth, " and I
shall never forget the feeling of horror when I came
to the scene in which Gloster's eyes are put out.
Anger seized me, my fingers refused to move, I sat
rigid for one long moment, the blood throbbing in
my temples, and all the hatred that a child can feel
concentrated in my heart.

I must have made the acquaintance of Shylock
and Satan about the same time, for the two charac-
ters were long associated in my mind. I remember
that I was sorry for them. I felt vaguely that they
could not be good even if thev wished to, because no
one seemed willing to help them or to give them a
fair chance. Even now I cannot find it in my heart
to condemn them utterly. There are moments
when I feel that the Shylocks, the Judases, and even
the Devil, are broken spokes in the great wheel of
good which shall in due time be made whole.

It seems strange that my first reading of Shake-
speare should have left me so many unpleasant
memories. The bright, gentle, fanciful plays — the
ones I like best now — appear not to have impressed
me at first, perhaps because they reflected the
habitual sunshine and gaiety of a child's life. But
" there is nothing more capricious than the memory
of a child : what it will hold, and what it will lose."

I have since read Shakespeare's plays many times

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 115

and know parts of them by heart, but I cannot tell
which of them I like best. My delight in them is as
varied as my moods. The little songs and the sonnets
have a meaning for me as fresh and wonderful as the
dramas. But, with all my love for Shakespeare, it
is often weary work to read all the meanings into
his lines which critics and commentators have given
them. I used to try to remember their interpreta-
tions, but they discouraged and vexed me ; so I made
a secret compact with myself not to try any more.
This compact I have only just broken in my study
of Shakespeare under Professor Kittredge. I know
there are many things in Shakespeare, and in the
world, that I do not understand; and I am glad to
see veil after veil lift gradually, revealing new realms
of thought and beauty.

Next to poetry I love history. I have read every
historical work that I have been able to lay my hands
on, from a catalogue of dry facts and dryer dates
to Green's impartial, picturesque " History of the
English People"; from Freeman's "History of
Europe" to Emerton's "Middle Ages." The first
book that gave me any real sense of the value of
history was Swinton's "World's History," which I
received on my thirteenth birthday. Though I
believe it is no longer considered valid, yet I have
kept it ever since as one of my treasures. From it
I learned how the races of men spread from land to
land and built great cities, how a few great rulers,
earthly Titans, put everything under their feet, and
with a decisive word opened the gates of happiness
for millions and closed them upon millions more;
how different nations pioneered in art and knowledge
and broke ground for the mightier growths of coming

n6 THE STORY 'OF MY LIFE

ages; how civilization underwent, as it were, the
holocaust of a degenerate age, and rose again, like
the Phoenix, among the nobler sons of the North;
and how by liberty, tolerance and education the
great and the wise have opened the way for the
salvation of the whole world.

In my college reading I have become somewhat
familiar with French and German literature. The
German puts strength before beauty, and truth
before convention, both in life and in literature.
There is a vehement, sledge-hammer vigour about
everything that he does. When he speaks, it is not
to impress others, but because his heart would burst
if he did not find an outlet for the thoughts that burn
in his soul.

Then, too, there is in German literature a fine
reserve which I like; but its chief glory is the
recognition I find in it of the redeeming potency of
woman's self-sacrificing love. This thought per-
vades all German literature and is mystically
expressed in Goethe's "Faust":

All things transitory

But as symbols are sent.
Earth's insufficiency

Here grows to event.
The indescribable
Here it is done.
The Woman Soul leads us upward and on f

Of all the French writers that I have read, I like
Moliere and Racine best. There are fine things in
Balzac and passages in Merimee which strike one
like a keen blast of sea air. Alfred de Musset is
impossible ! I admire Victor Hugo — I appreciate
his genius, his brilliancy, his romanticism ; though he
is not one of my literary passions. But Hugo and

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 117

Goethe and Schiller and all great poets of all
great nations are interpreters of eternal things,
and my spirit reverently follows them into the
regions where Beauty and Truth and Goodness
are one.

I am afraid I have written too much about my
book-friends, and yet I have mentioned only the
authors I love most; and from this fact one might
easily suppose that my circle of friends was very
limited and undemocratic, which would be a very
wrong impression. I like many writers for many
reasons — Carlyle for his ruggedness and scorn of
shams ; Wordsworth, who teaches the oneness of man
and nature ; I find an exquisite pleasure in the oddities
and surprises of Hood, in Herrick's quaintness and
the palpable scent of lily and rose in his verses; I
like Whittier for his enthusiasms and moral rectitude.
I knew him, and the gentle remembrance of our
friendship doubles the pleasure I have in reading
his poems. I love Mark Twain — who does not?
The gods, too, loved him and put into his heart all
manner of wisdom; then, fearing lest he should
become a pessimist, they spanned his mind with a
rainbow of love and faith. I like Scott for his
freshness, dash and large honesty. I love all
writers whose minds, like Lowell's, bubble up in
the sunshine of optimism — fountains of joy and
good will, with occasionally a splash of anger and
here and there a healing spray of sympathy and
pity.

In a word, literature is my Utopia. Here I am not
disfranchised. No barrier of the senses shuts me
out from the sweet, gracious discourse of my book-
friends. They talk to me without embarrassment 01

1 18 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

awkwardness. The things I have learned and the
things I have been taught seem of ridiculously little
importance compared with their "large loves and
heavenly charities."

CHAPTER XXII

I trust that my readers have not concluded from
the preceding chapter on books that reading is my
only pleasure; my pleasures and amusements are
many and varied.

More than once in the course of my story I have
referred to my love of the country and out-of-door
sports. When I was quite a little girl, I learned to
row and swim, and during the summer, when I am
at Wrentham, Massachusetts, I almost live ,in my
boat. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to
take my friends out rowing when they visit me. Of
course, I cannot guide the boat very well. Some one
usually sits in the stern and manages the rudder
while I row. Sometimes, however, I go rowing
without the rudder. It is fun to try to steer by the
scent of watergrasses and lilies, and of bushes that
grow on the shore. I use oars with leather bands,
which keep them in position in the oarlocks, and I
know by the resistance of the water when the oars
are evenly poised. In the same manner I can also
tell when I am pulling against the current. I like to
contend with wind and wave. What is more
exhilarating than to make your staunch little boat,
obedient to your will and muscle, go skimming
lightly over glistening, tilting waves, and to feel the
steady, imperious surge of the water !

I also enjoy canoeing, and I suppose you will smile
when I say that I especially like it on moonlight

*I9

120 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

nights. I cannot, it is true, see the moon climb up
the sky behind the pines and steal softly across the
heavens, making a shining path for us to follow ; but
I know she is there, and as I lie back among the
pillows and put my hand in the water, I fancy that
I feel the shimmer of her garments as she passes.
Sometimes a daring little fish slips between my
fingers, and often a pond-lily presses shyly against
my hand. Frequently, as we emerge from the
shelter of a cove or inlet, I am suddenly conscious
of the spaciousness of the air about me. A lumin-
ous warmth seems to enfold me. Whether it comes
from the trees which have been heated by the sun,
or from the water, I can never discover. I have had
the same strange sensation even in the heart of the
city. I have felt it on cold, stormy days and at
night. It is like the kiss of warm lips on my face.

My favourite amusement is sailing. In the sum-
mer of 1 90 1 I visited Nova Scotia, and had oppor-
tunities such as I had not enjoyed before to make
the acquaintance of the ocean. After spending a
few days in Evangeline's country, about which
Longfellow's beautiful poem has woven a spell of
enchantment, Miss Sullivan and I went to Halifax,
where we remained the greater part of the summer.
The harbour was our joy, our paradise. What
glorious sails we had to Bedford Basin, to McNabb's
Island, to York Redoubt, and to the Northwest
Arm ! And at night what soothing, wondrous hours
we spent in the shadow of the great, silent men-of-
war. Oh, it was all so interesting, so beautiful!
The memory of it is a joy forever.

One day we had a thrilling experience. There
was a regatta in the Northwest Arm, in which

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 121

the boats from the different warships were engaged.
We went in a sail-boat along with many others to
watch the races. Hundreds of little sail-boats swung
to and fro close by, and the sea was calm. When the
races were over, and we turned our faces homeward,
one of the party noticed a black cloud drifting in
from the sea, which grew and spread and thickened
until it covered the whole sky. The wind rose, and
the waves chopped angrily at unseen barriers. Our
little boat confronted the gale fearlessly ; with sails
spread and ropes taut, she seemed to sit upon the
wind. Now she swirled in the billows, now she
sprang upward on a gigantic wave, only to be driven
down with angry howl and hiss. Down came the
mainsail. Tacking and jibbing, we wrestled with
opposing winds that drove us from side to side with
impetuous fury. Our hearts beat fast, and our
hands trembled with excitement, not fear; for we
had the hearts of vikings, and we knew that our
skipper was master of the situation. He had steered
through many a storm with firm hand and sea -wise
eye. As they passed us, the large craft and the
gunboats in the harbour saluted and the seamen
shouted applause for the master of the only little
sail-boat that ventured out into the storm. At last,
cold, hungry and weary, we reached our pier.

Last summer I spent in one of the loveliest nooks
of one of the most charming villages in New England.
Wrentham, Massachusetts, is associated with nearly
all of my joys and sorrows. For many years Red
Farm, by King Philip's Pond, the home of Mr.
J. E. Chamberlin and his family, was my home.
I remember with deepest gratitude the kindness of
these dear friends and the happy days I spent with

122 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

them. The sweet companionship of their children
meant much to me. I joined in all their sports
and rambles through the woods and frolics in the
water. The prattle of the little ones and their
pleasure in the stories I told them of elf and
gnome, of hero and wily bear, are pleasant things to
remember. Mr. Chamberlin initiated me into the
mysteries of tree and wild-flower, until with the
little ear of love I heard the flow of sap in the
oak, and saw the sun glint from leaf to leaf. Thus
it is that

Even as the roots, shut in the darksome earth,
Share in the tree-top's joyance, and. conceive
Of sunshine and wide air and winged things,
By sympathy of nature, so do I

have evidence of things unseen.

It seems to me that there is in each of us a capacity
to comprehend the impressions and emotions which
have been experienced by mankind from the begin-
ning. Each individual has a subconscious memory
of the green earth and murmuring waters, and blind-
ness and deafness cannot rob him of this gift from
past generations. This inherited capacity is a sort
of sixth sense — a soul-sense which sees, hears, feels,
all in one.

I have many tree friends in Wrentham. One of
them, a splendid oak, is the special pride of my heart.
I take all my other friends to see this king-tree. It
stands on a bluff overlooking King Philip's Pond,
and those who are wise in tree lore say it must have
stood there eight hundred or a thousand years.
There is a tradition that under this tree King
Philip, the heroic Indian chief, gazed his last on
earth and sky.

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 123

I had another tree friend, gentle and more
approachable than the great oak — a linden that
grew in the dooryard at Red Farm. One afternoon,
during a terrible thunderstorm, I felt a tremendous
crash against the side of the house and knew, even
before they told me, that the linden had fallen.
We went out to see the hero that had withstood
so many tempests, and it wrung my heart to see
him prostrate who had mightily striven and was
now mightily fallen.

But I must not forget that I was going to write
about last summer in particular. As soon as my
examinations were over, Miss Sullivan and I hastened
to this green nook, where we have a little cottage on
one of the three lakes for which Wrentham is famous.
Here the long, sunny days were mine, and all
thoughts of work and college and the noisy city
were thrust into the background. In Wrentham we
caught echoes of what was happening in the world
— war, alliance, social conflict. We heard of the
cruel, unnecessary fighting in the far-away Pacific,
and learned of the struggles going on between capi-
tal and labour. We knew that beyond the border
of our Eden men were making history by the sweat
of their brows when they might better make a
holiday. But we little heeded these things. These
things would pass away; here were lakes and woods,
and broad daisy-starred fields and sweet-breathed
meadows, and they shall endure forever.

People who think that all sensations reach us
through the eye and the ear have expressed surprise
that I should notice any difference, except possibly
the absence of pavements, between walking in city
streets and in country roads. They forget that my

i24 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

whole body is alive to the conditions about me. The
rumble and roar of the city smite the nerves of my
face, and I feel the ceaseless tramp of an unseen
multitude, and the dissonant tumult frets my spirit.
The grinding of heavy wagons on hard pavements
and the monotonous clangour of machinery are all
the more torturing to the nerves if one's attention is
not diverted by the panorama that is always present
in the noisy streets to people who can see.

In the country one sees only Nature's fair works,
and one's soul is not saddened by the cruel struggle
for mere existence that goes on in the crowded city.
Several times I have visited the narrow, dirty streets
where the poor live, and I grow hot and indignant to
think that good people should be content to live in
fine houses and become strong and beautiful, while
others are condemned to live in hideous, sunless
tenements and grow ugly, withered and cringing.
The children who crowd these grimy alleys, half -clad
and underfed, shrink away from your outstretched
hand as if from a blow. Dear little creatures, they
crouch in my heart and haunt me with a constant
sense of pain. There are men and women, too, all
gnarled and bent out of shape. I have felt their
hard, rough hands and realized what an endless
struggle their existence must be — no more than a
series of scrimmages, thwarted attempts to do some-
thing. Their life seems an immense disparity
between effort and opportunity. The •sun and the
air are God's free gifts to all, we say ; but are they so ?
In yonder city's dingy alleys the sun shines not, and
the air is foul. Oh, man, how dost thou forget and
obstruct thy brother man, and say, "Give us this
day our daily bread, " when he has none ! Ohf

THE STORY OP MY LIFE 125

would that men would leave the city, its splendour
and its tumult and its gold, and return to wood and
field and simple, honest living ! Then would their
children grow stately as noble trees, and their
thoughts sweet and pure as wayside flowers. It is
impossible not to think of all this when I return to
the country after a year of work in town.

What a joy it is to feel the soft, springy earth
under my feet once more, to follow grassy roads
that lead to ferny brooks where I can bathe my
fingers in a cataract of rippling notes, or to clamber
over a stone wall into green fields that tumble
and roll and climb in riotous gladness !

Next to a leisurely walk I enjoy a "spin" on my
tandem bicycle. It is splendid to feel the wind
blowing in my face and the springy motion of my
iron steed. The rapid rush through the air gives
me a delicious sense of strength and buoyancy, and
the exercise makes my pulses dance and my heart
sing.

Whenever it is possible, my dog accompanies me
on a walk or ride or sail. I have had many dog
friends — huge mastiffs, soft-eyed spaniels, wood-
wise setters and honest, homely bull terriers. At
present the lord of my affections is one of these bull
terriers. He has a long pedigree, a crooked tail and
the drollest "phiz" in dogdom. My dog friends
seem to understand my limitations, and always
keep close beside me when I am alone. I love
their affectionate ways and the eloquent wag of
their tails.

When a rainy day keeps me indoors, I amuse
myself after the manner of other girls. I like to
knit and crochet ; I read in the happy-go-lucky way

f26 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

I love, here and there a line; or perhaps I play a
game or two of checkers or chess with a friend. I
have a special board on which I play these games.
The squares are cut out, so that the men stand in
them firmly. The black checkers are flat and the
white ones curved on top. Each checker has a hole
in the middle in which a brass knob can be placed
to distinguish the king from the commons. The
chessmen are of two sizes, the white larger than the
black, so that I have no trouble in following my
opponent's manoeuvers by moving my hands lightly
over the board after a play. The jar made by
shifting the men from one hole to another tells me
when it is my turn.

If I happen to be all alone and in an idle mood, I
play a game of solitaire, of which I am very fond.
I use playing cards marked in the upper right-hand
corner with braille symbols which indicate the value
of the card.

It there are children around, nothing pleases me
so much as to frolic with them. I find even the
smallest child excellent company, and I am glad to
say that children usually like me. They lead me
about and show me the things they are interested in.
Of course the little ones cannot spell on their fingers ;
but I manage to read their lips. If I do not succeed
they resort to dumb show. Sometimes I make a
mistake and do the wrong thing. A burst of childish
laughter greets my blunder, and the pantomime
begins all over again. I often tell them stories or
teach them a game, and the winged hours depart
and leave us good and happy.

Museums and art stores are also sources of pleasure
and inspiration. Doubtless it will seem strange to

•

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-'■mf1' *m

MISS KELLER AND "PHIZ"

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 127

many that the hand unaided by sight can feel action,
sentiment, beauty in the cold marble ; and yet it is
true that I derive genuine pleasure from touching
great works of art. As my finger tips trace line and
curve, they discover the thought and emotion which
the artist has portrayed. I can feel in the faces of
gods and heroes hate, courage and love, just as I
can detect them in living faces I am permitted to
touch. I feel in Diana's posture the grace and free-
dom of the forest and the spirit that tames the
mountain lion and subdues the fiercest passions.
My soul delights in the repose and gracious curves
of the Venus ; and in Barre's bronzes the secrets of
the jungle are revealed to me.

A medallion of Homer hangs on the wall of my
study, conveniently low, so that I can easily reach
it and touch the beautiful, sad face with loving
reverence. How well I know each line in that
majestic brow — -tracks of life and bitter evidences
of struggle and sorrow; those sightless eyes seeking,
even in the cold plaster, for the light and the blue
skies of his beloved Hellas, but seeking in vain;
that beautiful mouth, firm and true and tender.
It is the face of a poet, and of a man acquainted
with sorrow. Ah, how well I understand his
deprivation — the perpetual night in which ' he
dwelt —

O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,
Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse
Without all hope of day !

In imagination I can hear Homer singing, as with
unsteady, hesitating steps he gropes his way from
camp to camp — singing of life, of love, of war, of the
splendid achievements of a noble race. It was a

128 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

wonderful, glorious song, and it won the blind poet
an immortal crown, the admiration of all ages.

I sometimes wonder if the hand is not more
sensitive to the beauties of sculpture than the
eye. I should think the wonderful rhythmical
flow of lines and curves could be more subtly felt
than seen. Be this as it may, I know that I can
feel the heart-throbs of the ancient Greeks in
their marble gods and goddesses.

Another pleasure, which comes more rarely than
the others, is going to the theatre. I enjoy having
a play described to me while it is being acted on the
stage far more than reading it, because then it seems
as if I were living in the midst of stirring events. It
has been my privilege to meet a few great actors and
actresses who have the power of so bewitching you
that you forget time and place and live again in the
romantic past. I have been permitted to touch the
face and costume of Miss Ellen Terry as she imper-
sonated our ideal of a queen ; and there was about her
that divinity that hedges sublimest woe. Beside her
stood Sir Henry Irving, wearing the symbols of
kingship; and there was majesty of intellect in his
every gesture and attitude and the royalty that
subdues and overcomes in every line of his sensitive
face. In the king's face, which he wore as a mask,
there was a remoteness and inaccessibility of grief
which I shall never forget.

I also know Mr. Jefferson. I am proud to count
him among my friends. I go to see him whenever I
happen to be where he is acting. The first time I
saw him act was while at school in New York. He
played "Rip Van Winkle." I had often read the
story, but I had never felt the charm of Rip's

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 129

slow, quaint, kind ways as I did in the play. Mr.
Jefferson's beautiful, pathetic representation quite
carried me away with delight. I have a picture of
old Rip in my fingers which they will never lose.
After the play Miss Sullivan took me to see him
behind the scenes, and I felt of his curious garb and
his flowing hair and beard. Mr. Jefferson let me
touch his face so that I could imagine how he looked
on waking from that strange sleep of twenty years,
and he showed me how poor old Rip staggered to
his feet.

I have also seen him in " The Rivals. " Once while
I was calling on him in Boston he acted the most
striking parts of ' ' The Rivals ' ' for me. The reception-
room where we sat served for a stage. He and
his son seated themselves at the big table, and Bob
Acres wrote his challenge. I followed all his move-
ments with my hands, and caught the drollery of his
blunders and gestures in a way that would have been
impossible had it all been spelled to me. Then they
rose to fight the duel, and I followed the swift thrusts
and parries of the swords and the waverings of poor
Bob as his courage oozed out at his finger ends.
Then the great actor gave his coat a hitch and his
mouth a twitch, and in an instant I was in the
village of Falling Water and felt Schneider's shaggy
head against my knee. Mr. Jefferson recited the
best dialogues of "Rip Van Winkle," in which the
tear came close upon the smile. He asked me to
indicate as far as I could the gestures and action
that should go with the lines. Of course, I have no
sense whatever of dramatic action, and could make
only random guesses; but with masterful art he
suited the action to the word. The sigh of Rip as he

i3o THE STORY OF MY LIFE

murmurs, " Is a man so soon forgotten when he is
gone?" the dismay with which he searches for dog
and gun after his long sleep, and his comical irreso-
lution over signing the contract with Derrick — all
these seem to be right out of life itself ; that is, the
ideal life, where things happen as we think they
should.

I remember well the first time I went to the
theatre. It was twelve years ago. Elsie Leslie, the
little actress, was in Boston, and Miss Sullivan took
me to see her in ' ' The Prince and the Pauper. ' ' I
shall never forget the ripple of alternating joy and
woe that ran through that beautiful little play, or the
wonderful child who acted it. After the play I was
permitted to go behind the scenes and meet her in
her royal costume. It would have been hard to
find a lovelier or more lovable child than Elsie, as
she stood with a cloud of golden hair floating over
her shoulders, smiling brightly, showing no signs of
shyness or fatigue, though she had been playing to
an immense audience. I was only just learning to
speak, and had previously repeated her name until I
could say it perfectly. Imagine my delight when
she understood the few words I spoke to her and
without hesitation stretched her hand to greet me.

Is it not true, then, that my life with all its
limitations touches at many points the life of the
World Beautiful? Everything has its wonders,
even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever
state I may be in, therein to be content.

Sometimes, it is true, a sense of isolation enfolds
me like a cold mist as I sit alone and wait at life's
shut gate. Beyond there is light, and music, and
sweet companionship; but I may not enter. Fate,

iTHE STORY OF MY LIFE 131

silent, pitiless, bars the way. Fain would I question
his imperious decree; for my heart is still undisci-
plined and passionate ; but my tongue will not utter
the bitter, futile words that rise to my lips, and
they fall back into my heart like unshed tears.
Silence sits immense upon my soul. Then comes
hope with a smile and whispers, "There is joy in
self -forget fulness." So I try to make the light in
others' eyes my sun, the music in others' ears my
symphony, the smile on others' lips my happiness.

CHAPTER XXIII

Would that I could enrich this sketch with the
names of all those who have ministered to my happi-
ness ! Some of them would be found written in our
literature and dear to the hearts of many, while
others would be wholly unknown to most of my
readers. But their influence, though it escapes
fame, shall live immortal in the lives that have been
sweetened and ennobled by it. Those are red-letter
days in our lives when we meet people who thrill us
like a fine poem, people whose handshake is brimful
of unspoken sympathy, and whose sweet, rich natures
impart to our eager, impatient spirits a wonderful
restfulness which, in its essence, is divine. The
perplexities, irritations and worries that have
absorbed us pass like unpleasant dreams, and we
wake to see with new eyes and hear with new ears
the beauty and harmony of God's real world. The
solemn nothings that fill our everyday life blossom
suddenly into bright possibilities. In a word, while
such friends are near us we feel that all is well.
Perhaps we never saw them before, and they may
never cross our life's path again; but the influence
of their calm, mellow natures is a libation poured
upon our discontent, and we feel its healing touch,
as the ocean feels the mountain stream freshening
its brine.

I have often been asked, " Do not people bore
you? " I do not understand quite what that means.

132

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 133

I suppose the calls of the stupid and curious, espe
cially of newspaper reporters, are always inop-
portune. I also dislike people who try to talk down
to my understanding. They are like people who
when walking with you try to shorten their steps
to suit yours ; the hypocrisy in both cases is equally
exasperating.

The hands of those I meet are dumbly eloquent
to me. The touch of some hands is an impertinence.
I have met people so empty of joy, that when I
clasped their frosty finger-tips, it seemed as if I were
shaking hands with a northeast storm. Others
there are whose hands have sunbeams in them, so
that their grasp warms my heart. It may be only
the clinging touch of a child's hand ; but there is as
much potential sunshine in it for me as there is in a
loving glance for others. A hearty handshake cr a
friendly letter gives me genuine pleasure.

I have many far-off friends whom I have never
seen. Indeed they are so many that I have often
been unable to reply to their letters ; but I wish to
say here that I am always grateful for their kind
words, however insufficiently I acknowledge them.

I count it one of the sweetest privileges of my life
to have known and conversed with many men of
genius. Only those who knew Bishop Brooks can
appreciate the joy his friendship was to those who
possessed it. As a child I loved to sit on his knee
and clasp his great hand with one of mine, while
Miss Sullivan spelled into the other his beautiful
words about God and the spiritual world. I heard
him with a child's wonder and delight. My spirit
could not reach up to his, but he gave me a real
sense of joy in life, and I never left him without

i34 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

carrying away a fine thought that grew in beauty
and depth of meaning as I grew. Once, when I was
puzzled to know why there were so many religions,
he said: "There is one universal religion, Helen —
the religion of love. Love your Heavenly Father
with your whole heart and soul, love every child of
God as much as ever you can, and remember that
the possibilities of good are greater than the possi-
bilities of evil; and you have the key to Heaven."
And his life was a happy illustration of this great
truth. In his noble soul love and widest knowledge
were blended with faith that had become insight.
He saw

God in all that liberates and lifts,

In all that humbles, sweetens and consoles.

Bishop Brooks taught me no special creed or
dogma ; but he impressed upon my mind two great
ideas — the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood
of man, and made me feel that these truths underlie
all creeds and forms of worship. God is love, God
is our Father, we are His children; therefore the
darkest clouds will break, and though right be
worsted, wrong shall not triumph.

I am too happy in this world to think much about
the future, except to remember that I have cher-
ished friends awaiting me there in God's beautiful
Somewhere. In spite of the lapse of years, they
seem so close to me that I should not think it
strange if at any moment they should clasp my
hand and speak words of endearment as they used
to before they went away.

Since Bishop Brooks died I have read the Bibl
through; also some philosophical works on religio

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 135

among them Swedenborg's "Heaven and Hell"
and Drummond's "Ascent of Man," and I have
found no creed or system more soul-satisfying than
Bishop Brooks's creed of love. I knew Mr. Henry
Drummond, and the memory of his strong, warm
hand-clasp is like a benediction. He was the most
sympathetic of companions. He knew so much
and was so genial that it was impossible to feel dull
m his presence.

I remember well the first time I saw Dr. Oliver
Wendell Holmes. He had invited Miss Sullivan and
me to call on him one Sunday afternoon. It was
early in the spring, just after I had learned to speak.
We were shown at once to his library where we found
him seated in a big armchair by an open fire which
glowed and crackled on the hearth, thinking, he said,
of other days.

"And listening to the murmur of the River
Charles," I suggested.

"Yes," he replied, "the Charles has many dear
associations for me." There was an odour of print
and leather in the room which told me that it was
full of books, and I stretched out my hand instinc-
tively to find them. My fingers lighted upon a
beautiful volume of Tennyson's poems, and when
Miss Sullivan told me what it was I began to recite :

Break, break, break

On thy cold gray stones, O sea !

But I stopped suddenly. I felt tears on my hand.
I had made my beloved poet weep, and I was
greatly distressed. He made me sit in his arm-
chair, while he brought different interesting things
for me to examine, and at his request I recited

136 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

"The Chambered Nautilus," which was then my
favorite poem. After that I saw Dr. Holmes many
times and learned to love the man as well as the poet.

One beautiful summer day, not long after my
meeting with Dr. Holmes, Miss Sullivan and I
visited Whittier in his quiet home on the Merrimac.
His gentle courtesy and quaint speech won my heart.
He had a book of his poems in raised print from
which I read " In School Days. " He was delighted
that I could pronounce the words so well, and
said that he had no difficulty in understanding me.
Then I asked many questions about the poem, and
read his answers by placing my fingers on his lips.
He said he was the little boy in the poem, and that
the girl's name was Sally, and more which I have
forgotten. I also recited "Laus Deo," and as I
spoke the concluding verses, he placed in my hands
a statue of a slave from whose crouching figure the
fetters were falling, even as they fell from Peter's
limbs when the angel led him forth out of prison.
Afterward we went into his study, and he wrote his*
autograph for my teacher and expressed his admira-
tion of her work, saying to me, " She is thy spiritual
liberator." Then he led me to the gate and kissed
me tenderly on my forehead. I promised to visit
him again the following summer ; but he died before
the promise was fulfilled.

Dr. Edward Everett Hale is one of my very
oldest friends. I have known him since I was eight,
and my love for him has increased with my years.
His wise, tender sympathy has been the support of

* " With great admiration of thy noble work in releasing from
bondape the mind of thy dear pupil, I am truly thy friend,
John G. Whittier."

Photograph by Marshall, 1002

MISS KELLER, MISS SULLIVAN AND
DR. EDWARD EVERETT HALE

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 137

Miss Sullivan and me in times of trial and sorrow,
and his strong hand has helped us over many rough
places ; and what he has done for us he has done for
thousands of those who have difficult tasks to accom-
plish. He has filled the old skins of dogma with
the new wine of love, and shown men what it is to
believe, live and be free. What he has taught we
have seen beautifully expressed in his own life —
love of country, kindness to the least of his brethren,
and a sincere desire to live upward and onward. He
has been a prophet and an inspirer of men, and a
mighty doer of the Word, the friend of all his
race — God bless him !

I have already written of my first meeting with
Dr. Alexander Graham Bell. Since then I have
spent many happy days with him at Washington
and at his beautiful home in the heart of Cape
Breton Island, near Baddeck, the village made
famous by Charles Dudley Warner's book. Here
in Dr. Bell's laboratory, or in the fields on the
shore of the great Bras d'Or, I have spent many
delightful hours listening to what he had to tell me
about his experiments, and helping him fly kites by
means of which he expects to discover the laws
that shall govern the future air-ship. Dr. Bell is
proficient in many fields of science, and has the
art of making every subject he touches interesting,
even the most abstruse theories. He makes you feel
that if you only had a little more time, you, too,
might be an inventor. He has a humorous and
poetic side, too. His dominating passion is his
love for children. He is never quite so happy as
when he has a little deaf child in his arms. His
labours in behalf of the deaf will live on and bless

138 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

generations of children yet to come ; and we love him
alike for what he himself has achieved and for what
he has evoked from others.

During the two years I spent in New York I had
many opportunities to talk with distinguished
people whose names I had often heard, but whom I
had never expected to meet. Most of them I met
first in the house of my good friend, Mr. Laurence
Hutton. It was a great privilege to visit him and
dear Mrs. Hutton in their lovely home, and see their
library and read the beautiful sentiments and bright
thoughts gifted friends had written for them. It
has been truly said that Mr. Hutton has the faculty
cf bringing out in every one the best thoughts and
kindest sentiments. One does not need to read
"A Boy I Knew" to understand him — the most
generous, sweet -natured boy I ever knew, a good
friend in all sorts of weather, who traces the foot-
prints of love in the life of dogs as well as in that
of his fellowmen.

Mrs. Hutton is a true and tried friend. Much that
I hold sweetest, much that I hold most precious,
I owe to her. She has oftenest advised and helped
me in my progress through college. When I find
my work particularly difficult and discouraging,
she writes me letters that make me feel glad and
brave; for she is one of those from whom we learn
that one painful duty fulfilled makes the next
plainer and easier.

Mr. Hutton introduced me to many of his literary
friends, greatest of whom are Mr. William Dean
Howells and Mark Twain. I also met Mr. Richard
Watson Gilder and Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman.
I also knew Mr. Charles Dudley Warner, the mos

1 mt ' "*■ dMF

Photograph by E. C. Kopp, 1902
MISS KELLER AND " MARK TWAIN "

THE STORY OF MY LIFE 139

delightful of story-tellers and the most beloved
friend, whose sympathy was so broad that it may
be truly said of him, he loved all living things and
his neighbour as himself. Once Mr. Warner brought
to see me the dear poet of the woodlands — Mr. John
Burroughs. They were all gentle and sympathetic
and I felt the charm of their manner as much
as I had felt the brilliancy of their essays and poems.
I could not keep pace with all these literary folk as
they glanced from subject to subject and entered into
deep dispute, or made conversation sparkle with
epigrams and happy witticisms. I was like little
Ascanir >, who followed with unequal steps the
heroic strides of ^neas on his march toward
mighty destinies. But they spoke many gracious
words to me. Mr. Gilder told me about his
moonlight journeys across the vast desert to the
Pyramids, and in a letter he wrote me he made
his mark under his signature deep in the paper so
that I could feel it. This reminds me that Dr. Hale
used to give a personal touch to his letters to me
by pricking his signature in braille. I read from
Mark Twain's lips one or two of his good stories.
He has his own way of thinking, saying and doing
everything. I feel the twinkle of his eye in his hand-
shake. Even while he utters his cynical wisdom
in an indescribably droll voice, he makes you feel
that his heart is a tender Iliad of human sympathy.
There are a host of other interesting people I met
in New York: Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge, the beloved
editor of St. Nicholas, and Mrs. Riggs (Kate Douglas
Wiggin), the sweet author of "Patsy." I received
from them gifts that have the gentle concurrence of
the heart, books containing their own thoughts..

i4o THE STORY OP MY LIFE

soul-illumined letters, and photographs that 1
love to have described again and again. But there
is not space to mention all my friends, and indeed
there are things about them hidden behind the
wings of cherubim, things too sacred to set forth in
cold print. It is with hesitancy that I have spoken
even of Mrs. Laurence Hutton.

I shall mention only two other friends. One is
Mrs. William Thaw, of Pittsburgh, whom I have often
visited in her home, Lyndhurst. She is always
doing something to make some one happy, and her
generosity and wise counsel have never failed my
teacher and me in all the years we have km wn her.

To the other friend I am also deeply indebted.
He is well known for the powerful hand with which
he guides vast enterprises, and his wonderful abili-
ties have gained for him the respect of all. Kind
to every one, he goes about doing good, silent and
unseen. Again I touch upon the circle of honoured
names I must not mention ; but I would fain acknowl-
edge his generosity and affectionate interest which
make it possible for me to go to college.

Thus it is that my friends have made the story of
my life. In a thousand ways they have turned my
limitations into beautiful privileges, and enabled
me to walk serene and happy in the shadow cast by
my deprivation.

PART II

LETTERS (1887-1901)

INTRODUCTION

HELEN KELLER'S letters are important, not only as
a supplementary story of her life, but as a demonstra-
tion of her growth in thought and expression — the
growth which in itself has made her distinguished.

These letters, are, however, not merely remarkable as the
productions of a deaf and blind girl, to be read with wonder
and curiosity; they are good letters almost from the first. The
best passages are those in which she talks about herself, and gives
her world in terms of her experience of it. Her views on the
precession of the equinoxes are not important, but most impor-
tant are her accounts of what speech meant to her, of how she
felt the statues, the dogs, the chickens at the poultry show, and
how she stood in the aisle of St. Bartholomew's and felt the organ
rumble. Those are passages of which one would ask for more.
The reason they are comparatively few is that all her life she
has been trying to be '"like other people," and so she too often
describes things not as they appear to her, but as they appear
to one with eyes and ears.

One cause for the excellence of her letters is the great number
of them. They are the exercises which have trained her to
write. She has lived at different times in different parts of the
country, and so has been separated from most of her friends
and relatives. Of her friends, many have been distinguished
people, to whom — not often, I think, at the sacrifice of spon-
taneity— she has felt it necessary to write well. To them and
to a few friends with whom she is in closest sympathy she writes
with intimate frankness whatever she is thinking about. Her
naive retelling of a child's tale she has heard, like the story of
"Little Jakey," which she rehearses for Dr. Holmes and Bishop
Brooks, is charming, and her grave paraphrase of the day's
lesson in geography or botany, her parrot-like repetition of
what she has heard, and her conscious display of new words, are
delightful and instructive; for they show not only what she was

*43

*44 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

learning, but how, by putting it all into letters, she made the
new knowledge and the new words her own.

So these selections from Miss Keller's correspondence are
made with two purposes — to show her development and to
preserve the most entertaining and significant passages from
several hundred letters. Many of those written before 1892
were published in the reports of the Perkins Institution for the
Blind. All letters up to that year are printed intact, for it is
legitimate to be interested in the degree of skill the child showed
in writing, even to details of punctuation; so it is well to preserve
a literal integrity of reproduction. From the letters after the
year 1892 I have culled in the spirit of one making an anthology,
choosing the passages best in style and most important from
the point of view of biography. Where I have been able to
collate the original letters I have preserved everything as Miss
Keller wrote it, punctuation, spelling, and all. I have done
nothing but select and cut.

The letters are arranged in chronological order. One or two
letters from Bishop Brooks, Dr. Holmes, and Whittier are put
immediately after the letters to which they are replies. Except
Tor two or three important letters of 1901, these selections cease
with the year 1900. In that year Miss Keller entered college.
Now that she is a grown woman, her mature letters should be
judged like those of any other person, and it seems best that
no more of her correspondence be published unless she should
become distinguished beyond the fact that she is the only well-
educated deaf and blind person in the world.

LETTERS (i 887-1901)

Miss Sullivan began to teach Helen Keller on
March 3d, 1887. Three months and a half after the
first word was spelled into her hand, she wrote in
pencil this letter.

TO HER COUSIN ANNA (MRS. GEORGE T. TURNER)

[Tuscumbia, Alabama, June 17, 1887.]
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

[No signature.]

Twenty-five days later, while she was on a short
visit away from home, she wrote to her mother.
Two words are almost illegible, and the angular
print slants in every direction:

TO MRS. KATE ADAMS KELLER

[Huntsville, Alabama, July 12, 1887.]
Helen will write mother letter papa did give
helen medicine mildred will sit in swing mildred did

145

i46 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [SePt.,'87

kiss helen teacher did give helen peach george is sick
in bed george arm is hurt anna did give helen lemon-
ade dog did stand up.

conductor did punch ticket papa did give helen
drink of water in car

carlotta did give helen flowers anna will buy helen
pretty new hat helen will hug and kiss mother helen
will come home grandmother does love helen

good-by

[No signature.]

By the following September Helen shows improve-
ment in fulness of construction and more extended
relations of thought.

TO THE BLIND GIRLS A.T THE PERKINS INSTITUTION
IN SOUTH BOSTON

[Tuscumbia, September, 1887.]
Helen will write little blind girls a letter
Helen and teacher will come to see little blind
girls Helen and teacher will go in steam car
to boston Helen and blind girls will have fun
blind girls can talk on fingers Helen will see Mr
anagnos Mr anagnos will love and kiss Helen Helen
will go to school with blind girls Helen can read and
count and spell and write like blind girls mildred
will not go to boston Mildred does cry prince and
jumbo will go to boston papa does shoot ducks with
gun and ducks do fall in water and jumbo and mamie
do swim in water and bring ducks out in mouth tc

Aet. 7] LETTERS 147

papa Helen does play with dogs Helen does ride
on horseback with teacher Helen does give handee
grass in hand teacher does whip handee to go fast
Helen is blind Helen will put letter in envelope
for blind girls good-by

Helen Keller

A few weeks later her style is more nearly correct
and freer in movement. She improves in idiom,
although she still omits articles and uses the " did"
construction for the simple past. This is an idiom
common among children.

TO THE BLIND GIRLS AT THE PERKINS INSTITUTION

[Tuscumbia, October 24, 1887.]
dear little blind girls

I will write you a letter I thank you for pretty
desk I did write to mother in memphis on it
mother and mildred came home Wednesday mother
brought me a pretty new dress and hat papa did go
to huntsville he brought me apples and candy I
and teacher will come to boston and see you nancy
is my doll she does cry I do rock nancy to sleep
mildred is sick doctor will give her medicine to
make her well. I and teacher did go to church
Sunday mr. lane did read in book and talk Lady
did play organ. I did give man money in basket.
I will be good girl and teacher will curl my hair

i48 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Nav.,'87

lovely. I will hug and kiss little blind girls mr.
anagnos will come to see me.
good-by

Helen Keller.

TO MR. MICHAEL ANAGNOS, DIRECTOR OF THE
PERKINS INSTITUTION

[Tuscumbia, November, 1887.]
dear mr. anagnos I will write you a letter. I and
teacher did have pictures, teacher will send it to
you. photographer does make pictures, carpenter
does build new houses, gardener does dig and hce
ground and plant vegetables, my doll nancy is
sleeping, she is sick, mildred is well uncle frank
has gone hunting deer, we will have venison for
breakfast when he comes home. I did ride in wheel
barrow and teacher did push it. simpson did give
me popcorn and walnuts, cousin rosa has gone to
see her mother, people do go to church Sunday. I
did read in my book about fox and box. fox can
sit in the box. I do like to read in my book, you
do love me. I do love you.

good by

Helen Keller.

to dr. alexander graham bell

[Tuscumbia, November, 1887.]
Dear Mr. Bell.

I am glad to write you a letter. Father will

Aet. 7) LETTERS 149

send you picture. I and Father and aunt did
go to see you in Washington. I did play with
your watch. I do love you. I saw doctor in
Washington. He looked at my eyes. I can read
stories in my book. I can write and spell and count,
good girl. My sister can walk and run. We do have
fun with Jumbo. Prince is not good dog. He can
not get birds. Rat did kill baby pigeons. I am
sorry. Rat does not know wrong. I and mother
and teacher will go to Boston in June. I will see
little blind girls. Nancy will go with me. She is
a good doll. Father will buy me lovely new watch.
Cousin Anna gave me a pretty doll. Her name is
Allie.

Good by,

Helen Keller.

By the beginning of the next year her idioms are
firmer. More adjectives appear, including adjec-
tives of colour. Although she can have no sensuous
knowledge of colour, she can use the words, as we
use most of our vocabulary, intellectually, with
truth, not to impression, but to fact. This letter
is to a school-mate at the Perkins Institution.

TO MISS SARAH TOMLINSON

Tuscumbia, Ala. Jan. 2nd 1888.
Dear Sarah

I am happy to write to you this morn-
ing. I hope Mr. Anagnos is coming to see me soon.

i5o THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Jan. 2/88

I will go to Boston in June and I will buy father
gloves, and James nice collar, and Simpson cuffs. I
saw Miss Betty and her scholars. They had a pretty
Christmas-tree, and there were many pretty presents
on it for little children. I had a mug, and little
bird and candy. I had many lovely things for
Christmas. Aunt gave me a trunk for Nancy and
clothes. I went to party with teacher and mother.
We did dance and play and eat nuts and candy and
cakes and oranges and I did have fun with little boys
and girls. Mrs. Hopkins did send me lovely ring, I
do love her and little blind girls.

Men and boys do make carpets in mills. Wool
grows on sheep. Men do cut sheep's wool off with
large shears, and send it to the mill. Men and
women do make wool cloth in mills.

Cotton grows on large stalks in fields. Men and
boys and girls and women do pick cotton. We do
make thread and cotton dresses of cotton. Cotton
has pretty white and red flowers on it. Teacher did
tear her dress. Mildred does cry. I will nurse
Nancy. Mother will buy me lovely new aprons and
dress to take to Boston. I went to Knoxville with
father and aunt. Bessie is weak and little. Mrs.
Thompson's chickens killed Leila's chickens. Eva
does sleep in my bed. I do love good girls.
Good by

Helen Keller.

The next two letters mention her visit in January
to her relatives in Memphis, Tennessee. She was
taken to the cotton exchange. When she felt the

Aet.7] LETTERS 15 1

maps and blackboards she asked, "Do men go to
school?" She wrote on the blackboard the names
of all the gentlemen present. While at Memphis,
she went over one of the large Mississippi steamers.

TO DR. EDWARD EVERETT HALE

Tuscumbia, Alabama, February 15th [1888].
Dear Mr. Hale,

I am happy to write you a letter this
morning. Teacher told me about kind gentleman
I shall be glad to read pretty story I do read
stories in my book about tigers and lions and sheep.
I am coming to Boston in June to see little blind
girls and I will come to see you. I went to Memphis
to see grandmother and Aunt Nannie. Teacher
bought me lovely new dress and cap and aprons.
Little Natalie is a very weak and small baby.
Father took us to see steamboat. It was on a large
river. Boat is like house. Mildred is a good baby.
I do love to play with little sister. Nancy was not
a good child when I went to Memphis. She did cry
loud. I will not write more to-day. I am tired.

Good-by

Helen Keller.

TO MR. MICHAEL ANAGNOS

Tuscumbia, Ala., Feb. 24th, 1888.
My dear Mr. Anagnos, — I am glad to write you a

152 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Feb. 24, '81

letter in Braille. This morning Lucien Thompson
sent me a beautiful bouquet of violets and crocuses
and jonquils. Sunday Adeline Moses brought me
a lovely doll. It came from New York. Her name
is Adeline Keller. She can shut her eyes and bend
her arms and sit down and stand up straight. She
has on a pretty red dress. She is Nancy's sister and
I am their mother. Allie is their cousin. Nancy
was a bad child when I went to Memphis she cried
loud, I whipped her with a stick.

Mildred does feed little chickens with crumbs. I
love to play with little sister.

Teacher and I went to Memphis to see aunt
Nannie and grandmother. Louise is aunt Nannie's
child. Teacher bought me a lovely new dress and
gloves and stockings and collars and grandmother
made me warm flannels, and aunt Nannie made me
aprons. Lady made me a pretty cap. I went to
see Robert and Mr. Graves and Mrs. Graves and
little Natalie, and Mr. Farris and Mr. Mayo and
Mary and everyone. I do love Robert and teacher.
She does not want me to write more today, I feel
tired.

I found box of candy in Mr. Grave's pocket.
Father took us to see steam boat it is like house.
Boat was on very large river. Yates plowed yard
today to plant grass. Mule pulled plow. Mother
will make garden of vegetables. Father will plant
melons and peas and beans.

Cousin Bell will come to see us Saturday. Mother
will make ice-cream for dinner, we will have ice-
cream and cake for dinner. Lucien Thompson is
sick. I am sorry for him.

Teacher and I went to walk in the yard, and I
learned about how flowers and trees grow. Sun

Act. 7\ LETTERS 153

rises in the east and sets in the west. Sheffield is
north and Tuscumbia is south. We will go to Boston
in June. I will have fun with little blind girls.

Good bye

Helen Keller.

" Uncle Morrie" of the next letter is Mr. Morrison
Heady, of Normandy, Kentucky, who lost his sight
and hearing when he was a boy. He is the author
of some commendable verses.

TO MR. MORRISON HEADY

Tuscumbia, Ala. March 1st 1888.

My dear uncle Morrie, — I am happy to write you
a letter, I do love you, and I will hug and kiss you
when I see you.

Mr. Anagnos is coming to see me Monday. I do
love to run and hop and skip with Robert in bright
warm sun. I do know little girl in Lexington Ky.
her name is Katherine Hobson.

I am going to Boston in June with mother and
teacher, I will have fun with little blind girls, and
Mr. Hale will send me pretty story. I do read
stories in my book about lions and tigers and bears.

Mildred will not go to Boston, she does cry. I
love to play with little sister, she is weak and small
baby. Eva is better.

Yates killed ants, ants stung Yates. Yates is
digging in garden. Mr. Anagnos did see oranges,
they look like golden apples.

154 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [May 3, '88

Robert will come to see me Sunday when sun
shines and I will have fun with him. My cousin
Frank lives in Louisville. I will come to Memphis
again to see Mr. Farris and Mrs. Graves and Mr.
Mayo and Mr. Graves. Natalie is a good girl and
does not cry, and she will be big and Mrs. Graves is
making short dresses for her. Natalie has a little
carriage. Mr. Mayo has been to Duck Hill and he
brought sweet flowers home.

With much love and a kiss

Helen A. Keller.

In this account of the picnic we get an illumi-
nating glimpse of Miss Sullivan's skill in teaching
her pupil during play hours. This was a day when
the child's vocabulary grew.

TO MR. MICHAEL ANAGNOS

Tuscumbia, Ala. May 3rd 1888.

Dear Mr. Anagnos. — I am glad to write to you
this morning, because I love you very much. I was
very happy to receive pretty book and nice candy
and two letters from you. I will come to see you
soon and will ask you many questions about
countries and you will love good child.

Mother is making me pretty new dresses to wear
in Boston and I will look lovely to see little girls and
boys and you. Friday teacher and I went to a
picnic with little children. We played games and
ate dinner under the trees, and we found ferns and

Aei.ft LETTERS 155

wild flowers. I walked in the woods and learned
names of many trees. There are poplar and cedar
and pine and oak and ash and hickory and maple
trees. They make a pleasant shade and the little
birds love to swing to and fro and sing sweetly up in
the trees. Rabbits hop and squirrels run and ugly
snakes do crawl in the woods. Geraniums and
roses jasamines and japonieas are cultivated flowers.
I help mother and teacher water them every night
before supper.

Cousin Arthur made me a swing in the ash tree.
Aunt Ev. has gone to Memphis. Uncle Frank is
here. He is picking strawberries for dinner. Nancy
is sick again, new teeth do make her ill. Adeline is
well and she can go to Cincinnati Monday with me.
Aunt Ev. will send me a boy doll, Harry will be
Nancy's and Adeline's brother. Wee sister is a
good girl. I am tired now and I do want to go
down stairs. I send many kisses and hugs with
letter.

Your darling child

Helen Keller.

Toward the end of May Mrs. Keller, Helen, and
Miss Sullivan started for Boston. On the way they
spent a few days in Washington, where they
saw Dr. Alexander Graham Bell and called on
President Cleveland. On May 26th they arrived
in Boston and went to the Perkins Institution ; here
Helen met the little blind girls with whom she had
iorresponde 1 the year before.

156 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Sept. '88

Early in July she went to Brewster, Massachu-
setts, and spent the rest of the summer. Here
occurred her first encounter with the sea, of which
she has since written.

TO MISS MARY C. MOORE

So. Boston, Mass. Sept. 1888.
My dear Miss Moore

Are you very glad to receive a nice
letter from your darling little friend? I love you
very dearly because you are my friend. My
precious little sister is quite well now. She likes
to sit in my little rocking-chair and put her kitty to
sleep. Would you like to see darling little Mildred ?
She is a very pretty baby. Her eyes are very big
and blue, and her cheeks are soft and round and rosy
and her hair is very bright and golden. She is very
good and sweet when she does not cry loud. Next
summer Mildred will go out in the garden with me
and pick the big sweet strawberries and then she will
be very happy. I hope she will not eat too many
of the delicious fruit for they will make her very ill.

Sometime will you please come to Alabama and
visit me ? My uncle James is going to buy me a very
gentle pony and a pretty cart and I shall be very
happy to take you and Harry to ride. I hope Harry
will not be afraid of my pony. I think my father
will buy me a beautiful little brother some day. I
shall be very gentle and patient to my new little
brother. When I visit many strange countries my
brother and Mildred will stay with grandmother

Aet.8] LETTERS 157

because they will be too small to see a great many
people and I think they would cry loud on the great
rough ocean.

When Capt. Baker gets well he will take me in his
big ship to Africa. Then I shall see lions and tigers
and monkeys. I will get a baby lion and a white
monkey and a mild bear to bring home. I had a
very pleasant time at Brewster. I went in bathing
almost every day and Carrie and Frank and little
Helen and I had fun. We splashed and jumped and
waded in the deep water. I am not afraid to float
now. Can Harry float and swim? We came to
Boston last Thursday, and Mr. Anagnos was de-
lighted to see me, and he hugged and kissed me.
The little girls are coming back to school next
Wednesday.

Will you please tell Harry to write me a very long
letter soon? When you come to Tuscumbia to see
me I hope my father will have many sweet apples
and juicy peaches and fine pears and delicious
grapes and large water melons.

I hope you think about me and love me because
X am a good little child.

With much love and two kisses

From your little friend

Helen A. Keller.

In this account of a visit to some friends, Helen's
thought is much what one would expect from an
ordinary child of eight, except perhaps her naive
satisfaction in the boldness of the young gentlemen.

158 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Sept.24,'88

TO MRS. KATE ADAMS KELLER

So. Boston, Mass, Sept. 24th [1888].
My dear Mother,

I think you will be very glad to know
all about my visit to West Newton. Teacher and I
had a lovely time with many kind friends. West
Newton is not far from Boston and we went there
in the steam cars very quickly.

Mrs. Freeman and Carrie and Ethel and Frank
and Helen came to station to meet us in a huge
carriage. I was delighted to see my dear little
friends and I hugged and kissed them. Then we
rode for a long time to see all the beautiful things in
West Newton. Many very handsome houses and
large soft green lawns around them and trees and
bright flowers and fountains. The horse's name
was Prince and he was gentle and liked to trot very
fast. When we went home we saw eight rabbits
and two fat puppies, and a nice little white pony,
and two wee kittens and a pretty curly dog named
Don. Pony's name was Mollie and I had a nice ride
on her back ; I was not afraid, I hope my uncle will
get me a dear little pony and a little cart very soon.

Clifton did not kiss me because he does not like
to kiss little girls. He is shy. I am very glad that
Frank and Clarence and Robbie and Eddie and
Charles and George were not very shy. I played
with many little girls and we had fun. I rode on
Carrie's tricicle and picked .flowers and ate fruit,
and hopped and skipped and danced and went to
ride. Many ladies and gentlemen came to see us.
Lucy and Dora and Charles were born in China. I
was born in America, and Mr. Anagnos was born in

Aet.8] LETTERS 159

Greece. Mr. Drew says little girls in China cannot
talk on their fingers but I think when I go to China
I will teach them. Chinese nurse came to see me,
her name was Asu. She showed me a tiny atze that
very rich ladies in China wear because their feet
never grow large. Amah means a nurse. We
came home in horse cars because it was Sunday and
steam cars do not go often on Sunday. Conductors
and engineers do get very tired and go home to rest.
I saw little Willie Swan in the car and he gave me a
juicy pear. He was six years old. What did I do
when I was six years old ? Will you please ask my
father to come to train to meet teacher and me?
I am very sorry that Eva and Bessie are sick. I
hope I can have a nice party my birthday, and I
do want Carrie and Ethel and Frank and Helen to
come to Alabama to visit me. Will Mildred sleep
with me when I come home.

With much love and thousand kisses.

From your dear little daughter.

Helen A. Keller.

Her visit to Plymouth was in July. This letter,
written three months later, shows how well she
remembered her first lesson in history.

TO MR. MORRISON HEADY

South Boston, Mass. October 1st, ii

My dear uncle Morrie,— I think you will be very

glad to receive a letter from your dear little friend

i6o THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Oct. i, '88

Helen. I am very happy to write to you because I
think of you and love you. I read pretty stories in
the book you sent me, about Charles and his boat,
and Arthur and his dream, and Rosa and the sheep.

I have been in a large boat. It was like a ship.
Mother and teacher and Mrs. Hopkins and Mr.
Anagnos and Mr. Rodocanachi and many other
friends went to Plymouth to see many old things. I
will tell you a little story about Plymouth.

Many years ago there lived in England many good
people, but the king and his friends were not kind
and gentle and patient with good people, because
the king did not like to have the people disobey him.
People did not like to go to church with the king;
but they did like to build very nice little churches
for themselves.

The king was very angry with the people and they
were sorry and they said, we will go away to a strange
country to live and leave very dear home and friends
and naughty king. So, they put all their things into
big boxes, and said, Good-bye. I am sorry for them
because they cried much. When they went to
Holland they did not know anyone ; and they could
not know what the people were talking about
because they did not know Dutch. But soon they
learned some Dutch words ; but they loved their own
language and they did not want little boys and girls
to forget it and learn to talk funny Dutch. So they
said, We must go to a new country far away and
build schools and houses and churches and make
new cities. So they put all their things in boxes
and said, Good bye to their new friends and sailed
Away in a large boat to find a new country. Poor
people were not happy for their hearts were full of
sad thoughts because they did not know much about

Aet.8] LETTERS 161

America. I think little children must have been
afraid of a great ocean for it is very strong and it
makes a large boat rock and then the little children
would fall down and hurt their heads. After they
had been many we^ks on the deep ocean where they
could not see trees or flowers or grass, but just water
and the beautiful sky, for ships could not sail quickly-
then because men did not know about engines and
steam. One day a dear little baby-boy was born.
His name was Peregrine White. I am very sorry
that poor little Peregrine is dead now. Every day
the people went upon deck to look out for land.
One day there was a great shout on the ship for the
people saw the land and they were full of joy because
they had reached a new country safely. Little
girls and boys umped and clapped their hands.
They were all glad when they stepped upon a huge
rock. I did see the rock in Plymouth and a little
ship like the Mayflower and the cradle that dear
little Peregrine slept in and many old things that
came in the Mayflower. Would you like to visit
Plymouth some time and see many old things.

Now I am very tired and I will rest.

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

Helen A. Keller.

The foreign words in these two letters, the first of
which was written during a visit to the kindergarten
for the blind, she had been told months before, and
had stowed them away in her memory. She assimi'

i62 THE STORY OF MY LIFE {Oct. 17, '88

lated words and practised with them, sometimes
using them intelligently, sometimes repeating them
in a parrot-like fashion. Even when she did not
fully understand words or ideas, she liked to set
them down as though she did. It was in this way
that she learned to use correctly words of sound and
vision which express ideas outside of her experience.
"Edith" is Edith Thomas.

TO MR. MICHAEL ANAGNOS

Roxbury, Mass. Oct. 17th, 1888.
Mon cher Monsieur Anagnos,

I am sitting by the window and the beautiful
sun is shining on me Teacher and I came to
the kindergarten yesterday. There are twenty
seven little children here and they are all blind.
I am sorry because they cannot see much.
Sometime will they have very well eyes? Poor
Edith is blind and deaf and dumb. Are you very
sad for Edith and me? Soon I shall go home
to see my mother and my father and my dear good
and sweet little sister. I hope you will come to
Alabama to visit me and I will take you to ride in
my little cart and I think you will like to see me on
my dear little pony's back. I shall wear my lovely
cap and my new riding dress. If the sun shines
brightly I will take you to see Leila and Eva and
Bessie. When I am thirteen years old I am going
to travel in many strange and beautiful countries.
I shall m climb very high mountains in Norway and
see much ice and snow I hope I will not fall and
hurt my head I shall visit little Lord Fauntleroy
in England and he will be glad to show me his grand

Aet. 8] LETTERS 163

and very ancient castle And we will run with the
deer and feed the rabbits and catch the squirrels. I
shall not be afraid of Fauntleroy's great dog Dougah
I hope Fauntleroy take me to see a very kind
queen. When I go to France I will talk French. A
little French boy will say, Parlez-vous Francaisf and
I will say, Out, Monsieur, vous avez un joli chapeau.
Donnez moi un baiser. I hope you will go with me
to Athens to see the maid of Athens. She was
very lovely lady and I will talk Greek to her.
I will say, se agapo and, pos echete and I think
she will say, kalos, and then I will say chaere.
Will you please come to see me soon and take
me to the theater? When you come I will say,
Kale emera, and when you go home I will say, Kale
nykta. Now I am too tired to write more. Je vous
lime. Au revoir

From your darling little friend

Helen A. Keller.

TO MISS EVELINA H. KELLER

[So. Boston, Mass. October 29, 1888.]
My dearest Aunt, — I am coming home very soon
and I think you and every one will be very glad
to see my teacher and me. I am very happy because
I have learned much about many things. I am
studying French and German and Latin and Greek.
Se agapo is Greek, and it means I love thee. J'ai
une bonne petite saur is French, and it means I have a
good little sister. Nous avons un bon pere et une
bonne mere means, we have a good father and a good

1 64 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Dec. it, '88

mother. Puer is boy in Latin, and Mutter is mother
m German. I will teach Mildred many languages
when I come home.

Helen A. Keller.

TO MRS. SOPHIA C. HOPKINS

Tuscumbia, Ala. Dec. nth, 1888.

My dear Mrs. Hopkins : —

I have just fed my dear little
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
all ready for people to burn. Can you see leaves
and ferns and bark on the coal ? Men go down into

Aet. 8] LETTERS 165

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.

TO MISS DELLA BENNETT

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 instru-
ment to cut with. I think the bell is an instrument.
too. I will tell you what I know about bells.

i66 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Feb. 3I, ^

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. The}'' 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 coming to a sta-
tion, 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.

TO DR. EDWARD EVERETT HALE

Tuscumbia, Alabama, February 21st, 1889.
My dear Mr. Hale,

I am very much afraid that you are
thinking in your mind that little Helen has forgotten
all about you and her dear cousins. But I think
vou will be delighted to receive this letter because
then you will know that I of[ten] think about
you and I love you dearly for you are my dear cousin.
I have been at home a great many weeks now. It

Aet.8] LETTERS 167

made me feel very sad to leave Boston and I missed
all of my friends greatly, but of course I was glad
to get back to my lovely home once more. My
darling little sister is growing very fast. Sometimes
she tries to spell very short words on her small
[fingers] but she is too young to remember hard
words. When she is older I will teach her many
things if she is patient and obedient. My teacher
says, if children learn to be patient and gentle while
they are little, that when they grow to be young
ladies and gentlemen they will not forget to be kind
and loving and brave. I hope I shall be courageous
always. A little girl in a story was not courageous.
She thought she saw little elves with tall pointed
[hats] peeping from between the bushes and dancing
down the long alleys, and the poor little girl was
terrified. Did you have a pleasant Christmas? I
had many lovely presents given to me. The other
day I had a fine party. All of my dear little friends
came to see me. We played games, and ate ice-
cream and cake and fruit. Then we had great fun.
The sun is shining brightly to-day and I hope we
shall go to ride if the roads are dry. In a few days
the beautiful spring will be here. I am very glad
because I love the warm sunshine and the fragrant
flowers. I think Flowers grow to make people
happy and good. I have four dolls now. Cedric
is my little boy, he is named for Lord Fauntleroy.
He has big brown eyes and long golden hair and
pretty round cheeks. Ida is my baby. A lady
brought her to me from Paris. She can drink milk
like a real baby. Lucy is a fine young lady. She
has on a dainty lace dress and satin slippers. Poor
old Nancy is growing old and very feeble. She is

1 68 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [May i8,'8g

almost an invalid. I have two tame pigeons and
a tiny canary bird. Jumbo is very strong and
faithful. He will not let anything harm us at night.
I go to school every day I am studying reading,
writing, arithmetic, geography and language. My
Mother and teacher send you and Mrs. Hale their
kind greetings and Mildred sends you. a kiss.
With much love and kisses, from your
Affectionate cousin

Helen A. Keller.

During the winter Miss Sullivan and her pupil
were working at Helen's home in Tuscumbia, and to
good purpose, for by spring Helen had learned to
write idiomatic English. After May, 1889, I find
almost no inaccuracies, except some evident slips of
the pencil. She uses words precisely and makes
easy, fluent sentences.

TO MR. MICHAEL ANAGNOS

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 me that he had been to Rome and Athens and
Paris and London. He had climbed the high moun-
tains in Switzerland and visited beautiful churches in

Aet. 8] LETTERS 169

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.

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

iyo THE STORY OF MY LIFE [May 17, '89

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.

Like a good many of Helen Keller's early letters,
this to her French teacher is her re-phrasing of a
story. It shows how much the gift of writing is,
in the early stages of its development, the gift of

mimicry.

TO MISS FANNIE S. MARRETT

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, a no

Jet. SI' LETTERS 171

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 pun-
ished 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.

I TO MISS MARY E. RILE7

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 rascberries and a few strawberries for you.

172 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [May 27, '89

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 jui 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. Grand-
mother 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 affec-
tionate little friend,

Helen Adams Keller.

During the summer Miss Sullivan was away from
Helen for three months and a half, the first separa-
tion of teacher and pupil. Only once afterward in
fifteen years was their constant companionship
broken for more than a few days at a time.

Aet.p) LETTERS 173

TO MISS ANNE MANSFIELD SULLIVAN

Tuscumbia, Ala., August 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.

174 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Aug.7,'8P

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.

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,

Aet.g) LETTERS 175

In the fall Helen and Miss Sullivan returned to
Perkins Institution at South Boston.

TO MISS MILDRED KELLER

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 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
zoology. I do not know what I shall do in the after-
noon 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.

176 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Nov. 20, '89

TO MR. WILLIAM WADE

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 home-sick, 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.

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 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.

Ad. p) LETTERS 177

This letter is indorsed in Whittier's hand, " Helen
A.. Keller — deaf dumb and blind — aged nine years."
" Browns" is a lapse of the pencil for "brown eyes.'?

TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITHER

Inst, for the Blind, So. Boston, Mass.,

Nov. 27, i88q.

Dear Poet,

I think you will be surprised to
receive a letter from a little girl whom you do not
know, but I thought you would be glad to hear
that your beautiful poems make me very happy.
Yesterday I read "In School Days" and "My Play-
mate," and I enjoyed them greatly. I was very
sorry that the poor little girl with the browns and
the ' ' tangled golden curls ' ' died. It is very pleasant
to live here in our beautiful world. I cannot see the
lovely things with my eyes, but my mind can see
them all, and so I am joyful all the day long.

When I walk out in my garden I cannot see the
beautiful flowers but I know that they are all
around me ; for is not the air sweet with their fra-
grance? I know too that the tiny lily -bells are
whispering pretty secrets to their companions else
they would not look so happy. I love you very
dearly, because you have taught me so many lovely
things about flowers, and birds, and people. Now
I must say, good-bye. I hope [you] will enjoy the
Thanksgiving very much.

From your loving little friend,

Helen A. Keller.
To Mr. John Greenleaf Whittier.

*7& THE STORY OF MY LIFE iDec.3,>8$

Whittier's reply, to which there is a reference in
the following letter, has been lost.

TO MRS. KATE ADAMS KELLER

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 and see him next spring. May we go 7 He
said 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-

Aet.g] LETTERS 179

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 must close.
With much love, from your darling child,

Helen A. Keller.

TO MRS. KATE ADAMS KELLER

So. Boston, Mass., Dec. 24, 1889.
My dear Mother,

Yesterday I sent you a little Christ-
mas box. I am very sorry that I could not send,
it before so that you would receive it to morrow,
but I could not finish the watch-case any sooner.
I made all of the gifts myself, excepting father's
handkerchief. I wish I could have made father a
gift too, but I did not have sufficient time. I hope
you will like your watch-case, for it made me very
happy to make it for you. You must keep your
lovely new montre in it. If it is too warm in
Tuscumbia for little sister to wear her pretty
mittens, she can keep them because her sister made
them for her. I imagine she will have fun with the
little toy man. Tell her to shake him, and then he
will blow his trumpet. I thank my dear kind father
for sending me some money, to buy gifts for my

180 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Dec. 24, '89

friends. I love to make everybody happy. I
should like to be at home on Christmas day. We
would be very happy together. I think of my
beautiful home every day. Please do not forget to
send me some pretty presents to hang on my tree.
I am going to have a Christmas tree, in the parlor
and teacher will hang all of my gifts upon it. It
will be a funny tree. All of the girls have gone home
to spend Christmas Teacher and I are the only
babies left for Mrs. Hopkins to care for. Teacher
has been sick in bed for many days. Her throat
was very sore and the doctor thought she would
have to go away to the hospital, but she is better
now. I have not been sick at all. The little girls
are well too. Friday I am going to spend the day
with my little friends Carrie, Ethel, Frank and Helen
Freeman. We will have great fun I am sure.

Mr. and Miss Endicott came to see me, and I went
to ride in the carriage. They are going to give me
a lovely present, but I cannot guess what it will be.
Sammy has a dear new brother. He is very soft
and delicate yet. Mr. Anagnos is in Athens now
He is delighted because I am here. Now I must
say, good-bye. I hope I have written my letter
nicely, but it is very difficult to write on this paper
and teacher is not here to give me better. Give
many kisses to little sister and much love to all.
Lovingly Helen.

let. p] LETTERS 181

TO DR. EDWARD EVERETT HALE

South Boston, Jan. 8, 1890.
My dear Mr. Hale:

The beautiful shells came last night.
I thank you very much for them. I shall always
keep them, and it will make me very happy to
think, that you found them, on that far away
island, from which Columbus sailed to discover
our dear country. When I am eleven years old it
will be 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 happy? I am. I should be very
happy to come and teach you the Braille sometime,
if you have time to learn, but I am afraid you are
too busy. A few days ago I received a little box
of English violets from Lady Meath. The flowers
were wilted, but the kind thought which came with
them was as sweet and as fresh as newly pulled
violets.

With loving greeting to the little cousins, and
Mrs. Hale and a sweet kiss for yourself,
From your little friend,

Helen A. Keller.

This, the first of Helen's letters to Dr. Holmes,
written soon after a visit to him, he published in
"Over the Teacups."

182 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [March r, 'po

TO DR. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES *

South Boston, Mass., March i, 1890.

Dear, Kind Poet: — I have thought of you many
times since that bright Sunday when I bade you
good-bye; 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 you 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 blind chil-
dren; 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 zoology, 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

* The Atlantic Monthly, May, 1890. By permission of
Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

A*. <?] LETTERS 183

flowers, or wade in the ponds for fragrant lilies,
happy in the bright sunshine.

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.

TO MISS SARAH FULLER *

South Boston, Mass., April 3, 1890,
My dear Miss Fuller,

My heart is full of joy this beautiful
morning, because I have learned to speak many
new words, and I can make a few sentences. Last
evening I went out in the yard and spoke to the
moon. I said, "O ! moon come to me!" Do you
think the lovely moon was glad that I could speak to
her? How glad my mother will be I can hardly
wait for June to come I am so eager to speak to her
and to my precious little sister. Mildred could not
understand me when I spelled with my fingers, but
now she will sit in my lap and I will tell her many
things to please her, and we shall be so happy
together. Are you very, very happy because you
can make so many people happy ? I think you are
very kind and patient, and I love you very dearly.
My teacher told me Tuesday that you wanted tc

* Miss Fuller gave Helen Keller her first lesson in articulation
"?or an account of this see page 386.

1 84 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [April 3, '90

know how I came to wish to talk with my mouth. I
will tell you all about it, for I remember my thoughts
perfectly. When I was a very little child I used to
sit in my mother's lap all the time, because I was
very timid, and did not like to be left by myself.
And I would keep my little hand on her face all the
while, because it amused me to feel her face and lips
move when she talked with people. I did not know
then what she was doing, for I was quite ignorant of
all things. Then when I was older I learned to play
with my nurse and the little negro children and I
noticed that they kept moving their lips just like
my mother, so I moved mine too, but sometimes it
made me angry and I would hold my playmates'
mouths very hard. I did not know then that it was
very naughty to do so. After a long time my dear
teacher came to me, and taught me to communicate
with my fingers and I was satisfied and happy. But
when I came to school in Boston I met some deaf
people who talked with their mouths like all other
people, and one day a lady who had been to Norway
came to see me, and told me of a blind and deaf girl*
she had seen in that far away land who had been
taught to speak and understand others when they
spoke to her. This good and happy news delighted
me exceedingly, for then I was sure that I should
learn also. I tried to make sounds like my little
playmates, but teacher told me that the voice was
very delicate and sensitive and that it would injure
it to make incorrect sounds, and promised to take
me to see a kind and wise lady who would teach me
rightly. That lady was yourself. Now I am as
happy as the little birds, because I can speak and

* Ragnhild Kaata.

Aet. jo] LETTERS 18$

perhaps I shall sing too. All of my friends will
be so surprised and glad.

Your loving little pupil,

Helen A. Keller.

When the Perkins Institution closed for the sum
mer, Helen and Miss Sullivan went to Tuscumbia-
This was the first home-going after she had learned
to " talk with her mouth."

TO REV. PHILLIPS BROOKS

Tuscumbia, Alabama, July 14, 1890.
My dear Mr. Brooks, I am very glad to write
to you this beautiful day because you are my
kind friend and I love you, and because I wish to
know many things. I have been at home three
weeks, and Oh, how happy I have been with dear
mother and father and precious little sister. I was
very, very sad to part with all of my friends in
Boston, but I was so eager to see my baby sister I
could hardly wait for the train to take me home.
But I tried very hard to be patient for teacher's
sake. Mildred has grown much taller and stronger
than she was when I went to Boston, and she is the
sweetest and dearest little child in the world My
parents were delighted to hear me speak, and I was
overjoyed to give them such a happy surprise. I
think it is so pleasant to make everybody happy.
Why does the dear Father in heaven think it best
^v us to have very great sorrow sometimes ? I am

xS6 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [July H, >

always happy and so was Little Lord Fauntleroy,
but dear Little Jakey's life was full of sadness. God
did not put the light in Jakey's eyes and he was
blind, and his father was not gentle and loving. Do
you think poor Jakey loved his Father in heaven
more because his other father was unkind to him?
How did God tell people that his home was in
heaven? When people do very wrong and hurt
animals and treat children unkindly God is grieved,
but what will he do to them to teach them to be
pitiful and loving? I think he will tell them how
dearly He loves them and that He wants them to be
good and happy, and they will not wish to grieve
their father who loves them so much, and they will
want to please him in everything they do, so they
will love each other and do good to everyone, and
be kind to animals.

Please tell me something that you know about
God. It makes me happy to know much about my
loving Father, who is good and wise. I hope you
will write to your little friend when you have time.
I should like very much to see you today Is the
sun very hot in Boston now? this afternoon if it is
cool enough I shall take Mildred for a ride on my
donkey. Mr. Wade sent Neddy to me, and he is
the prettiest donkey you can imagine. My great
dog Lioness goes with us when we ride to protect
us. Simpson, that is my brother, brought me some
beautiful pond lilies yesterday — he is a very brother
to me.

Teacher sends you her kind remembrances, and
fa.ther and mother also send their regards.
From your loving little friend,

Helen A. Keller.

Aet.ioj LETTERS 187

dr. brooks's reply

London, August 3, 1890.

My Dear Helen — I was very glad indeed to get
your letter. It has followed me across the ocean
and found me in this magnificent great city which
I should like to tell you all about if I could take time
for it and make my letter long enough. Some
time when you come and see me in my study in
Boston I shall be glad to talk to you about it all if
you care to hear.

But now I want to tell you how glad I am that you
are so happy and enjoying your home so very much.
I can almost think I see you with your father and
mother and little sister, with all the brightness of
the beautiful country about you, and it makes me
very glad to know how glad you are.

I am glad also to know, from the questions which
you ask me, what you are thinking about. I do not
see how we can help thinking about God when He
is so good to us all the time. Let me tell you how it
seems to me that we come to know about our
heavenly Father. It is from the power of love
which is in our own hearts. Love is at the soul of
everything. Whatever has not the power of loving
must have a very dreary life indeed. We like to
think that the sunshine and the winds and the trees
are able to love in some way of their own, for it
would make us know that they were happy if we
knew that they could love. And so God who is the
greatest and happiest of all beings is the most
loving too. All the love that is in our hearts
comes from him, as all the light which is in the
flowers com^s from the sun. And the more we love
the more near we are to God and His Love.

188 THE STORY OP MY LIFE [Aug. 3,^90

I told you that I was very happy because of your
happiness. Indeed I am. So are your Father and
your Mother and your Teacher and all your friends.
But do you not think that God is happy too because
you are happy? I am sure He is. And He is
happier than any of us because He is greater than
any of us, and also because He not merely sees your
happiness as we do, but He also made it. He
gives it to you as the sun gives light and color
to the rose. And we are always most glad of what
we not merely see our friends enjoy, but of what we
give them to enjoy. Are we not ?

But God does not only want us to be happy; He
wants us to be good. He wants that most of all.
He knows that we can be really happy only when we
are good. A great deal of the trouble that is in the
world is medicine which is very bad to take, but
which it is good to take because it makes us better.
We see how good people may be in great trouble
when we think of Jesus who was the greatest
sufferer that ever lived and yet was the best Being
and so, I am sure, the happiest Being that the world
has ever seen.

I love to tell you about God. But He will tell you
Himself by the love which He will put into your
heart if you ask Him. And Jesus, who is His Son,
but is nearer to Him than all of us His other
Children, came into the world on purpose to tell
us all about our Father's Love. If you read His
words, you will see how full His heart is of the love
of God. "We know that He loves us," He says.
And so He loved men Himself and though they
were very cruel to Him and at last killed Him, He
was willing to die for them because He loved them

ah. to] LETTERS 189

so. And, Helen, He loves men still, and He loves
us, and He tells us that we may love Him.

And so love is everything. And if anybody asks
you, or if you ask yourself what God is, answer,
" God is Love." That is the beautiful answer which
the Bible gives.

All this is what you are to think of and to under-
stand more and more as you grow older. Think of
it now, and let it make every blessing brighter
because your dear Father sends it to you.

You will come back to Boston I hope soon after
I do. I shall be there by the middle of September.
I shall want you to tell me all about everything, and
not forget the Donkey.

I send my kind remembrance to your father and
mother, and to your teacher. I wish I could see
your little sister.

Good Bye, dear Helen. Do write to me soon
again, directing your letter to Boston.
Your affectionate friend

Phillips Brooks.

DR. HOLMES'S REPLY

' o a letter which has been lost.

Beverly Farms, Mass., August 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 remem •

xqo THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Aug. i, 'pa

ber me so kindly. Your letter is charming, and 1
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 drum-
sticks 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 some-
thing 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 satisfac-
tion 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

/let. id) LETTERS 19 1

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.

This letter was written to some gentlemen in
Gardiner, Maine, who named a lumber vessel after
her.

TO 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.

192 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Nov. to, «p«

Helen and Miss Sullivan returned to the Perkins
Institution early in November.

TO MRS. KATE ADAMS KELLER

South Boston, Nov. 10, 1890.

My Dearest Mother : — My heart has been full of
thoughts of you and my beautiful home ever since
we parted so sadly on Wednesday night. How I
wish I could see you this lovely morning, and tell you
all that has happened since I left home ! And my
darling little sister, how I wish I could give her a
hundred kisses ! And my dear father, how he would
like to hear about our journey ! But I cannot see
you and talk to you, so I will write and tell you all
that I can think of.

We did not reach Boston until Saturday morning.
I am sorry to say that our train was delayed in
several places, which made us late in reaching New
York. When we got to Jersey City at six o'clock
Friday evening we were obliged to cross the Harlem
River in a ferry-boat. We found the boat and the
transfer carriage with much less difficulty than
teacher expected. When we arrived at the station
they told us that the train did not leave for Boston
until eleven o'clock, but that we could take the
sleeper at nine, which we did. We went to bed and
slept until morning. When we awoke we were in
Boston. I was delighted to get there, though I was
much disappointed because we did not arrive on
Mr. Anagnos' birthday. We surprised our deal
friends, however, for they did not expect us Satur-
day ; but when the bell rung Miss Marrett guessed

Aa. 10} LETTERS 193

who was at the door, and Mrs. Hopkins jumped up
from the breakfast table and ran to the door to meet
us; she was indeed much astonished to see us.
After we had had some breakfast we went up to see
Mr. Anagnos. I was overjoyed to see my dearest
and kindest friend once more. He gave me a
beautiful watch. I have it pinned to my dress. 1
tell everybody the time when they ask me. I have
only seen Mr. Anagnos twice. I have many ques-
tions to ask him about the countries he has been
travelling in. But I suppose he is very busy now.

The hills in Virginia were very lovely. Jack
Frost had dressed them in gold and crimson. The
view was most charmingly picturesque. Pennsyl-
vania is a very beautiful State. The grass was as
green as though it was springtime, and the golden
ears of corn gathered together in heaps in the great
fields looked very pretty. In Harrisburg we saw a
donkey like Neddy. How I wish I could see my own
donkey and my dear Lioness ! Do they miss their
mistress very much ? Tell Mildred she must be kind
to them for my sake.

Our room is pleasant and comfortable.

My typewriter was much injured coming. The
case was broken and the keys are nearly all out.
Teacher is going to see if it can be fixed.

There are many new books in the library. What
a nice time I shall have reading them ! I have
already read Sara Crewe. It is a very pretty
story, and I will tell it to you some time. Now,
sweet mother, your little girl must say good-bye.

With much love to father, Mildred, you and all
the dear friends, lovingly your little daughter,

Helen A. Keller,

i94 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Dec. i7,>9o

TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

South Boston Dec. 17 1890.

Dear Kind Poet,

This is your birthday ; that was the first
thought which came into 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 friends love their sweet poet and his birth-
day. This evening they are going to entertain
their friends with readings from your poems and
music. I hope the swift winged messengers 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 after-
wards 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 his
brightness, and let the little crystals form in the sky.
When they are ready, they will softly fall and ten-
derly cover every object. Then the sun will appear
in all his radiance and fill the world with light. If I
were with you to-day 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 yetf because my
dearest friend, Mr. Anagnos wants me to rest and
play a great deal.

Teacher is well and sends her kind remembrance

Aet. 10] LETTERS 195

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 every one.

From your little friend

Helen A. Keller.

WHITTIER S REPLY

My Dear Young Friend — I was very glad to have
such a pleasant letter on my birthday. I had two
or three hundred others and thine was one of the
most welcome of all. I must tell thee about how
the day passed at Oak Knoll. Of course the sun
did not shine, but we had great open wood fires in
the rooms, which were all very sweet with roses and
other flowers, which were sent to me from distant
friends ; and fruits of all kinds from California and
other places. Some relatives and dear old friends
were with me through the day. I do not wonder
thee thinks eighty three years a long time, but to
me it seems but a very little while since I was a boy
no older than thee, playing on the old farm at
Haverhill. I thank thee for all thy good wishes,
and wish thee as many. I am glad thee is at the
Institution; it is an excellent place. Give my best
regards to Miss Sullivan, and with a great deal of
love I am

Thy old friend,

John G. Whittier.

1 96 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [March 20/91

Tommy Stringer, who appears in several of the fol-
lowing letters, became blind and deaf when he was
four years old. His mother was dead and his father
was too poor to take care of him. For a while he
was kept in the general hospital at Allegheny.
From here he was to be sent to an almshouse, for
at that time there was no other place for him in
Pennsylvania. Helen heard of him through Mr.
J. G. Brown of Pittsburgh, who wrote her that
he had failed to secure a tutor for Tommy. She
wanted him brought to Boston, and when she
was told that money would be needed to get him
a teacher, she answered, "We will raise it." She
began to solicit contributions from her friends, and
saved her pennies.

Dr. Alexander Graham Bell advised Tommy's
friends to send him to Boston, and the trustees of
the Perkins Institution agreed to admit him to the
kindergarten for the blind.

Meanwhile opportunity came to Helen to make
a considerable contribution to Tommy's education.
The winter before, her dog Lioness had been killed,
and friends set to work to raise money to buy Helen
another dog. Helen asked that the contributions,
which people were sending from all over America
and England, be devoted to Tommy's education.
Turned to this new use, the fund grew fast, and
Tommy was provided for. He was admitted to the
kindergarten on the sixth of April.

Miss Keller wrote lately, "I shall never forget
the pennies sent by many a poor child who could
ill spare them, 'for little Tommy,' or the swift
sympathy with which people from far and near,
whom I had never seen, responded to the dumb cry
of a little captive soul for aid."

Aet. 10] LETTERS 197

to mr. george r. krehl

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. My 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 gentle-

198 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [April, >9i

men 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.
From your loving little friend,

Helen A. Keller.

TO DR. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

[South Boston, Mass., April, 1891.]
Dear Dr. Holmes: — Your beautiful words about
spring have been making 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.

Aet. id) LETTERS 199

to sir john everett millais

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.

" 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
Vow very, very happy he will be when he can tell us

2oo THE STORY OF MY LIFE {Maying*

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.

TO REV. PHILLIPS BROOKS

So. Boston, May i, 1891.
My Dear Mr. Brooks:

Helen sends you a loving greeting this bright
May-day. My teacher has just told me that
you have been made a bishop, and that your
friends everywhere are rejoicing because one whom
they love has been greatly honored. I do not
understand very well what a bishop's work is, but
I am sure it must be good and helpful, and I am
glad that my dear friend is brave, and wise, and
loving enough to do it. It is very beautiful to think
that you can tell so many people of the heavenly
Father's tender love for all His children even when
they are not gentle and noble as He wishes them to
be. I hope the glad news which you will tell them
will make their hearts beat fast with joy and love.
I hope too, that Bishop Brooks' whole life will be
as rich in happiness as the month of May is full of
blossoms and singing birds.

From your loving little friend,

Helen Keller.

Art. jo] LETTERS 201

Before a teacher was found for Tommy and while
he was still in the care of Helen and Miss Sullivan, a
reception was held for him at the kindergarten. At
Helen's request Bishop Brooks made an address.
Helen wrote letters to the newspapers which brought
many generous replies. All of these she answered
herself, and she made public acknowledgment in
letters to the newspapers. This letter is to the editor
of the Boston Herald, enclosing a complete list of the
subscribers. The contributions amounted to more
than sixteen hundred dollars.

TO MR. JOHN H. HOLMES

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 bed-posts 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.

202 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [May 27, 'gr

TO DR. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

South Boston, May 27, 1891.

Dear, Gentle Poet: — I fear that you will think
Helen a very troublesome little girl if she writes
to you too often; but how is she to help send-
ing you loving and grateful messages, when you
do so much to make her glad ? I cannot begin
to tell you how delighted I was when Mr. Anagnos
told me that you had sent him some money
to help educate "Baby Tom." Then I knew
that you had not forgotten the dear little
child, for the gift brought with it the thought of
tender sympathy. I am very sorry to say that
Tommy has not learned any words yet. He is the
same restless little creature he was when you saw him.
But it is pleasant to think that he is happy and
playful in his bright new home, and by and by that
strange, wonderful thing teacher calls mind, will
begin to spread its beautiful wings and fly away in
search of knowledge-land. Words are the mind's
wings, are they not ?

I have been to Andover since I saw you, and I
was greatly interested in all that my friends told me
about Phillips Academy, because I knew you had
been there, and I felt it was a place dear to you,
I tried to imagine my gentle poet when he was a
school-boy, and I wondered if it was in Andover he
learned the songs of the birds and the secrets of
the shy little woodland children. I am sure his heart
was always full of music, and in God's beautiful
world he must have heard love's sweet replying.
When I came home teacher read to me "The
School-boy," for it is not in our print.

Did you know that the blind children are going

Aet. 10]

LETTERS 203

to have their commencement exercises in Tremont
Temple, next Tuesday afternoon? I enclose a
ticket, hoping that you will come. We shall all be
proud and happy to welcome our poet friend. I
shall recite about the beautiful cities of sunny
Italy. I hope our kind friend Dr. Ellis will come
too, and take Tom in his arms.

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

Helen A. Keller.

TO REV. PHILLIPS BROOKS

South Boston, June 8, 1891.

My dear Mr. Brooks,

I send you my picture as I promised, and 1
hope when you look at it this summer your
thoughts will fly southward to your happy
little friend. I used to wish that I could see
pictures with my hands as I do statues, but now I
do not often think about it because my dear Father
has filled my mind with beautiful pictures, even of
things I cannot see. If the light were not in your
eyes, dear Mr. Brooks, you would understand better
how happy your little Helen was when her teacher
explained to her that the best and most beautiful
things in the world cannot be seen nor even touched,
but just felt in the heart. Every day I find out
something which makes me glad. Yesterday I
thought for the first time what a beautiful thing
motion was, and it seemed to me that everything
was trying to get near to God, does it seem that way
to von ? It is Sunday morning, and while I sit here

2o4 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Mar. 10, '93

in the library writing this letter you are teaching
hundreds of people some of the grand and beautiful
things about their heavenly Father. Are you not
very, very happy? and when you are a Bishop you
will preach to more people and more and more will
be made glad. Teacher sends her kind remem-
brances, and I send you with my picture my dear
love.

From your little friend

Helen Keller.

When the Perkins Institution closed in June,
Helen and her teacher went south to Tuscumbia,
where they remained until December. There is a
hiatus of several months in the letters, caused by the
depressing effect on Helen and Miss Sullivan of the
"Frost King" episode. At the time this trouble
seemed very grave and brought them much unhap-
piness. An analysis of the case has been made
elsewhere,* and Miss Keller has written her
account of it. j"

TO MR. ALBERT H. MUNSELL

Brewster, Mar. 10, 1892.

My dear Mr. Munsell,

Surely I need not tell you that your letter
was very welcome. I enjoyed every word of it
and wished that it was longer. I laughed when
you spoke of old Neptune's wild moods. He

*Paee 306. tPaee 63.

Aet. a) LETTERS 205

has, in truth, behaved very strangely ever since
we came to Brewster. It is evident that something
has displeased his Majesty but I cannot imagine
what it can be. His expression has been so turbu-
lent that I have feared to give him your kind message.
Who knows ! Perhaps the Old Sea God as he lay
asleep upon the shore, heard the soft music of grow-
ing things — the stir of life in the earth's bosom,
and his stormy heart was angry, because he knew
that his and Winter's reign was almost at an end.
So together the unhappy monarchfs] fought most
despairingly, thinking that gentle Spring would
turn and fly at the very sight of the havoc caused
by their forces. But lo ! the lovely maiden only
smiles more sweetly, and breathes upon the icy
battlements of her enemies, and in a moment they
vanish, and the glad Earth gives her a royal welcome.
But I must put away these idle fancies until we meet
again. Please give your dear mother my love.
Teacher wishes me to say that she liked the photo-
graph very much and she will see about having some
when we return. Now, dear friend, Please accept
these few words because of the love that is linked
with them.

Lovingly yours

Helen Keller.

This letter was reproduced in facsimile in St.
Nicholas, June, 1892. It is undated, but must
have been written two or three months before it
was published.

206 THE STORY OF MY LIFE \i89z

to St. Nicholas *

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 so 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 forefinger
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.

In May, 1892, Helen gave a tea in aid of the
kindergarten for the blind. It was quite her own
idea, and was given in the house of Mrs. Mahlon D.
Spaulding, sister of Mr. John P. Spaulding, one of

* Reprinted by courteous permission of the Century Co.

Aet.ni LETTERS 207

Helen's kindest and most liberal friends. The tea
brought more than two thousand dollars for the
blind children.

TO MISS CAROLINE DERBY

South Boston, May 9, 1892.
My dear Miss Carrie:— I was much pleased to
receive your kind letter. Need I tell you that I was
more than delighted to hear that you are really
interested in the "tea"? Of course we must not
give it up. Very soon I am going far away, to my
own dear home, in the sunny south, and it would
always make me happy to think that the last thing
which my dear friends in Boston did for my pleasure
was to help make the lives of many little sightless
children good and happy. I know that kind people
cannot help feeling a tender sympathy for the little
ones, who cannot see the beautiful light, or any of
the wonderful things which give them pleasure ; and
it seems to me that all loving sympathy must express
itself in acts of kindness; and when the friends of
little helpless blind children understand that we are
working for their happiness, they will come and make
our "tea" a success, and I am sure I shall be the
happiest little girl in all the world. Please let Bishop
Brooks know our plans, so that he may arrange to be
with us. I am glad Miss Eleanor is interested.
Please give her my love. I will see you tomorrow
and then we can make the rest of our plans. Please
give your dear aunt teacher's and my love and tell
her that we enjoyed our little visit very much indeed.
Lovingly yours,

Helen Keller.

2o8 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [May u, '02

TO MR. JOHN P. SPAULDING

South Boston, May nth, 1892.

My dear Mr. Spaulding: — I am afraid you will
think your little friend, Helen, very troublesome
when you read this letter ; but I am sure you will not
blame me when I tell you that I am very anxious
about something. You remember teacher and I
told you Sunday that I wanted to have a little tea in
aid of the kindergarten. We thought everything
was arranged: but we found Monday that Mrs.
Elliott would not be willing to let us invite more
than fifty people, because Mrs. Howe's house is quite
small. I am sure that a great many people would
like to come to the tea, and help me do something
to brighten the lives of little blind children; but
some of my friends say that I shall have to give up
the idea of having a tea unless we can find another
house. Teacher said yesterday, that perhaps Mrs.
Spaulding would be willing to let us have her beauti-
ful house, and [I] thought I would ask you about it.
Do you think Mrs. Spaulding would help me, if I
wrote to her ? I shall be so disappointed if my little
plans fail, because 1 have wanted for a long time to
do something for the poor little ones who are waiting
to enter the kindergarten. Please let me know
what you think about the house, and try to forgive
me for troubling you so much.

Lovingly your little friend,

Helen Keller.

Art. it] LETTERS 209

TO MR. EDWARD H. CLEMENT

South Boston, May 18th, 1892.

My dear Mr. Clement : — I am going to write to
you this beautiful morning because my heart is
brimful of happiness and I want you and all my dear
friends in the Transcript office to rejoice with me.
The preparations for my tea are nearly completed,
and I am looking forward joyfully to the event. I
know I shall not fail. Kind people will not disap-
point me, when they know that I plead for helpless
little children who live in darkness and ignorance.
They will come to my tea and buy light, — the beau-
tiful light of knowledge and love for many little ones
who are blind and friendless. I remember perfectly
when my dear teacher came to me. Then I was like
the little blind children who are waiting to enter the
kindergarten. There was no light in my soul. This
wonderful world with all its sunlight and beauty
was hidden from me, and I had never dreamed of its
loveliness. But teacher came to me and taught my
little fingers to use the beautiful key that has
unlocked the door of my dark prison and set my
spirit free.

It is my earnest wish to share my happiness with
others, and I ask the kind people of Boston to help
me make the lives of little blind children brighter
and happier.

Lovingly your little friend,

Helen Keller.

At the end of June Miss Sullivan and Helen went
home to Tuscumbia.

2io THE STORY OF MY LIFE \July9, '92

TO MISS CAROLINE DERBY

Tuscumbia, Alabama, July 9th 1892.
My dear Carrie — You are to look upon it as a
most positive proof of my love that I write to you to-
day. For a whole week it has been " cold and dark
and dreary" in Tuscumbia, and I must confess the
continuous rain and dismalness of the weather fills
me with gloomy thoughts and makes the writing 01
letters, or any pleasant employment, seem quite
impossible. Nevertheless, I must tell you that we
are alive, — that we reached home safely, and that w e
speak of you daily, and enjoy your interesting letters
very much. I had a beautiful visit at Hulton.
Everything was fresh and spring-like, and we stayed
out of doors all day. We even ate our breakfast
out on the piazza. Sometimes we sat in the ham-
mock, and teacher read to me. I rode horseback
nearly every evening and once I rode five miles at a
fast gallop. O, it was great fun ! Do you like t<
ride? I have a very pretty little cart now, and if :t
ever stops raining teacher and I are going to drive
every evening. And I have another beautiful
Mastiff — the largest one I ever saw — and he will go
along to protect us. His name is Eumer. A queer
name, is it not ? I think it is Saxon. We expect to
go to the mountains next week. My little brother,
Phillips, is not well, and we think the clear mountain
air will benefit him. Mildred is a sweet little sister
and I am sure you would love her. I thank you
very much for your photograph. I like to have my
friends' pictures even though I cannot see them. I
was greatly amused at the idea of your writing the
square hand. I do not write on a Braille tablet, as
you suppose, but on a grooved board like the piece

Act. 12] LOITERS 211

which I enclose. You could not read Braille ; for it
is written in dots, not at all like ordinary letters.
Please give my love to Miss Derby and tell her that
I hope she gave my sweetest love to Baby Ruth.
What was the book you sent me for my birthday ?
I received several, and I do not know which was
from you. I had one gift which especially pleased
me. It was a lovely cape crocheted, for me, by an
old gentleman, seventy-five years of age. And
every stitch, he writes, represents a kind wish for
my health and happiness. Tell your little cou&ins
I think they had better get upon the fence with me
until after the election ; for there are so many parties
and candidates that I doubt if such youthful poli-
ticians would make a wise selection. Please give
my love to Rosy when you write, and believe me.
Your loving friend

Helen Keller.
P. S. How do you like this type-written letter ?

H.K.

TO MRS. GROVER CLEVELAND

^My dear Mrs. Cleveland,

I am going to write you a little letter this
beautiful morning because I love you and dear
little Ruth very much indeed, and also because
I wish to thank you for the loving message
which you sent me through Miss Derby. I am
glad, very glad that such a kind, beautiful lady
loves me. I have loved you for a long time, but I
did not think you had ever heard of me until your

212 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Dec, ip, '93

sweet message came. Please kiss your dear little
baby for me, and tell her I have a little brother
nearly sixteen months old. His name is Phillips
Brooks. I named him myself after my dear friend
Phillips Brooks. I send you with this letter a pretty
book which my teacher thinks will interest you, and
my picture. Please accept them with the love and
good wishes of your friend,

Helen Keller.
Tuscumbia, Alabama.
November fourth. [1892.]

Hitherto the letters have been given in full ; from
this point on passages are omitted and the omis-
sions are indicated.

TO MR. JOHN HITZ

Tuscumbia, Alabama. Dec. 19, 1892.
My Dear Mr. Hitz,

I hardly know how to begin a letter to you,
it has been such a long time since your kind
letter reached me, and there is so much that I
would like to write if I could. You must have
wondered why your letter has not had an answer,
and perhaps you have thought Teacher and me' very
naughty indeed. If so, you will be very sorry when
I tell you something. Teacher's eyes have been
hurting her so that she could not write to any one,
and I have been trying to fulfil a promise which I
made last summer. Before I left Boston, I wa,e

Aet.i2) LETTERS 213

asked to write a sketch of my life for the Youth's
Companion. I had intended to write the sketch
during my vacation: but I was not well, and I did
not feel able to write even to my friends. But when
the bright, pleasant autumn days came, and I felt
strong again I began to think about the sketch.
It was some time before I could plan it to suit me.
You see, it is not very pleasant to write all about
one's self. At last, however, I got something bit
by bit that Teacher thought would do, and 1 set
about putting the scraps together, which was not an
easy task: for, although I worked some on it every
day, I did not finish it until a week ago Saturday.
I sent the sketch to the Companion as soon as it
was finished; but I do not know that they will
accept it. Since then, I have not been well, and I
have been obliged to keep very quiet, and rest;
but today I am better, and to-morrow I shall be
well again, I hope.

The reports which you have read in the paper
about me are not true at all. We received the
Silent Worker which you sent, and I wrote right
away to the editor to tell him that it was a mistake.
Sometimes I am not well; but I am not a "wreck,"
and there is nothing "distressing" about my con-
dition.

I enjoyed your dear letter so much ! I am always
delighted when anyone writes me a beautiful
thought which I can treasure in my memory forever.
It is because my books are full of the riches of
which Mr. Ruskin speaks that I love them so dearly.
I did not realize until I began to write the sketch for
the Companion, what precious companions books
have been to me, and how blessed even my life has
been; and now I am happier than ever because I do

214 THE STORY OF MY LIFE {Feb. 18,-93

realize the happiness that has come to me. I hope
you will write to me as often as you can. Teacher
and I are always delighted to hear from you. I
want to write to Mr. Bell and send him my picture.
I suppose he has been too busy to write to his little
friend. I often think of the pleasant time we had
all together in Boston last spring.

Now I am going to tell you a secret. I think we,
Teacher, and my father and little sister, and myself,
will visit Washington next March ! ! ! Then I shall
see you, and dear Mr. Bell, and Elsie and Daisy
again ! Would not it be lovely if Mrs. Pratt could
meet us there ? I think I will write to her and tell
her the secret too. . . .

Lovingly your little friend,

Helen Keller.

P. S. Teacher says you want to know what kind
of a pet I would like to have. I love all living things,
— I suppose everyone does ; but of course I cannot
have a menagerie. I have a beautiful pony, and a
large dog. And I would like a little dog to hold in
my lap, or a big pussy (there are no fine cats in
Tuscumbia) or a parrot. I would like to feel a parrot
talk, it would be so much fun ! but I would be pleasec1
with, and love any little creature you send vc.2,

H.K.

TO MISS CAROLINE DERBY

Tuscumbia, Alabama, February 18, 1893.
. You have often been in my thoughts
during these sad days, while my heart has been

Aet.i2\ LETTERS 215

grieving over the loss of my beloved friend,* and I
have wished many times that I was in Boston with
those who knew and loved him as I did ... he
was so much of a friend to me ! so tender and loving
always ! I do try not to mourn his death too sadly.
I do try to think that he is still near, very near ; but
sometimes the thought that he is not here, that I
shall not see him when I go to Boston, — that he
is gone, — rushes over my soul like a great wave of
sorrow. But at other times, when I am happier, I
do feel his beautiful presence, and his loving hand
leading me in pleasant ways. Do you remember
the happy hour we spent with him last June when
he held my hand, as he always did, and talked to us
about his friend Tennyson, and our own dear poet
Dr. Holmes, and I tried to teach him the manual
alphabet, and he laughed so gaily over his mistakes,
and afterward I told him about my tea, and he
promised to come ? I can hear him now, saying in
his cheerful, decided way, in reply to my wish that
my tea might be a success, " Of course it will, Helen.
Put your whole heart in the good work, my child,
and it cannot fail. " I am glad the people are going
to raise a monument to his memory. . . .

In March Helen and Miss Sullivan went North,
and spent the next few months traveling and visit-
ing friends.

In reading this letter about Niagara one should
remember that Miss Keller knows distance and shape,
and that the size of Niagara is within her experi-

* Phillips Brooks, died January 23, 1893.

3i6 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [April 13, -pj

ence after she has explored it, crossed the bridge,
and gone down in the elevator. Especially impor-
tant are such details as her feeling the rush of the
water by putting her hand on the window. Dr.
Bell gave her a down pillow, which she held against
her to increase the vibrations.

TO MRS. KATE ADAMS KELLER

South Boston, April 13, 1893.

. . . Teacher, Mrs. Pratt and I very unex-
pectedly decided to take a journey with deai
Dr. Bell . . . Mr. Westervelt, a gentleman
whom father met in Washington, has a school for the
deaf in Rochester. We went there first. . . .

Mr. Westervelt gave us a reception one afternoon.
A great many people came. Some of them asked
odd questions. A lady seemed surprised that ]
loved flowers when I could not see their beautiful
colors, and when I assured her I did love them, she
said, "no doubt you feel the colors with your
fingers." But of course, it is not alone for their
bright colors that we love the flowers. . s , A
gentleman asked me what beauty meant to my mind,
I must confess I was puzzled at first. But after a
minute I answered that beauty was a form of good-
ness,— and he went away.

When the reception was over we went back to the
hotel and teacher slept quite unconscious of the
surprise which was in store for her. Mr. Bell and
I planned it together and Mr. Bell made all the
arrangements before we told teacher anything
about it. This was the surprise — I was to have

Aet.is] LETTERS 217

the pleasure of taking my dear teacher to see
Niagara Falls ! . . .

The hotel was so near the river that I could feel
it rushing past by putting my hand on the window.
The next morning the sun rose bright and warm,
and we got up quickly for our hearts were full
of pleasant expectation. . . . You can never
imagine how I felt when I stood in the presence of
Niagara until you have the same mysterious sensa-
tions yourself, I could hardly realize that it was
water that I felt rushing and plunging with impetu-
ous fury at my feet. It seemed as if it were some
living thing rushing on to some terrible fate. I wish
I could describe the cataract as it is, its beauty
and awful grandeur, and the fearful and irresistible
plunge of its waters over the brow of the precipice.
One feels helpless and overwhelmed in the presence
of such a vast force. I had the same feeling once
before when I first stood by the great ocean and felt
its waves beating against the shore. I suppose you
feel so, too, when you gaze up to the stars in the
stillness of the night, do you not? . . . We
went down a hundred and twenty feet in an elevator
that we might see the violent eddies and whirlpools
in the deep gorge below the Falls. Within two miles
of the Falls is a wonderful suspension bridge. It is
thrown across the gorge at a height of two hundred
and fifty-eight feet above the water and is sup-
ported on each bank by towers of solid rock, which
are eight hundred feet apart. When we crossed
over to the Canadian side, I cried, "God save the
Queen!" Teacher said I was a little traitor. But
I do not think so. I was only doing as the Canadians
do, while I was in their country, and besides I honor
England's good queen . . .

2i8 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Apr. 13,^3

You will be pleased, dear Mother, to hear that a
kind lady whose name is Miss Hooker is endeavor-
ing to improve my speech. Oh, I do so hope and
pray that I shall speak well some day ! . . .

Mr. Munsell spent last Sunday evening with us.
How you would have enjoyed hearing him tell about
Venice ! His beautiful word-pictures made us feel
as if we were sitting in the shadow of San Marco,
dreaming, or sailing upon the moonlit canal. . . .
I hope when I visit Venice, as I surely shall some
day, that Mr. Munsell will go with me. That is my
castle in the air. You see, none of my friends
describe things to me so vividly and so beautifullv
as he does. . . .

Her visit to the World's Fair she described in
a letter to Mr. John P. Spaulding, which was pub-
lished in St. Nicholas, and is much like the following
letter. In a prefatory note which Miss Sullivan wrote
for St. Nicholas, she says that people frequently
said to her, "Helen sees more with her fingers
than we do with our eyes." The President of the
Exposition gave her this letter :

To the Chiefs of the Departments and Officers

IN CHARGE OF BUILDINGS AND EXHIBITS.

Gentlemen — The bearer, Miss Helen Keller,
accompanied by Miss Sullivan, is desirous of mak-
ing a complete inspection of the Exposition in all

Aet. i3\ LETTERS

219

Departments. She is blind and deaf, but is able
to converse, and is introduced to me as one having
a wonderful ability to understand the objects she
visits, and as being possessed of a high order of
intelligence and of culture beyond her years. Please
favour her with every facility to examine the
exhibits in the several Departments, and extend
to her such other courtesies as may be possible.

Thanking you in advance for the same, I am,
with respect,

Very truly yours,
(signed) H. N. Higinbotham,

President.

TO MISS CAROLINE DERBY

Hulton, Penn., August 17, 1893.
. . . Every one at the Fair was very kind
to me. . . Nearly all of the exhibitors seemed
perfectly willing to let me touch the most delicate
things, and they were very nice about explaining
everything to me. A French gentleman, whose
name I cannot remember, showed me the great
French bronzes. I believe they gave me more
pleasure than anything else at the Fair: they
were so lifelike and wonderful to my touch.
Dr. Bell went with us himself to the electrical
building, and showed us some of the histori-
cal telephones. I saw the one through which
Emperor Dom Pedro listened to the words,
'To be, or not to be," at the Centennial. Dr.
Gillett of Illinois took us to the Liberal Arts and
Woman's buildings. In the former I visited Tiffany's

2 2o THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Aug. i7, >M

exhibit, and held the beautiful Tiffany diamond,
which is valued at one hundred thousand dollars,
and touched many other rare and costly things.
I sat in King Ludwig's armchair and felt like a
queen wh n Dr. Gillett remarked that I had
many loyal subjects. At the Woman's building
we met the Princess Maria Schaovskoy of Russia,
and a beautiful Syrian lady. I liked them both very
much. I went to the Japanese department with
Prof. Morse who is a well-known lecturer. I never
realized what a wonderful people the Japanese
are until I saw their most interesting exhibit. Japan
must indeed be a paradise for children to judge
from the great number of playthings which are
manufactured there. The queer-looking Japanese
musical instruments, and their beautiful works of
art were interesting. The Japanese books are very
odd. There are forty-seven letters in their alpha-
bets. Prof. Morse knows a great deal about Japan,
and is very kind and wise. He invited me to
visit his museum in Salem the next time I go to
Boston. But I think 1 enjoyed the sails on the
tranquil lagoon, and the lovely scenes, as my friends
described them to me, more than anything else at
the Fair. Once, while we were out on the water,
the sun went down over the rim of the earth, and
threw a soft, rosy light over the White City, making
it look more than ever like Dreamland. . . .

Of course, we visited the Midway Plaisance. It
was a bewildering and fascinating place. I went
into the streets of Cairo, and rode on the camel.
That was fine fun. We also rode in the Ferris
wheel, and on the ice-railway, and had a sail in the
Whaleback. . . .

Aet.i3] LETTERS 221

In the spring of 1893 a club was started in
.Tuscumbia, of which Mrs. Keller was president, to
establish a public library. Miss Keller says:

"I wrote to my friends about the work and enlisted
their sympathy. Several hundred books, including
many fine ones, were sent to me in a short time, as
well as money and encouragement. This generous
assistance encouraged the ladies, and they have
gone on collecting and buying books ever since,
until now they have a very respectable public
library in the town. "

TO MRS. CHARLES E. INCHES

HULTON, PENN., Oct. 21, 1893.

. . . We spent September at home in Tus-
cumbia . . . and were all very happy together.
. . . Our quiet mountain home was especially
attractive and restful after the excitement and
fatigue of our visit to the World's Fair. We enjoyed
the beauty and solitude of the hills more than ever.

And now we are in Hulton, Penn. again where I
am going to study this winter with a tutor assisted
by my dear teacher. I study Arithmetic, Latin and
literature. I enjoy my lessons very much. It is so
pleasant to learn about new things. Every day I
find how little I know, but I do not feel discouraged
since God has given me an eternity in which to learn
more. In literature I am studying Longfellow's
poetry. I know a great deal of it by heart, for I
loved it long before I knew a metaphor from a
synecdoche. I used to say I did not like arith-
metic very well, but now I have changed my mind.

222 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Oct. si, <93

I see what a good and useful study it is, though I
must confess my mind wanders from it sometimes !
for, nice and useful as arithmetic is, it is not as
interesting as a beautiful poem or a lovely story.
But bless me, how time does fly. I have only a few
moments left in which to answer your questions
about the "Helen Keller" Public Library.

i. I think there are about 3,000 people in
Tuscumbia, Ala., and perhaps half of them are
colored people. 2. At present there is no library
of any sort in the town. That is why I thought
about starting one. My mother and several of my
lady friends said they would help me, and they
formed a club, the object of which is to work for the
establishment of a free public library in Tuscumbia.
They have now about 100 books and about $55 in
money, and a kind gentleman has given us land on
which to erect a library building. But in the mean-
time the club has rented a little room in a central
part of the town, and the books which we already
have are free to all. 3. Only a few of my kind
friends in Boston know anything about the library.
I did not like to trouble them while I was trying to
get money for poor little Tommy ; for of course it was
more important that he should be educated than
that my people should have books to read. 4. I do
not know what books we have, but I think it is a
miscellaneous (I think that is the word) collec-
tion. . . .

P. S. My teacher thinks it would be more busi-
nesslike to say that a list of the contributors toward
the building fund will be kept and published in my
father's paper, the " North Alabamian."

H. K.

Aet. 13} LETTERS 223

TO MISS CAROLINE DERBY

Hulton, Penn., December 28, 1893.
. . . Please thank dear Miss Derby for me
for the pretty shield which she sent me. It is a very
interesting souvenir of Columbus, and of the Fair
White City; but I cannot imagine what discoveries
I have made, — I mean new discoveries. We are all
discoverers in one sense, being born quite ignorant
of all things; but I hardly think that is what she
meant. Tell her she must explain why I am a
discoverer. . . .

TO DR. EDWARD EVERETT HALE

Hulton, Pennsylvania, January 14, [1894].
My dear Cousin : I had thought to write to you
long before this in answer to your kind letter which
I was so glad to receive, and to thank you for the
beautiful little book which you sent me ; but I have
been very busy since the beginning of the New Year.
The publication of my little story in the Youth's
.Companion has brought me a large number of letters,
— last week I received sixty-one ! — and besides
replying to some of these letters, I have many lessons
to learn, among them Arithmetic and Latin; and,
you know, Csesar is Caesar still, imperious and
tyrannical, and if a little girl would understand so
great a man, and the wars and conquests of whicb
he tells in his beautiful Latin language, she must
study much and think much, and study and thought
require time.

224 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Oct. 23, '94

I shall prize the little book always, not only for its
own value ; but because of its associations with you.
It is a delight to think of you as the giver of one of
your books into which, I am sure, you have wrought
your own thoughts and feelings, and I thank you
very much for remembering me in such a very
beautiful way. . . .

In February Helen and Miss Sullivan returned to
Tuscumbia. They spent the rest of the spring read-
ing and studying. In the summer they attended
the meeting at Chautauqua of the American
Association for the Promotion of the Teaching of
Speech to the Deaf, where Miss Sullivan read a
paper on Helen Keller's education.

In the fall Helen and Miss Sullivan entered the
Wright-Humason School in New York, which makes
a specialty of lip-reading and voice-culture. The
"singing lessons" were to strengthen her voice.
She had taken a few piano lessons at the Perkins
Institution. The experiment was interesting, but
of course came to little.

to miss caroline derby

The Wright-Humason School.
42 West 76th St.
New York. Oct. 23, 1894.
. . . The school is very pleasant, and bless
you ! it is quite fashionable. ... I study
Arithmetic, English Literature and United States

Aet.i4] LETTERS 225

History as I did last winter. I also keep a diary.
I enjoy my singing lessons with Dr. Humason more
than I can say. I expect to take piano lessons
sometime. . . .

Last Saturday our kind teachers planned a
delightful trip to Bedloe's Island to see Bartholdi's
great statue of Liberty enlightening the world.
. . . The ancient cannon, which look seaward,
wear a very menacing expression; but I doubt if
there is any unkindness in their rusty old hearts.

Liberty is a gigantic figure of a woman in Greek
draperies, holding in her right hand a torch. . . .
A spiral stairway leads from the base of this pedestal
to the torch. We climbed up to the head which
will hold forty persons, and viewed the scene on
which Liberty gazes day and night, and O, how
wonderful it was ! We did not wonder that the great
French artist thought the place worthy to be the
home of his grand ideal. The glorious bay lay calm
and beautiful in the October sunshine, and the ships
came and went like idle dreams ; those seaward going
slowly disappeared like clouds that change from
gold to gray; those homeward coming sped more
quickly like birds that seek their mother's nest. . . .

to miss caroline derby

The Wright-Humason School.
New York, March 15, 1895.
. . I think I have improved a little in lip-

reading, though I still find it verv difficult to read

226 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Mar. 15, '95

rapid speech ; but I am sure I shall succeed some day
if I only persevere. Dr. Humason is still trying to
improve my speech. Oh, Carrie, how I should
like to speak like other people ! I should be willing
to work night and day if it could only be accom-
plished. Think what a joy it would be to all of my
friends to hear me speak naturally ! ! I wonder why
it is so difficult and perplexing for a deaf child to
learn to speak when it is so easy for other people;
but I am sure I shall speak perfectly some time if I
am only patient. . . .

Although I have been so busy, I have found time
to read a good deal. ... I have lately read
" Wiihelm Tell" by Schiller, and "The Lost Vestal. "
. . . Now I am reading "Nathan the Wise" by
Lessing and " King Arthur" by Miss Mulock.

. . . You know our kind teachers take us to
see everything which they think will interest us,
and we learn a great deal in that delightful way.
On George Washington's birthday we all went to
the Dog Show, and although there was a great crowd
in the Madison Square Garden, and despite the
bewilderment caused by the variety of sounds made
by the dog-orchestra, which was very confusing to
those who could hear them, we enjoyed the after-
noon very much. Among the dogs which receive< j
the most attention were the bull-dogs. They per
mitted themselves startling liberties when any one
caressed them, crowding themselves almost into
one's arms and helping themselves without ceremony
to kisses, apparently unconscious of the impropriety
of their conduct. Dear me, what unbeautiful little
beasts they are ! But they are so good natured and
friendly, one cannot help liking them.

Aet.H\ LETTERS 227

Dr. Humason, Teacher, and I left the others at
the Dog Show and went to a reception given by
the " Metropolitan Club. " . . . It is sometimes
called the "Millionaires' Club." The building is
magnificent, being built of white marble ; the rooms
are large and splendidly furnished; but I must
confess, so much splendor is rather oppressive to
me ; and I didn't envy the millionaires in the least
all the happiness their gorgeous surroundings are
supposed to bring them. . . .

TO MRS. KATE ADAMS KELLER

New York, March 31, 1895.
. . . Teacher and I spent the afternoon at
Mr. Hutton's, and had a most delightful time !
. . We met Mr. Clemens and Mr. Howells
there ! I had known about them for a long time ;
but I had never thought that I should see them,
and talk to them; and I can scarcely realize now
that this great pleasure has been mine ! But,
much as I wonder that I, only a little girl of fourteen,
should come in contact with so many distinguished
people, I do realize that I am a very happy child,
and very grateful for the many beautiful privileges
I have enjoyed. The two distinguished authors
were very gentle and kind, and I could not tell
which of them I loved best. Mr. Clemens told
us many entertaining stories, and made us laugh
till we cried. I only wish you could have seen and
heard him ! He told us that he would go to Europe

228 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Mar. 31, '9$

in a few days to bring his wife and his daughter,
Jeanne, back to America, because Jeanne, who is
studying in Paris, has learned so much in three
years and a half that if he did not bring her home,
she would soon know more than he did. I think
Mark Twain is a very appropriate nom de plume for
Mr. Clemens because it has a funny and quaint
sound, and goes well with his amusing writings, and
its nautical significance suggests the deep and
beautiful things that he has written. I think he
is very handsome indeed. . . . Teacher said
she thought he looked something like Paradeuski.
(If that is the way to spell the name.) Mr. Howeils
told me a little about Venice, which is one of his
favorite cities, and spoke very tenderly of his dear
little girl, Winnifred, who is now with God. He
has another daughter, named Mildred, who knows
Carrie. I might have seen Mrs. Wiggin, the sweet
author of "Birds' Christmas Carol," but she had
a dangerous cough and could not come. I was
much disappointed not to see her ; but I hope I shall
have that pleasure some other time. Mr. Hutton
gave me a lovely little glass, shaped like a thistle,
which belonged to his dear mother, as a souvenir
of my delightful visit. We also met Mr. Rogers
. . . who kindly left his carriage to bring us
home.

When the Wright-Humason School closed for the
summer, Miss Sullivan and Helen went South.

Art. 15] LETTERS 229

TO MRS. LAURENCE HUTTON

Tuscumbia, Alabama, July 29, 1895

. . . I am spending my vacation very quietly
and pleasantly at my beautiful, sunny home, with
my loving parents, my darling little sister and my
small brother, Phillips My precious teacher is
with me too, and so of course I am happy I read
a little, walk a little, write a little and play with the
children a great deal, and the days slip by delight-
fully! . . .

My friends are so pleased with the improvement
which I made in speech and lip-reading last year,
that it has been decided best for me to continue my
studies in New York another year I am delighted
at the prospect of spending another year in your
great city I used to think that I should never
feel "at home" in New York; but since I have made
the acquaintance of so many people, and can look
back to such a bright and successful winter there,
I find myself looking forward to next year, and
anticipating still brighter and better times in the
Metropolis

Please give my kindest love to Mr Hutton, and
Mrs Riggs and Mr Warner too, although I have
never had the pleasure of knowing him personally
As I listen Venicewards, I hear Mr Hutton's pen
dancing over the pages of his new book It is a
pleasant sound because it is full of promise How
much I shall enjoy reading it !

Please pardon me, my dear Mrs Hutton, for send-
ing you a typewritten letter across the ocean I
have tried several times to write with a pencil on
my little writing machine since I came home out
I have found it very difficult to do so on account of

23o THE STORY OF MY LIFE [oa. i6t >95

the heat The moisture of my hand soils and blurs
the paper so dreadfully, that I am compelled to
use my typewriter altogether And it is not my
"Remington" either, but a naughty little thing
that gets out of order on the slightest provocation,
and cannot be induced to make a period . „ .

TO MRS. WILLIAM THAW

New York, October 16, 1895.
Here we are once more in the great metropolis !
We left Hulton Friday night and arrived here
Saturday morning. Our friends were greatly sur-
prised to see us, as they had not expected us before
the last of this month. I rested Saturday afternoon,
for I was very tired, and Sunday I visited with my
schoolmates, and now that I feel quite rested, I
am going to write to you ; for I know you will want
to hear that we reached New York safely. We
had to change cars at Philadelphia: but we did not
mind it much. After we had had our breakfast,
Teacher asked one of the train-men in the station if
the New York train was made up. He said no, it
would not be called for about fifteen minutes; so
we sat down to wait ; but in a moment the man came
back and asked Teacher if we would like to go to the
train at once. She said we would, and he took
us way out on the track and put us on board our
train. Thus we avoided the rush and had a nice
quiet visit before the train started. Was that not
very kind ? So it always is. Some one is ever ready
to scatter little acts of kindness along our pathway
making it smooth and pleasant. . . ,

Aet. z5, BETTERS 23*

We had a quiet but very pleasant time in Hulton.
Mr. Wade is just as dear and good as ever ! He has
lately had several books printed in England for me,
"Old Mortality," "The Castle of Otranto" and
"King of No-land." . . .

TO MISS CAROLINE DERBY

New York, December 29, 1895,
. . . Teacher and I have been very gay of late.
We have seen our kind friends, Mrs. Dodge, Mr. and
Mrs. Hutton, Mrs. Riggs and her husband, and met
many distinguished people, among whom were Miss
Ellen Terry, Sir Henry Irving and Mr, Stockton !
Weren't we very fortunate ? Miss Terry was lovely.
She kissed Teacher and said, " I do not know whether
I am glad to see you or not ; for I feel so ashamed of
myself when I think of how much you have done
for the little girl. " We also met Mr. and Mrs. Terry.
Miss Terry's brother and his wife. I thought her
beauty angellic, and oh, what a clear, beautiful voice
she had ! We saw Miss Terry again with Sir Henry
in " King Charles the First, " a week ago last Friday,
and after the play they kindly let me feel of them
and get an idea of how they looked. How noble and
kingly the King was, especially in his misfortunes !
And how pretty and faithful the poor Queen was !
The play seemed so real, we almost forgot where we
were, and believed we were watching the genuine
scenes as they were acted so long ago. The last act
affected us most deeply, and we all wept, wondering
how the executioner could have the heart to teai
the King from his loving wife's arms.

232 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Feb. 4, '96

I have just finished reading "Ivanhoe. " It was
very exciting ; but I must say I did not enjoy it very
much. Sweet Rebecca, with her strong, brave
spirit and her pure, generous nature, was the only
character which thoroughly won my admiration.
Now I am reading "Stories from Scottish History,"
and they are very thrilling and absorbing ! . . .

The next two letters were written just after the
death of Mr. John P. Spaulding.

TO MRS. GEORGE H. BRADFORD

New York, February 4, 1896.
What can I say which will make you understand
how much Teacher and I appreciate your thoughtful
kindness in sending us those little souvenirs of the
dear room where we first met the best and kindest
of friends? Indeed, you can never know all the
comfort you have given us. We have put the dear
picture on the mantel-piece in our room where we
can see it every day, and I often go and touch it,
and somehow I cannot help feeling that our beloved
friend is very near to me. ... It was very
hard to take up our school work again, as if
nothing had happened; but I am sure it is well
that we have duties which must be done, and
which take our minds away for a time at least
from our sorrow. . .

Aet. jS] LETTERS 233

TO MISS CAROLINE DERBY

New York, March 2nd, 1896.
. We miss dear King John sadly. It
was so hard to lose him, he was the best and
kindest of friends, and I do not know what we
shall do without him. . . .

We went to a poultry-show . . . and the
man there kindly permitted us to feel of the birds.
They were so tame, they stood oerfectly still
when I handled them. I saw great big turkeys,
geese, guineas, ducks and many others.

Almost two weeks ago we called at Mr. Hutton's
and had a delightful time. We always do ! We
met Mr. Warner, the writer, Mr. Mabie, the editor of
the Outlook and other pleasant people. I am
sure you would like to know Mr. and Mrs. Hutton,
they are so kind and interesting. I can never tell
you how much pleasure they have given us.

Mr. Warner and Mr. Burroughs, the great lover of
nature, came to see us a few days after, and we had a
delightful talk with them. They were both very,
very dear ! Mr. Burroughs told me about his home
near the Hudson, and what a happy place it must be !
I hope we shall visit it some day. Teacher has read
me his lively stories about his boyhood, and I
enjoyed them greatly. Have you read the beautiful
poem, " Waiting" ? I know it, and it makes me feel
so happy, it has such sweet thoughts. Mr. Warner
showed me a scarf-pin with a beetle on it which was
made in Egypt fifteen hundred years before Christ,
and told me that the beetle meant immortality to
the Egyptians because it wrapped itself up and went
to sleep and came out again in a new form, thus
renewing itself. , . .

234 THE STORY OF MY LIFE \juiy i5, '0

TO MISS CAROLINE DERBY

New York, April 25, 1896.
. . . My studies are the same as they were
when I saw you, except that I have taken up French
with a French teacher who comes three times a week.
I read her lips almost exclusively, (she does not know
the manual alphabet) and we get on quite well. I
have read " Le Medecin Malgre Lui, " a very good
French comedy by Moliere, with pleasure ; and they
say I speak French pretty well now, and German
also. Anyway, French and German people under-
stand what I am trying to say, and that is very
encouraging. In voice-training I have still the same
old difficulties to contend against ; and the fulfilment
of my wish to speak well seems O, so far away !
Sometimes I feel sure that I catch a faint glimpse of
the goal I am striving for ; but in another minute a
bend in the road hides it from my view, and I am
again left wandering in the dark ! But I try hard
not to be discouraged. Surely we shall all find at
last the ideals we are seeking. . . .

TO MR. JOHN HITZ

Brewster, Mass. July 15, 1896.

. . . As to the book, I am sure I shall enjoy it
very much when I am admitted, by the magic of
Teacher's dear fingers, into the companionship of
the two sisters who went to the Immortal Fountain.

As I sit by the window writing to you, it is so
lovely to have the soft, cool breezes fan my cheek,

Aet. 16} LETTERS 235

and to feel that the hard work of last year is over \
Teacher seems to feel benefitted by the change too ;
for she is already beginning to look like her dear old
self. We only need you, dear Mr. Hitz, to complete
our happiness. Teacher and Mrs. Hopkins both
say you must come as soon as you can ! We will
try to make you comfortable.

Teacher and I spent nine days at Philadelphia.
Have you ever been at Dr. Crouter's Institution?
Mr. Howes has probably given you a full account of
our doings. We were busy all the time ; we attended
the meetings and talked with hundreds of people,
among whom were dear Dr. Bell, Mr. Banerji of
Calcutta, Monsieur Magnat of Paris with whom I
conversed in French exclusively, and many other
distinguished persons. We had looked forward to
seeing you there, and so we were greatly disap-
pointed that you did not come. We think of you so,
so often ! and oar hearts go out to you in tenderest
sympathy ; and you know better than this poor letter
can tell you how happy we always are to have you
with us ! I made a " speech" on July eighth, telling
the members of the Association what an unspeakable
blessing speech has been to me, and urging them to
give every little deaf child an opportunity to learn
to speak.* Every one said I spoke very well and
intelligibly. After my little " speech, " we attended
a reception at which over six hundred people were
present. I must confess I do not like such large
receptions ; the people crowd so, and we have to do
so much talking ; and yet it is at receptions like
the one in Philadelphia that we often meet friends
whom we learn to love afterwards. We left the city
last Thursday night, and arrived in Brewstef

*See page 39 2.

236 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [SePt.3t>Q6

Friday afternoon. We missed the Cape Cod train
Friday morning, and so we came down to Province-
town in the steamer Longfellow. I am glad we did
so; for it was lovely and cool on the water, and
Boston Harbor is always interesting.

We spent about three weeks in Boston, after
leaving New York, and I need not tell you we had a
most delightful time. We visited our good friends,
Mr. and Mrs. Chamberlin, at Wrentham, out in the
country, where they have a Sovely home. Their
house stands near a charming lake where we went
boating and canoeing, which was great fun. We
also went in bathing several times. Mr. and Mrs.
Chamberlin celebrated the 1 7 th of June by giving a
picnic to their literary friends. There were about
forty persons present, all of whom were writers and
publishers. Our friend, Mr. Alden, the editor of
Harper's was there, and of course we enjoyed his
society very much. . . .

TO CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER

Brewster, Mass., September 3, 1896.
. . . I have been meaning to write to you all
summer; there were many things I wanted to tell
you, and I thought perhaps you would like to hear
about our vacation by the seaside, and our plans for
next year ; but the happy, idle days slipped away so
quickly, and there were so many pleasant things to
do every moment, that I never found time to clothe
my thought in words, and send them to you. I

Aet. i6\ BETTERS

237

wonder what becomes of lost opportunities. Per-
haps our guardian angel gathers them up as we drop
them, and will give them back to us in the beautiful
sometime when we have grown wiser, and learned
how to use them rightly. But, however this may be,
I cannot now write the letter which has lain in my
thought for you so long. My heart is too full of
sadness to dwell upon the happiness the summer has
brought me. My father is dead. He died last
Saturday at my home in Tuscumbia, and I was not
there. My own dear loving father ! Oh, dear
friend, how shall I ever bear it ! . . .

On the first of October Miss Keller entered the
Cambridge School for Young Ladies, of which Mr.
Arthur Gilman is Principal. The "examinations"
mentioned in this letter were merely tests given in
the school, but as they were old Harvard papers, it
is evident that in some subjects Miss Keller was
already fairly well prepared for Radcliffe.

to mrs. laurence hutton

37 Concord Avenue, Cambridge, Mass.

October 8, 1896.
. . . I got up early this morning, so that I
could write you a few lines. I know you want to
hear how I like my school. I do wish you could
come and see for yourself what a beautiful school
it is ! There are about a hundred girls, and they are
all so bright and happy ; it is a joy to be with them.

238 THE STORY OF MY LIFE

You will be glad to hear that I passed my examina-
tions successfully. I have been examined in English
German, French, and Greek and Roman history.
They were the entrance examinations for Harvard
College ; so I feel pleased to think I could pass them.
This year is going to be a very busy one for Teacher
and myself. I am studying Arithmetic, English
Literature, English History, German, Latin, and
advanced geography ; there is a great deal of prepara-
tory reading required, and, as few of the books are
in raised print, poor Teacher has to spell them all out
to me ; and that means hard work.

You must tell Mr. Howells when you see him, that
we are living in his house. . . .

to mrs. william thaw

37 Concord Avenue, Cambridge, Mass.,
December 2, 1896.

. . . It takes me a long time to prepare my
lessons, because I have to have every word of them
spelled out in my hand. Not one of the text-
books which I am obliged to use is in raised print;
so of course my work is harder than it would be
if I could read my lessons over by myself. But it
is harder for Teacher than it is for me because the
strain on her poor eyes is so great, and I cannot help
worrying about them. Sometimes it really seems
as if the task which we have set ourselves were
more than we can accomplish; but at other times
I enjoy my work more than I can say.

It is such a delight to be with the other girls, and

Aet. 16] LETTERS 239

do everything that they do. I study Latin, German,
Arithmetic and English History, all of which I enjoy
except Arithmetic. I am afraid I have not a mathe-
matical mind ; for my figures always manage to get
into the wrong places ! . . .

TO MRS. LAURENCE HUTTON

Cambridge, Mass., May 3, 1897.

. . . You know I am trying very hard to get
through with the reading for the examinations in
June, and this, in addition to my regular school-
work keeps me awfully busy. But Johnson, and
"The Plague" and everything else must wait a
few minutes this afternoon, while I say, thank you,
my dear Mrs. Hutton. . . .

. . . What a splendid time we had at the
11 Players' Club " I always thought clubs were
dull, smoky places, where men talked politics, and
told endless stories, all about themselves and their
wonderful exploits: but now I see, I must have
been quite wrong. . . .

TO MR. JOHN HITZ

Wrentham, Mass. July 9, 1897.
. . . Teacher and I are going to spend the
summer at Wrentham, Mass. with our friends, the
Chamberlins. I think you remember Mr. Chamber-
lin, the "Listener" in the Boston Transcript. They
are dear, kind people. . . .

240 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Feb. 20, »pl

But I know you want to hear about my examina-
tions. I know that you will be glad to hear that I
passed all of them successfully. The subjects I
offered were elementary and advanced German,
French, Latin, English, and Greek and Roman
History. It seems almost too good to be true, does
it not ? All the time I was preparing for the great
ordeal, I could not suppress an inward fear and
trembling lest I should fail, and now it is an
unspeakable relief to know that I have passed the
examinations with credit. But what I consider
my crown of success is the happiness and pleasure
that my victory has brought dear Teacher. Indeed,
I feel that the success is hers more than mine; for
she is my constant inspiration. . .

At the end of September Miss Sullivan and Miss
Keller returned to the Cambridge School, where
they remained until early in December. Then the
interference of Mr. Gilman resulted in Mrs. Keller's
withdrawing Miss Helen and her sister, Miss Mildred,
from the school. Miss Sullivan and her pupil went
to Wrentham, where they worked under Mr. Merton
S. Keith, an enthusiastic and skilful teacher.

TO MRS. LAURENCE HUTTON

Wrentham, February 20, 1898.
. . . I resumed my studies soon after your
departure, and in a very little while we were work-
ing as merrily as if the dreadful experience of a

Aet. if\ LETTERS 241

month ago had been but a dream. I cannot tell you
how much I enjoy the country. It is so fresh, and
peaceful and free ! I do think I could work all
day long without feeling tired if they would let me.
There are so many pleasant things to do — not always
very easy things, — much of my work in Algebra
and Geometry is hard: but I love it all, especially
Greek. Just think, I shall soon finish my grammar !
Then comes the "Iliad." What an inexpressible
joy it will be to read about Achilles, and Ulysses,
and Andromache and Athene, and the rest of my
old friends in their own glorious language ! ! I think
Greek is the loveliest language that I know any
thing about. If it is true that the violin is the
most perfect of musical instruments, then Greek
is the violin of human thought.

We have had some splendid tobogganing this
month. Every morning, before lesson-time, we
all go out to the steep hill on the northern shore of
the lake near the house, and coast for an hour or
so. Some one balances the toboggan on the very
crest of the hill, while we get on, and when we are
ready, off we dash down the side of the hill in a
headlong rush, and, leaping a projection, plunge
into a snow-drift and go skimming far across the
pond at a tremendous rate ! . » .

TO MRS. LAURENCE HUTTON

[Wrentham] April 12, 1898
. . . I am glad Mr. Keith is so well pleased
with mv progress. It is true that Algebra and

242 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [May 29, *P5

Geometry are growing easier all the time, especially
algebra; and I have just received books in raised
print which will greatly facilitate my work. . . .
I find I get on faster, and do better work with
Mr. Keith than I did in the classes at the Cambridge
School, and I think it was well that I gave up that
kind of work. At any rate, I have not been idle
since I left school; I have accomplished more, and
been happier than I could have been there. . . .

to mrs. laurence hutton

[Wrentham] May 29, 1898,
. . . My work goes on bravely. Each day is
filled to the brim with hard study ; for I am anxious
to accomplish as much as possible before I put
away my books for the summer vacation. You will
be pleased to hear that I did three problems in
Geometry yesterday without assistance. Mr. Keith
and Teacher were quite enthusiastic over the achieve-
ment, and I must confess, I felt somewhat elated
myself. Now I feel as if I should succeed in doing
something in mathematics, although I cannot see
why it is so very important to know that the lines
drawn from the extremities of the base of an isosceles
triangle to the middle points of the opposite sides
are equal ! The knowledge doesn't make life any
sweeter or happier, does it? On the other hand,
when we learn a new word, it is the key to untold
treasures. . . .

Aet. irt LETTERS 243

TO CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER

Wrentham, Mass., June 7, 1898.

I am afraid you will conclude that I am not very
anxious for a tandem after all, since I have let
nearly a week pass without answering your letter
in regard to the kind of wheel I should like. But
really, I have been so constantly occupied with my
studies since we returned from New York, that I
have not had time even to think of the fun it would
be to have a bicycle ! You see, I am anxious to
accomplish as much as possible before the long
summer vacation begins. I am glad, though, that
it is nearly time to put away my books ; for the sun-
shine and flowers, and the lovely lake in front of our
house are doing their best to tempt me away from
my Greek and Mathematics, especially from the
latter ! I am sure the daisies and buttercups have
as little use for the science of Geometry as I, in
spite of the fact that they so beautifully illustrate
its principles.

But bless me, I mustn't forget the tandem ! The
truth is, I know very little about bicycles. I have
only ridden a " sociable, " which is very different from
the ordinary tandem. The "sociable" is safer,
perhaps, than the tandem ; but it is very heavy and
awkward, and has a way of taking up the greater
part of the road. Besides, I have been told that
"sociables" cost more than other kinds of bicycles.
My teacher and other friends think I could ride a
Columbia tandem in the country with perfect safety
They also think your suggestion about a fixed handle-
bar a good one. I ride with a divided skirt, and so
does my teacher; but it would be easier for her to
mount a man's wheel than for me; so, if it could be

244 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Oct. 23, '98

arranged to have the ladies' seat behind, I think it
would be better. « . ,

TO MISS CAROLINE DERBY

Wrentham, September 11, 1898.
. . . I am out of doors all the time, rowing,
swimming, riding and doing a multitude of other
pleasant things. This morning I rode over twelve
miles on my tandem ! I rode on a rough road, and
fell oft three or four times, and am now awfully lame !
But the weather and the scenery were so beautiful,
and it was such fun to go scooting over the smoother
part of the road, I didn't mind the mishaps in the
least.

_ I have really learned to swim and dive — after a
fashion ! I can swim a little under water, and dc
almost anything I like, without fear of getting
drowned ! Isn't that fine ? It is almost no effort
for me to row around the lake, no matter how heavy
the load may be. So you can well imagine how
strong and brown I am, . . .

to mrs. laurence hutton

12 Newbury Street, Boston,
October 23, 1898.
This is the first opportunity I have had to write
to you since we came here last Monday. We have
been in such a whirl ever since we decided to come

Aet. 18] LETTERS 24$

to Boston; it seemed as if we should never get
settled. Poor Teacher has had her hands full,
attending to movers, and express-men, and all sorts
of people. I wish it were not such a bother to
move, especially as we have to do it so often ! „ 3

, . . Mr. Keith comes here at half past three
every day except Saturday. He says he prefers to
come here for the present. I am reading the " Iliad, "
and the "^neid" and Cicero, besides doing a lot
in Geometry and Algebra. The "Iliad" is beautiful
with all the truth, and grace and simplicity of a won-
derfully childlike people, while the "/Eneid" is more
stately and reserved. It is like a beautiful maiden,
who always lived in a palace, surrounded by a mag-
nificent court; while the " Iliad" is like a splendid
youth, who has had the earth for his playground.

The weather has been awfully dismal all the week ;
but to-day is beautiful, and our room floor is flooded
with sunlight. By and by we shall take a little walk
in the Public Gardens. I wish the Wrentham woods
were round the corner ! But alas ! they are not,
and I shall have to content myself with a stroll in
the Gardens. Somehow, after the great fields and
pastures and lofty pine-groves of the country, they
seem shut-in and conventional. Even the trees
seem citified and self-conscious. Indeed, I doubt if
they are on speaking terms with their country
cousins ! Do you know, I cannot help feeling sorry
for these trees with all their fashionable airs ? They
are like the people whom they see every day, who
prefer the crowded, noisy city to the quiet and free-
dom of the country. They do not even suspect how
circumscribed their lives are. They look down
pityingly on the country-folk, who have never had

2 45 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Dec. 6, *q8

an opportunity "to see the great world." Oh my!
if they only realized their limitations, they would
flee for their lives to the woods and fields. But what
nonsense is this ! You will think I'm pining away
for my beloved Wrentham, which is true in one sense
and not in another. I do miss Red Farm and the dear
ones there dreadfully ; but I am not unhappy. I
have Teacher and my books, and I have the certainty
that something sweet and good will come to me in
this great city, where human beings struggle so
bravely all their lives to wring happiness from cruel
circumstances. Anyway, I am glad to have my
share in life, whether it be bright or sad. „ . 3

TO MRS. WILLIAM THAW

Boston, December 6th, 1898.
My teacher and I had a good laugh over the girls'
frolic. How funny they must have looked in their
"rough-rider" costumes, mounted upon their fiery
steeds ! "Slim" would describe them, if they were
anything like the saw-horses I have seen. What

jolly times they must have at ! I cannot

help wishing sometimes that I could have some of
the fun that other girls have. How quickly I should
lock up all these mighty warriors, and hoary sages,
and impossible heroes, who are now almost my only
companions ; and dance and sing and frolic like other
girls ! But I must not waste my time wishing idle
wishes ; and after all my ancient friends are very wise
and interesting, and I usually enjoy their society

Art. 18] LETTERS 247

very much indeed. It is only once in a great while
that I feel discontented, and allow myself to wish for
things I cannot hope for in this life. But, as you
know, my heart is usually brimful of happiness.
The thought that my dear Heavenly Father is always
near, giving me abundantly of all those things, which
truly enrich life and make it sweet and beautiful,
makes every deprivation seem of little moment
compared with the countless blessings I enjoy.

to mrs. william thaw

12 Newbury Street, Boston,
December 19th, 1898.
, , , I realize now what a selfish, greedy girl
I was to ask that my cup of happiness should be
filled to overflowing, without stopping to think how
many other people's cups were quite empty. I feel
heartily ashamed of my thoughtlessness. One of the
childish illusions, which it has been hardest for me
to get rid of, is that we have only to make our wishes
known in order to have them granted. But I am
slowly learning that there is not happiness enough in
the world for everyone to have all that he wants;
and it grieves me to think that I should have
forgotten, even for a moment, that I already have
more than my share, and that like poor little
Oliver Twist I should have asked for " more. " . . .

i48 THE STORY OF MY LIFE l>«. n\ '90

to mrs, laurence huttqn

12 Newbury Street, Boston,
December 22, [1898.]
, I suppose Mr. Keith writes you the work-
a-day news. If so, you know that I have finished
all the geometry, and nearly all the Algebra required
for the Harvard examinations, and after Christmas
I shall begin a very careful review of both subjects.
You will be glad to hear that I enjoy Mathematics
now. Why. I can do long, complicated quadratic
equations in my head quite easily, and it is great
fun ! I think Mr. Keith is a wonderful teacher, and
I feel very grateful to him for having made me see
the beauty of Mathematics. Next to my own dear
teacher, he has done more than any one else to
enrich and broaden my mind. ., , ,

to mrs. laurence hutton

12 Newbury Street, Boston,
January 17, 1899.
. . . Have you seen Kipling's "Dreaming
True," or "Kitchener's School ?" It is a very strong
poem and set me dreaming too. Of course you
have read about the "Gordon Memorial College,"
which the English people are to erect at Khartoum.
While I was thinking over the blessings that would
come to the people of Egypt through this college,
and eventually to England herself, there came into
my heart the strong desire that my own dear coun-
try should in a. similar way convert the terrible loss

Aet. 18} LETTERS 249

of her brave sons on the "Maine" into a like blessing
to the people of Cuba. Would a college at Havana
not be the noblest and most enduring monument
that could be raised to the brave men of the "Maine,"
as well as a source of infinite good to all concerned ?
Imagine entering the Havana harbor, and having
the pier, where the "Maine" was anchored on that
dreadful night, when she was so mysteriously
destroyed, pointed out to you, and being told that
the great, beautiful building overlooking the spot
was the "Maine Memorial College," erected by the
American people, and having for its object the
education both of Cubans and Spaniards ! What
a glorious triumph such a monument would be of
the best and highest instincts of a Christian nation !
In it there would be no suggestion of hatred or
revenge, nor a trace of the old-time belief that
might makes right. On the other hand, it would
be a pledge to the world that we intend to stand
by our declaration of war, and give Cuba to the
Cubans, as soon as we have fitted them to assume
the duties and responsibilities of a self-governing
people. . . .

to mr. john hitz

12 Newbury Street, Boston,
February 3, 1899.
, . . I had an exceedingly interesting experi-
ence last Monday. A kind friend took me over in
the morning to the Boston Art Museum. She had
previously obtained permission from General Loring

250 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Fgb.3,'gg

Supt. of the Museum, for me to touch the
statues, especially those which represented my old
friends in the "Iliad" and "Aeneid." Was that not
lovely ? While I was there, General Loring himself
came in, and showed me some of the most beautiful
statues, among which were the Venus of Medici,
the Minerva of the Parthenon, Diana, in her hunt-
ing costume, with her hand on the quiver and a
doe by her side, and the unfortunate Laocoon and
his two little sons, struggling in the fearful coils of
two huge serpents, and stretching their arms to the
skies with heart-rending cries. I also saw Apollo
Belvidere. He had just slain the Python and was
standing by a great pillar of rock, extending his
graceful hand in triumph over the terrible snake.
Oh, he was simply beautiful ! Venus entranced
me. She looked as if she had just risen from the
foam of the sea, and her loveliness was like a strain
of heavenly music. I also saw poor Niobe with
her youngest child clinging close to her while she
implored the cruel goddess not to kill her last
darling. I almost cried, it was all so real and
tragic. General Loring kindly showed me a copy
of one of the wonderful bronze doors of the Baptistry
of Florence, and I felt of the graceful pillars, resting
on the backs of fierce lions. Go you see, I had a.
foretaste of the pleasure which I hope some day
to have of visiting Florence. My friend said, she
would sometime show me the copies of the marbles
brought away by Lord Elgin from the Parthenon.
But somehow, I should prefer to see the originals
in the place where Genius meant them to remain,
not only as a hymn of praise to the gods, but
also as a monument of the glory of Greece. It
really seems wrong to snatch such sacred

Photograph by Whitman Studio

THE VIBRATIONS OF THE PIANO

Aet.iS) LETTERS 251

things away from the sanctuary of the Past where
they belong. . . .

TO MR. WILLIAM WADE

Boston, February 19th, 1899.

Why, bless you, I thought I wrote to you the day
after the "Eclogues" arrived, and told you how
glad I was to have them ! Perhaps you never got
that letter. At any rate, I thank you, dear friend,
for taking such a world of trouble for me. You
will be glad to hear that the books from England
are coming now. I already have the seventh and
eighth books of the " Aeneid " and one book of
the "Iliad," all of which is most fortunate, as I have
come almost to the end of my embossed text-books.

It gives me great pleasure to hear how much is
being done for the deaf -blind. The more I learn of
them, the more kindness I find. Why, only a little
while ago people thought it quite impossible to teach
the deaf -blind anything ; but no sooner was it proved
possible than hundreds of kind, sympathetic hearts
were fired with the desire to help them, and now
we see how many of those poor, unfortunate persons
are being taught to see the beauty and reality of
life. Love always finds its way to an imprisoned
soul, and leads it out into the world of freedom and
intelligence !

As to the two-handed alphabet, I think it is much
easier for those who have sight than the manual
alphabet ; for most of the letters look like the large
capitals in books ; but I think when it comes to teach-

252 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Mar. 5/99

\ng a deaf -blind person to spell, the manual alphabet
is much more convenient, and less conspicuous. . . .

to mrs. laurence hutton

12 Newbury Street, Boston,
March 5, 1899.

. . . I am now sure that I shall be ready for
my examinations in June. There is but one cloud
in my sky at present ; but that is one which casts
a dark shadow over my life, and makes me very
anxious at times. My teacher's eyes are no better :
indeed, I think they grow more troublesome, though
she is very brave and patient, and will not give up.
But it is most distressing to me to feel that she is
sacrificing her sight for me. I feel as if I ought to
give up the idea of going to college altogether: for
not all the knowledge in the world could make me
happy, if obtained at such a cost. I do wish,
Mrs. Hutton, you would try to persuade Teacher
to take a rest, and have her eyes treated. She will
not listen to me.

I have just had some pictures taken, and if they
are good, I would like to send one to Mr. Rogers, if
you think he would like to have it. I would like
so much to show him in some way how deeply I
appreciate all that he is doing for me, and I cannot
think of anything better to do.

Every one here is talking about the Sargent
pictures. It is a wonderful exhibition of portraits,
they say. How I wish I had eyes to see them !
How I should delight in their beauty and color!

Aet. i&i LETTERS 253

However, I am glad that I am not debarred from
all pleasure in the pictures. I have at least the
satisfaction of seeing them through the eyes of my
friends, which is a real pleasure. I am so thankful
that I can rejoice in the beauties, which my friends
gather and put into my hands !

We are all so glad and thankful that Mr. Kipling
did not die! I have his "Jungle-Book" in raised
print, and what a splendid, refreshing book it is !
I cannot help feeling as if I knew its gifted author.
What a real, manly, lovable nature his must be ! . . .

to dr. david h. greer

12 Newbury Street, Boston,
May 8, 1899.
. . . Each day brings me all that I can possibly
accomplish, and each night brings me rest, and the
sweet thought that I am a little nearer to my goal
than ever before. My Greek progresses finely. I
have finished the ninth book of the " Iliad" and am
just beginning the "Odyssey." I am also reading
the "Aeneid" and the "Eclogues." Some of my
friends tell me that I am very foolish to give so
much time to Greek and Latin; but I am sure
they would not think so, if they realized what a
wonderful world of experience and thought Homer
and Virgil have opened up to me. I think I shall
enjoy the "Odyssey" most of all. The "Iliad"
tells of almost nothing but war, and one sometimes
wearies of the clash of spears and the din of battle;
but the "Odyssey" tells of nobler courage — the

254 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [May 8/99

courage of a soul sore tried, but steadfast to the
end. I often wonder, as I read these splendid poems
why, at the same time that Homer's songs of war
fired the Greeks with valor, his songs of manly virtue
did not have a stronger influence upon the spiritual
life of the people. Perhaps the reason is, that
thoughts truly great are like seeds cast into the
human mind, and either lie there unnoticed, or are
tossed about and played with, like toys, until,
grown wise through suffering and experience, a race
discovers and cultivates them. Then the world has
advanced one step in its heavenward march.

I am working very hard just now. I intend to
take my examinations in June, and there is a great
deal to be done, before I shall feel ready to meet the
ordeal. . . .

You will be glad to hear that my mother, and
little sister and brother are coming north to spend
this summer with me. We shall all live together
in a small cottage on one of the lakes at Wrentham,
while my dear teacher takes a much needed rest.
She has not had a vacation for twelve years, think
of it, and all that time she has been the sunshine of
my life. Now her eyes are troubling her a great
deal, and we all think she ought to be relieved, for
a while, of every care and responsibility. But we
shall not be quite separated ; we shall see each other
every day, I hope. And, when July comes, you can
think of me as rowing my dear ones around the
lovely lake in the little boat you gave me, the hap-
piest girl in the world ! . . .

Art. i8] LETTERS 255

TO MRS. LAURENCE HUTTON

[Boston] May 28th [1899].
. . . We have had a hard day. Mr. Keith
was here for three hours this afternoon, pouring a
torrent of Latin and Greek into my poor bewildered
brain. I really believe he knows more Latin and
Greek Grammar than Cicero or Homer ever dreamed
of ! Cicero is splendid, but his orations are very
difficult to translate. I feel ashamed sometimes,
when I make that eloquent man say what sounds
absurd or insipid ; but how is a school-girl to interpret
such genius? Why, I should have to be a Cicero
to talk like a Cicero ! . . .

Linnie Haguewood is a deaf-blind girl, one of
the many whom Mr. William Wade has helped.
She is being educated by Miss Dora Donald who,
at the beginning of her work with her pupil, was
supplied by Mr. Hitz, Superintendent of the Volta
Bureau, with copies of all documents relating to
Miss Sullivan's work with Miss Keller.

TO MR. WILLIAM WADE.

Wrentham, Mass., June 5, 1899.

. . . Linnie Haguewood's letter, which you

sent me some weeks ago, interested me very much.

It seemed to show spontaneity and great sweetness

of character. I was a good deal amused by what

256 THE STORY OF MY LIFE \june 5,-99

she said about history. I am sorry she does not
enjoy it; but I too feel sometimes how dark, and
mysterious and even fearful the history of old
peoples, old religions and old forms of government
really is.

Well, I must confess, I do not like the sign-
language, and I do not think it would be of much use
to the deaf -blind. I find it very difficult to follow
the rapid motions made by the deaf-mutes, and
besides, signs seem a great hindrance to them in
acquiring the power of using language easily and
freely. Why, I find it hard to understand them
sometimes when they spell on their fingers. On the
whole, if they cannot be taught articulation, the
manual alphabet seems the best and most convenient
means of communication. At any rate, I am sure
the deaf -blind cannot learn to use signs with any
degree of facility.

The other day, I met a deaf Norwegian gentleman,
who knows Ragnhild Kaata and her teacher very
well, and we had a very interesting conversation
about her. He said she was very industrious and
happy. She spins, and does a great deal of fancy
work, and reads, and leads a pleasant, useful life.
Just think, she cannot use the manual alphabet !
She reads the lips well, and if she cannot understand
a phrase, her friends write it in her hand ; and in this
way she converses with strangers. I cannot make
out anything written in my hand, so you see,
Ragnhild has got ahead of me in some things. I do
hope I shall see her sometime. . . .

A*t. xg] LETTERS 2$t

TO MRS. LAURENCE HUTTON

Wrentham, July 29, 1899.

. . . I passed in all the subjects I offered, and
with credit in advanced Latin. . . . But I
must confess, I had a hard time on the second day
of my examinations. They would not allow Teacher
to read any of the papers to me ; so the papers were
copied for me in braille. This arrangement worked
very well in the languages, but not nearly so well in
the Mathematics. Consequently, I did not do so well
as I should have done, if Teacher had been allowed to
read the Algebra and Geometry to me. But you
must not think I blame any one. Of course they did
not realize how difficult and perplexing they were
making the examinations for me. How could the}?- —
they can see and hear, and I suppose they could not
understand matters from my point of view. . . .

Thus far my summer has been sweeter than any-
thing I can remember. My mother, and sister and
little brother have been here five weeks, and our
happiness knows no bounds. Not only do we enjoy
being together ; but we also find our little home most
delightful. I do wish you could see the view of the
beautiful lake from our piazza, the islands looking
like little emerald peaks in the golden sunlight, and
the canoes flitting here and there, like autumn leaves
in the gentle breeze, and breathe in the peculiarly
delicious fragrance of the woods, which comes like a
murmur from an unknown clime. I cannot help
wondering if it is the same fragrance that greeted
the Norsemen long ago* when, according to tradition,
they visited our shores — an odorous echo of many
centuries of silent growth and decay in flower and
tree. . . .

258 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [ca*.23,*p*

TO MRS. SAMUEL RICHARD FULLER

Wrentham, October 20, 1899.
. . . I suppose it is time for me to tell you
something about our plans for the winter. You
know it has long been my ambition to go to Radcliffe,
and receive a degree, as many other girls have done ;
but Dean Irwin of Radcliffe, has persuaded me to
take a special course for the present. She said I
had already shown the world that I could do the
college work, by passing all my examinations suc-
cessfully, in spite of many obstacles. She showed
me how very foolish it would be for me to pursue
a four years' course of study at Radcliffe, simply to
be like other girls, when I might better be culti-
vating whatever ability I had for writing. She said
she did not consider a degree of any real value, but
thought it was much more desirable to do some-
thing original than to waste one's energies only for
a degree. Her arguments seemed so wise and
practical, that I could not but yield. I found it
hard, very hard, to give up the idea of going to
college; it had been in my mind ever since I was a
little girl ; but there is no use doing a foolish thing,
because one has wanted to do it a long time, is there ?
But, while we were discussing plans for the winter,
a suggestion which Dr. Hale had made long ago
flashed across Teacher's mind — that I might take
courses somewhat like those offered at Radcliffe,
under the instruction of the professors in these
courses. Miss Irwin seemed to have no objection
to this proposal, and kindly offered to see the pro-
fessors and find out if they would give me lessons.
If they will be so good as to teach me and if we have
money enough to do as we have planned, my studies

. -5*".. ... *

HELEN KELLER IN 1904

Aet, ig\ LETTERS 259

this year will be English, English Literature of the
Elizabethan period, Latin and German. . . .

to mr. john hitz

138 Brattle St., Cambridge,
Nov. 11, 1899.

. . . As to the braille question, I cannot tell how
deeply it distresses me to hear that my statement
with regard to the examinations has been doubted.
Ignorance seems to be at the bottom of all these
contradictions. Why, you. yourself seem to think
that I taught you American braille, when you do
not know a single letter in the system ! I could
not help laughing when you said you had been writ-
ing to me in American braille — and there you were
writing your letter in English braille !

The facts about the braille examinations are as
follows :

How I passed my Entrance Examinations
for Radcliffe College.

On the 29th and 30th of June, 1899, I took my
examinations for Radcliffe College. The first day I
had elementary Greek and advanced Latin, and the
second day Geometry, Algebra and advanced Greek.

The college authorities would not permit Miss
Sullivan to read the examination papers to me; so
Mr. Eugene C. Vining, one of the instructors at the
Perkins Institution for the Blind, was employed to
copy the papers for me in braille. Mr. Vining was a
perfect stranger to me, and could not communicate
with me except by writing in braille. The Proctor

26o THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Nov. n, 99

also was a stranger, and did not attempt to com-
municate with me in any way; and, as they were
both unfamiliar with my speech, they could not
readily understand what I said to them.

However, the braille worked well enough in the
languages; but when it came to Geometry and
Algebra, it was different. I was sorely perplexed,
and felt quite discouraged, and wasted much
precious time, especially in Algebra. It is true that
I am perfectly familiar with all literary braille —
English, American, and New York Point; but the
method of writing the various signs used in Geometry
and Algebra in the three systems is very different,
and two days before the examinations I knew only
the English method. I had used it all through my
school work, and never any other system.

In Geometry, my chief difficulty was, that I had
always been accustomed to reading the propositions
in Line Print, or having them spelled into my hand ;
and somehow, although the propositions were right
before me, yet the braille confused me, and I could
not fix in my mind clearly what I was reading.
But, when I took up Algebra, I had a harder time
still — I was terribly handicapped by my imperfect
knowledge of the notation. The signs, which I
had learned the day before, and which I thought
I knew perfectly, confused me. Consequently my
work was painfully slow, and I was obliged to read
the examples over and over before I could form a
clear idea what I was required to do. Indeed, I am
not sure now that I read all the signs correctly,
especially as I was much distressed, and found it
very hard to keep my wits about me. . . .

Now there is one more fact, which I wish to state

Aet. ip] LETTERS 261

very plainly, in regard to what Mr. Gilman wrote
to you. I never received any direct instruction in
the Gilman School. Miss Sullivan always sat
beside me, and told me what the teachers said. I
did teach Miss Hall, my teacher in Physics, how
to write the American braille, but she never gave
me any instruction by means of it, unless a few
problems written for practice, which made me waste
much precious time deciphering them, can be called
instruction. Dear Frau Grote learned the manual
alphabet, and used to teach me herself; but this
was in private lessons, which were paid for by my
friends. In the German class Miss Sullivan inter-
preted to me as well as she could what the teacher
said.

Perhaps, if you would send a copy of this to the
head of the Cambridge School, it might enlighten
his mind on a few subjects, on which he seems to
be in total darkness just now. . . .

to miss mildred keller

138 Brattle Street, Cambridge,
November 26, 1899.
. . . At last we are settled for the winter, and
our work is going smoothly. Mr. Keith comes
every afternoon at four o'clock, and gives me a
"friendly lift" over the rough stretches of road,
over which every student must go. I am studying
English history, English literature, French and
Latin, and by and by I shall take up German and
English composition — let us groan ! You know,

262 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Nov. 26, '99

I detest grammar as much as you do ; but I suppose
I must go through it if I am to write, just as we had
to get ducked in the lake hundreds of times before
we could swim ! In French Teacher is reading
"Columba" to me. It is a delightful novel, full of
piquant expressions and thrilling adventures, (don't
dare to blame me for using big words, since you do
the same !) and, if you ever read it, I think you
will enjoy it immensely. You are studying English
history, aren't you. O but it's exceedingly inter-
esting ! I'm making quite a thorough study of
the Elizabethan period — of the Reformation, and
the Acts of Supremacy and Conformity, and the
maritime discoveries, and all the big things, which
the "deuce" seems to have invented to plague
innocent youngsters like yourself ! .

Now we have a swell winter outfit — coats, hats,
gowns, flannels and all. We've just had four lovely
dresses made by a French dressmaker. I have
two, of which one has a black silk skirt, with a black
lace net over it, and a waist of white poplin, with
turquoise velvet and chiffon, and cream lace over a
satin yoke. The other is woollen, and of a very
pretty green. The waist is trimmed with pink and
green brocaded velvet, and white lace, I think, and
has double reefers on the front, tucked and trimmed
with velvet, and also a row of tiny white buttons.
Teacher too has a silk dress. The skirt is black,
while the waist is mostly yellow, trimmed with
delicate lavender chiffon, and black velvet bows
and lace. Her other dress is purple, trimmed
with purple velvet, and the waist has a collar of
cream lace. So you may imagine that we look quite
like peacocks, only we've no trains. . . .

Act. 19] LETTERS 263

A week ago yesterday there was [a] great football
game between Harvard and Yale, and there was
tremendous excitement here. We could hear the
yells of the boys and the cheers of the lookers-on
as plainly in our room as if we had been on the field.
Colonel Roosevelt was there, on Harvard's side;
but bless you, he wore a white sweater, and no crim-
son that we know of ! There were about twenty-
five thousand people at the game, and, when we
went out, the noise was so terrific, we nearly jumped
out of our skins, thinking it was the din of war,
and not of a football game that we heard. But, in
spite of all their wild efforts, neither side was scored,
and we all laughed and said, "Oh, well, now the pot
can't call the kettle black !" . . .

to mrs. laurence hutton

559 Madison Avenue, New York,
January 2, 1900.
. . . We have been here a week now, and are
going to stay with Miss Rhoades until Saturday.
We are enjoying every moment of our visit, every
one is so good to us. We have seen many of our old
friends, and made some new ones. We dined with
the Rogers last Friday, and oh, they were so kind
to us ! The thought of their gentle courtesy and
genuine kindness brings a warm glow of joy and
gratitude to my heart. I have seen Dr. Greer
too. He has such a kind heart ! I love him more
than ever. We went to St. Bartholomew's Sunday,
and I have not felt so much at home in a church

264 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Feb. 3r<n

since dear Bishop Brooks died. Dr. Greer read!
so slowly, that my teacher could tell me every wofdL
His people must have wondered at his unusual!
deliberation. After the service he asked Mr. Warren,
the organist to play for me. I stood in the middle
of the church, where the vibrations from the great
organ were strongest, and I felt the mighty waves of
sound beat against me, as the great billows beat
against a little ship at sea. . . .

to mr. john hitz

138 Brattle Street, Cambridge,
Feb. 3, 1900.
. . . My studies are more interesting than ever.
In Latin, I am reading Horace's odes. Although I
find them difficult to translate, yet I think they
are the loveliest pieces of Latin poetry I have read
or shall ever read. In French we have finished
"Colomba," and I am reading "Horace" by Corneille
and La Fontaine's fables, both of which are in braille.
I have not gone far in either; but I know I shall
enjoy the fables, they are so delightfully written,
and give such good lessons in a simple and yet
attractive way. I do not think I have told you
that my dear teacher is reading "The Faery Queen"
to me. I am afraid I find fault with the poem as
much as I enjoy it. I do not care much for the
allegories, indeed I often find them tiresome, and
I cannot help thinking that Spenser's world of
knights, paynims, fairies, dragons and all sorts of
strange creatures is a somewhat grotesque and

Aet. i9\ LETTERS 265

amusing world ; but the poem itself is lovely and as
musical as a running brook.

I am now the proud owner of about fifteen new
books, which we ordered from Louisville. Among
them are "Henry Esmond," "Bacon's Essays" and
extracts from "English Literature." Perhaps next
week I shall have some more books, ' ' The Tempest, ' '
"A Midsummer Night's Dream" and possibly some
selections from Green's history of England. Am I
not very fortunate ?

I am afraid this letter savors too much of books-—
but really they make up my whole life these days,
and I scarcely see or hear of anything else ! I do
believe I sleep on books every night ! You know a
student's life is of necessity somewhat circum-
scribed and narrow and crowds out almost every-
thing that is not in books. . . .

to the chairman of the academic board
of radcliffe college

138 Brattle Street, Cambridge, Mass.,
May 5, 1900.
Dear Sir:

As an aid to me in determining my plans for
study the coming year, I apply to you for infor-
mation as to the possibility of my taking the
regular courses in RadclirTe College.

Since receiving my certificate of admission to

Radcliffe last July, I have been studying with a

private tutor, Horace, Aeschylus, French, German,

Rhetoric, English History, English Literature and

riticism, and English composition.

266 THE STORY OF MY LIFE \juneQ,-oo

In college I should wish to continue most, if not
all of these subjects. The conditions under which
I work require the presence of Miss Sullivan, who
has been my teacher and companion for thirteen
years, as an interpreter of oral speech and as a reader
of examination papers. In college she, or possibly
in some subjects some one else, would of necessity
be with me in the lecture-room and at recitations.
I should do all my written work on a typewriter,
and if a Professor could not understand my
speech, I could write out my answers to his
questions and hand them to him after the recitation.

Is it possible for the College to accommodate
itself to these unprecedented conditions, so as to
enable me to pursue my studies at Radcliffe? I
realize that the obstacles in the way of my receiving
a college education are very great — to others they
may seem insurmountable; but, dear Sir, a true
soldier does not acknowledge defeat before the
battle.

to mrs. laurence hutton

138 Brattle Street, Cambridge,
June 9, 1900.
. . I have not yet heard from the Academic
Board in reply to my letter; but I sincerely hope
they will answer favorably. My friends think it
very strange that they should hesitate so long,
especially when I have not asked them to simplify
my work in the least, but only to modify it so as to
meet the existing circumstances. Cornell has offered

Aet. 20) LETTERS 267

to make arrangements suited to the conditions under
which I work, if I should decide to go to that college,
and the University of Chicago has made a similar
offer ; but I am afraid if I went to any other college,
it would be thought that I did not pass my exami-
nations for Radcliffe satisfactorily. . . .

In the fall Miss Keller entered Radcliffe College.

to mr. john hitz

14 Coolidge Ave., Cambridge,
Nov. 26, 1900.

. . . has already communicated with you in

regard to her and my plan of establishing an institu-
tion for deaf and blind children. At first I was most
enthusiastic in its support, and I never dreamed
that any grave objections could be raised except
indeed by those who are hostile to Teacher ; but now,
after thinking most seriously and consulting my

friends, I have decided that 's plan is by no

means feasible. In my eagerness to make it possible
for deaf and blind children to have the same advan-
tages that I have had, I quite forgot that there might
be many obstacles in the way of my accomplishing
anything like what proposed.

My friends thought we might have one or two
pupils in our own home, thereby securing to me the
advantage of being helpful to others without any of
the disadvantages of a large school. They were very
kind ; but I could not help feeling that they spoke

268 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Nov. 26, *oo

more from a business than a humanitarian point of
view. I am sure they did not quite understand how
passionately I desire that all who are afflicted like
myself shall receive their rightful inheritance of
thought, knowledge and love. Still I could not
shut my eyes to the force and weight of their argu-
ments, and I saw plainly that I must abandon 's

scheme as impracticable. They also said that I
ought to appoint an advisory committee to control
my affairs while I am at Radcliffe. I considered
this suggestion carefully, then I told Mr. Rhoades
that I should be proud and glad to have wise friends
to whom I could always turn for advice in all
important matters. For this committee I chose six,
my mother, Teacher, because she is like a mother to
me, Mrs. Hutton, Mr. Rhoades, Dr. Greer and
Mr. Rogers, because it is they who have supported
me all these years and made it possible for me to
enter college. Mrs. Hutton had already written to
mother, asking her to telegraph if she was willing
for me to have other advisers besides herself and
Teacher. This morning we received word that
mother had given her consent to this arrangement.
Now it remains for me to write to Dr. Greer and
Mr. Rogers. . . .

We had a long talk with Dr. Bell. Finally he
proposed a plan which delighted us all beyond words.
He said that it was a gigantic blunder to attempt to
found a school for deaf and blind children, because
then they would lose the most precious opportuni-
ties of entering into the fuller, richer, freer life of
seeing and hearing children. I had had misgivings
on this point ; but I could not see how we were to
>ielp it. However Mr. Bell suggested that ■

Aet. 20] LETTERS 269

and all her friends who are interested in her scheme
should organize an association for the promotion of
the education of the deaf and blind, Teacher and
myself being included of course. Under his plan
they were to appoint Teacher to train others to
instruct deaf and blind children in their own homes,
just as she had taught me. Funds were to be raised
for the teachers' lodgings and also for their salaries.
At the same time Dr. Bell added that I could
rest content and fight my way through Radcliffe in
competition with seeing and hearing girls, while the
great desire of my heart was being fulfilled. We

clapped our hands and shouted ; went away

beaming with pleasure, and Teacher and I felt more
light of heart than we had for sometime. Of course
we can do nothing just now ; but the painful anxiety
about my college work and the future welfare of the
deaf and blind has been lifted from our minds. Do
tell me what you think about Dr. Bell's sugges-
tion. It seems most practical and wise to me ; but
I must know all that there is to be known about it
before I speak or act in the matter. . . .

TO MR. JOHN D. WRIGHT

Cambridge, December 9, 1900.
Do you think me a villain and — I can't think of
a word bad enough to express your opinion of me,
unless indeed horse-thief will answer the purpose.
Tell me truly, do you think me as bad as that? I
hope not; for I have thought many letters to you

270 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Dec.9,'00

which never got on paper, and I am delighted to
get your good letter, yes, 1 really was, and I intended
to answer it immediately; but the days slip by
unnoticed when one is busy, and I have been very
busy this fall. You must believe that. Radcliffe
girls are always up to their ears in work. If you
doubt it, you'd better come and see for yourself.

Yes, I am taking the regular college course for a
degree. When I am a B.A., I suppose you will
not dare call me a villain ! I am studying English —
Sophomore English, if you please, (though I can't
see that it is different from just plain English)
German, French and History. I'm enjoying my
work even more than I expected to, which is another
way of saying that I'm glad I came. It is hard,
very hard at times; but it hasn't swamped me yet.
No, I am not studying Mathematics, or Greek or
Latin either. The courses at Radcliffe are elective,
only certain courses in English are prescribed.
I passed off my English and advanced French
before I entered college, and I choose the courses I
like best. I don't however intend to give up
Latin and Greek entirely. Perhaps I shall take up
these studies later; but I've said goodbye to Mathe-
matics forever, and I assure you, I was delighted
to see the last of those horrid goblins ! I hope to
obtain my degree in four years; but I'm not very
particular about that. There's no great hurry, and
I want to get as much as possible out of my studies.
Many of my friends would be well pleased if I would
take two or even one course a year; but I rather
object to spending the rest of my life in college. . . .

Aet.2o) LETTERS 271

to mr. william wade

14 Coolidge Avenue, Cambridge,
December 9, 1900.

. . . Since you are so much interested in the
deaf and blind, I will begin by telling you of several
cases I have come across lately. Last October I
heard of an unusually bright little girl in Texas.
Her name is Ruby Rice, and she is thirteen years old,
I think. She has never been taught; but they
say she can sew and likes to help others in this sort
of work. Her sense of smell is wonderful. Why,
when she enters a store, she will go straight to the
showcases, and she can also distinguish her own
things. Her parents are very anxious indeed to
find a teacher for her. They have also written to
Mr. Hitz about her.

I also know a child at the Institution for the Deaf
in Mississippi. Her name is Maud Scott, and she
is six years old. Miss Watkins, the lady who has
charge of her wrote me a most interesting letter.
She said that Maud was born deaf and lost her sight
when she was only three months old, and that
when she went to the Institution a few weeks ago,
she was quite helpless. She could not even walk
and had very little use of her hands. When they
tried to teach her to string beads, her little hands fell
to her side. Evidently her sense of touch has not
been developed, and as yet she can walk only when
she holds some one's hand ; but she seems to be an
exceedingly bright child. Miss Watkins adds that
she is very pretty. I have written to her that when
Maud learns to read, I shall have many stories to
send her. The dear, sweet little girl, it makes my
heart ache to think how utterly she is cut off from all

27a THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Dec. 20/00

that is good and desirable in life. But Miss Watkins
seems to be just the kind of teacher she needs.

I was in New York not long ago and I saw Miss
Rhoades, who told me that she had seen Katie
McGirr. She said the poor young girl talked and
acted exactly like a little child. Katie played with
Miss Rhoades's rings and took them away, saying
with a merry laugh, "You shall not have them
again !" She could only understand Miss Rhoades
when she talked about the simplest things. The
latter wished to send her some books ; but she could
not find anything simple enough for her ! She said
Katie was very sweet indeed, but sadly in need of
proper instruction. I was much surprised to hear
all this ; for I judged from your letters that Katie was
a very precocious girl. . . .

A few days ago I met Tommy Stringer in the
railroad station at Wrentham. He is a great,
strong boy now, and he will soon need a man to
take care of him ; he is really too big for a lady to
manage. He goes to the public school, I hear, and
his progress is astonishing, they say ; but it doesn't
show as yet in his conversation, which is limited
to "Yes" and "No." . . .

to mr. charles t. copeland

December 20, 1900.
My dear Mr. Copeland;

I venture to write to you because I am afraid
that if I do not explain why I have stopped

An 2n | LETTERS 273

writing themes, you will think I have become
discouraged, or perhaps that to escape criticism
I have beat a cowardly retreat from your class.
Please do not think either of these very unpleas-
ant thoughts. I am not discouraged, nor am I
afraid. I am confident that I could go on writ-
ing themes like those I have written, and I
suppose I should get through the course with fairly
good marks ; but this sort of literary patch-work has
lost all interest for me. I have never been satisfied
with my work ; but I never knew what my difficulty
was until you pointed it out to me. When I came
to your class last October, I was trying with all my
might to be like everybody else, to forget as entirely
as possible my limitations and peculiar environment.
Now, however, I see the folly of attempting to hitch
one's wagon to a star with harness that does not
belong to it.

I have always accepted other people's experiences
and observations as a matter of course. It never
occurred to me that it might be worth while to make
my own observations and describe the experiences
peculiarly my own. Henceforth I am resolved to
be myself, to live my own life and write my own
thoughts when I have any. When I have written
something that seems to be fresh and spontaneous
and worthy of your criticisms, I will bring it to you,
if I may, and if you think it good, I shall be happy;
but if your verdict is unfavorable, I shall try again
and yet again until I have succeeded in pleasing
you « . -

274 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Dec. 27,'*

to mrs. laurence hutton

14 Coolidge Avenue, Cambridge,
December 27, 1900.

. . . So you read about our class luncheon in
the papers? How in the world do the papers find
out everything, I wonder. I am sure no reporter
was present. I had a splendid time ; the toasts and
speeches were great fun. I only spoke a few words,
as I did not know I was expected to speak until a
few minutes before I was called upon. I think I
wrote you that I had been elected Vice-President of
the Freshman Class of Radcliffe.

Did I tell you in my last letter that I had a new
dress, a real party dress with low neck and short
sleeves and quite a train ? It is pale blue, trimmed
with chiffon of the same color. I have worn it only
once, but then I felt that Solomon in all his glory
was not to be compared with me ! Anyway, he
certainly never had a dress like mine ! . . .

A gentleman in Philadelphia has just written to
my teacher about a deaf and blind child in Paris,
whose parents are Poles. The mother is a physician
and a brilliant woman, he says. This little boy
could speak two or three languages before he lost his
hearing through sickness, and he is now only about
five years old. Poor little fellow, I wish I could do
something for him ; but he is so young, my teacher
thinks it would be too bad to separate him from his
mother. I have had a letter from Mrs. Thaw with
regard to the possibility of doing something for
these children. Dr. Bell thinks the present census
will show that there are more than a thousand*

* The number of deaf-blind young enough to be benefited by
education is not so large as this ; but the education of this class
of defectives has been neglected.

Aet.2o] LETTERS 275

in the United States alone; and Mrs. Thaw
thinks if all my friends were to unite their efforts,
"it would be an easy matter to establish at the
beginning of this new century a new line upon which
mercy might travel, " and the rescue of these unfor-
tunate children could be accomplished. . . .

TO MR. WILLIAM WADE

Cambridge, February 2, 1901.
. . . By the way, have you any specimens of
English braille especially printed for those who have
lost their sight late in life or have fingers hardened
by long toil, so that their touch is less sensitive than
that of other blind people? I read an account of
such a system in one of my English magazines, and
I am anxious to know more about it. If it is as
efficient as they say, I see no reason why English
braille should not be adopted by the blind of all
countries. Why, it is the print that can be most
readily adapted to many different languages. Even
Greek can be embossed in it, as you know. Then,
too, it will be rendered still more efficient by the
" interpointing system, " which will save an immense
amount of space and paper. There is nothing more
absurd, I think, than to have five or six different
prints for the blind. . . .

This letter was written in response to a tentative
%ffer from the editor of The Great Round World to

276 THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Feb. 16, 'oi

have the magazine published in raised type for the
blind, if enough were willing to subscribe. It is
evident that the blind should have a good magazine,
not a special magazine for the blind, but one of our
best monthlies, printed in embossed letters. The
blind alone could not support it, but it would not
take very much money to make up the additional
expense.

to The Great Round World

Cambridge, Feb. i6, 1901.
The Great Round World,
New York City.

Gentlemen: I have only to-day found time to
reply to your interesting letter. A little bird had
already sung the good news in my ear; but it was
doubly pleasant to have it straight from you.

It would be splendid to have The Great Round
World printed in "language that can be felt." I
doubt if any one who enjoys the wondrous privilege
of seeing can have any conception of the boon such
a publication as you contemplate would be to the
sightless. To be able to read for one's self what is
being willed, thought and done in the world — the
world in whose joys and sorrows, failures and suc-
cesses one feels the keenest interest — that would
indeed be a happiness too deep for words. I trust
that the effort of The Great Round World to bring
light to those who sit in darkness will receive the
encouragement and support it so richly deserves.

I doubt, however, if the number of subscribers to
an embossed edition of The Great Round World would
ever be large ; for I am told that the blind as a class

A*. 2i] LETTERS 277

are poor. But why should not the friends of the
blind assist The Great Round World, if necessary?
Surely there are hearts and hands ever ready to
make it possible for generous intentions to be
wrought into noble deeds.

Wishing you godspeed in an undertaking that is
*rerv dear to my heart, I am, etc.

TO MISS NINA RHOADES

Cambridge, Sept. 25, 1901.

. . . We remained in Halifax until about the
middle of August. . . . Day after day the
Harbor, the warships, and the park kept us busy
thinking and feeling and enjoying. . . . When
the Indiana visited Halifax, we were invited to go
on board, and she sent her own launch for us. I
touched the immense cannon, read with my fingers
several of the names of the Spanish ships that were
captured at Santiago, and felt the places where she
had been pierced with shells. The Indiana was the
largest and finest ship in the Harbor, and we felt
very proud of her.

After we left Halifax, we visited Dr. Bell at
Cape Breton. He has a charming, romantic house
on a mountain called Beinn Bhreagh, which over-
looks the Bras d' Or Lake. . . .

Dr. Bell told me many interesting things about
his work. He had just constructed a boat that
could be propelled by a kite with the wind in
its favor, and one day he tried experiments t©

278 THE STORY OF MY LIFE {Nw.io,'oi

see if he could steer the kite against the wind. I
was there and really helped him fly the kites. On
one of them I noticed that the strings were of wire,
and having had some experience in bead work, I
said I thought they would break. Dr. Bell said
" No !" with great confidence, and the kite was sent
up. It began to pull and tug, and lo, the wires broke,
and off went the great red dragon, and poor Dr.
Bell stood looking forlornly after it. After that he
asked me if the strings were all right and changed
them at once when I answered in the negative.
Altogether we had great fun. . . .

to dr. edward everett hale*

Cambridge, Nov. io, 1901.

My teacher and I expect to be present at the
meeting tomorrow in commemoration of the one
hundredth anniversary of Dr. Howe's birth; but
I very much doubt if we shall have an opportunity
to speak with you ; so I am writing now to tell you
how delighted I am that you are to speak at the
meeting, because I feel that you, better than any one
I xnow will express the heartfelt gratitude of those
who owe their education, their opportunities, their
happiness to him who opened the eyes of the blind
and gave the dumb lip language.

Sitting here in my study, surrounded by my books,
enjoying the sweet and intimate companionship of

* Read by Dr. Hale at the celebration of the centenary of Dr.
Samuel Gridley Howe, at Tremont Temple, Boston, Nov. 1 1 , 1901.

Aet.21] LETTERS 279

the great and the wise, I am trying to realize what
my life might have been, if Dr. Howe had failed
in the great task God gave him to perform. If he
had not taken upon himself the responsibility of
Laura Bridgman's education and led her out of the
pit of Acheron back to her human inheritance,
should I be a sophomore at Radcliffe College
to-day — who can say? But it is idle to speculate
about what might have been in connection with
Dr. Howe's great achievement.

I think only those who have escaped that death-
in-life existence, from which Laura Bridgman was
rescued, can realize how isolated, how shrouded in
darkness, how cramped by its own impotence is a
soul without thought or faith or hope. Words are
powerless to describe the desolation of that prison-
house, or the joy of the soul that is delivered out of
its captivity. When we compare the needs and
helplessness of the blind before Dr. Howe began
his work, with their present usefulness and inde-
pendence, we realize that great things have been
done in our midst. What if physical conditions
have built up high walls about us ? Thanks to our
friend and helper, our world lies upward ; the length
and breadth and sweep of the heavens are ours !

It is pleasant to think that Dr. Howe's noble
deeds will receive their due tribute of affection and
gratitude, in the city which was the scene of his
great labors and splendid victories for humanity.

With kind greetings, in which my teacher joins
me, I am

Affectionately your friend,

Helen Keller.

28o THE STORY OF MY LIFE [Nov. 25, '01

TO THE HON. GEORGE FRISBIE HOAR

Cambridge, Mass., November 25, 1901.
My Dear Senator Hoar: —

I am glad you liked my letter about Dr. Howe.
It was written out of my heart, and perhaps that
is why it met a sympathetic response in other
hearts. I will ask Dr. Hale to lend me the letter,
so that I can make a copy of it for you.

You see, I use a typewriter — it is my right hand
man, so to speak. Without it I do not see how I
could go to college. I write all my themes and
examinations on it, even Greek. Indeed, it has
only one drawback, and that probably is regarded
as an advantage by the professors ; it is that one's
mistakes may be detected at a glance ; for there is
no chance to hide them in illegible writing.

I know you will be amused when I tell you that I
am deeply interested in politics. I like to have the
papers read to me, and I try to understand the great
questions of the day ; but I am afraid my knowledge
is very unstable; for I change my opinions with
every new book I read. I used to think that when I
studied Civil Government and Economics, all my
difficulties and perplexities would blossom into
beautiful certainties ; but alas, I find that there are
more tares than wheat in these fertile fields of
knowledge. . . .

PART III.

A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

OF HELEN KELLER'S LIFE AND

EDUCATION

The Writing of the Book.

Personality.

Education.

Speech.

Literary Style.

CHAPTER I

THE WRITING OF THE BOOK

IT is fitting that Miss Keller's "Story of My Life" should
appear at this time. What is remarkable in her career is
already accomplished, and whatever she may do in the
future will be but a relatively slight addition to the success which
distinguishes her now. That success has just been assured, for
it is her work at Radcliffe during the last two years which has
shown that she can carry her education as far as if she were
studying under normal conditions. Whatever doubts Miss
Keller herself may have had are now at rest.

Several passages of her autobiography, as it appeared in serial
form, have been made the subject of a grave editorial in a Boston
newspaper, in which the writer regretted Miss Keller's apparent
disillusionment in regard to the value of her college life. He
quoted the passages in which she explains that college is not
the "universal Athens" she had hoped to find, and cited the
cases of other remarkable persons whose college life had proved
disappointing. But it is to be remembered that Miss Keller
has written many things in her autobiography for the fun of
writing them, and the disillusion, which the writer of the edi-
torial took seriously, is in great part humorous. Miss Keller
does not suppose her views to be of great importance, and
when she utters her opinions on important matters she takes
it for granted that her reader will receive them as the opinions
of a junior in college, not of one who writes with the wisdom
of maturity. For instance, it surprised her that some people
were annoyed at what she said about the Bible, and she was
amused that they did not see, what was plain enough, that
she had been obliged to read the whole Bible in a course in
English literature, not as a religious duty put upon her by
her teacher or her parents.

I ought to apologize to the reader and to Miss Keller for pre-
suming to say what her subject matter is worth, but one more

283

284 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

explanation is necessary. In her account of her early educa-
tion Miss Keller is not giving a scientifically accurate record of her
life, nor even of the important events. She cannot know in
detail how she was taught, and her memory of her childhood
is in some cases an idealized memory of what she has learned
later from her teacher and others. She is less able to recall
events of fifteen years ago than most of us are to recollect our
childhood. That is why her teacher's records may be found
to differ in some particulars from Miss Keller's account.

The way in which Miss Keller wrote her story shows, as
nothing else can show, the difficulties she had to overcome.
When we write, we can go back over our work, shuffle the
pages, interline, rearrange, see how the paragraphs look in proof,
and so construct the whole work before the eye, as an architect
constructs his plans. When Miss Keller puts her work in
typewritten form, she cannot refer to it again unless some one
reads it to her by means of the manual alphabet.

This difficulty is in part obviated by the use of her braille
machine, which makes a manuscript that she can read; but as
her work must be put ultimately in typewritten form, and as
a braille machine is somewhat cumbersome, she has got into
the habit of writing directly on her typewriter. She depends
so little on her braille manuscript, that, when she began to write
her story more than a year ago and had put in braille a hundred
pages of material and notes, she made the mistake of destroying
these notes before she had finished her manuscript. Thus
she composed much of her story on the typewriter, and in con-
structing it as a whole depended on her memory to guide her
in putting together the detached episodes, which Miss Sullivan
read over to her.

Last July, when she had finished under great pressure of
work her final chapter, she set to work to rewrite the whole
story. Her good friend, Mr. William Wade, had a complete
braille copy made for her from the magazine proofs. Then
for the first time she had her whole manuscript under her finger
at once. She saw imperfections in the arrangement of para-
graphs and the repetition of phrases. She saw, too, that her
story properly fell into short chapters and redivided it.

Partly from temperament, partly from the conditions of her
work, she has written rather a series of brilliant passages
than a unified narrative; in point of fact, several paragraphs

THE WRITING OF THE BOOK 285

of her story are short themes written in her English courses,
and the small unit sometimes shows its original limits.

In rewriting the story, Miss Keller made corrections on sepa-
rate pages on her braille machine. Long corrections she wrote
out on her typewriter, with catch-words to indicate where they
belonged. Then she read from her braille copy the entire
story, making corrections as she read, which were taken down
on the manuscript that went to the printer. During this
revision she discussed questions of subject matter and phrasing.
She sat running her finger over the braille manuscript, stopping
now and then to refer to the braille notes on which she had
indicated her corrections, all the time reading aloud to verify
the manuscript.

She listened to criticism just as any author listens to his
friends or his editor. Miss Sullivan, who is an excellent critic,
made suggestions at many points in the course of composition
and revision. One newspaper suggested that Miss Keller
had been led into writing the book and had been influenced
to put certain things into it by zealous friends. As a matter
of fact, most of the advice she has received and heeded has led
to excisions rather than to additions. The book is Miss Keller's
and is final proof of her independent power.

CHAPTER II

PERSONALITY

Mark Twain has said that the two most interesting charac-
ters of the nineteenth century are Napoleon and Helen Keller.
The admiration with which the world has regarded her is more
than justified by what she has done. No one can tell any
great truth about her which has not already been written, and
all that I can do is to give a few more facts about Miss Keller's
work and add a little to what is known of her personality.

Miss Keller is tall and strongly built, and has always had good
health. She seems to be more nervous than she really is, because
she expresses more with her hands than do most English-
speaking people. One reason for this habit of gesture is
that her hands have been so long her instruments of com-
munication that they have taken to themselves the quick
shiftings of the eye, and express some of the things that we
say in a glance. All deaf people naturally gesticulate. Indeed,
at one time it was believed that the best way for them to com-
municate was through systematized gestures, the sign language
invented by the Abbe de l'Epee.

When Miss Keller speaks, her face is animated and expresses
all the modes of her thought — the expressions that make the
features eloquent and give speech half its meaning. On the
other hand she does not know another's expression. When
she is talking with an intimate friend, however, her hand goes
quickly to her friend's face to see, as she says, "the twist of
the mouth." In this way she is able to get the meaning of
those half sentences which we complete unconsciously from
the tone of the voice or the twinkle of the eye.

Her memory of people is remarkable. She remembers the
grasp of fingers she has held before, all the characteristic
tightening of the muscles that makes one person's handshake
different from that of another.

The trait most characteristic, perhaps, of Miss Keller (and alsc

286

PERSONALITY 287

of Miss Sullivan) is humour. Skill in the use of words and her
habit of playing with them make her ready with mots and epi-
grams.

Some one asked her if she liked to study.

"Yes," she replied, "but I like to play also, and I feel some-
times as if I were a music box with all the play shut up inside
me."

When she met Dr. Furness, the Shakespearean scholar, he
warned her not to let the college professors tell her too many
assumed facts about the life of Shakespeare; all we know, he
said, is that Shakespeare was baptized, married, and died.

"Well," she replied, "he seems to have done all the essential
things."

Once a friend who was learning the manual alphabet kept
making "g," which is like the hand of a sign-post, for "h," which
is made with two fingers extended. Finally Miss Keller told
him to "fire both barrels."

Mr. Joseph Jefferson was once explaining to Miss Keller what
the bumps on her head meant.

"That," he said, "is your prize-fighting bump."

"I never fight," she replied, "except against difficulties."

Miss Keller's humour is that deeper kind of humour which is
courage.

Thirteen years ago she made up her mind to learn to speak,
and she gave her teacher no rest until she was allowed to take
lessons, although wise people, even Miss Sullivan, the wisest of
them all, regarded it as an experiment unlikely to succeed and
almost sure to make her unhappy. It was this same persever-
ance that made her go to college. After she had passed her
examinations and received her certificate of admission, she was
advised by the Dean of Radcliffe and others not to go on. She
accordingly delayed a year. But she was not satisfied until
she had carried out her purpose and entered college.

Her life has been a series of attempts to do whatever other
people do, and to do it as well. Her success has been complete,
for in trying to be like other people she has come most fully
to be herself. Her unwillingness to be beaten has developed
her courage. Where another can go, she can go. Her respect
for physical bravery is like Stevenson's — the boy's contempt for
the fellow who cries, with a touch of young bravado in it. She
takes tramps in the woods, plunging through the underbrush

288 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

where she is scratched and bruised ; yet you could not get her to
admit that she is hurt, and you certainly could not persuade her
to stay at home next time.

So when people try experiments with her, she displays a
sportsmanlike determination to win in any test, however unrea-
sonable, that one may wish to put her to.

If she does not know the answer to a question, she guesses
with mischievous assurance. Ask her the colour of your coat
(no blind person can tell colour), she will feel it and say
"black." If it happens to be blue, and you tell her so triumph-
antly, she is likely to answer, "Thank you. I am glad you
know. Why did you ask me ?"

Her whimsical and adventuresome spirit puts her so much
on her mettle that she makes rather a poor subject for the
psychological experimenter. Moreover, Miss Sullivan does not
see why Miss Keller should be subjected to the investigation
of the scientist, and has not herself made many experiments.
When a psychologist asked her if Miss Keller spelled on her
fingers in her sleep, Miss Sullivan replied that she did not think
it worthwhile to sit up and watch, such matters were of so little
consequence.

Miss Keller likes to be part of the company. If any one
whom she is touching laughs at a joke, she laughs, too, just as
if she had heard it. If others are aglow with music, a respond-
ing glow, caught sympathetically, shines in her face. Indeed,
she feels the movements of Miss Sullivan so minutely that she
responds to her moods, and so she seems to know what is going
on, even though the conversation has not been spelled to her
lor some time. In the same way her response to music is in
part sympathetic, although she enjoys it for its own sake.

Music probably can mean little to her but beat and pulsation.
She cannot sing and she cannot play the piano, although, as
some early experiments show, she could learn mechanically to
beat out a tune on the keys. Her enjoyment of music, however,
is very genuine, for she has a tactile recognition of sound when
the waves of air beat against her. Part of her experience of
the rhythm of music comes, no doubt, from the vibration of
solid objects which she is touching: the floor, or, what is more
evident, the case of the piano, on which her hand rests. But she
seems to feel the pulsation of the air itself. When the organ was
played for her in St. Bartholomew's,* the whole building shook

♦See page 263.

PERSONALITY 289

with the great pedal notes, but that does not altogether account
for what she felt and enjoyed. The vibration of the air as the
organ notes swelled made her sway in answer. Sometimes
she puts her hand on a singer's throat to feel the muscular thrill
and contraction, and from this she gets genuine pleasure. No
one knows, however, just what her sensations are. It is amusing
to read in one of the magazines of 1895 that Miss Keller "has
a just and intelligent appreciation of different composers from
having literally felt their music, Schumann being her favourite."
If she knows the difference between Schumann and Beethoven,
it is because she has read it, and if she has read it, she remembers
it and can tell any one who asks her.

Miss Keller's effort to reach out and meet other people on their
own intellectual ground has kept her informed of daily affairs.
When her education became more systematic and she was
busy with books, it would have been very easy for Miss Sullivan
to let her draw into herself, if she had been so inclined. But
every one who has met her has given his best ideas to her and she
has taken them. If, in the course of a conversation, the friend
next to her has ceased for some moments to spell into her hand,
the question comes inevitably, "What are you talking about?"
Thus she picks up the fragments of the daily intercourse of
normal people, so that her detailed information is singularly full
and accurate. She is a good talker on the little occasional affairs
of life.

Much of her knowledge comes to her directly. When she is
out walking she often stops suddenly, attracted by the odour of
a bit of shrubbery. She reaches out and touches the leaves,
and the world of growing things is hers, as truly as it is ours, to
enjoy while she holds the leaves in her fingers and smells the
blossoms, and to remember when the walk is done.

When she is in a new place, especially an interesting place like
Niagara, whoever accompanies her — usually, of course, Miss
Sullivan — is kept busy giving her an idea of visible details.
Miss Sullivan, who knows her pupil's mind, selects from the
passing landscape essential elements, which give a certain clear-
ness to Miss Keller's imagined view of an outer world that to
our eyes is confused and overloaded with particulars. If her
companion does not give her enough details, Miss Keller asks
questions until she has completed the view to her satisfaction.
She does not see with her eyes, but through the inner faculty

2qo A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

to serve which eyes were given to us. "When she returns from
a walk and tells some one about it, her descriptions are accurate
and vivid. A comparative experience drawn from written
descriptions and from her teacher's words has kept her free from
errors in her use of terms of sound and vision. True, her view
of life is highly coloured and full of poetic exaggeration; the
universe, as she sees it, is no doubt a little better than it really
is. But her knowledge of it is not so incomplete as one might
suppose. Occasionally she astonishes you by ignorance of some
fact which no one happens to have told her; for instance,
she did not know, until her first plunge into the sea, that it is
salt. Many of the detached incidents and facts of our daily life
pass around and over her unobserved; but she has enough
detailed acquaintance with the world to keep her view of it from
being essentially defective.

Most that she knows at first hand comes from her sense of
touch. This sense is not, however, so finely developed as in
some other blind people. Laura Bridgman could tell minute
shades of difference in the size of thread, and made beautiful lace.
Miss Keller used to knit and crochet, but she has had better
things to do. With her varied powers and accomplishments,
her sense of touch has not been used enough to develop it very
far beyond normal acuteness. A friend tried Miss Keller one
day with several coins. She was slower than he expected her to
be in identifying them by their relative weight and size. But it
should be said she almost never handles money — one of the many
sordid and petty details of life, by the way, which she has been
spared.

She recognizes the subject and general intention of a statuette
six inches high. Anything shallower than a half-inch bas-relief
is a blank to her, so far as it expresses an idea of beauty. Large
statues, of which she can feel the sweep of line with her whole
hand, she knows in their higher esthetic value. She suggests
herself that she can know them better than we do, because she
can get the true dimensions and appreciate more immediately
the solid nature of a sculptured figure. When she was at the
Museum of Fine Arts in Boston she stood on a step-ladder and
let both hands play over the statues. When she felt a bas-relief
of dancing girls she asked, "Where are the singers? ' When
she found them she said, "One is silent." The lips of the
singer were closed.

PERSONALITY 291

It is, however, in her daily life that one can best measure the
delicacy of her senses and her manual skill. She seems to have
very little sense of direction. She gropes her way without much
certainty in rooms where she is quite familiar. Most blind people
are aided by the sense of sound, so that a fair comparison is hard
to make, except with other deaf-blind persons. Her dexterity
is not notable either in comparison with the normal person,
whose movements are guided by the eye, or, I am told, with
other blind people. She has practised no single constructive
craft which would call for the use of her hands. When she was
twelve, her friend Mr. Albert H. Munsell, the artist, let her
experiment with a wax tablet and a stylus. He says that she
did pretty well and managed to make, after models, some con-
ventional designs of the outlines of leaves and rosettes. The
only thing she does which requires skill with the hands is her
work on the typewriter. Although she has used the typewriter
since she was eleven years old, she is rather careful than rapid.
She writes with fair speed and absolute sureness. Her manu-
scripts seldom contain typographical errors when she hands
them to Miss Sullivan to read. Her typewriter has no special
attachments. She keeps the relative position of the keys by
an occasional touch of the little fingers on the outer edge of the
board.

Miss Keller's reading of the manual alphabet by her sense of
touch seems to cause some perplexity. Even people who know
her fairly well have written in the magazines about Miss
Sullivan's "mysterious telegraphic communications" with her
pupil. The manual alphabet is that in use among all educated
deaf people. Most dictionaries contain an engraving of the
manual letters. The deaf person with sight looks at the fingers
of his companion, but it is also possible to feel them. Miss Keller
puts her fingers lightly over the hand of one who is talking to
her and gets the words as rapidly as they can be spelled. As she
explains, she is not conscious of the single letters or of sepa-
rate words. Miss Sullivan and others who live constantly with
the deaf can spell very rapidly — fast enough to get a slow
lecture, not fast enough to get every word of a rapid speaker.

Anybody can learn the manual letters in a few minutes, use
them slowly in a day, and in thirty days of constant use talk to
Miss Keller or any other deaf person without realizing what his
fingers are doing. If more people knew this, and the friends and

292 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

relatives of deaf children learned the manual alphabet at once,
the deaf all over the world would be happier and better educated.

Miss Keller reads by means of embossed print or the various
kinds of braille. The ordinary embossed book is made with
roman letters, both small letters and capitals. These letters
are of simple, square, angular design. The small letters are
about three-sixteenths of an inch high, and are raised from the
page the thickness of the thumbnail. The books are large, about
the size of a volume of an encyclopedia. Green '-s " Short History
of the English People" is in six large volumes. The books are
not heavy, because the leaves with the raised type do not lie close.
The time that one of Miss Keller's friends realizes most strongly
that she is blind, is when he comes on her suddenly in the dark
and hears the rustle of her fingers across the page.

The most convenient print for the blind is braille, which has
several variations, too many, indeed — English, American, New
York Point. Miss Keller reads them all. Most educated blind
people know several, but it would save trouble if, as Miss Keller
suggests, English braille were universally adopted. The fac-
simile on page xv gives an idea of how the raised dots look.
Each character (either a letter or a special braille contrac-
tion) is a combination made by varying in place and num-
ber points in six possible positions. Miss Keller has a braille
writer on which she keeps notes and writes letters to her blind
friends. There are six keys, and by pressing different combina-
tions at a stroke (as one plays a chord on the piano) the
operator makes a character at a time in a sheet of thick paper,
and can write about half as rapidly as on a typewriter. Braille
is especially useful in making single manuscript copies of books.

Books for the blind are very limited in number. They cost a
great deal to publish and they have not a large enough sale to
make them profitable to the publisher; but there are several
institutions with special funds to pay for embossed books.
Miss Keller is more fortunate than most blind people in the kind-
ness of her friends who have books made especially for her, and
in the willingness of gentlemen, like Mr. E. E. Allen of the
Pennsylvania Institute for the Instruction of the Blind, to print,
as he has on several occasions, editions of books that she has
needed.

Miss Keller does not as a rule read very fast, but she reads
deliberately, not so much because she feels the words less quickly

READING RAISED PRINT

PERSONALITY 293

than we see them, as because it is one of her habits of mind to do
things thoroughly and well. When a passage interests her, or
she needs to remember it for some future use, she flutters it off
swiftly on the fingers of her right hand. Sometimes this finger-
play is unconscious. Miss Keller talks to herself absent-
mindedly in the manual alphabet. Yv'hen she is walking up or
down the hall or along the veranda, her hands go flying along
beside her like a confusion of birds' wings.

There is, I am told, tactile memory as well as visual and aural
memory. Miss Sullivan says that both she and Miss Keller
remember "in their fingers" what they ha\e said. For Miss
Keller to spell a sentence in the manual alphabet impresses it
on her mind just as we learn a thing from having heard it many
times and can call back the memory ot its sound.

Like every deaf or blind person, Miss Keller depends on her
sense of smell to an unusual degree. When she was a little
girl she smelled everything and knew where she was, what
neighbour's house she was passing, by the distinctive odours. As
her intellect grew she became less dependent on this sense.
To what extent she now identifies objects by their odour is hard
to determine. The sense of smell has fallen into disrepute, and a
deaf person is reluctant to speak of it. Miss Keller s acute sense
of smell may account, however, in some part for that recognition
of persons and things which it has been customary to attribute
to a special sense, or to an unusual development of the power
that we all seem to have of telling when some one is near.

The question of a special "sixth sense," such as people have
ascribed to Miss Keller, is a delicate one. This much is certain,
she cannot have any sense that other people may not have, and
the existence of a special sense is not evident to her or to any one
who knows her. Miss Keller is distinctly not a singular proof of
occult and mysterious theories, and any attempt to explain her
in that way fails to reckon with her normality. She is no more
mysterious and complex than any other person. All that she is,
all that she has done, can be explained directly, except such
things in every human being as never can be explained. She
does not, it would seem, prove the existence of spirit without
matter, or of innate ideas, or of immortality, or anything else
that any other human being does not prove. Philosophers have
tried to find out what was her conception of abstract ideas before
she learned language. If she had any conception, there is no

2Q4 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

way of discovering it now; for she cannot remember, and
obviously there was no record at the time. She had no concep-
tion of God before she heard the word "God," as her comments
very clearly show.*

Her sense of time is excellent, but whether it would have
developed as a special faculty cannot be known, for she has
had a watch since she was seven years old.

Miss Keller has two watches, which have been given her. They
are, I think, the only ones of their kind in America. The watch
has on the back cover a flat gold indicator which can be pushed
freely around from left to right until, by means of a pin inside
the case, it locks with the hour hand and takes a corresponding
position. The point of this gold indicator bends over the edge
of the case, round which are set eleven raised points — the stem
forms the twelfth. Thus the watch, an ordinary watch with a
white dial for the person who sees, becomes for a blind person
by this special attachment in effect one with a single raised hour
hand and raised figures. Though there is less than half an inch
between the points — a space which represents sixty minutes —
Miss Keller tells the time almost exactly. It should be said that
any double-case watch with the crystal removed serves well
enough for a blind person whose touch is sufficiently delicate
to feel the position of the hands and not disturb or injure them.

The finer traits of Miss Keller's character are so well known
that one need not say much about them. Good sense, good
humour, and imagination keep her scheme of things sane and
beautiful. No attempt is made by those around her either to
preserve or to break her illusions. When she was a little girl,
a good many unwise and tactless things that were said for her
benefit were not repeated to her, thanks to the wise watchfulness
of Miss Sullivan. Now that she has grown up, nobody thinks of
being less frank with her than with any other intelligent young
woman. What her good friend, Charles Dudley Warner,
wrote about her in Harper's Magazine in 1896 was true then,
and it remains true now:

"I believe she is the purest-minded human being ever in
existence. . . . The world to her is what her own mind is.
She has not even learned that exhibition on which so many pride
themselves, of 'righteous indignation.'

* See pages 36Q and 3*. ' ■

PERSONALITY 295

"Some time ago, when a policeman shot dead her dog, a
dearly loved daily companion, she found in her forgiving heart
no condemnation for the man; she only said, 'If he had only
known what a good dog she was, he wouldn't have shot her.' It
was said of old time, 'Lord forgive them, they know not what
they do ! '

"Of course the question will arise whether, if Helen Keller
had not been guarded from the knowledge of evil, she would have
been what she is to-day. . . . Her mind has neither been
made effeminate by the weak and silly literature, nor has it been
vitiated by that which is suggestive of baseness. In consequence
her mind is not only vigorous, but it is pure. She is in love with
noble things, with noble thoughts, and with the characters of
noble men and women."

She still has a childlike aversion to tragedies. Her imagination
is so vital that she falls completely under the illusion of a story,
and lives in its world. Miss Sullivan writes in a letter of 189 1 :

"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. ' "

Of the real world she knows more of the good and less of the evil
than most people seem to know. Her teacher does not harass her
with the little unhappy things; but of the important difficulties
they have been through, Miss Keller was fully informed, took
her share of the suffering, and put her mind to the problems,
She is logical and tolerant, most trustful of a world that has
treated her kindly.

Once when some one asked her to define "love," she replied,
"Why, bless you, that is easy; it is what everybody feels for
everybody else."

'Toleration," she said once, when she was visiting her friend
Mrs. Laurence Hutton, "is the greatest gift of the mind; it
requires the same effort of the brain that it takes to balance
oneself on a bicycle."

She has a large, generous sympathy and absolute fairness of
temper. So far as she is noticeably different from other people
she is less bound by convention. She has the courage of her
metaphors and lets them take her skyward when we poor self-
conscious folk would think them rather too bookish for ordinary

-296 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

conversation. She always says exactly what she thinks, without
tear of the plain truth; yet no one is more xactful and adroit than
she in turning an unpleasant truth so that it will do the least
possible hurt to the teelings of others. Not all the attention that
has been paid her since she was a child has made her take herself
too seriously. Sometimes she gets started on a very solemn
preachment. Then her teacher calls her an incorrigible little
sermonizer, and she laughs at herself. Often, however, her
sober ideas are not to be laughed at, for her earnestness carries
her listeners with her. There is ne /er the least false sententious-
ness in what she says. She means everything so thoroughly
that her very quotations, her echoes from what she has read,
are in truth original.

Her logic and her sympathy are in excellent balance. Her
sympathy is of the swift and ministering sort which, fortu-
nately, she has found so often in other people. And her sympa-
thies go further and shape her opinions on political and national
movements. She was intensely pro-Boer and wrote a strong
argument in favour of Boer independence. When she was told
of the surrender of the brave little people, her face clouded and
she was silent a few minutes. Then she asked clear, penetrat-
ing questions about the terms of the surrender, and began
to discuss them.

Both Mr. Gilman and Mr. Keith, the teachers who prepared
her for college, were struck by her power of constructive reason-
ing; and she was excellent in pure mathematics, though she
seems never to have enjoyed it much. Some of the best of her
writing, apart from her fanciful and imaginative work, is her
exposition in examinations and technical themes, and in some
letters which she found it necessary to write to clear up mis-
understandings, and which are models of close thinking enforced
with sweet vehemence.

She is an optimist and an idealist.

"I hope," she writes in a letter, "that L isn't too practical,

for if she is, I'm afraid she'll miss a great deal of pleasure."

In the diary that she kept at the Wright- Humason school
in New York she wrote on October 18. 1894, "I find that I
have four things to learn in my school life here, and indeed, in
life — to think clearly without hurry or confusion, to love every-
body sincerely, to act in everything with the highest motives,
and to trust in dear God unhesitatingly."

CHAPTER III

EDUCATION

It is now sixty-five years since Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe
knew that he had made his way through Laura Bridgman's
fingers to her intelligence. The names of Laura Bridgman and
Helen Keller will always be linked together, and it is necessary
to understand what Dr. Howe did for his pupil before one
comes to an account of Miss Sullivan's work. For Dr.
Howe is the great pioneer on whose work that of Miss Sullivan
and other teachers of the deaf-blind immediately depends.

Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe was born in Boston,, November
10, 1801, and died in Boston, January 9, 1876. He was a great
philanthropist, interested especially in the education of all
defectives, the feeble-minded , the blind, and the deaf. Far in
advance of his time he advocated many public measures for the
relief of the poor and the diseased, for which he was laughed
at then, but which have since been put into practice. As head
of the Perkins Institution for the Blind in Boston, he heard
of Laura Bridgman and had her brought to the Institution on
October 4, 1837.

Laura Bridgman was born at Hanover, New Hampshire,
December 21, 1829; so she was almost eight years old when
Dr. Howe began his experiments with her. At the age of twenty-
six months scarlet fever left her without sight or hearing. She also
lost her sense of smell and taste. Dr. Howe was an experi-
mental scientist and had in him the spirit of New England
transcendentalism with its large faith and large charities.
Science and faith together led him to try to make his way into
the soul which he believed was born in Laura Bridgman as
in every other human being. His plan was to teach Laura by
means of raised types. He pasted raised labels on objects and
made her fit the labels to the objects and the objects to the
labels. When she had learned in this way to associate raised
words with things, in much the same manner, he says, as a dog

297

298 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

learns tricks, he began to resolve the words into their letter
elements and to teach her to put together "k-e-y," "c-a-p." His
success convinced him that language can be conveyed through
type to the mind of the blind-deaf child, who, before education,
is in the state of the baby who has not learned to prattle; indeed,
is in a much worse state, for the brain has grown in years without
natural nourishment.

After Laura's education had progressed for two months with
the use only of raised letters, Dr. Howe sent one of his teachers
to learn the manual alphabet from a deaf-mute. She taught it
to Laura, and from that time on the manual alphabet was the
means of communicating with her.

After the first year or two Dr. Howe did not teach Laura
Bridgman himself, but gave her over to other teachers, who
under his direction carried on the work of teaching her language.*

Too much cannot be said in praise of Dr. Howe's work.
As an investigator he kept always the scientist's attitude. He
never forgot to keep his records of Laura Bridgman in the fashion
of one who works in a laboratory. The result is, his records
of her are systematic and careful. From a scientific stand-
point, it is unfortunate that it was impossible to keep such a
complete record of Helen Keller's development. This in itself
is a great comment on the difference between Laura Bridgman
j.nd Helen Keller. Laura always remained an object of curious
6tudy . Helen Keller became so rapidly a distinctive personality
that she kept her teacher in a breathless race to meet the needs
of her pupil, with no time or strength to make a scientific study.

In some ways this is unfortunate. Miss Sullivan knew at the
beginning that Helen Keller would be more interesting and suc-
cessful than Laura Bridgman, and she expresses in one of her
letters the need of keeping notes. But neither temperament nor
training allowed her to make her pupil the object of any experi-
ment or observation which did not help in the child's development.
As soon as a thing was done, a definite goal passed, the teacher
did not always look back and describe the way she had come.
The explanation of the fact was unimportant compared to the
fact itself and the need of hurrying on. There are two other
reasons why Miss Sullivan's records are incomplete. It has
always been a severe tax on her eyes to write, and she was early

♦See "The Life and Education of Laura Dewey Bridgman," by Mrs. Mary
Swift Lamson.

EDUCATION 299

discouraged from publishing data by the inaccurate use made
of what she at first supplied.

When she first wrote from Tuscumbia to Mr. Michael Anagnos,
Dr. Howe's son-in-law and his successor as Director of the
Perkins Institution, about her work with her pupil, the Boston
papers began at once to publish exaggerated accounts of Helen
Keller. Miss Sullivan protested. In a letter dated April 10,
1887, only five weeks after she went to Helen Keller, she wrote
to a friend:

" sent me a Boston Herald containing a stupid article

about Helen. How perfectly absurd to say that Helen is
'already talking fluently !' Why, one might just as well say that
a two-year-old child converses fluently when he says 'apple
give,' or 'baby walk go.' I suppose if you included his scream-
ing, crowing, whimpering, grunting, squalling, with occasional
kicks, in his conversation, it might be regarded as fluent — even
eloquent. Then it is amusing to read of the elaborate prepara-
tion I underwent to fit me for the great task my friends entrusted
to me. I am sorry that preparation didn't include spelling, it
would have saved me such a lot of trouble."

On March 4, 1888, she writes in a letter:

"Indeed, I am heartily glad that I don't know all that is
being said and written about Helen and myself. I assure you
I know quite enough. Nearly every mail brings some absurd
statement, printed or written. The truth is not wonderful
enough to suit the newspapers; so they enlarge upon it and
invent ridiculous embellishments. One paper has Helen demon-
strating problems in geometry by means of her playing blocks.
I expect to hear next that she has written a treatise on the
origin and future of the planets !"

In December, 1887, appeared the first report of the Director
of the Perkins Institution, which deals with Helen Keller. For
this report Miss Sullivan prepared, in reluctant compliance with
the request of Mr. Anagnos, an account of her work. This with the
extracts from her letters, scattered through the report, is the
first valid source of information about Helen Keller. Of this
report Miss Sullivan wrote in a letter dated October 30, 1887 :

"Have you seen the paper I wrote for the 'report'? Mr
Anagnos was delighted with it. He says Helen's progress has
been 'a triumphal march from the beginning,' and he has many
flattering things to say about her teacher. I think he is inclined

300 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

to exaggerate; at all events, his language is too glowing, and
simple facts are set forth in such a manner that they bewilder
one. Doubtless the work of the past few months does seem
like a triumphal march to him; but then people seldom see the
halting and painful steps by which the most insignificant success
is achieved."

As Mr. Anagnos was the head of a great institution, what he
said had much more effect than the facts in Miss Sullivan's
account on which he based his statements. The newspapers
caught Mr. Anagnos's spirit and exaggerated a hundred-fold.
In a year after she first went to Helen Keller, Miss Sullivan found
herself and her pupil the centre of a stupendous fiction. Then
the educators all over the world said their say and for the most
part did not help matters. There grew up a mass of contro-
versial matter which it is amusing to read now. Teachers of
the deaf proved a priori that what Miss Sullivan had done
could not be, and some discredit was reflected on her statements,
because they were surrounded by the vague eloquence of Mr.
Anagnos. Thus the story of Helen Keller, incredible when
told with moderation, had the misfortune to be heralded by
exaggerated announcements, and naturally met either an
ignorant credulity or an incredulous hostility.

In November, 1888, another report of the Perkins Institution
appeared with a second paper by Miss Sullivan, and then
nothing official was published until November, 1891, when Mr.
Anagnos issued the last Perkins Institution report containing
anything about Helen Keller. For this report Miss Sullivan
wrote the fullest and largest account she has ever written; and
in this report appeared the "Frost King," which is discussed
fully in a later chapter. Then the controversy waxed fiercer
than ever.

Finding that other people seemed to know so much more
about Helen Keller than she did, Miss Sullivan kept silent and
has been silent for ten years, except for her paper in the first Volta
Bureau Souvenir of Helen Keller* and the paper which, at Dr.
Bell's request, she prepared in 1S94 for the meeting at Chau-
tauqua of the American Association to Promote the Teaching of
Speech to the Deaf. When Dr. Bell and others tell her, what
is certainly true from an impersonal point of view, that she
owes it to the cause of education to write what she knows, she

♦See pags 396.

EDUCATION 3oi

answers very properly that she owes all her time and all her
energies to her pupil.

Although Miss Sullivan is still rather amused than distressed
when some one, even one of her friends, makes mistakes in pub-
lished articles about her and Miss Keller, still she sees that
Miss Keller's book should include all the information that the
teacher could at present furnish. So she consented to the publi-
cation of extracts from letters which she wrote during the first
year of her work with her pupil. These letters were written to
Mrs. Sophia C. Hopkins, the only person to whom Miss Sullivan
ever wrote freely. Mrs. Hopkins has been a matron at the
Perkins Institution for twenty years, and during the time that
Miss Sullivan was a pupil there she was like a mother to her. In
these letters we have an almost weekly record of Miss Sullivan's
work. Some of the details she had forgotten, as she grew more
and more to generalize. Many people have thought that any
attempt to find the principles in her method would be nothing
but a later theory superimposed on Miss Sullivan's work. But
it is evident that in these letters she was making a clear
analysis of what she was doing. She was her own critic, and in
spite of her later declaration, made with her modest carelessness,
that she followed no particular method, she was very clearly
learning from her task and phrasing at the time principles of
education of unique value not only in the teaching of the deaf
but in the teaching of all children. The extracts from her letters
and reports form an important contribution to pedagogy, and
more than justify the opinion of Dr. Daniel C. Gilman, who wrote
in 1893, when he was President of Johns Hopkins University:

"I have just read . . . your most interesting account
of the various steps you have taken in the education of your
wonderful pupil, and I hope you will allow me to express my
admiration for the wisdom that has guided your methods and
the affection which has inspired your labours."

Miss Anne Mansfield Sullivan was born at Springfield, Massa-
chusetts. Very early in her life she became almost totally
blind, and she entered the Perkins Institution October 7, 1880,
when she was fourteen years old. Later her sight was par-
tially restored.

Mr. Anagnos says in his report of 1887: "She was obliged

3o2 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

to begin her education at the lowest and most elementary point;
but she showed from the very start that she had in herself the
force and capacity which insure success, . . . She has
finally reached the goal for which she strove so bravely. The
golden words that Dr. Howe uttered and the example that he
left passed into her thoughts and heart and helped her on the
road to usefulness; and now she stands by his side as his worthy
successor in one of the most cherished branches of his work.
. . Miss Sullivan's talents are of the highest order."
In 1886 she graduated from the Perkins Institution. When
Captain Keller applied to the director for a teacher, Mr. Amagnos
recommended her. The only time she had to prepare herself for
the work with her pupil was from August, 1886, when Captain
Keller wrote, to February, 1887. During this time she read
Dr. Howe's reports, She was further aided by the fact that
during the six years of her school life she had lived in the house
with Laura Bridgman. It was Dr. Howe who, by his work
with Laura Bridgman, made Miss Sullivan's work possible;
but it was Miss Sullivan who discovered the way to teach
language to the deaf -blind.

It must be remembered that Miss Sullivan had to solve her
problems unaided by previous experience or the assistance of any
other teacher. During the first year of her work with Helen
Keller, in which she taught her pupil language, they were in
Tuscumbia; and when they came North and visited the Perkins
Institution, Helen Keller was never a regular student there or
subject to the discipline of the Institution. The impression that
Miss Sullivan educated Helen Keller "under the direction of
Mr. Anagnos" is erroneous. In the three years during which at
various times Miss Keller and Miss Sullivan were guests of the
Perkins Institution, the teachers there did not help Miss Sullivan,
and Mr. Anagnos did not even use the manual alphabet with
facility as a means of communication . Mr. Anagnos wrote
in the report of the Perkins Institution, dated November 27,
1888: "At my urgent request, Helen, accompanied by her
mother and her teacher, came to the North in the last week of
May, and spent several months with us as our guests. . . .
We gladly allowed her to use freely our library of embossed bookst
our collection of stuffed animals, sea-shells, models of flowers
and plants, and the rest of our apparatus for instructing the
blind through the sense of touch. I do not doubt that she derived

EDUCATION 303

from them much pleasure and not a little profit. But whether
Helen stays at home or makes visits in other parts of the country,
her education is always under the immediate direction and
exclusive control of her teacher. No one interferes with
Miss Sullivan's plans, or shares in her tasks. She has been
allowed entire freedom in the choice of means and methods for
carrying on her great work; and, as we can judge by the results,
she has made a most judicious and discreet use of this privilege.
What the little pupil has thus far accomplished is widely known,
and her wonderful attainments command general admiration;
but only those who are familiar with the particulars of the grand
achievement know that the credit is largely due to the intel-
ligence, wisdom, sagacity, unremitting perseverance and
unbending will of the instructress, who rescued the child from
the depths of everlasting night and stillness, and watched over
the different phases of her mental and moral development with
maternal solicitude and enthusiastic devotion."

Here follow in order Miss Sullivan's letters and the most
important passages from the reports. I have omitted from each
succeeding report what has already been explained and does not
need to be repeated. For the ease of the reader I have, with
Miss Sullivan's consent, made the extracts run together con-
tinuously and supplied words of connection and the resulting
necessary changes in syntax, and Miss Sullivan has made slight
changes in the phrasing of her reports and also of her letters,
which were carelessly written. I have also italicized a few
important passages. Some of her opinions Miss Sullivan would
like to enlarge and revise. That remains for her to do at
another time. At present we have here the fullest record that
has been published. The first letter is dated March 6, 1887,
three days after her arrival in Tuscumbia.

It was 6.30 when I reached Tuscumbia. T found
Mrs. Keller and Mr. James Keller waiting for me. They said
somebody had met every train for two days. The drive from
the station to the house, a distance of one mile, was very lovely
and restful. I was surprised to find Mrs. Keller a very young-
looking woman, not much older than myself, I should think.
Captain Keller met us in the yard and gave me a cheery welcome
and a hearty handshake. My first question was, "Where is
Helen?" I tried with all my might to control the eagerness
that made me tremble so that I could hardly walk. As we

3o4 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

approached the house I saw a child standing in the doorway,
and Captain Keller said, "There she is. She has known all
day that some one was expected, and she has been wild ever
since her mother went to the station for you." I had scarcely
put my foot on the steps, when she rushed toward me with such
force that she would have thrown me backward if Captain
Keller had not been behind me. She felt my face and dress and
my bag, which she took out of my hand and tried to open. It
did not open easily, and she felt carefully to see if there was a key-
hole. Finding that there was, she turned to me, making the sign
of turning a key and pointing to the bag. Her mother inter-
fered at this point and showed Helen by signs that she must not
touch the bag. Her face flushed, and when her mother attempted
to take the bag from her, she grew very angry. I attracted htr
attention by showing her my watch and letting her hold it in her
hand. Instantly the tempest subsided, and we went upstairs
together. Here I opened the bag, and she went through it
eagerly, probably expecting to find something to eat. Friends
had probably brought her candy in their bags, and she expected
to find some in mine. I made her understand, by pointing to a
trunk in the hall and to myself and nodding my head, that I
had a trunk, and then made the sign that she had used for eat-
ing, and nodded again. She understood in a flash and ran down-
stairs to tell her mother, by means of emphatic signs, that there
was some candy in a trunk for her. She returned in a few
minutes and helped me put away my things. It was too comical
to see her put on my bonnet and cock her head first on one side,
then on the other, and look in the mirror, just as if she could see.
Somehow I had expected to see a pale, delicate child — I suppose
I got the idea from Dr. Howe's description of Laura Bridgman
when she came to the Institution. But there's nothing pale or
delicate about Helen. She is large, strong, and ruddy, and as
unrestrained in her movements as a young colt. She has none
of those nervous habits that are so noticeable and so distressing
in blind children. Her body is well formed and vigorous, and
Mrs. Keller says she has not been ill a day since the illness that
deprived her of her sight and hearing. She has a fine head,
and it is set on her shoulders just right. Her face is hard to
describe. It is intelligent, but lacks mobility, or soul, or some-
thing. Her mouth is large and finely shaped. You see at a
elance that she is blind. One eye is larger than the other, an<?

EDUCATION 305

protrudes noticeably. She rarely smiles; indeed, I have seen
her smile only once or twice since I came. She is unresponsive
and even impatient of caresses from any one except her mother.
She is very quick-tempered and wilful, and nobody, except her
brother James, has attempted to control her. The greatest
problem I shall have to solve is how to discipline and control
her without breaking her spirit. I shall go rather slowly at first
and try to win her love. I shall not attempt to conquer her by
force alone; but I shall insist on reasonable obedience from the
start. One thing that impresses everybody is Helen's tireless
activity. She is never still a moment. She is here, there, and
everywhere. Her hands are in everything; but nothing holds
her attention for long. Dear child, her restless spirit gropes in
the dark. Her untaught, unsatisfied hands destroy whatever
they touch because they do not know what else to do with
things.

She helped me unpack my trunk when it came, and was
delighted when she found the doll the little girls sent her. I
thought it a good opportunity to teach her her first word. I
spelled "d-o-1-1" slowly in her hand and pointed to the doll
and nodded my head, which seems to be her sign for possession.
Whenever anybody gives her anything, she points to it, then to
herself, and nods her head. She looked puzzled and felt my
hand, and I repeated the letters. She imitated them very well
and pointed to the doll. Then I took the doll, meaning to give
it back to her when she had made the letters; but she thought
I meant to take it from her, and in an instant she was in a
temper, and tried to seize the doll. I shook my head and tried
to form the letters with her fingers; but she got more and more
angry. I forced her into a chair and held her there until I was
nearly exhausted. Then it occurred to me that it was useless to
continue the struggle — I must do something to turn the current
of her thoughts. I let her go, but refused to give up the doll.
I went downstairs and got some cake (she is very fond of sweets) .
I showed Helen the cake and spelled "c-a-k-e" in her hand,
holding the cake toward her. Of course she wanted it and tried
to take it; but I spelled the word again and patted her hand.
She made the letters rapidly, and I gave her the cake, which she
ate in a great hurry, thinking, I suppose, that I might take it
from her. Then I showed her the doll and spelled the word
again, holding the doll toward her as I held the cake. She made

3o6 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

the letters "d-o-1" and I made the other "1" and gave her the
doll. She ran downstairs with it and could not be induced to
return to my room all day.

Yesterday I gave her a sewing-card to do. I made the first
row of vertical lines and let her feel it and notice that there were
several rows of little holes. She began to work delightedly and
finished the card in a few minutes, and did it very neatly indeed.
I thought I would try another word; so I spelled "c-a-r-d"
She made the "c-a," then stopped and thought, and making
the sign for eating and pointing downward she pushed me
toward the door, meaning that I must go downstairs for some
cake. The two letters "c-a," you see, had reminded her of
Friday's "lesson" — not that she had any idea that cake was the
name of the thing, but it was simply a matter of association, I
suppose. I finished the word "c-a-k-e" and obeyed her
command. She was delighted. Then I spelled "d-o-1-1"
and began to hunt for it. She follows with her hands every
motion you make, and she knew that I was looking for the doll.
She pointed down, meaning that the doll was downstairs. I
made the signs that she had used when she wished me to go
for the cake, and pushed her toward the door. She started
forward, then hesitated a moment, evidently debating within
herself whether she would go or not. She decided to send
me instead. I shook my head and spelled "d-o-1-1" more
emphatically, and opened the door for her; but she obstinately
refused to obey. She had not finished the cake she was eating,
and I took it away, indicating that if she brought the doll I
would give her back the cake. She stood perfectly still for one
long moment, her face crimson; then her desire for the cake
triumphed, and she ran downstairs and brought the doll, and of
course I gave her the cake, but could not persuade her to enter
the room again.

She was very troublesome when I began to write this morning.
She kept coming up behind me and putting her hand on the paper
and into the ink-bottle. These blots are her handiwork. Finally
I remembered the kindergarten beads, and set her to work
stringing them. First I put on two wooden beads and one glass
bead, then made her feel of the string and the two boxes of beads.
She nodded and began at once to fill the string with wooden
beads. I shook my head and took them all off and made her feel
of the two wooden beads and the one glass bead. She examined

EDUCATION 307

them thoughtfully and began again. This time she put on the
glass bead first and the two wooden ones next. I took them off
and showed her that the two wooden ones must go on first, then
the glass bead. She had no further trouble and filled the string
quickly, too quickly, in fact. She tied the ends together when
she had finished the string, and put the beads round her neck.
I did not make the knot large enough in the next string, and the
beads came off as fast as she put them on; but she solved the
difficulty herself by putting the string through a bead and tying
it. I thought this very clever. She amused herself with the
beads until dinner-time, bringing the strings to me now and then
for my approval.

My eyes are very much inflamed. I know this letter is
very carelessly written. I had a lot to say, and couldn't stop
to think how to express things neatly. Please do not show my
letter to any one. If you want to, you may read it to my
friends.

Monday P. M.

I had a battle royal with Helen this morning. Although I
try very hard not to force issues, I find it very difficult to avoid
them.

Helen's table manners are appalling. She puts her hands in
our plates and helps herself, and when the dishes are passed,
she grabs them and takes out whatever she wants. This morning
I would not let her put her hand in my plate. She persisted,
and a contest of wills followed. Naturally the family was much
disturbed, and left the room. I locked the dining-room door,
and proceeded to eat my breakfast, though the food almost
choked me. Helen was lying on the floor, kicking and scream-
ing and trying to pull my chair from under me. She kept this
up for half an hour, then she got up to see what I was doing. I
let her see that I was eating, but did not let her put her hand
in the plate. She pinched me, and I slapped her every time
she did it. Then she went all round the table to see who was
there, and finding no one but me, she seemed bewildered. After
a few minutes she came back to her place and began to eat her
breakfast with her fingers. I gave her a spoon, which she threw
on the floor. I forced her out of the chair and made her pick
it up. Finally I succeeded in getting her back in her chair again,
and held the spoon in her hand, compelling her to take up the
food with it and put it in her mouth. In a few minutes she

308 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

yielded and finished her breakfast peaceably. Then we had
another tussle over folding her napkin. When she had finished,
she threw it on the floor and ran toward the door. Finding it
locked, she began to kick and scream all over again. It was
another hour before I succeeded in getting her napkin folded.
Then I let her out into the warm sunshine and went up to my
room and threw myself on the bed exhausted. I had a good
cry and felt better. I suppose I shall have many such battles
with the little woman before she learns the only two essential
things I can teach her, obedience and love.

Good-by, dear. Don't worry; I'll do my best and leave the
rest to whatever power manages that which we cannot. I like
Mrs. Keller very much.

Tuscumbia, Alabama, March n, 1887.
Since I wrote you, Helen and I have gone to live all by our-
selves in a little garden-house about a quarter of a mile from
her home, only a short distance from Ivy Green, the Keller
homestead. I very soon made up my mind that I could do
nothing with Helen in the midst of the family, who have always
allowed her to do exactly as she pleased. She has tyrannized
over everybody, her mother, her father, the servants, the little
darkies who play with her, and nobody had ever seriously
disputed her will, except occasionally her brother James, until I
came; and like all tyrants she holds tenaciously to her divine
right to do as she pleases. If she ever failed to get what she
wanted, it was because of her inability to make the vassals of
her household understand what it was. Every thwarted desire
was the signal for a passionate outburst, and as she grew older
and stronger, these tempests became more violent. As I began
to teach her, I was beset by many difficulties. She wouldn't
yield a point without contesting it to the bitter end. I couldn't
coax her or compromise with her. To get her to do the simplest
thing, such as combing her hair or washing her hands or button-
ing her boots, it was necessary to use force, and, of course, a dis-
tressing scene followed. The family naturally felt inclined to
interfere, especially her father, who cannot bear to see her cry.
So they were all willing to give in for the sake of peace. Besides,
her past experiences and associations were all against me. I
saw clearly that it was useless to try to teach her language

EDUCATION 309

or anything else until she learned to obey me. I have thought
about it a great deal, and the more I think, the more certa:n
1 am that obedience is the gateway through which knowledge,
yes, and love, too, enter the mind of the child. As I wrote
you, I meant to go slowly at first. I had an idea that I could
win the love and confidence of my little pupil by the same
means that I should use if she could see and hear. But I soon
found that I was cut off from all the usual approaches to th«
child's heart. She accepted everything I did for her as a matter
of course, and refused to be caressed, and there was noway of
appealing to her affection or sympathy or childish love of appro-
bation. She would or she wouldn't, and there was an end of it.
Thus it is, we study, plan and prepare ourselves for a task, and
when the hour for action arrives, we find that the system we have
followed with such labour and pride does not fit the occasion;
and then there's nothing for us to do but rely on something
within us, some innate capacity for knowing and doing, which
we did not know we possessed until the hour of our great need
brought it to light.

I had a good, frank talk with Mrs. Keller, and explained
to her how difficult it was going to be to do anything with
Helen under the existing circumstances. I told her that in
my opinion the child ought to be separated from the family for a
few weeks at least — that she must learn to depend on and obey
me before I could make any headway. After a long time Mrs.
Keller said that she would think the matter over and see what
Captain Keller thought of sending Helen away with me. Captain
Keller fell in with the scheme most readily and suggested
that the little garden-house at the "old place" be got ready
for us. He said that Helen might recognize the place, as
she had often been there; but she would have no idea of her
surroundings, and they could come every day to see that all
was going well, with the understanding, of course, that she
was to know nothing of their visits. I hurried the preparations
for our departure as much as possible, and here we are.

The little house is a genuine bit of paradise. It consists of
one large square room with a great fireplace, a spacious bay-
window, and a small room where our servant, a little negro
boy, sleeps. There is a piazza in front, covered with vines
that grow so luxuriantly that you have to part them to see the
garden beyond. Our meals are brought from the house, and

3io A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

we usually eat on the piazza. The little negro boy takes care
of the fire when we need one ; so I can give my whole attention
to Helen.

She was greatly excited at first, and kicked and screamed
herself into a sort of stupor; but when supper was brought
she ate heartily and seemed brighter, although she refused to
let me touch her. She devoted herself to her dolls the first
evening, and when it was bedtime she undressed very quietly;
but when she felt me get into bed with her, she jumped out on
the other side, and nothing that I could do would induce her
to get in again. But I was afraid she would take cold, and I
insisted that she must go to bed. We had a terrific tussle, I
can tell you. The struggle lasted for nearly two hours. I never
saw such strength and endurance in a child. But fortunately
for us both, I am a little stronger, and quite as obstinate when
I set out. I finally succeeded in getting her on the bed and
covered her up, and she lay curled up as near the edge of the
bed as possible.

The next morning she was very docile, but evidently homesick.
She kept going to the door, as if she expected some one, and
every now and then she would touch her cheek, which is her
sign for her mother, and shake her head sadly. She played
with her dolls more than usual, and would have nothing to do
with me. It is amusing and pathetic to see Helen with her
dolls. I don't think she has any special tenderness for them —
I have never seen her caress them ; but she dresses and undresses
them many times during the day and handles them exactly
as she has seen her mother and the nurse handle her baby
sister.

This morning Nancy, her favourite doll, seemed to have
some difficulty about swallowing the milk that was being admin-
istered to her in large spoonfuls; for Helen suddenly put down
the cup and began to slap her on the back and turn her over
on her knees, trotting her gently and patting her softly all the
time. This lasted for several minutes; then this mood passed,
and Nancy was thrown ruthlessly on the floor and pushed to
one side, while a large, pink-cheeked, fuzzy-haired member of
the family received the little mother's undivided attention.

Helen knows several words now, but has no idea how to use
them, or that everything has a name. I think, however, she
will learn quickly enough by and by. As I have said before,

EDUCATION 311

she is wonderfully bright and active and as quick as lightning
in her movements.

March 13, 1887.

You will be glad to hear that my experiment is working out
finely. I have not had any trouble at all with Helen, either
yesterday or to-day. She has learned three new words, and
when I give her the objects, the names of which she has learned,
she spells them unhesitatingly; but she seems glad when the
lesson is over.

We had a good frolic this morning out in the garden. Helen
evidently knew where she was as soon as she touched the box-
wood hedges, and made many signs which I did not understand.
No doubt they were signs for the different members of the
family at Ivy Green.

I have just heard something that surprised me very much.
It seems that Mr. Anagnos had heard of Helen before he received
Captain Keller's letter last summer. Mr. Wilson, a teacher
at Florence, and a friend of the Kellers', studied at Harvard
the summer before and went to the Perkins Institution to
learn if anything could be done for his friend's child. He saw
a gentleman whom he presumed to be the director, and told
him about Helen. He says the gentleman was not particularly
interested, but said he would see if anything could be done.
Doesn't it seem strange that Mr. Anagnos never referred to
this interview ?

March 20, 1887.

My heart is singing for joy this morning. A miracle has
happened ! The light of understanding has shone upon my little
pupil's mind, and behold, all things are changed !

The wild little creature of two weeks ago has been transformed
into a gentle child. She is sitting by me as I write, her face
serene and happy, crocheting a long red chain of Scotch wool.
She learned the stitch this week, and is very proud of the achieve-
ment. When she succeeded in making a chain that would
reach across the room, she patted herself on the arm and put
the first work of her hands lovingly against her cheek. She lets
me kiss her now, and when she is in a particularly gentle mood,

3i2 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

she will sit in my lap for a minute or two; but she does not
return my caresses. The great step — the step that counts —
has been taken. The little savage has learned her first lesson
in oDedience, and finds the yoke easy. It now remains my
pleasant task to direct and mould the beautiful intelligence
that is beginning to stir in the child-soul. Already people
remark the change in Helen. Her father looks in at us morning
and evening as he goes to and from his office, and sees her
contentedly stringing her beads or making horizontal lines on
her sewing-card, and exclaims, "How quiet she is!" When I
came, her movements were so insistent that one always felt
there was something unnatural and almost weird about her.
I have noticed also that she eats much less, a fact which troubles
her father so much that he is anxious to get her home. He
says she is homesick. I don't agree with him; but I suppose
we shall have to leave our little bower very soon.

Helen has learned several nouns this week. "M-u-g" and
"m-i-l-k," have given her more trouble than other words.
When she spells "milk," she points to the mug, and when she
spells "mug," she makes the sign for pouring or drinking, which
shows that she has confused the words. She has no idea yet
that everything has a name.

Yesterday I had the little negro boy come in when Helen
was having her lesson , and learn the letters, too. This pleased her
very much and stimulated her ambition to excel Percy. She
was delighted if he made a mistake, and made him form the
letter over several times. When he succeeded in forming it to
suit her, she patted him on his woolly head so vigorously
that I thought some of his slips were intentional.

One day this week Captain Keller brought Belle, a setter of
which he is very proud, to see us. He wondered if Helen would
recognize her old playmate. Helen was giving Nancy a bath,
and didn't notice the dog at first. She usually feels the softest
step and throws out her arms to ascertain if any one is near
her. Belle didn't seem very anxious to attract her attention.
I imagine she has been rather roughly handled sometimes by
her little mistress. The dog hadn't been in the room more
than half a minute, however, before Helen began to sniff, and
dumped the doll into the wash-bowl and felt about the room.
She stumbled upon Belle, who was crouching near the window
where Captain Keller was standing. It was evident that she

EDUCATION 313

recognized the dog; for she put her arms round her neck and
squeezed her. Then Helen sat down by her and began to manip-
ulate her claws. We couldn't think for a second what she was
doing; but when we saw her make the letters "d-o-1-1 " on her
own fingers, we knew that she was trying to teach Belle to
spell.

March 28, 1887.

Helen and I came home yesterday. I am sorry they wouldn't
let us stay another week; but I think I have made the most
I could of the opportunities that were mine the past two weeks,
and I don't expect that I shall have any serious trouble with
Helen in the future. The back of the greatest obstacle in the
path of progress is broken. I think "no" and "yes," conveyed
by a shake or a nod of my head, have become facts as apparent
to her as hot and cold or as the difference between pain and
pleasure. And I don't intend that the lesson she has learned
at the cost of so much pain and trouble shall be unlearned.
I shall stand between her and the over-indulgence of her parents.
I have told Captain and Mrs. Keller that they must not inter-
fere with me in any way. I have done my best to make them
see the terrible injustice to Helen of allowing her to have her
way in everything, and I have pointed out that the processes of
teaching the child that everything cannot be as he wills it, are
apt to be painful both to him and to his teacher. They have
promised to let me have a free hand and help me as much as
possible. The improvement they cannot help seeing in their
child has given them more confidence in me. Of course, it
is hard for them. I realize that it hurts to see their afflicted
little child punished and made to do things against her will.
Only a few hours after my talk with Captain and Mrs. Keller
(and they had agreed to everything), Helen took a notion that
she wouldn't use her napkin at table. I think she wanted
to see what would happen. I attempted several times to put
the napkin round her neck; but each time she tore it off and
threw it on the floor and finally began to kick the table. I took
her plate away and started to take her out of the room. Her
father objected and said that no child of his should be deprived
of his food on any account.

Helen didn't come up to my room after supper, and I didn'<

3i4 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

see her again until breakfast-time. She was at her place when
I came down. She had put the napkin under her chin, instead
of pinning it at the back, as was her custom. She called my
attention to the new arrangement, and when I did not object
she seemed pleased and patted herself. When she left the
dining-room, she took my hand and patted it. I wondered if
she was trying to "make up." I thought I would try the effect
of a little belated discipline. I went back to the dining-room
and got a napkin. When Helen came upstairs for her lesson,
I arranged the objects on the table as usual, except that the
cake, which I always give her in bits as a reward when she
spells a word quickly and correctly, was not there. She noticed
this at once and made the sign for it. I showed her the napkin
and pinned it round her neck, then tore it off and threw it on
the floor and shook my head. I repeated this performance
several times. I think she understood perfectly well; for she
slapped her hand two or three times and shook her head. We
began the lesson as usual. I gave her an object, and she spelled
the name (she knows twelve now) . After spelling half the words,
she stopped suddenly, as if a thought had flashed into her
mind, and felt for the napkin. She pinned it round her neck
and made the sign for cake (it didn't occur to her to spell the
word, you see). I took this for a promise that if I gave her
some cake she would be a good girl. 1 gave her a larger piece
than usual, and she chuckled and patted herself.

April 3, 1887.

We almost live in the garden, where everything is growing and
blooming and glowing. After breakfast we go out and watch
the men at work. Helen loves to dig and play in the dirt like
any other child. This morning she planted her doll and showed
me that she expected her to grow as tall as I. You must see
that she is very bright, but you have no idea how cunning she is.

At ten we come in and string beads for a few minutes. She
can make a great many combinations now, and often invents
new ones herself. Then I let her decide whether she will sew
or knit or crochet. She learned to knit very quickly, and is
making a wash-cloth for her mother. Last week she made her
doll an apron, and it was done as well as any child of her age
TOuld do it. But I am always glad when this work is over foi

EDUCATION 315

the day. Sewing and crocheting are inventions of the devil, I
think. I'd rather break stones on the king's highway than hem
a handkerchief. At eleven we have gymnastics. She knows
all the free-hand movements and the "Anvil Chorus" with the
dumb-belis. Her father says he is going to fit up a gymnasium
for her in the pump-house; but we both like a good romp better
than set exercises. The hour from twelve to one is devoted to
the learning of new words. But you mustn't think this is the only
time I spell to Helen; for I spell in her hand everything we do all
day long, although she has no idea as yet what the spelling means.
After dinner I rest for an hour, and Helen plays with her dolls
or frolics in the yard with the little darkies, who were her
constant companions before I came. Later I join them, and
we make the rounds of the outhouses. We visit the horses and
mules in their stalls and hunt for eggs and feed the turkeys.
Often, when the weather is fine, we drive from four to six, or go
to see her aunt at Ivy Green or her cousins in the town. Helen's
instincts are decidedly social; she likes to have people about her
and to visit her friends, partly, I think, because they always have
things she likes to eat. After supper we go to my room and do
all sorts of things until eight, when I undress the little woman
and put her to bed. She sleeps with me now. Mrs. Keller
wanted to get a nurse for her; but I concluded I'd rather be her
nurse than look after a stupid, lazy negress. Besides, I like
to have Helen depend on me for everything, and I find it much
easier to teach her things at odd moments than at set times.

On March 31st I found that Helen knew eighteen nouns
and three verbs. Here is a list of the words. Those with a
cross after them are words she asked for herself: Doll, mug,
pin, key, dog, hat, cup, box, water, milk, candy, eye (x) , finger (x),
toe (x), head (x), cake, baby, mother, sit, stand, walk. On April
1st she learned the nouns knije, fork, spoon, saucer, tea, papa,
bed, and the verb run.

April 5, 1887.
I must write you a line this morning because something very
important has happened. Helen has taken the second great
step in her education. She has learned that everything has a
name, and that the manual alphabet is the key to everything she
wants to know.

316 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

In a previous letter I think I wrote you that "mug" and "milk"
had given Helen more trouble than all the rest. She confused
the nouns with the verb "drink." She didn't know the word
for "drink," but went through the pantomime of drinking when-
ever she spelled "mug" or "milk." This morning, while she
was washing, she wanted to know the name for "water."
When she wants to know the name of anything, she points to
it and pats my hand. I spelled "w-a-t-e-r" and thought no more
about it until after breakfast. Then it occurred to me that with
the help of this new word I might succeed in straightening out
the "mug-milk" difficulty. We went out to the pump-house,
and I made Helen hold her mug under the spout while I pumped.
As the cold water gushed forth, filling the mug, I spelled
"w-a-t-e-r" in Helen's free hand. The word coming so close
upon the sensation of cold water rushing over her hand
seemed to startle her. She dropped the mug and stood as one
transfixed. A new light came into her face. She spelled
"water" several times. Then she dropped on the ground and
asked for its name and pointed to the pump and the trellis,
and suddenly turning round she asked for my name. I spelled
"Teacher." Just then the nurse brought Helen's little sister
into the pump-house, and Helen spelled "baby" and pointed
to the nurse. All the way back to the house she was highly
excited, and learned the name of every object she touched, so
that in a few hours she had added thirty new words to her
vocabulary. Here are some of them: Door, open, shut, give,
go, come, and a great many more.

P. S. — I didn't finish my letter in time to get it posted last
night; so I shall add a line. Helen got up this morning like a
radiant fairy. She has flitted from object to object, asking the
name of everything and kissing me for very gladness. Last night
when I got in bed, she stole into my arms of her own accord and
kissed me for the first time, and I thought my heart would burst,
so full was it of joy.

April 10, 1887.

I see an improvement in Helen from day to day, almost from

hour to hour. Everything must have a name now. Wherever

we go, she asks eagerly for the names of things she has not

Varned at home. She is anxious for her friends to spell, and

EDUCATION 317

eager to teach the letters to every one she meets. She drops the
signs and pantomime she used before, as soon as she has words
to supply their place, and the acquirement of a new word
affords her the liveliest pleasure. And we notice that her face
grows more expressive each day.

/ have decided not to try to have regular lessons for the present.
1 am going to treat Helen exactly like a two-year-old child. It
occurred to me the other day that it is absurd to require a child to
come to a certain place at a certain time and recite certain lessons,
when he has not yet acquired a working vocabulary. I sent Helen
away and sat down to think. I asked myself, "How does a
normal child learn language?" The answer was simple, "By
imitation." The child comes into the world with the ability to
learn, and he learns of himself, provided he is supplied with
sufficient outward stimulus. He sees people do things, and he
tries to do them. He hears others speak, and he tries to speak.
But long before he utters his first word, he understands what is said
to him. I have been observing Helen's little cousin lately.
She is about fifteen months old, and already understands a
great deal. In response to questions she points out prettily her
nose, mouth, eye, chin, cheek, ear. If I say, "Where is baby's
other ear?" she points it out correctly. If I hand her a flower,
and say, '' Give it to mamma," she takes it to her mother. If I
say, "Where is the little rogue ?" she hides behind her mother's
chair, or covers her face with her hands and peeps out at me with
an expression of genuine roguishness. She obeys many com-
mands like these: "Come," ' Kiss," "Go to papa," "Shut the
door," "Give me the biscuit." But I have not heard her try to
say any of these words, although they have been repeated hun-
dreds of times in her hearing, and it is perfectly evident that she
understands them. These observations have given me a clue
to the method to be followed in teaching Helen language. /
shall talk into her hand as we talk into the baby's ears. I shall
assume that she has the normal child's capacity of assimilation
and imitation. / shall use complete sentences in talking to her,
and fill out the meaning with gestures and her descriptive signs
when necessity requires it ; but I shall not try to keep her mind
fixed on any one thing. I shall do all I can to interest and
stimulate it, and wait for results.

318 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

April 24, 1887.

The new scheme works splendidly. Helen knows the meaning
of more than a hundred words now, and learns new ones daily
without the slightest suspicion that she is performing a most
difficult feat. She learns because she can't help it, just as the
bird learns to fly. But don't imagine that she "talks fluently."
Like her baby cousin, she expresses whole sentences by single
words. "Milk," with a gesture means, " Give me more milk";
"Mother," accompanied by an inquiring look, means, " Where is
mother?" "Go" means, "I want to go out." But when I spell
into her hand, " Give me some bread," she hands me the bread;
or if I say, "Get your hat and we will go to walk," she obeys
instantly. The two words, "hat" and "walk" would have the
same effect; but the whole sentence, repeated many times during
the day, must in time impress itself upon the brain, and by and by
she will use it herself.

We play a little game which I find most useful in developing
the intellect, and which incidentally answers the purpose of ?
language lesson. It is an adaptation of hide-the-thimbl'- 1
hide something, a ball or a spool, and we hunt for it. When we
first played this game two or three days ago, she showed no
ingenuity at all in finding the object. She looked in places
where it would have been impossible to put the ball or the spool.
For instance, when I hid the ball, she looked under her writing-
board. Again, when I hid the spool, she looked for it in a little
box not more than an inch long; and she very soon gave up the
search. Now I can keep up her interest in the game for an hour
or longer, and she shows much more intelligence, and often great
ingenuity in the search. This morning I hid a cracker. She
looked everywhere she could think of without success, and was
evidently in despair, when suddenly a thought struck her, and
she came running to me and made me open my mouth very wide,
while she gave it a thorough investigation. Finding no trace of
the cracker there, she pointed to my stomach and spelled " eat,"
meaning "Did you eat it?"

Friday we went down town and met a gentleman who gave
Helen some candy, which she ate, except one small piece which
she put in her apron pocket. When we reached home, she found
her mother, and of her own accord said, "Give baby candy."
Mrs. Keller spelled, "No — baby eat — no." Helen went to the
cradle and felt of Mildred's mouth and pointed to her own teeth.

EDUCATION 3i9

Mrs. Keller spelled "teeth." Helen shook her head and spelled
"Baby teeth— no, baby eat— no," meaning of course, "Baby
cannot eat because she has no teeth."

May 8, 1887.

No, I don't want any more kindergarten materials. I used
my little stock of beads, cards and straws at first because I didn't
know what else to do ; but the need for them is past, for the present
at any rate.

I am beginning to suspect all elaborate and special systems
of education. They seem to me to be built up on the supposi-
tion that every child is a kind of idiot who must be taught to
think. Whereas, if the child is left to himself, he will think
more and better, if less showily. Let him go and come freely,
let him touch real things and combine his impressions for him-
self, instead of sitting indoors at a little round table, while a
sweet-voiced teacher suggests that he build a stone wall with his
wooden blocks, or make a rainbow out of strips of coloured
paper, or plant straw trees in bead flower-pots. Such teaching
fills the mind with artificial associations that must be got
rid of, before the child can develop independent ideas out of
actual experiences.

Helen is learning adjectives and adverbs as easily as she
learned nouns. The idea always precedes the word. She had
signs for small and large long before I came to her. If she
wanted a small object and was given a large one, she would
shake her head and take up a tiny bit of the skin of one
hand between the thumb and finger of the other. If she wanted
to indicate something large, she spread the fingers of both hands
as wide as she could, and brought them together, as if to clasp a
big ball. The other day I substituted the words small and
large for these signs, and she at once adopted the words and
discarded the signs. I can now tell her to bring me a large
book or a small plate, to go upstairs slowly, to run fast and to
walk quickly. This morning she used the conjunction and
for the first time. I told her to shut the door, and she added,
"and lock."

She came tearing upstairs a few minutes ago in a state of great
excitement. I couldn't make out at first what it was all about.
She kept spelling "dog— baby" and pointing to her five finger?

32o A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

one after another, and sucking them. My first thought was,
one of the dogs has hurt Mildred; but Helen's beaming face set
my fears at rest. Nothing would do but I must go somewhere
with her to see something. She led the way to the pump-house,
and there in the corner was one of the setters with five dear little
pups! I taught her the word "puppy" and drew her hand over
them all, while they sucked, and spelled "puppies." She was
much interested in the feeding process, and spelled "mother-
dog" and "baby" several times. Helen noticed that the puppies'
eyes were closed, and she said, "Eyes — shut. Sleep — no,"
meaning, "The eyes are shut, but the puppies are not
asleep." She screamed with glee when the little things squealed
and squirmed in their efforts to get back to their mother, and
spelled, " Baby — eat large." I suppose her idea was " Baby eats
much." She pointed to each puppy, one after another, and to
her five fingers, and I taught her the word five. Then she
held up one finger and said "baby." I knew she was thinking of
Mildred, and I spelled, "One baby and five puppies." After
she had played with them a little while, the thought occurred to
her that the puppies must have special names, like people, and she
asked for the name of each pup. I told her to ask her father,
and she said, "No — mother." She evidently thought mothers
were more likely to know about babies of all sorts. She noticed
that one of the puppies was much smaller than the others, and
she spelled "small," making the sign at the same time, and I said
"very small." She evidently understood that very was the
name of the new thing that had come into her head; for all the
way back to the house she used the word very correctly.
One stone was "small," another was "very small." When she
touched her little sister, she said: "Baby — small. Puppy —
very small." Soon after, she began to vary her steps from large
to small, and little mincing steps were "very small." She is
going through the house now, applying the new words to all
kinds of objects.

Since I have abandoned the idea of regular lessons, I find that
Helen learns much faster. I am convinced that the time spent
by the teacher in digging out of the child what she has put into
him, for the sake of satisfying herself that it has taken root, is
so much time thrown away. It's much better, I think, to assume
that the child is doing his part, and that the seed you have sown

EDUCATION $2f

will bear fruit in due time. It's only fair to the child, anyhow,
and it saves you much unnecessary trouble.

May 16, 1887.

We have begun to take long walks every morning, immediately
after breakfast. The weather is fine, and the air is full of the
scent of strawberries. Our objective point is Keller's Landing,
on the Tennessee, about two miles distant. We never know how
we get there, or where we are at a given moment; but that only
adds to our enjoyment, especially when everything is new and
strange. Indeed, I feel as if I had never seen anything until
now, Helen finds so much to ask about along the way. We
chase butterflies, and sometimes catch one. Then we sit down
under a tree, or in the shade of a bush, and talk about it. After-
wards, if it has survived the lesson, we let it go; but usually its
life and beauty are sacrificed on the altar of learning, though in
another sense it lives forever; for has it not been transformed
into living thoughts ? It is wonderful how words generate ideas !
Every new word Helen learns seems to carry with it the necessity
for many more. Her mind grows through its ceaseless activity.

Keller's Landing was used during the war to land troops, but
has long since gone to pieces, and is overgrown with moss and
weeds. The solitude of the place sets one dreaming. Near the
landing there is a beautiful little spring, which Helen calls
"squirrel-cup," because I told her the squirrels came there to
drink. She has felt dead squirrels and rabbits and other
wild animals, and is anxious to see a "walk-squirrel," which
interpreted, means, I think-, a "live squirrel." We go home
about dinner-time usually, and Helen is eager to tell her mother
everything she has seen. This desire to repeat what has been told
her shows a marked advance in the development of her intellect, and
is an invaluable stimulus to the acquisition of language. I ask all
her friends to encourage her to tell them of her doings, and to mani-
fest as much curiosity and pleasure in her little adventures as they
possibly can. This gratifies the child's love of approbation
and keeps up her interest in things. This is the basis of real
intercourse. She makes many mistakes, of course, twists words
and phrases, puts the cart before the horse, and gets herself into
hopeless tangles of nouns and verbs; but so does the hearing
child. I am sure these difficulties will take care of themselves.

322 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

The impulse to tell is the important thing. I supply a word
here and there, sometimes a sentence, and suggest something
which she has omitted or forgotten. Thus her vocabulary
grows apace, and the new words germinate and bring forth new
ideas; and they are the stuff out of which heaven and earth are
made.

May 22, 1887.

My work grows more absorbing and interesting every day.
Helen is a wonderful child, so spontaneous and eager to learn.
She knows about 300 words now and a great many common
idioms, and it is not three months yet since she learned her first
word. It is a rare privilege to watch the birth, growth, and first
feeble struggles of a living mind; this privilege is mine; and more-
over, it is given me to rouse and guide this bright intelligence.

If only I were better fitted for the great task ! I feel every
day more and more inadequate. My mind is full of ideas; but
i cannot get them into working shape. You see, my mind is
undisciplined, full of skips and jumps, and here and there a lot
of things huddled together in dark corners. How I long to put
it in order ! Oh, if only there were some one to help me ! I
need a teacher quite as much as Helen. I know that the
education of this child will be the distinguishing event of my
life, if I have the brains and perseverance to accomplish it. I
have made up my mind about one thing: Helen must learn to
use books — indeed, we must both learn to use them, and that
reminds me — will you please ask Mr. Anagnos to get me Perez's
and Sully's Psychologies ? I think I shall find them helpful.

We have reading lessons every day. Usually we take one of
the little "Readers" up in a big tree near the house and spend
an hour or two finding the words Helen already knows. We
make a sort of game of it and try to see who can find the words
most quickly, Helen with her fingers, or I with my eyes, and
she learns as many new words as I can explain with the help
of those she knows. When her fingers light upon words she
knows, she fairly screams with pleasure and hugs and kisses me
for joy, especially if she thinks she has me beaten. It would
astonish you to see how many words she learns in an hour in this
pleasant manner. Afterward I put the new words into little
sentences in the frame, and' sometimes it is possible to tell a

EDUCATION 323

little story about a bee or a cat or a little boy in this way. I
can now tell her to go upstairs or down, out of doors or into
the house, lock or unlock a door, take or bring objects, sit, stand,
walk, run, lie, creep, roll, or climb. She is delighted with action-
words; so it is no trouble at all to teach her verbs. She is always
ready for a lesson, and the eagerness with which she absorbs
ideas is very delightful. She is as triumphant over the con-
quest of a sentence as a general who has captured the enemy's
stronghold.

One of Helen's old habits, that is strongest and hardest to
correct, is a tendency to break things. If she finds anything in
her way, she flings it on the floor, no matter what it is: a glass, a
pitcher, or even a lamp. She has a great many dolls, and every
one of them has been broken in a fit of temper or ennui. The
other day a friend brought her a new doll from Memphis, and I
thought I would see if I could make Helen understand that she
must not break it. I made her go through the motion of knock-
ing the doll's head on the table and spelled to her: "No, no,
Helen is naughty. Teacher is sad," and let her feel the grieved
expression on my face. Then I made her caress the doll and
kiss the hurt spot and hold it gently in her arms, and I spelled
to her, "Good Helen, teacher is happy," and let her feel the smile
on my face. She went through these motions several times,
mimicking every movement, then she stood very still for a
moment with a troubled look on her face, which suddenly
cleared, and she spelled, "Good Helen," and wreathed her face
in a very large, artificial smile. Then she carried the doll
upstairs and put it on the top shelf of the wardrobe, and she
has not touched it since.

Please give my kind regards to Mr. Anagnos and let him see
my letter, if you think best. I hear there is a deaf and blind
child being educated at the Baltimore Institution.

June 2, 1887.
The weather is scorching. "We need rain badly. We are all
troubled about Helen. She is very nervous and excitable.
She is restless at night and has no appetite. It is hard to know
what to do with her. The doctor says her mind is too active;
but how are we to keep her from thinking? She begins to
spell the minute she wakes up in the morning, and continues

324 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

all day long. If I refuse to talk to her, she spells into her own
hand, and apparently carries on the liveliest conversation
with herself.

I gave her my braille slate to play with, thinking that the
mechanical pricking of holes in the paper would amuse her
and rest her mind. But what was my astonishment when I
found that the little witch was writing letters ! I had no idea
she knew what a letter was. She has often gone with me to
the post-office to mail letters, and I suppose I have repeated
to her things I wrote to you. She knew, too, that I sometimes
write "letters to blind girls" on the slate; but I didn't suppose
that she had any clear idea what a letter was. One day she
brought me a sheet that she had punched full of holes, and
wanted to put it in an envelope and take it to the post-office,.
She said, "Frank — letter." I asked her what she had written
to Frank. She replied, "Much words. Puppy motherdog
— five. Baby — cry. Hot. Helen walk — no. Sunfire — bad.
Frank — come. Helen — kiss Frank. Strawberries — very good."

Helen is almost as eager to read as she is to talk. I find
she grasps the import of whole sentences, catching from the
context the meaning of words she doesn't know; and her eager
questions indicate the outward reaching of her mind and its
unusual powers.

The other night when I went to bed, I found Helen sound
asleep with a big book clasped tightly in her arms. She had
evidently been reading, and fallen asleep. When I asked her
about it in the morning, she said, "Book — cry," and completed
her meaning by shaking and other signs of fear. I taught her
the word afraid, and she said: "Helen is not afraid. Book is
afraid. Book will sleep with girl." I told her that the book
wasn't afraid, and must sleep in its case, and that "girl" mustn't
read in bed. She looked very roguish, and apparently under-
stood that I saw through her ruse.

I am glad Mr. Anagnos thinks so highly of me as a teacher.
But "genius" and "originality" are words we should not use
lightly. If, indeed, they apply to me even remotely, I do not
see that I deserve any laudation on that account.

And right here I want to say something which is for your
ears alone. Something within me tells me that I shall succeed
beyond my dreams. Were it not for some circumstances that
make such an idea highly improbable, even absurd, I should

EDUCATION 325

think Helen's education would surpass in interest and wonder
Dr. Howe's achievement. I know that she has remarkable
powers, and I believe that I shall be able to develop and mould
them. I cannot tell how I know these things. I had no idea
a short time ago how to go to work; I was feeling about in the
dark; but somehow I know now, and I know that I know.
I cannot explain it; but when difficulties arise, I am not per-
plexed or doubtful. I know how to meet them ; I seem to divine
Helen's peculiar needs. It is wonderful.

Already people are taking a deep interest in Helen. No
one can see her without being impressed. She is no ordinary
child, and people's interest in her education will be no ordinary
interest. Therefore let us be exceedingly careful what we say
and write about her. I shall write freely to you and tell you
everything, on one condition. It is this: you must promise
never to show my letters to any one. My beautiful Helen
shall not be transformed into a prodigy if I can help it.

June 5, 1887.

The heat makes Helen languid and quiet. Indeed, the
Tophetic weather has reduced us all to a semi-liquid state.
Yesterday Helen took off her clothes and sat in her skin all the
afternoon. When the sun got round to the window where
she was sitting with her book, she got up impatiently and shut
the window. But when the sun came in just the same, she came
over to me with a grieved look and spelled emphatically: "Sun
is bad boy. Sun must go to bed."

She is the dearest, cutest little thing now, and so loving!
One day, when I wanted her to bring me some water, she said :
"Legs very tired. Legs cry much."

She is much interested in some little chickens that are pecking
their way into the world this morning. I let her hold a shell in
her hand, and feel the chicken "chip, chip." Her astonish-
ment, when she felt the tiny creature inside, cannot be put in a
letter. The hen was very gentle, and made no objection to
our investigations. Besides the chickens, we have several
other additions to the family — two calves, a colt, and a penful
of funny little pigs. You would be amused to see me hold
a squealing pig in my arms, while Helen feels it all over, and
asks countless questions— questions not easy to answer either

326 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

After seeing the chicken come out of the egg, she asked: "Did
baby pig grow in egg ? Where are many shells ?"

Helen's head measures twenty and one-half inches, and mine
measures twenty-one and one-half inches. You see, I'm only
one inch ahead !

June 12, 1887.

The weather continues hot. Helen is about the same — pale
and thin; but you mustn't think she is really ill. I am sure
the heat, and not the natural, beautiful activity of her mind,
is responsible for her condition. Of course, I shall not overtax
her brain. We are bothered a good deal by people who assume
the responsibility of the world when God is neglectful. They
tell us that Helen is "overdoing," that her mind is too active
(these very people thought she had no mind at all a few months
ago !) and sv»ggest many absurd and impossible remedies. But
so far nobody seems to have thought of chloroforming her,
which is, I think, the only effective way of stopping the natural
exercise of her faculties. It's queer how ready people always
are with advice in any real or imaginary emergency, and no
matter how many times experience has shown them to be
wrong, they continue to set forth their opinions, as if they had
received them from the Almighty !

I am teaching Helen the square -hand letters as a sort of
diversion. It gives her something to do, and keeps her quiet,
which I think is desirable while this enervating weather lasts.
She has a perfect mania for counting. She has counted every-
thing in the house, and is now busy counting the words in her
primer. I hope it will not occur to her to count the hairs of
her head. If she could see and hear, I suppose she would get
rid of her superfluous energy in ways which would not, perhaps,
tax her brain so much, although I suspect that, the ordinary
child takes his play pretty seriously. The little fellow who
whirls his "New York Flyer" round the nursery, making
" horseshoe curves " undreamed of by less imaginative engi-
neers, is concentrating his whole soul on his toy locomotive.

She just came to say, with a worried expression, "Girl — not
count very large (many) words." I said, "No, go and play
with Nancy." This suggestion didn't please her, however;
for she replied, "No, Nancy is very sick." I asked what was

EDUCATION 327

the matter, and she said, "Much (many) teeth do make
Nancy sick." (Mildred is teething.)

I happened to tell her the other day that the vine on the
fence was a "creeper." She was greatly amused, and began at
once to find analogies between her movements and those of
the plants. They run, creep, hop, and skip, bend, fall, climb,
and swing; but she tells me roguishly that she is "walk-plant."

Helen held some worsted for me last night while I wound it.
Afterward she began to swing round and round, spelling to
herself all the time, "Wind fast, wind slow," and apparently
enjoying her conceit very much.

June 15, 1887.
We had a glorious thunder-tempest last night, and it's much
cooler to-day. We all feel refreshed, as if we'd had a shower-
bath. Helen's as lively as a cricket. She wanted to know if
men were shooting in the sky when she felt the thunder, and
if the trees and flowers drank all the rain.

June 19, 1887.*
My little pupil continues to manifest the same eagerness to
learn as at first. Her every waking moment is spent in the
endeavour to satisfy her innate desire for knowledge, and her
mind works so incessantly that we have feared for her health.
But her appetite, which left her a few weeks ago, has returned,
and her sleep seems more quiet and natural. She will be seven
years old the twenty-seventh of this month. Her height is
four feet one inch, and her head measures twenty and one-
half inches in circumference, the line being drawn round the
head so as to pass over the prominences of the parietal and
frontal bones. Above this lint the head rises one and one-
fourth inches.

During our walks she keeps up a continual spelling, and
delights to accompany it with actions such as skipping, hopping,
jumping, running, walking fast, walking slow, and the like.
When she drops stitches she says, "Helen wrong, teacher will
cry." If she wants water she says, "Give Helen drink water."
She knows four hundred words besides numerous proper nouns
♦This extract was published in The Perkins Institution Report of 1887.

328 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

Tn one lesson I taught her these words: bedstead, mattress, sheet,
blanket, comforter, spread, pillow. The next day I found that
she remembered all but spread. The same day she had learned,
at different times, the words: house, weed, dust, swing, molasses,
fast, slow, niaple-sugar and counter, and she had not forgotten
one of these last. This will give you an idea of the retentive
memory she possesses. She can count to thirty very quickly,
and can write seven of the square-hand letters and the words
which can be made with them. She seems to understand
about writing letters, and is impatient to "write Frank letter."
She enjoys punching holes in paper with the stiletto, and J.
supposed it was because she could examine the result of her
work; but we watched her one day, and I was much surprised
to find that she imagined she was writing a letter. She would
spell "Eva" (a cousin of whom she is very fond) with one hand,
then make believe to write it; then spell, "sick in bed," and write
that. She kept this up for nearly an hour. She was (or imag-
ined she was) putting on paper the things which had interested
her. When she had finished the letter she carried it to her
mother and spelled, "Frank letter," and gave it to her brother
to take to the post-office. She had been with me to take letters
to the post-office.

She recognizes instantly a person whom she has once met, and
spells the name. Unlike Laura Bridgman, she is fond of gentle-
men, and we notice that she makes friends with a gentleman
sooner than with a lady.

She is always ready to share whatever she has with those
about her, often keeping but very little for herself. She is
very fond of dress and of all kinds of finery, and is very
unhappy when she finds a hole in anything she is wearing. She
will insist on having her hair put in curl papers when she is
so sleepy she can scarcely stand. She discovered a hole in
her boot the other morning, and, after breakfast, she went to
her father and spelled, "Helen new boot Simpson (her brother)
buggy store man." One can easily see her meaning.

July 3, 1887.
There was a great rumpus downstairs this morning. I heard
Helen screaming, and ran down to see what was the matter.
I found her in a terrible passion. I had hoped this would

EDUCATION 329

never happen again. She has been so gentle and obedient
the past two months, I thought love had subdued the lion;
but it seems he was only sleeping. At all events, there she was,
tearing and scratching and biting Viney like some wild thing.
It seems Viney had attempted to take a glass, which Helen
was filling with stones, fearing that she would break it. Helen
resisted, and Viney tried to force it out of her hand, and I
suspect that she slapped the child, or did something which
caused this unusual outburst of temper. When I took her
hand she was trembling violently, and began to cry. I asked
what was the matter, and she spelled: "Viney — bad," and began
to slap and kick her with renewed violence. I held her hands
firmly until she became more calm.

Later Helen came to my room, looking very sad, and wanted
to kiss me. I said, "I cannot kiss naughty girl." She spelled,
"Helen is good, Viney is bad." I said: "You struck Viney and
kicked hei and hurt her. You were very naughty, and I cannot
kiss naughty girl." She stood very still for a moment, and it
was evident from her face, which was flushed and troubled,
that a struggle was going on in her mind. Then she
said: "Helen did (does) not love teacher. Helen do love
mother. Mother will whip Viney." I told her that she had
better not talk about it any more, but think. She knew that
I was much troubled, and would have liked to stay near me;
but I thought it best for her to sit by herself. At the dinner-
table she was greatly disturbed because I didn't eat, and
suggested that "Cook make tea for teacher." But I told her
that my heart was sad, and I didn't feel like eating. She
began to cry and sob and clung to me.

She was very much excited when we went upstairs; so I
tried to interest her in a curious insect called a stick-bug. It's
the queerest thing I ever saw — a little bundle of fagots fastened
together in the middle. I wouldn't believe it was alive until I
saw it move. Even then it looked more like a mechanical toy than
a living creature. But the poor little girl couldn't fix her atten-
tion. Her heart was full of trouble, and she wanted to talk
about it. She said: "Can bug know about naughty girl? Is
bug very happy?" Then, putting her arms round my neck,
she said: "I am (will be) good to-morrow. Helen is (will be)
good all days." I said, "Will you tell Viney you are very sorry
you scratched and kicked her?" She smiled and answered,

330 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

"Viney (can) not spell words." " I will tell Viney you are
very sorry," I said. "Will you go with me and find Viney?"
She was very willing to go, and let Viney kiss her, though she
didn't return the caress. She has been unusually affectionate
since, and it seems to me there is a sweetness — a soul-beauty
in her face which 1 have not seen before.

July 31, 1887.

Helen's pencil-writing is excellent, as you will see from the
enclosed letter, which she wrote for her own amusement. I am
teaching her the braille alphabet, and she is delighted to be
able to make words herself that she can feel.

She has now reached the question stage of her development.
It is "what ?" "why ?" "when ?" especially "why ?" all day long,
and as her intelligence grows her inquiries become more insistent.
I remember how unbearable I used to find the inquisitiveness of
my friends' children; but I know now that these questions
indicate the child's growing interest in the cause of things.
The "why ?" is the door through which he enters the world of
reason and reflection. "How does carpenter know to build
house?" "Who put chickens in eggs?" "Why is Viney black?"
"Flies bite — why ?" "Can flies know not to bite?" "Why did
father kill sheep?" Of course she asks many questions that
are not as intelligent as these. Her mind isn't more logical
than the minds of ordinary children. On the whole, her ques-
tions are analogous to those that a bright three-year-old child
asks; but her desire for knowledge is so earnest, the questions
are never tedious, though they draw heavily upon my meager
store of information, and tax my ingenuity to the utmost.

I had a letter from Laura [Bridgman] last Sunday. Please
give her my love, and tell her Helen sends her a kiss. I read
the letter at the supper-table, and Mrs. Keller exclaimed:
"Why, Miss Annie, Helen writes almost as well as that now !"
It is true.

August 21, 1887.
We had a beautiful time in Huntsville. Everybody there
was delighted with Helen, and showered her with gifts and
kisses. The first evening she learned the names of all the ^sople

EDUCATION 33I

in the hotel, about twenty, I think. The next morning we
were astonished to find that she remembered all of them, and
recognized every one she had met the night before. She taught
the young people the alphabet, and several of them learned to
talk with her. One of the girls taught her to dance the polka,
and a little boy showed her his rabbits and spelled their names
for her. She was delighted, and showed her pleasure by hugging
and kissing the little fellow, which embarrassed him very much.
We had Helen's picture taken with a fuzzy, red-eyed little
poodle, who got himself into my lady's good graces by tricks
and cunning devices known only to dogs with an instinct for
getting what they want.

She has talked incessantly since her return about what she
did in Huntsville, and we notice a very decided improvement
in her ability to use language. Curiously enough, a drive we
took to the top of Monte Sano, a beautiful mountain not far
from Huntsville, seems to have impressed her more than any-
thing else, except the wonderful poodle. She remembers all
that I told her about it, and in telling her mother repeated the
very words and phrases I had used in describing it to her. In
conclusion she asked her mother if she should like to see "very
high mountain and beautiful cloud-caps." I hadn't used this
expression. I said, "The clouds touch the mountain softly
like beautiful flowers." You see, I had to use words and images
with which she was familiar through the sense of touch. But
it hardly seems possible that any mere words should convey to
one who has never seen a mountain the faintest idea of its
grandeur; and I don't see how any one is ever to know what
impression she did receive, or the cause of her pleasure in what
was told her about it. All that we do know certainly is that
she has a good memory and imagination and the faculty of
association.

August 28, 1887
1 do wish things would stop being born! '-New puppies,"
"new calves" and "new babies" keep Helen's interest in the
why and wherefore of things at white heat. The arrival of a
new baby at Ivy Green the other day was the occasion of a
fresh outburst of questions about the origin of babies and
live things in general. "Where did Leila get new baby ? How

532 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

did doctor know where to find baby ? Did Leila tell doctor to
get very small new baby ? Where did doctor find Guy and
Prince?" (puppies) "Why is Elizabeth Evelyn's sister ?" etc.,
etc. These questions were sometimes asked under circum-
stances which rendered them embarrassing, and I made up my
mind that something must be done. If it was natural for
Helen to ask such questions, it was my duty to answer them.
It's a great mistake, I think, to put children off with false-
hoods and nonsense, when their growing powers of observation
and discrimination excite in them a desire to know about things.
From the beginning, I have made it a practice to answer all Helen s
questions to the best of my ability in a way intelligible to her, and
at the same time truthfully. "Why should I treat these ques-
tions differently?" I asked myself. I decided that there was
no reason, except my deplorable ignorance of the great facts
that underlie our physical existence. It was no doubt because
of tnis ignorance that I rushed in where more experienced
angels fear to tread. There isn't a living soul in this part of
the world to whom I can go for advice in this, or indeed, in any
other educational difficulty. The only thing for me to do in a
perplexity is to go ahead, and learn by making mistakes. But
in this case I don't think I made a mistake. I took Helen
and my Botany, "How Plants Grow," up in the tree, where we
often go to read and study, and I told her in simple words
the story of plant-life. I reminded her of the corn, beans and
watermelon-seed she had planted in the spring, and told her
that the tall corn in the garden, and the beans and water-
melon vines had grown from those seeds. I explained how
the earth keeps the seeds warm and moist, until the little leaves
are strong enough to push themselves out into the light and air
where they can breathe and grow and bloom and make more
seeds, from which other baby-plants shall grow. I drew an
analogy between plant and animal-life, and told her that
seeds are eggs as truly as hens' eggs and birds' eggs — that the
mother hen keeps her eggs warm and dry until the little chicks
come out. I made her understand that all life comes from an
egg. The mother bird lays her eggs in a nest and keeps them
warm until the birdhngs are hatched. The mother fish lays
her eggs where she knows they will be moist and safe, until it
is time for the little fish to come out. I told her that she could
call the egg the cradle of life. Then I told her that other animals

EDUCATION 333

like the dog and cow, and human beings, do not lay their eggs,
but nourish their young in their own bodies. I had no diffi-
culty in making it clear to her that if plants and animals didn't
produce offspring after their kind, they would cease to exist,
and everything in the world would soon die. But the function
of sex I passed over as lightly as possible. I did, however,
try to give her the idea that love is the great continuer of
life. The subject was difficult, and my knowledge inadequate;
but I am glad I didn't shirk my responsibility; for, stumbling,
hesitating, and incomplete as my explanation was, it touched
deep responsive chords in the soul of my little pupil, and the
readiness with which she comprehended the great facts of phys-
ical life confirmed me in the opinion that the child has dormant
within him, when he comes into the world, all the experiences
of the race. These experiences are like photographic nega-
tives, until language develops them and brings out the memory-
images.

September 4, 1887.

Helen had a letter this morning from her uncle, Doctor Keller.
He invited her to come to see him at Hot Springs. The name
Hot Springs interested her, and she asked many questions
about it. She knows about cold springs. There are several
near Tuscumbia; one very large one from which the town got its
name. "Tuscumbia" is the Indian for "Great Spring." But
she was surprised that hot water should come out of the ground.
She wanted to know who made fire under the ground, and if
it was like the fire in stoves, and if it burned the roots of plants
and trees.

She was much pleased with the letter, and after she had
asked all the questions she could think of, she took it to her
mother, who was sewing in the hall, and read it to her. It was
amusing to see her hold it before her eyes and spell the sen-
tences out on her fingers, just as I had done. Afterward she
tried to read it to Belle (the dog) and Mildred. Mrs. Keller
and I watched the nursery comedy from the door. Belle was
sleepy, and Mildred inattentive. Helen looked very serious,
and, once or twice, when Mildred tried to take the letter, she
put her hand away impatiently. Finally Belle got up, shook
herself, and was about to walk away, when Helen caught ner

334 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

by the neck and forced her to lie down again. In the mean-
time Mildred had got the letter and crept away with it. Helen
felt on the floor for it, but not finding it there, she evidently
suspected Mildred; for she made the little sound which is her
"baby call." Then she got up and stood very still, as if listen-
ing with her feet for Mildred's "thump, thump." When she
had located the sound, she went quickl; toward the little
culprit and found her chewing the precious letter ! This was
too much for Helen. She snatched the letter and slapped the
little hands soundly. Mrs. Keller took the baby in her arms,
and when we had succeeded in pacifying her, I asked Helen,
"What did you do to baby?" She looked troubled, and hesi-
tated a moment before answering. Then she said: "Wrong girl
did eat letter. Helen did slap very wrong girl." I told her
that Mildred was very small, and didn't know that it was wrong
to put the letter in her mouth.

"I did tell baby, no, no, much (many) times," was Helen's
reply.

I said, "Mildred doesn't understand your fingers, and we
must be very gentle with her."

She shook her head.

"Baby — not think. Helen will give baby pretty letter," and
with that she ran upstairs and brought down a neatly folded
sheet of braille, on which she had written some words, and
gave it to Mildred, saying, "Baby can eat all words."

September 18, 1887.

I do not wonder you were surprised to hear that I was going
to write something for the report. I do not know myself how
it happened, except that I got tired of saying "no," and Captain
Keller urged me to do it. He agreed with Mr. Anagnos that
it was my duty to give others the benefit of my experience.
Besides, they said Helen's wonderful deliverance might be £.
boon to other afflicted children.

When I sit down to write, my thoughts freeze, and when
I get them on paper they look like wooden soldiers all in a
row, and if a live one happens along, I put him in a straight-
jacket. It's easy enough, however, to say Helen is wonderful,
because she really is. I kept a record of everything she said
last week, and I found that she knows six hundred words.

EDUCATION 335

This does not mean, however, that she always uses them cor-
rectly. Sometimes her sentences are like Chinese puzzles; but
they are the kind of puzzles children make when they try to
express their half-formed ideas by means of arbitrary language.
She has the true language-impulse, and shows great fertility
of resource in making the words at her command convey her
meaning.

Lately she has been much interested in colour. She found
the word "brown" in her primer and wanted to know its mean-
ing. I told her that her hair was brown, and she asked, "Is
brown very pretty?" After we had been all over the house,
and I had told her the colour of everything she touched, she
suggested that we go to the hen-houses and barns; but I told
her she must wait until another day because I was very tired.
We sat in the hammock; but there was no rest for the weary
there. Helen was eager to know "more colour." I wonder
if she has any vague idea of colour — any reminiscent impression
of light and sound. It seems as if a child who could see and
hear until her nineteenth month must retain some of her first
impressions, though ever so faintly. Helen talks a great deal
about things that she cannot know of through the sense of
touch. She asks many questions about the sky, day and
night, the ocean and mountains. She likes to have me tell her
what I see in pictures.

But I seem to have lost the thread of my discourse.
"What colour is think?" was one of the restful questions she
asked, as we swung to and fro in the hammock. I told her
that when we are happy our thoughts are bright, and when
we are naughty they are sad. Quick as a flash she said, "My
think is white, Viney's think is black." You see, she had
an idea that the colour of our thoughts matched that of our
skin. I couldn't help laughing, for at that very moment Viney
was shouting at the top of her voice:

"I long to sit on dem jasper walls
And see dem sinners stumble and fall!"

October 3, 1887.
My account for the report is finished and sent off. I have
two copies, and will send you one; but you mustn't show it to
anybody. It's Mr. Anagnos's property until it is published.

336 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

I suppose the little girls enjoyed Helen's letter.* She wrote
it out of her own head, as the children say.

She talks a great deal about what she will do when she goes
to Boston. She asked the other day, "Who made all things
and Boston?" She says Mildred will not go there because
"Baby does cry all days."

October 25, 1887.

Helen wrote another letterf to the little girls yesterday, and her
father sent it to Mr. Anagnos. Ask him to let you see it. She
has begun to use the pronouns of her own accord. This morning
I happened to say, "Helen will go upstairs." She laughed
and said, "Teacher is wrong. You will go upstairs." This is
another great forward step. Thus it always is. Yesterday's
perplexities are strangely simple to-day, and to-day's diffi-
culties become to-morrow's pastime.

The rapid development of Helen's mind is beautiful to watch.
I doubt if any teacher ever had a work of such absorbing interest.
There must have been one lucky star in the heavens at my
birth, and I am just beginning to feel its beneficent influence.

I had two letters from Mr. Anagnos last week. He is more
grateful for my report than the English idiom will express.
Now he wants a picture "of darling Helen and her illustrious
teacher, to grace the pages of the forthcoming annual report."

October, 18874
You have probably read, ere this, Helen's second letter to the
little girls. I am aware that the progress which she has made
between the writing of the two letters must seem incredible.
Only those who are with her daily can realize the rapid advance-
ment which she is making in the acquisition of language, You
will see from her letter that she uses many pronouns correctly.
She rarely misuses or omits one in conversation. Her passion
for writing letters and putting her thoughts upon paper grows
more intense. She now tells stories in which the imagination

*See page 146. +See page 147.

J This extract from a letter to Mr- Anagnos was published in the Perkins
Institutim Report of 1887.

EDUCATION 337

plays an important part. She is also beginning to realize that
she is not like other children. The other day she asked, " What
do my eyes do?" I told her that I could see things with my
eyes, and that she could see them with her fingers. After think-
ing a moment she said, " My eyes are bad !" then she changed it
into "My eyes are sick!"

Miss Sullivan's first report, which was published in the official
report of the Perkins Institution for the year 1887, is a short
summary of what is fully recorded in the letters. Here follows
the last part, beginning with the great day, April 5th, when

Helen learned water.

In her reports Miss Sullivan speaks of "lessons" as if they
came in regular order. This is the effect of putting it all in a
summary. "Lesson" is too formal for the continuous daily
work.

One day I took her to the cistern. As the water gushed from
the pump I spelled "w-a-t-e-r." Instantly she tapped my hand
for a repetition, and then made the word herself with a radiant
face. Just then the nurse came into the cistern-house bringing
her little sister. I put Helen's hand on the baby and formed
the letters "b-a-b-y," which she repeated without help and with
the light of a new intelligence in her face.

On our way back to the house everything she touched had to
be named for her, and repetition was seldom necessary. Neither
the length of the word nor the combination of letters seems to
make any difference to the child. Indeed, she remembers
heliotrope and chrysanthemum more readily than she does
shorter names. At the end of August she knew 625 words.

This lesson was followed by one on words indicative of
place-relations. Her dress was put in a trunk, and then on it,
and these prepositions were spelled for her. Very soon she
learned the difference between on and in, though it was some
time before she could use these words in sentences of her own.
Whenever it was possible she was made the actor in the lesson,
and was delighted to stand on the chair, and to be put into the
wardrobe. In connection with this lesson she learned the names
of the members of the family and the word is. "Helen is in

338 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

wardrobe," "Mildred is in crib," "Box is on table," "Papa is
on bed," are specimens of sentences constructed by her during
the latter part of April.

Next came a lesson on words expressive of positive quality.
For the first lesson I had two balls, one made of worsted, large
and soft, the other a bullet. She perceived the difference in size
at once. Taking the bullet she made her habitual sign for small —
that is, by pinching a little bit of the skin of one hand. Then
she took the other ball and made her sign for large by spreading
both hands over it. I substituted the adjectives large and
small for those signs. Then her attention was called to the
hardness of the one ball and the softness of the other, and she
learned soft and hard. A few minutes afterward she felt of her
little sister's head and said to her mother, "Mildred's head is
small and hard." Next I tried to teach her the meaning of fast
and slow. She helped me wind some worsted one day, first
rapidly and afterward slowly. I then said to her with the finger
alphabet, "wind fast," or "wind slow," holding her hands and
showing her how to do as I wished. The next day, while exer-
cising, she spelled to me, "Helen wind fast," and began to walk
rapidly. Then she said, "Helen wind slow," again suiting the
action to the words.

I now thought it time to teach her to read printed words. A
slip on which was printed, in raised letters, the word box was
placed on the object; and the same experiment was tried with
a great many articles, but she did not immediately comprehend
that the label-name represented the thing. Then I took an
alphabet sheet and put her finger on the letter A, at the same
time making A with my fingers. She moved her finger from
one printed character to another as I formed each letter on my
fingers. She learned all the letters, both capital and small, in
one day. Next I turned to the first page of the primer and made
her touch the word cat, spelling it on my fingers at the same
time. Instantly she caught the idea, and asked me to find
dog and many other words. Indeed, she was much displeased
because I could not find her name in the book. Just then I had
no sentences in raised letters which she could understand; but
she would sit for hours feeling each word in her book. When she
touched one with which she was familiar, a peculiarly sweet
expression lighted her face, and we saw her countenance growing
sweeter and more earnest every day. About this time I sent a

EDUCATION 339

list of the words she knew to Mr. Anagnos, and he very kindly had
them printed for her. Her mother and I cut up several sheets
of printed words so that she could arrange them into sentences.
This delighted her more than anything she had yet done; and
the practice thus obtained prepared the way for the writing
lessons. There was no difficulty in making her understand how
to write the same sentences with pencil and paper which she
made every day with the slips, and she very soon perceived that
she need not confine herself to phrases already learned, but could
communicate any thought that was passing through her mind.
I put one of the writing boards used by the blind between the
folds of the paper on the table, and allowed her to examine an
alphabet of the square letters, such as she was to make. I then
guided her hand to form the sentence, "Cat does drink milk."
When she finished it she was overjoyed. She carried it to her
mother, who spelled it to her.

Day after day she moved her pencil in the same tracks along
the grooved paper, never for a moment expressing the least
impatience or sense of fatigue.

As she had now learned to express her ideas on paper, I next
taught her the braille system. She learned it gladly when she
discovered that she could herself read what she had written;
and this still affords her constant pleasure. For a whole evening
she will sit at the table writing whatever comes into her busy
brain; and I seldom find any difficulty in reading what she has
written.

Her progress in arithmetic has been equally remarkable.
She can add and subtract with great rapidity up to the sum of
one hundred; and she knows the multiplication tables as far as
the fives. She was working recently with the number forty,
when I said to her, "Make twos." She replied immediately,
/'Twenty twos make forty." Later I said, "Make fifteen threes
and count." I wished her to make the groups of threes and
supposed she would then have to count them in order to know
what number fifteen threes would make. But instantly she
spelled the answer: "Fifteen threes make forty-five."

On being told that she was white and that one of the servants
was black, she concluded that all who occupied a similar menial
position were of the same hue; and whenever I asked her the
colour of a servant she would say "black." When asked the

340 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

colour of some one whose occupation she did not know she
seemed bewildered, and finally said "blue."

She has never been told anything about death or the burial of
the body, and yet on entering the cemetery for the first time
in her life, with her mother and me, to look at some flowers,
she laid her hand on our eyes and repeatedly spelled "cry — ■
cry." Her eyes actually filled with tears. The flowers did not
seem to give her pleasure, and she was very quiet while we
stayed there.

On another occasion while walking with me she seemed
conscious of the presence of her brother, although we were
distant from him. She spelled his name repeatedly and started
in the direction in which he was coming.

When walking or riding she often gives the names of the
people we meet almost as soon as we recognize them.

The letters take up the account again.

November 13, 1887.
We took Helen to the circus, and had "the time of our lives" !
The circus people were much interested in Helen, and did every-
thing they could to make her first circus a memorable event.
They let her feel the animals whenever it was safe. She fed the
elephants, and was allowed to climb up on the back of the
largest, and sit in the lap of the "Oriental Princess," while the
elephant marched majestically around the ring. She felt some
young lions. They were as gentle as kittens; but I told her they
would get wild and fierce as they grew older. She said to the
keeper, "I will take the baby lions home and teach them to be
mild." The keeper of the bears made one big black fellow stand
on his hind legs and hold out his great paw to us, which Helen
shook politely. She was greatly delighted with the monkeys and
kept her hand on the star performer while he went through
his tricks, and laughed heartily when he took off his hat to
the audience. One cute little fellow stole her hair- ribbon, and
another tried to snatch the flowers out of her hat. I don't know
who had the best time, the monkeys, Helen, or the spectators.

EDUCATION 34I

One of the leopards licked her hands, and the man in charge of
the giraffes lifted her up in his arms so that she could feel their
ears and see how tall they were. She also felt a Greek chariot
and the charioteer would have liked to take her round the ring-
but she was afraid of "many swift horses." The riders and
clowns and rope-walkers were all glad to let the little blind girl
feel their costumes and follow their motions whenever it was
possible, and she kissed them all, to show her gratitude. Some
of them cried, and the wild man of Borneo shrank from her
sweet little face in terror. She has talked about nothing but the
circus ever since. In order to answer her questions, I have been
obliged to read a great deal about animals. At present I feel
like a jungle on wheels !

December 12, 1887.
I find it hard to realize that Christmas is almost here, in spite
of the fact that Helen talks about nothing else. Do you
remember what a happy time we had last Christmas ?

Helen has learned to tell the time at last, and her father is
going to give her a watch for Christmas.

Helen is as eager to have stories told her as any hearing child
I ever knew. She has made me repeat the story of little Red
Riding Hood so often that I believe I could say it backward
She likes stories that make her cry— I think we all do, it's so
mce to feel sad when you've nothing particular to be sad about
I am teaching her little rhymes and verses, too. They fix
beautiful thoughts in her memory. I think, too, that they
quicken all the child's faculties, because they stimulate the
imagination. Of course I don't try to explain everything. If
I did, there would be no opportunity for the play of fancy
Too much explanation directs the child's attention to words and
sentences, so that he jails to get the thought as a whole. I do not
think any one can read, or talk for that matter, until he forgets
words and sentences in the technical sense.

January 1, 1888.
It is a great thing to feel that you are of some use in the world,
that you are necessary to somebody. Helen's dependence on
me for almost everything makes me strong and glad.

342 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

Christmas week was a very busy one here, too. Helen is
invited to all the children's entertainments, and I take her to
as many as I can. I want her to know children and to be with
them as much as possible. Several little girls have learned to
spell on their fingers and are very proud of the accomplishment.
One little chap, about seven, was persuaded to learn the letters,
and he spelled his name for Helen. She was delighted, and
showed her joy by hugging and kissing him, much to his
embarrassment.

Saturday the school-children had their tree, and I took Helen.
It was the first Christmas tree she had ever seen, and she was
puzzled, and asked many questions. "Who made tree grow
in house? Why? Who put many things on tree?" She
objected to its miscellaneous fruits and began to remove theon,
evidently thinking they were all meant for her. It was not
difficult, however, to make her understand that there was a
present for each child, and to her great delight she was per-
mitted to hand the gifts to the children. There were several
presents for herself. She placed them in a chair, resisting all
temptation to look at them until every child had received his
gifts. One little girl had fewer presents than the rest, and
Helen insisted on sharing her gifts with her. It was very sweet
to see the children's eager interest in Helen, and their readiness
to give her pleasure. The exercises began at nine, and it was
one o'clock before we could leave. My fingers and head ached;
but Helen was as fresh and full of spirit as when we left home

After dinner it began to snow, and we had a good frolic and
an interesting lesson about the snow. Sunday morning the
ground was covered, and Helen and the cook's children and I
played snowball. By noon the snow was all gone. It was the
first snow I had seen here, and it made me a little homesick.
The Christmas season has furnished many lessons, and added
scores of new words to Helen's vocabulary.

For weeks we did nothing but talk and read and tell each
other stories about Christmas. Of course I do not try to explain
all the new words, nor does Helen fully understand the little
stories I tell her; but constant repetition fixes the words and
phrases in the mind, and little by little the meaning will come
to her. / see no sense in "faking" conversation for the sake of
teaching language. It's stupid and deadening to pupil and teacher.
Talk should be natural and have for its object an exchange of

EDUCATION 343

ideas. If there is nothing in the child's mind to communicate,
it hardly seems worth while to require him to write on the
blackboard, or spell on his fingers, cut and dried sentences about
"the cat," "the bird," "a dog." / have tried from the beginning
to talk naturally to Helen and to teach her to tell me only things
that interest her and ask questions only for the sake of finding out
what she wants to know. When I see that she is eager to tell
me something, but is hampered because she does not know the
words, I supply them and the necessary idioms, and we get
ilong finely. The child's eagerness and interest carry her over
nany obstacles that would be our undoing if we stopped to
iefine and explain everything. What would happen, do you
Shink, if some one should try to measure our intelligence by
our ability to define the commonest words we use? I fear
me, if I were put to such a test, I should be consigned to the
primary class in a school for the feeble-minded.

It was touching and beautiful to see Helen enjoy her first
Christmas. Of course, she hung her stocking — two of them,
lest Santa Claus should forget one, and she lay awake for a long
time and got up two or three times to see if anything had hap-
pened. When I told her that Santa Claus would not come
until she was asleep, she shut her eyes and said, "He will think
girl is asleep." She was awake the first thing in the morning,
and ran to the fireplace for her stocking; and when she found
that Santa Claus had filled both stockings, she danced about
for a minute, then grew very quiet, and came to ask me if I
.thought Santa Claus had made a mistake, and thought there
were two little girls, and would come back for the gifts when he
discovered his mistake. The ring you sent her was in the toe
of the stocking, and when I told her you gave it to Santa Claus
for her, she said, "I do love Mrs. Hopkins." She had a trunk
and clothes for Nancy, and her comment was, "Now Nancy
will go to party." When she saw the braille slate and paper,
she said, "I will write many letters, and I will thank Santa
Claus very much." It was evident that every one, especially
Captain and Mrs. Keller, was deeply moved at the thought
of the difference between this bright Christmas and the last,
when their little girl had no conscious part in the Christmas
festivities. As we came downstairs, Mrs. Keller said to me
with tears in her eyes, "Miss Annie, I thank God every day
of my life for sending you to v& ; but I never realized until this

344 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

morning what a blessing you have been to us."' Captain Kelle*
took my hand, but could not speak. But his silence was more
eloquent than words. My heart, too, was full of gratitude
and solemn joy.

The other day Helen came across the word grandfather in a
little story and asked her mother, "Where is grandfather?"
meaning her grandfather. Mrs. Keller replied, "He is dead."
"Did father shoot him?" Helen asked, and added, "I will eat
grandfather for dinner." So far, her only knowledge of death
is in connection with things to eat. She knows that her father
shoots partridges and deer and other game.

This morning she asked me the meaning of "carpenter," and
the question furnished the text for the day's lesson. After
talking about the various things that carpenters make, she
asked me, "Did carpenter make me ?" and before 1 could answer,
she spelled quickly, "No, no, photographer made me in Sheffield."

One of the great iron furnaces has been started in Sheffield,
and we went over the other evening to see them make a "run."
Helen felt the heat and asked, "Did the sun fall?"

January o, 1888.
The report came last night. I appreciate the kind things
Mr. Anagnos has said about Helen and me; but his extravagant
way of saying them rubs me the wrong way. The simple
facts would be so much more convincing ! "Why, for instance;
does he take the trouble to ascribe motives to me that I never
dreamed of ? You know, and he knows, and I know, that my
motive in coming here was not in any sense philanthropic
How ridiculous it is to say I had drunk so copiously of the
noble spirit of Dr. Howe that I was fired with the desire to
rescue from darkness and obscurity the little Alabamian ! 1
came here simply because circumstances made it necessary foi
me to earn my living, and I seized upon the first opportunity
that offered itself, although I did not suspect, nor did he, that
I had any special fitness for the work.

January 26, 1888-
I suppose you got Helen's letter. The little rascal has taken
it into her head not to write with a pencil. I wanted her to write

EDUCATION 34

to her Uncle Frank this morning, but she objected. She said:
"Pencil is very tired in head. I will write Uncle Frank braille
letter." I said, "But Uncle Frank cannot read braille." "I
will teach him," she said. I explained that Uncle Frank was
old, and couldn't learn braille easily. In a flash she answered,
"I think Uncle Frank is much (too) old to read very small
letters." Finally I persuaded her to write a few lines; but she
broke her pencil six times before she finished it. I said to her,
"You are a naughty girl." "No," she replied, "pencil is very
weak." I think her objection to pencil- writing is readily
accounted for by the fact that she has been asked to write so
many specimens for friends and strangers. You know how
the children at the Institution detest it. It is irksome because
the process is so slow, and they cannot read what they have
written or correct their mistakes.

Helen is more and more interested in colour. When I told
her that Mildred's eyes were blue, she asked, "Are they like wee
skies?" A little while after I had told her that a carnation
that had been given her was red, she puckered up her mouth
and said, " Lips are like one pink." I told her they were tulips;
but of course she didn't understand the word-play. I can't
believe that the colour-impressions she received during the year
and a half she could see and hear are entirely lost. Everything
we have seen and heard is in the mind somewhere. It may be
too vague and confused to be recognizable, but it is there all the
same, like the landscape we lose in the deepening twilight.

February 10, 1888.
We got home last night. We had a splendid time in Memphis,
but I didn't rest much. It was nothing but excitement from
first to last — drives, luncheons, receptions, and all that they
involve when you have an eager, tireless child like Helen on
your hands. She talked incessantly. I don't know what I
should have done, had some of the young people not learned to
talk with her. They relieved me as much as possible. But even
then I can never have a quiet half hour to myself. It is always :
"Oh, Miss Sullivan, please come and tell us what Helen means,"
or "Miss Sullivan, won't you please explain this to Helen ? We
can't make her understand." I believe half the white popula-
tion of Memphis called on us. Helen was petted and caressed

§4t A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

enough to spoil an angel; but I do not think it is possible to s; c;'
her, she is too unconscious of herself, and too loving.

The stores in Memphis are very good, and I managed to spenc
all the money that I had with me. One day Helen said, " 1
must buy Nancy a very pretty hat." I said, "Very well, we
will go shopping this afternoon." She had a silver dollar and
a dime. When we reached the shop, I asked her how much she
would pay for Nancy's hat. She answered promptly, "I will
pay ten cents." "What will you do with the dollar?" I asked.
"I will buy some good candy to take to Tuscumbia," was her
reply.

We visited the Stock Exchange and a steamboat. Helen was
greatly interested in the boat, and insisted on being shown
every inch of it from the engine to the flag on the flagstaff. I
was gratified to read what the Nation had to say about Helen
last week.

Captain Keller has had two interesting letters since the publi-
cation of the "Report," one from Dr. Alexander Graham
Bell, and the other from Dr. Edward Everett Hale. Dr. Hale
claims kinship with Helen, and seems very proud of his
little cousin. Dr. Bell writes that Helen's progress is without
a parallel in the education of the deaf, or something like that,
and he says many nice things about her teacher.

March 5, 1888.

I did not have a chance to finish my letter yesterday. Miss
Ev. came up to help me make a list of words Helen has learned.
We have got as far as P, and there are 900 words to her credit.
I had Helen begin a journal* March 1st. I don't know how long
she will keep it up. It's rather stupid business, I think. Just
now she finds it great fun. She seems to like to tell all she
knows. This is what Helen wrote Sunday:

" I got up, washed my face and hands, combed my hair, picked
three dew violets for Teacher and ate my breakfast. After
breakfast I played with dolls short. Nancy was cross. Cross
is cry and kick. I read in my book about large, fierce animals.
Fierce is much cross and strong and very hungry. I do not

* Most of this journal was lost. Fortunately, however, Helen Keller wrote
to many letters and exercises that there is no lack of records of that sort.

EDUCATION 347

love fierce animals. I wrote letter to Uncle James. He lives
in Hotsprings. He is doctor. Doctor makes sick girl well. I
do not like sick. Then I ate my dinner. I like much icecream
very much. After dinner father went to Birmingham on train
far away. I had letter from Robert. He loves me. He said,
Dear Helen, Robert was glad to get a letter from dear, sweet
little Helen. I will come to see you when the sun shines. Mrs.
Newsum is Robert's wife. Robert is her husband. Robert
and l will run and jump and hop and dance and swing and
talk about birds and flowers and trees and grass and Jumbo and
Pearl will go with us. Teacher will say, We are silly. She is
funny. Funny makes us 1augh. Natalie is a good girl and does
not cry. Mildred does cry. She will be a nice girl in many days
and run and play with me. Mrs. Graves is making short dresses
for Natalie. Mr. Mayo went to Duckhill and brought home
many sweet flowers. Mr. Mayo and Mr. Farris and Mr. Graves
love me and Teacher. I am going to Memphis to see them soon,
and they will hug and kiss me. Thornton goes to school and
gets his face dirty. Boy must be very careful. After supper I
played romp with Teacher in bed. She buried me under the
pillows and then I grew very slow like tree out of ground.
Now I will go to bed. Helen Keller."

April 16, 1888.
We are just back from church. Captain Keller said at break-
fast this morning that he wished I would take Helen to church.
The Presbytery would be there in a body, and he wanted
the ministers to see Helen. The Sunday-school was in session
when we arrived, and I wish you could have seen the sensation
Helen's entrance caused. The children were so pleased to see
her at Sunday-school, they paid no attention to their teachers,
but rushed out of their seats and surrounded us. She kissed
them all, boys and girls, willing or unwilling. She seemed to
think at first that the children all belonged to the visiting
ministers; but soon she recognized some little friends among
them, and I told her the ministers didn't bring their children
with them. She looked disappointed and said, "I'll send them
many kisses." One of the ministers wished me to ask Helen,
"What do ministers do ?" She said, "They read and talk loud
for people to be good." He put her answer down in his note-

348 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

book. When it was time for the church service to begin, she
was in such a state of excitement that I thought it best to take
her away; but Captain Keller said, "No, she will be all right.'
So there was nothing to do but stay. It was impossible to keep
Helen quiet. She hugged and kissed me, and the quiet-looking
divine who sat on the other side of her. He gave her his watch
to play with; but that didn't keep her still. She wanted to show
it to the little boy in the seat behind us. When the communion
service began, she smelt the wine, and sniffed so loud that every
one in the church could hear. When the wine was passed to our
neighbour, he was obliged to stand up to prevent her taking it
away from him. I never was so glad to get out of a place as I
was to leave that church ! I tried to hurry Helen out-of-doors,
but she kept her arm extended, and every coat-taii she touched
must needs turn round and give an account of the children
lie left at home, and receive kisses according to their number.
Everybody laughed at her antics, and you would have thought
they were leaving a place of amusement rather than a church.
Captain Keller invited some of the ministers to dinner. Helen
was irrepressible. She described in the most animated panto-
mime, supplemented by spelling, what she was going to do in
Brewster. Finally she got up from the table and went through
the motion of picking seaweed and shells, and splashing in the
water, holding up her skirts higher than was proper under the
circumstance?. Then she threw herself on the floor and began
to swim so energetically that some of us thought we should be
kicked out of our chairs ! Her motions are often more expressive
than any words, and she is as graceful as a nymph.

I wonder if the days seem as interminable to you as they do
to me. We talk and plan and dream about nothing but Boston,
Boston, Boston. I think Mrs. Keller has definitely decided to
go with us, but she will not stay all summer.

May 15, 1888.

Do you realize that this is the last letter I shall write to you
for a long, long time ? The next word that you receive from
me will be in a yellow envelope, and it will tell you when we
shall reach Boston. I am too happy to write letters; but I
must tell you about our visit to Cincinnati.

We spent a delightful week with the "doctors " Dr. Keller

EDUCATION 349

met us in Memphis. Almost every one on the train was a
physician, and Dr. Keller seemed to know them all. When
we reached Cincinnati, we found the place full of doctors.
There were several prominent Boston physicians among them.
We stayed at the Burnet House. Everybody was delighted
with Helen. All the learned men marveled at her intelligence
and gaiety. There is something about her that attracts people.
I think it is her joyous interest in everything and everybody.

Wherever she went she was the centre of interest. She was
delighted with the orchestra at the hotel, and whenever the
music began she danced round the room, hugging and kissing
every one she happened to touch. Her happiness impressed
all; nobody seemed to pity her. One gentleman said to Dr.
Keller, "I have lived long and seen many happy faces; but I
have never seen such a radiant face as this child's before
to-night." Another said, "Damn me! but I'd give everything
I own in the world to have that little girl always near me."
But I haven't time to write all the pleasant things people said —
they would make a very large book, and the kind things they
did for us would fill another volume. Dr. Keller distributed
the extracts from the report that Mr. Anagnos sent me, and he
could have disposed of a thousand if he had had them. Do you
remember Dr. Garcelon, who was Governor of Maine several
years ago? He took us to drive one afternoon, and wanted to
give Helen a doll; but she said: "I do not like too many children.
Nancy is sick, and Adeline is cross, and Ida is very bad." We
laughed until we cried, she was so serious about it. "What
would you like, then?" asked the Doctor. "Some beautiful
gloves to talk with," she answered. The Doctor was puzzled.
He had never heard of "talking-gloves"; but I explained that
she had seen a glove on which the alphabet was printed, and
evidently thought they could be bought. I told him he could
buy some gloves if he wished, and that I would have the alphabet
stamped on them.

We lunched with Mr. Thayer (your former pastor) and his
wife. He asked me how I had taught Helen adjectives and the
names of abstract ideas like goodness and happiness. These
same questions had been asked me a hundred times by the
learned doctors. It seems strange that people should marvel at
what is really so simple. Why, it is as easy to teach the name of
an idea, if it is clearly formulated in the child's mind, as to teacb

350 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

the name of an object. It would indeed be a herculean task to
teach the words if the ideas did not already exist in the child's
mind. If his experiences and observations hadn't led him to
the concepts, small, large, good, bad, sweet, sour, he would have
nothing to attach the word-tags to.

I, little ignorant I, found myself explaining to the wise men of
the East and the West such simple things as these: If you give
a child something sweet, and he wags his tongue and smacks his
lips and looks pleased, he has a very definite sensation; and if,
every time he has this experience, he hears the word sweet,
or has it spelled into his hand, he will quickly adopt this arbi-
trary sign for his sensation. Likewise, if you put a bit of lemon
on his tongue, he puckers up his lips and tries to spit it out; and
after he has had this experience a few times, if you offer him a
lemon, he shuts his mouth and makes faces, clearly indicating
that he remembers the unpleasant sensation. You label it
sour, and he adopts your symbol. If you had called these
sensations respectively black and white, he would have adopted
them as readily; but he would mean by black and white the
same things that he means by sweet and sour. In the same way
the child learns from many experiences to differentiate his
feelings, and we name them for him — good, bad, gentle, rough,
happy, sad. It is not the word, but the capacity to experience
the sensation that counts in his education.

This extract from one of Miss Sullivan's letters is added
because it contains interesting casual opinions stimulated by
observing the methods of others.

We visited a little school for the deaf. We were very kindly
received, and Helen enjoyed meeting the children. Two of the
teachers knew the manual alphabet, and talked to her without
an interpreter. They were astonished at her command of
language. Not a child in the school, they said, had anything like
Helen's facility of expression, and some of them had been under
instruction for two or three years. I was incredulous at first;
but after I had watched the children at work for a couple of

EDUCATION 351

hours, I knew that what I had been told was true, and I wasn't
surprised. In one room some little tots were standing before
the blackboard, painfully constructing "simple sentences." A
little girl had written: " I have a new dress. It is a pretty dress.
My mamma made my pretty new dress. I love mamma." A
curly-headed little boy was writing: " I have a large ball. I like
to kick my large ball." When we entered the room, the
children's attention was riveted on Helen. One of them pulled
me by the sleeve and said, "Girl is blind." The teacher was
writing on the blackboard: "The girl's name is Helen. She is
deaf. She cannot see. We are very sorry." I said: "Why
do you write those sentences on the board ? Wouldn't the
children understand if you talked to them about Helen?"
The teacher said something about getting the correct construc-
tion, and continued to construct an exercise out of Helen.
I asked her if the little girl who had written about the
new dress was particularly pleased with her dress. "No," she
replied, "I think not; but children learn better if they write
about things that concern them personally." It seemed all so
mechanical and difficult, my heart ached for the poor little
children. Nobody thinks of making a hearing child say, "I
have a pretty new dress," at the beginning. These children
were older in years, it is true, than the baby who lisps, "Papa
kiss baby — pretty," and fills out her meaning by pointing to her
new dress; but their ability to understand and use language
was no greater.

There was the same difficulty throughout the school. In
every classroom I saw sentences on the blackboard, which
evidently had been written to illustrate some grammatical rule,
or for the purpose of using words that had previously been
taught in the same, or in some other connection. This sort of
thing may be necessary in some stages of education; but it isn't
the way to acquire language. Nothing, I think, crushes the
child's impulse to talk naturally more effectually than these black-
board exercises. The schoolroom is not the place to teach any
young child language, least of all the deaf child. He must be
kept as unconscious as the hearing child of the fact that he is
learning words, and he should be allowed to prattle on his fingers,
or with his pencil, in monosyllables if he chooses, until such time
as his growing intelligence demands the sentence. Language
should not be associated in his mind with endless hours in school

352 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

with puzzling questions in grammar, or with anything that is an
enemy to joy. But I must not get into the habit of criticizing
other people's methods too severely. I may be as far from the
straight road as they

Miss Sullivan's second report brings the account down to
October ist, 1888.

During the past year Helen has enjoyed excellent health.
Her eyes and ears have been examined by specialists, and it is
their opinion that she cannot have the slightest perception of
either light or sound.

It is impossible to tell exactly to what extent the senses of
smell and taste aid her in gaining information respecting physical
qualities; but, according to eminent authority, these senses do
exert a great influence on the mental and moral development.
Dugald Stewart says, "Some of the most significant words
relating to the human mind are borrowed from the sense of
smell; and the conspicuous place which its sensations occupy
in the poetical language of all nations shows how easily and
naturally they ally themselves with the refined operations of the
fancy ana the moral emotions of the heart." Helen certainly
derives great pleasure from the exercise of these senses. On
entering a greenhouse her countenance becomes radiant, and
she will tell the names of the flowers with which she is familiar,
by the sense of smell alone. Her recollections of the sensations
of smell are very vivid. She enjoys in anticipation the scent of
a rose or a violet; and if she is promised a bouquet of these
flowers, a peculiarly happy expression lights her face, indicating
that in imagination she perceives their fragrance, and that it is
pleasant to her. It frequently happens that the perfume of a
flower or the flavour of a fruit recalls to her mind some happy
event in home life, or a delightful birthday party.

Her sense of touch has sensibly increased during the year,
and has gained in acuteness and delicacy. Indeed, her whole
body is so finely organized that she seems to use it as a medium
for bringing herself into closer relations with her fellow creature*-

EDUCATION 353

She is able not only to distinguish with great accuracy the
different undulations of the air and the vibrations of the floor
made by various sounds and motions, and to recognize her
friends and acquaintances the instant she touches their hands
or clothing, but she also perceives the state of mind of those
around her. It is impossible for any one with whom Helen is
conversing to be particularly happy or sad, and withhold
the knowledge of this fact from her.

She observes the slightest emphasis placed upon a word in
conversation, and she discovers meaning in every change of
position, and in the varied play of the muscles of the hand.
She responds quickly to the gentle pressure of affection, the
pat of approval, the jerk of impatience, the firm motion of
command, and to the many other variations of the almost
infinite language of the feelings; and she has become so expert
in interpreting this unconscious language of the emotions that
she is often able to divine our very thoughts.

In my account of Helen last year,* I mentioned several
instances where she seemed to have called into use an
inexplicable mental faculty; but it now seems to me, after
carefully considering the matter, that this power may be
explained by her perfect familiarity with the muscular varia-
tions of those with whom she comes into contact, caused by
their emotions. She has been forced to depend largely upon
this muscular sense as a means of ascertaining the mental
condition of those about her. She has learned to connect
certain movements of the body with anger, others with joy,
and others still with sorrow. One day, while she was walking
out with her mother and Mr. Anagnos, a boy threw a torpedo,
which startled Mrs. Keller. Helen felt the change in her mother's
movements instantly, and asked, "What are we afraid of?"
On one occasion, while walking on the Common with her. I saw
a police officer taking a man to the station-house. The agita-
tion which I felt evidently produced a perceptible physical
change; for Helen asked, excitedly, "What do you see?"

A striking ilhtstration of this strange power was recently
shown while her ears were being examined by the aurists in
Cincinnati. Several experiments were tried, to determine
positively whether or not she had any perception of sound.

*See Perkins Institution Report for 1887, page 105.

354 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

All present were astonished when she appeared not only to
hear a whistle, but also an ordinary tone of voice. She would
turn her head, smile, and act as though she had heard what
was said. I was then standing beside her, holding her hand.
Thinking that she was receiving impressions from me, I put
her hands upon the table, and withdrew to the opposite side of
the room. The aurists then tried their experiments with quite
different results. Helen remained motionless through them
all, not once showing the least sign that she realized what was
going on. At my suggestion, one of the gentlemen took her
hand, and the tests were repeated. This time her countenance
changed whenever she was spoken to, but there was not such
a decided lighting up of the features as when I had held her
hand.

In the account of Helen last year it was stated that she knew
nothing about death, or the burial of the body; yet on entering
a cemetery for the first time in her life, she showed signs of
emotion — her eyes actually filling with tears.

A circumstance equally remarkable occurred last summer;
but, before relating it, I will mention what she now knows
with regard to death. Even before 1 knew her, she had handled
a dead chicken, or bird, or some other small animal. Some
time after the visit to the cemetery before referred to, Helen
became interested in a horse that had met with an accident
by which one of his legs had been badly injured, and she went
daily with me to visit him. The wounded leg soon became so
much worse that the horse was suspended from a beam. The
animal groaned with pain, and Helen, perceiving his groans,
was filled with pity. At last it became necessary to kill him,
and, when Helen next asked to go and see him, I told her that
he was dead. This was the first time that she had heard the
word. I then explained that he had been shot to relieve him
from suffering, and that he was now buried — put into the ground.
I am inclined to believe that the idea of his having been inten-
tionally shot did not make much impression upon her; but 1
think she did realize the fact that life was extinct in the horse
as in the dead birds she had touched, and also that he had been
put into the ground. Since this occurrence, I have used the
word dead whenever occasion required, but with no further
explanation of its meaning.

While making a visit at Brewster, Massachusetts, she one day

EDUCATION 355

accompanied my friend and me through the graveyard. She
examined one stone after another, and seemed pleased when she
could decipher a name. She smelt of the flowers, but showed no
desire to pluck them; and, when I gathered a few for her, she
refused to have them pinned on her dress. When her attention
was drawn to a marble slab inscribed with the name Florence in
relief, she dropped upon the ground as though looking for
something, then turned to me with a face full of trouble, and
asked, "Where is poor little Florence ?" I evaded the question,
but she persisted. Turning to my friend, she asked, "Did you
cry loud for poor little Florence?" Then she added: "I think
she is very dead. Who put her in big hole ?" As she continued
to ask these distressing questions, we left the cemetery. Florence
vvas the daughter of my friend, and was a young lady at the time
of her death; but Helen had been told nothing about her, nor
did she even know that my friend had had a daughter. Helen
had been given a bed and carriage for her dolls, which she had
received and used like any other gift. On her return to the
house after her visit to the cemetery, she ran to the closet
where these toys were kept, and carried them to my friend,
saying, "They are poor little Florence's." This was truei
although we were at a loss to understand how she guessed it.
A letter written to her mother in the course of the following
Wc!ek gave an account of her impression in her own words:

"I put my little babies to sleep in Florence's little bed, and 1
take them to ride in her carriage. Poor little Florence is dead.
She was very sick and died. Mrs. H. did cry loud for her dear
little child. She got in the ground, and she is very dirty, and she
is cold. Florence was very lovely like Sadie, and Mrs. H. kissed
her and hugged her much. Florence is very sad in big hole.
Doctor gave her medicine to make her well, but poor Florence did
not get well. When she was very sick she tossed and moaned
in bed. Mrs. H. will go to see her soon. "

Notwithstanding the activity of Helen's mind, she is a very
natural child. She is fond of fun and frolic, and loves dearly
to be with other children. She is never fretful or irritable,
and I have never seen her impatient with her playmates because
they failed to understand her. She will play for hours together
with children who cannot understand a single word she spells,
and it is pathetic to watch the eager gestures and excited panto-
mime through which her ideas and emotions find expression.

356 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

Occasionally some little boy or girl will try to learn the manual
alphabet. Then it is beautiful to observe with what patience,
sweetness, and perseverance Helen endeavours to bring the
unruly fingers of her little friend into proper position.

One day, while Helen was wearing a little jacket of which
she was very proud, her mother said: "There is a poor little
girl who has no cloak to keep her warm. Will you give her
yours?" Helen began to pull off the jacket, saying, "I must
give it to a poor little strange girl."

She is very fond of children younger than herself, and a
baby invariably calls fdrth all the motherly instincts of her
nature. She will handle the baby as tenderly as the most
careful nurse could desire. It is pleasant, too, to note her
thoughtfulness for little children, and her readiness to yield
to their whims.

She has a very sociable disposition, and delights in the com-
panionship of those who can follow the rapid motions of her
fingers; but if left alone she will amuse herself for hours at a
time with her knitting or sewing.

She reads a great deal. She bends over her book with a look
of intense interest, and as the forefinger of her left hand runs
along the line, she spells out the words with the other hand;
but often her motions are so rapid as to be unintelligible even
to those accustomed to reading the swift and varied movements
of her fingers.

Every shade of feeling finds expression through her mobile
features. Her behaviour is easy and natural, and it is charming
because of its frankness and evident sincerity. Her heart is too
full of unselfishness and affection to allow a dream of fear or
unkindness. She does not realize that one can be anything
but kind-hearted and tender. She is not conscious of any
reason why she should be awkward; consequently, her move-
ments are free and graceful.

She is very fond of all the living things at heme, and she
will not have them unkindly treated. When she is riding in
the carriage she will not allow the driver to use the whip,
because, she says, "poor horses will cry." One morning she
was greatly distressed by finding that one of the dogs had a
block fastened to her collar. We explained that it was done
to keep Pearl from running away. Helen expressed a great
deal of sympathy, and at every opportunity during the day

EDUCATION 357

she would find Pearl and carry the burden from place to
place.

Her father wrote to her last summer that the birds and bees
were eating all his grapes. At first she was very indignant,
and said the little creatures were "very wrong"; but she seemed
pleased when I explained to her that the birds and bees were
hungry, and did not know that it was selfish to eat all the fruit.
In a letter written soon afterward she says:

"I am very sorry that bumblebees and hornets and birds and
large flies and worms are eating all of my father's delicious
grapes. They like juicy fruit to eat as well as people, and
they are hungry. They are not very wrong to eat too many
grapes because they do not know much."

She continues to make rapid progress in the acquisition of
language as her experiences increase. While these were few
and elementary, her vocabulary was necessarily limited; but,
as she learns more of the world about her, her judgment grows
more accurate, her reasoning powers grow stronger, more active
and subtle, and the language by which she expresses this intel-
lectual activity gains in fluency and logic.

When traveling she drinks in thought and language. Sitting
beside her in the car, I describe what I see from the window —
hills and valleys and the rivers; cotton-fields and gardens in
which strawberries, peaches, pears, melons, and vegetables are
growing; herds of cows and horses feeding in broad meadows,
and flocks of sheep on the hillside; the cities with their churches
and schools, hotels and warehouses, and the occupations of the
busy people. While I am communicating these things, Helen
manifests intense interest; and, in default of words, she indicates
by gestures and pantomime her desire to learn more of her
surroundings toid of the great forces which are operating every-
where. In this way, she learns countless new expressions
without any apparent effort.

From the day when Helen first grasped the idea that all
objects have names, and that these can be communicated by
certain movements of the fingers, I have talked to her exactly
as I should have done had she been able to hear, with only this
exception, that I have addressed the words to her fingers instead
of to her ears. Naturally, there was at first a strong tendency
on her part to use only the important words in a sentence. She
would say. "Helen milk." I got the milk, to show her that sh*

358 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

had used the correct word; but I did not let her drink it until
she had, with my assistance, made a complete sentence, as,
"Give Helen some milk to drink." In these early lessons I
encouraged her in the use of different forms of expression for
conveying the same idea. If she was eating some candy, I
said: "Will Helen please give teacher some candy ?" or, "Teacher
would like to eat some of Helen's candy," emphasizing the 's.
She very soon perceived that the same idea could be expressed
in a great many ways. In two or three months after I began
to teach her she would say: "Helen wants to go to bed," or,
"Helen is sleepy, and Helen will go to bed."

I am constantly asked the question, "How did you teach her
the meaning of words expressive of intellectual and moral
qualities?" I believe it was more through association and
repetition than through any explanation of mine. This is
especially true of her earlier lessons, when her knowledge of
language was so slight as to make explanation impossible.

I have always made it a practice to use the words descrip-
tive of emotions, of intellectual or moral qualities and actions,
in connection with the circumstance which required these words.
Soon after I became her teacher Helen broke her new doll,
of which she was very fond. She began to cry. I said to her,
"Teacher is sorry." After a few repetitions she came to associate
the word with the feeling.

The word happy she learned in the same way; also, right,
wrong, good, bad, and other adjectives. The word love she
learned as other children do — by its association with caresses.

One day I asked her a simple question in a combination of
numbers, which I was sure she knew. She answered at random.
I checked her, and she stood still, the expression of her face
plainly showing that she was trying to think. I touched her
forehead, and spelled "t-h-i-n-k." The word, thus connected
with the act, seemed to impress itself on her mind much as if
I had placed her hand upon an object and then spelled its name.
Since that time she has always used the word think.

At a later period I began to use such words as perhaps,
suppose, expect, forget, remember. If Helen asked, "Where is
mother now?" I replied: "I do not know. Perhaps she is
with Leila."

She is always anxious to learn the names of people we meet
in the horse-cars or elsewhere, and to know where they are going.

EDUCATION 359

and what they will do. Conversations of this kind are frequent:

Helen. What is little boy's name ?

Teacher. I do not know, for he is a little stranger; but
perhaps his name is Jack.

Helen. Where is he going?

Teacher. He may be going to the Common to have fun
with other boys.

Helen. What will he play ?

Teacher. I suppose he will play ball.

Helen. What are boys doing now ?

Teacher. Perhaps they are expecting Jack, and are
waiting for him.

After the words have become familiar to her, she uses them
in composition.

"September 26, [1888.]

" This morning teacher and I sat by the window and we saw
a little boy walking on the sidewalk. It was raining very hard
and he had a very large umbrella to keep off the rain-drops.

"I do not know how old he was but think he may have been six
years old. Perhaps his name was Joe. I do not know where he
was going because he was a little strange boy. But perhaps his
mother sent him to a store to buy something for dinner. He had
a bag in one hand. I suppose he was going to take it to his
mother."

In teaching her the use of language, I have not confined
myself to any particular theory or system. I have observed
the spontaneous movements of my pupil's mind, and have
tried to follow the suggestions thus given to me.

Owing to the nervousness of Helen's temperament, every
precaution has been taken to avoid unduly exciting her already
very active brain. The greater part of the year has been spent
in travel and in' visits to different places, and her lessons have
been those suggested by the various scenes and experiences
through which she has passed. She continues to manifest the
same eagerness to learn as at first. It is never necessary to
urge her to study. Indeed, I am often obliged to coax her to
leave an example or a composition.

While not confining myself to any special system of instruction,
I have tried to add to her general information and intelligence,
to enlarge her acquaintance with things around her, and to
bring her into easy and natural relations with people. I have

360 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

encouraged her to keep a diary, from which the following selec-
tion has been made:

"March 22nd, 1888.
"Mr. Anagnos came to see me Thursday. I was glad to hug
and kiss him. He takes care of sixty little blind girls and seventy
little blind boys. I do love them. Little blind girls sent me a
pretty workbasket. I found scissors and thread, and needle-
book with many needles in it, and crochet hook and emery, and
thimble, and box, and yard measure and buttons, and pin-
cushion. I will write little blind girls a letter to thank them.
I will make pretty clothes for Nancy and Adeline and Allie.
I will go to Cincinnati in May and buy another child. Then I
will have four children. New baby's name is Harry. Mr.
Wilson and Mr. Mitchell came to see us Sunday. Mr. Anagnos
went to Louisville Monday to see little blind children. Mother
went to Huntsville. I slept with father, and Mildred slept
with teacher. I did learn about calm. It does mean quiet and
happy. Uncle Morrie sent me pretty stories. I read about birds.
The quail lays fifteen or twenty eggs and they are white. She
makes her nest on the ground. The blue-bird makes her nest
in a hollow tree and her eggs are blue. The robin's eggs are
green. I learned a song about spring. March, April, May are
spring.

Now melts the snow.
The warm winds blow
The waters flow
And robin dear.
Is come to show
That Spring is here.

" James killed snipes for breakfast. Little chickens did get
very cold and die. I am sorry. Teacher and I went to ride on
Tennessee River, in a boat. I saw Mr. Wilson and James row
with oars. Boat did glide swiftly and I put hand in water and
felt it flowing.

"I caught fish with hook and line and pole. We oimbed high
hill and teacher fell and hurt her head. I ate very small fish
for supper. I did read about cow and calf. The cow loves to
eat grass as well as girl does bread and butter and milk. Little
calf does run and leap in field. She likes to skip and play, for
she is happy when the sun is bright and warm. Little boy did
love his calf. And he did say, I will kiss vou. little calf, and he

EDUCATION 361

put his arms around calf's neck and kissed her. The calf licked
good boy's face with long rough tongue. Calf must not open
mouth much to kiss. I am tired, and teacher does not want
me to write more."

In the autumn she went to a circus. While we were standing
before his cage the lion roared, and Helen felt the vibration
of the air so distinctly that she was able to reproduce th«
noise quite accurately.

I tried to describe to her the appearance of a camel; but, as
we were not allowed to touch the animal, I feared that she did
not get a correct idea of its shape. A few days afterward,
however, hearing a commotion in the schoolroom, I went in and
found Helen on all fours with a pillow so strapped upon her back
as to leave a hollow in the middle, thus making a hump on
either side. Between these humps she had placed her doll,
which she was giving a ride around the room. 1 watched her for
some time as she moved about, trying to take long strides in
order to carry out the idea I had given her of the camel's gait.
When I asked her what she was doing, she replied, "I am a very
funny camel."

During the next two years neither Mr. Anagnos, who was in
Europe for a year, nor Miss Sullivan wrote anything about
Helen Keller for publication. In 1892 appeared the Perkins
Institution report for 1891, containing a full account of Helen
Keller, including many of her letters, exercises, and composi-
tions. As some of the letters and the story of the "Frost King"
are published here, there is no need of printing any more
samples of Helen Keller's writing during the third, fourth and
fifth years of her education. It was the first two years that
counted. From Miss Sullivan's part of this report I give her
most important comments and such biographical matter as
ioes not appear elsewhere in the present volume.

These extracts Mr. Anagnos took from Miss Sullivan's notes
and memoranda.

362 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

One day, while her pony and her 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 hand*
somely 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."

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

EDUCATION 363

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 worshipers.' "

She is at once transported into the midst of the events of
S. 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."

Here begins Miss Sullivan's connected account in the report
of 189 1 :

During the past three years Helen has continued to make
rapid progress in the acquisition of language. She has one
advantage over ordinary children, that nothing from without
distracts her attention from her studies.

But this advantage involves a corresponding disadvantage;
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 compre-
hend. 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 answers, "I think it will make my mind
stronger to do it now."

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 spirit: "How do you know that I cannot understand ?

364 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

I ha\3 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.

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.

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, it was not possible
to give her a definite course of instruction.

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. There-
fore it has always seemed best to me to teach anything when-
ever my pupil needed to know it, whether it had any bearing on
the projected lesson or not; her inquiries have often led us fai
away from the subject under immediate consideration.

Since October, 1889, her work has been more regular and has
included arithmetic, geography, zoology, botany and reading.

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 opera-
tions. She has nearly finished Colbui'n's mental arithmetic,
her last work being in improper fractions. She has also done
some good work in written arithmetic. Her mind works sc

EDUCATION 365

rapidly, that it often happens that when I give her an example
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. Once, when a question puzzled her very much, I sug-
gested that we take a walk and then perhaps she would under-
stand 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.

The intellectual improvement which Helen has made in
the past two years is shown more clearly in her greater com-
mand 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.

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 abstract. It would have been a
hopeless task to make Helen 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 mean-
ing 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 to-day will be plain to-morrow.

I regard my pupil as a free and active being, whose own
spontaneous impulses must be ray 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 the same.
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

366 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

meanings of the new words from their connection with others
which are already intelligible to her."

In selecting books for Helen to read, I have never chosen
them with reference to her deafness and blindness. She
always reads such books as seeing and hearing children of her
age read and enjoy. Of course, in the beginning it was neces-
sary that the things described should be familiar and interesting,
and the English pure and simple. I remember distinctly when
she first attempted to read a little story. She had learned the
printed letters, 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 impos-
sible 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. 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 the cat. The expression of the little girl's coun-
tenance 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 caught 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 that the cat must not get the
mouse. Get and let were new words. She was familiar with the

EDUCATION 367

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 1 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 guess-
ing 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.

I am convinced that Helen's use of English is due largely to
her familiarity with books. 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 1 asked the cause. "1 am thinking
how much wiser we always are when we leave here than we
are when we come," was her reply.

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."

While reading from Dickens's "Child's History of England,"
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 define the words in this sentence; and yet she
had caught the author's meaning, and was able to give it in her
own words. The 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 over*
come by the Britons and lost the island they had captured."

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 use the Caligraph typewriter, and writes very
correctly, but not rapidly as yet, having had less than a month'?
practice.

368 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

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 conversa-
tion. 1 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.

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 exhaust-
ively 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 be influenced
by the beliefs of those with whom he associates. In Helen's
case such an end could not have been attained without depriv-
ing her of that intercourse with others, which is essential to
her 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 Helen at>lred when she was eight years old.
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 10 put forth its higher powers, and
generalize from innumerable impressions and ideas which
streamed in upon it from books and from her daily experiences.
Her mind 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 ot others, she became
acquainted with the limit of human creative power, and per

EDUCATION 369

ceived 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.

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

She never asked the meaning of such words, nor made any
comment 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 did not use 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 some-
thing 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 h^ard, for I know my
father is Arthur Keller."

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 time she was in the habit of ascrib-
ng 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 notes will «show wnat were her
ideas at this time:

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 answered: "Because she has so many children

370 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

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 ?" I asked.
"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 raindrops 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 daises 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 fill 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 keep from her the religious
beliefs held by those with whom she was in daily 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:

" I wish to write about things I do not understand. Who made
the earth and the seas, and everything? What makes the sun
hot ? Where was I before I came to mother ? I know that
plants grow from seeds which are in the ground, but I am sure
people do not grow that way. I never saw a child-plant. Little
birds and chickens come out of eggs. I have seen them. What
was the egg before it was an egg ? Why does not the earth fall,
it is so very large and heavy ? Tell me something that Father
Nature does. May I read the book called the Bible ? Please
tell your little pupil many things when you have much time."

Can any one doubt after reading these questions that the child
who was capable of asking them was also capable of under-
standing at least their elementary answers ? She could not, of
course, have grasped such abstractions as a complete answer to
her questions would involve; but one's whole life is nothing
aiore than a continual advance in the comprehension of the
meaning and scope of such ideas.

Throughout Helen's education I have invariably a»«umed

EDUCATION 371

that she can understand whatever it is desirable for her to know.
Unless there had been in Helen's mind some such intellectual
process as the questions indicate, any explanation of them
would have been unintelligible to her. Without that degree of
mental development and activity which perceives the neces-
sity of superhuman creative power, no explanation of natural
phenomena is possible.

After she had succeeded in formulating the ideas which had
been slowly growing in her mind, they seemed suddenly to
absorb all her thoughts, and she became impatient to have
everything explained. As we were passing a large globe a short
time after she had written the questions, she stopped before
it and asked, "Who made the real world?" I replied, "No one
knows how the earth, the sun, and all the worlds which we call
stars came to be; but I will tell you how wise men have tried
to account for their origin, and to interpret the great and
mysterious forces of nature."

She knew that the Greeks had many gods to whom they
ascribed various powers, because they believed that the sun,
the lightning, and a hundred other natural forces, were inde-
pendent and superhuman powers. But after a great deal of
thought and study, I told her, men came to believe that all
forces were manifestations of one power, and to that power they
gave the name God.

She was very still for a few minutes, evidently thinking
earnestly. She then asked, "Who made God?" I was com-
pelled to evade her question, for I could not explain to her the
mystery of a self-existent being. Indeed, many of her eager
questions would have puzzled a far wiser person than I am.
Here are some of them: "What did God make the new worlds
out of?" "Where did he get the soil, and the water, and the
seeds, and the first animals?" "Where is God?" "Did you
ever see God?" I told her that God was everywhere, and that
she must not think of Him as a person, but as the life, the mind,
the soul of everything. She interrupted me: "Everything does
not have life. The rocks have not life, and they cannot think."
It is often necessary to remind her that there are infinitely
many things that the wisest people in the world cannot explain.

No creed or dogma has been taught to Helen, nor has any
effort been made to force religious beliefs upon her attention.
Being fully aware of my own incompetence to give her any

372 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

adequate explanations of the mysteries which underlie the names
of God, soul, and immortality, I have always felt obliged, by a
sense of duty to my pupil, to say as little as possible about
spiritual matters. The Rt. Rev. Phillips Brooks* has explained
to her in a beautiful way the fatherhood of God.

She has not as yet been allowed to read the Bible, because
I do not see how she can do so at present without getting a
very erroneous conception of the attributes of God. I have
already told her in simple language of the beautiful and helpful
life of Jesus, and of his cruel death. The narrative affected
her greatly when first she listened to it.

When she referred to our conversation again, it was to ask,
"Why did not Jesus go away, so that his enemies could not find
Him ?" She thought the miracles of Jesus very strange. When
told that Jesus walked on the sea to meet His disciples, she
said, decidedly, "It does not mean walked, it means swam."
When told of the instance in which Jesus raised the dead, she
was much perplexed, saying, "I did not know life could come
back into the dead body !"

One day she said, sadly: "I am blind and deaf. That is
why I cannot see God." I taught her the word invisible, and
told her we could not see God with our eyes, because He was a
spirit; but that when our hearts were full of goodness and
gentleness, then we saw Him because then we were more like
Him.

At another time she asked, "What is a soul?" "No one
knows what the soul is like," I replied; "but we know that it is
not the body, and it is that part of us which thinks and loves
and hopes, and which Christian people believe will live on after
the body is dead." I then asked her, "Can you think of your
soul as separate from your body?" "Oh, yes!" she replied;
"because last hour I was thinking very hard of Mr. Anagnos,
and then my mind," — then changing the word — "my soul was
in Athens, but my body was here in the study." At this moment
another thought seemed to flash through her mind, and she
added, "But Mr. Anagnos did not speak to my soul." I explained
to her that the soul, too, is invisible, or in other words, that it
is without apparent form. "But if I write what my soul thinks,"
she said, "then it will be visible, and the words will be its body."

A long time ago Helen said to me, "I would like to live sixteen

* See page i8t

EDUCATION 373

hundred years." "When asked if she would not like to live
always in a beautiful country called heaven, her first question
was, "Where is heaven?" I was obliged to confess that I did
not know, but suggested that it might be on one of the stars.
A moment after she said, "Will you please go first and tell
me all about it?" and then she added, "Tuscumbia is a very
beautiful little town." It was more than a year before she
alluded to the subject again, and when she did return to it,
her questions were numerous and persistent. She asked:
"Where is heaven, and what is it like ? Why cannot we know
as much about heaven as we do about foreign countries?" I
told her in very simple language that there may be many places
called heaven, but that essentially it was a condition — the ful-
filment of the heart's desire, the satisfaction of its wants; and
that heaven existed wherever right was acknowledged, believed
in, and loved.

She shrinks from the thought of death with evident dismay.
Recently, on being shown a deer which had been killed by
her brother, she was greatly distressed, and asked sorrowfully,
"Why must everything die, even the fleet-footed deer?" At
another time she asked, "Do you not think we would be very
much happier always, if we did not have to die ?" I said, "No;
because, if there were no death, our world would soon be so
crowded with living creatures that it would be impossible for
any of them to live comfortably." "But," said Helen, quickly,
"I think God could make some more worlds as well as he made
this one."

When friends have told her of the great happiness which
awaits her in another life, she instantly asked: "How do you
know, if you have not been dead?"

The literal sense in which she sometimes takes common
words and idioms shows how necessary it is that we should
make sure that she receives their correct meaning. When
told recently that Hungarians were born musicians, she asked
in surprise, "Do they sing when they are born?" When her
friend added that some of the pupils he had seen in Budapest
had more than one hundred tunes in their heads, she said,
laughing, "I think their heads must be very noisy." She sees
the ridiculous quickly, and, instead of being seriously troubled
by metaphorical language, she is often amused at her own too
literal conception of its meaning.

374 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

Having been told that the soul was without form, she was
much perplexed at David's words, "He leadeth my soul."
"Has it feet? Can it walk? Is it blind?" she asked; for in
her mind the idea of being led was associated with blindness.

Of all the subjects which perplex and trouble Helen, none
distresses her so much as the knowledge of the existence of
evil, and of the suffering which results from it. For a long
time it was possible to keep this knowledge from her; and it
will always be comparatively easy to prevent her from coming
in personal contact with vice and wickedness. The fact that
sin exists, and that great misery results from it, dawned gradu-
ally upon her mind as she understood more and more clearly
the lives and experiences of those around her. The necessity of
laws and penalties had to be explained to her. She found it very
hard to reconcile the presence of evil in the world with the idea
of God which had been presented to her mind.

One day she asked, "Does God take care of us all the time?"
She was answered in the affirmative. "Then why did he let
little sister fall this morning, and hurt her head so badly ?'v
Another time she was asking about the power and goodness of
God. She had been told of a terrible storm at sea, in which
several lives were lost, and she asked, "Why did not God
save the people if he can do all things ?"

Surrounded by loving friends and the gentlest influences,
as Helen had always been, she has, from the earliest stage of
her intellectual enlightenment, willingly done right. She
knows with unerring instinct what is right, and does it joyously.
She does not think of one wrong act as harmless, of another as
of no consequence, and of another as not intended. To her
pure soul all evil is equally unlovely.

These passages from the paper Miss Sullivan prepared for the
meeting at Chautauqua, in July, 1894, of the American Associa-
tion to Promote the Teaching of Speech to the Deaf, contain
her latest written account of her methods.

You must not imagine that as soon as Helen grasped trl«
idea that everything had a name, she at once became mistress

EDUCATION 375

of the treasury of the English language, or that "her mental
faculties emerged, full armed, from their then living tomb, as
Pallas Athene from the head of Zeus," as one of her enthusiastic
admirers would have us believe. At first, the words, phrases
and sentences which she used in expressing her thoughts were
all reproductions of what we had used in conversation with
her, and which her memory had unconsciously retained. And
indeed, this is true of the language of all children. Their
language is the memory of the language they hear spoken in
their homes. Countless repetition of the conversation of daily
life has impressed certain words and phrases upon their memories,
and when they come to talk themselves, memory supplies the
words they lisp. Likewise, the language of educated people
is the memory of the language of books.

Language grows out of life, out of its needs and experiences.
At first my little pupil's mind was all but vacant. She had
been living in a world she could not realize. Language and
knowledge are indissolubly connected; they are interdependent.
Good work in language presupposes and depends on a real
knowledge of things. As soon as Helen grasped the idea that
everything had a name, and that by means of the manual
alphabet these names could be transmitted from one to another,
I proceeded to awaken her further interest in the objects whose
names she learned to spell with such evident joy. / never
taught language for the purpose of teaching it; but invariably
used language as a medium for the communication of thought;
thus the learning of language was coincident with the acquisition
of knowledge. In order to use language intelligently, one must
have something to talk about, and having something to talk
about is the result of having had experiences; no amount of
language training will enable our little children to use language
with ease and fluency unless they have something clearly in their
minds which they wish to communicate, or unless we succeed
in awakening in them a desire to know what is in the minds of
others.

At first I did not attempt to confine my pupil to any system.
I always tried to find out what interested her most, and made
that the starting-point for the new lesson, whether it had any
bearing on the lesson I had planned to teach or not. During
the first two years of her intellectual life, I required Helen
to write very little. In order to write one must have some-

376 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

thing to -write about, and having something to write about
requires some mental preparation. The memory must be
stored with ideas and the mind must be enriched with knowledge,
before writing becomes a natural and pleasurable effort. Too
often, I think, children are required to write before they have
anything to say. Teach them to think and read and talk
without self-repression, and they will write because they cannot
help it.

Helen acquired language by practice and habit rather than
by study of rules and definitions. Grammar with its puzzling
array of classifications, nomenclatures, and paradigms, was
wholly discarded in her education. She learned language by
being brought in contact with the living language itself; she
was made to deal with it in everyday conversation, and in her
books, and to turn it over in a variety of ways until she was
able to use it correctly. No doubt I talked much more with
my fingers, and more constantly than I should have done with
my mouth; for had she possessed the use of sight and hearing,
she would have been less dependent on me for entertainment
and instruction.

I believe every child has hidden away somewhere in his being
noble capacities which may be quickened and developed if we
go about it in the right way ; but we shall never properly develop
the higher natures of our little ones while we continue to fill
their minds with the so-called rudiments. Mathematics will
never make them loving, nor will the accurate knowledge of
the size and shape of the world help them to appreciate its
beauties. Let us lead them during the first years to find their
greatest pleasure in Nature. Let them run in the fields, learn
about animals, and observe real things. Children will educate
themselves under right conditions. They require guidance
and sympathy far more than instruction.

I think much of the fluency with which Helen uses language
is due to the fact that nearly every impression which she receives
comes through the medium of language. But after due allow,
ance has been made for Helen's natural aptitude for acquiring
language, and for the advantage resulting from her peculiar
environment, I think that we shall still find that the constant
companionship of good books has been of supreme impor-
tance in her education. It may be true, as some maintain, that
language cannot express to us much beyond what we have

EDUCATION 377

lived and experienced; but I have always observed that children
manifest the greatest delight in the lofty, poetic language
which we are too ready to think beyond their comprehension.
"This is all you will understand," said a teacher to a class of
little children, closing the book which she had been reading
to them. "Oh, please read us the rest, even if we won't under-
stand it," they pleaded, delighted with the rhythm, and the
beauty which they felt, even though they could not have
explained it. It is not necessary that a child should under-
stand every word in a book before he can read with pleasure
and profit. Indeed, only such explanations should be given as
are really essential. Helen drank in language which she at
first could not understand, and it remained in her mind until
needed, when it fitted itself naturally and easily into her con-
versation and compositions. Indeed, it is maintained by some
that she reads too much, that a great deal of originative force
is dissipated in the enjoyment of books; that when she might
see and say things for herself, she sees them only through the
eyes of others, and says them in their language; but I am
convinced that original composition without the preparation of
much reading is an impossibility. Helen has had the best
and purest models in language constantly presented to her,
and her conversation and her writing are unconscious repro-
ductions of what she has read. Reading, I think, should be
kept independent of the regular school exercises. Children
should be encouraged to read for the pure delight of it. The
attitude of the child toward his books should be that of uncon-
scious receptivity. The great works of the imagination ought
to become a. part of his life, as they were once of the very
substance of the men who wrote them. It is true, the more
sensitive and imaginative the mind is that receives the thought-
pictures and images of literature, the more nicely the finest
lines are reproduced. Helen has the vitality of feeling, the
freshness and eagerness of interest, and the spiritual insight of
the artistic temperament, and naturally she has a more active
and intense joy in life, simply as life, and in nature, books, and
people than less gifted mortals. Her mind is so filled with the
beautiful thoughts and ideals of the great poets that nothing
seems commonplace to her; for her imagination colours all life
with its own rich hues.

378 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

There has been much discussion of such of Miss Sullivan's
statements and explanations as have been published before.
Too much has been written by people who do not know the
problems of the deaf at first hand, and I do not care to add
much to it. Miss Keller's education, however, is so funda-
mentally a question of language teaching that it rather includes
the problems of the deaf than limits itself to the deaf alone.
Teachers can draw their own conclusions. For the majority
of readers, who will not approach Miss Keller's life from the
educator's point of view, I will summarize a few principal things
in Miss Sullivan's methods.

Miss Sullivan has begun where Dr. Howe left off. He
invented the instrument, the physical means of working, but
the teaching of language is quite another thing from the mechan-
ical means by which language may be taught. By experiment,
by studying other children , Miss Sullivan came upon the practical
way of teaching language by the natural method. It was for
this "natural method" that Dr. Howe was groping, but he
never got to this idea, that a deaf child should not be taught
each word separate^ by definition, but should be given language
by endless repetition of language which it does not understand.
And this is Miss Sullivan's great discovery. All day long in
their play-time and work-time Miss Sullivan kept spelling into
her pupil's hand, and by that Helen Keller absorbed words,
just as the child in the cradle absorbs words by hearing thou-
sands of them before he uses one and by associating the words
with the occasion of their utterance. Thus he learns that words
name things and actions and feelings. Now, that is the first
principle in Miss Sullivan's method, one that had practical
results, and one which, so far as I can discover, had never been
put in practice in the education of a deaf child, not to say a deaf-
blind child, until Miss Sullivan tried it with Helen Keller.
And the principle had never been formulated clearly until
Miss Sullivan wrote her letters.

The second principle in her method (the numerical order is,
of course, arbitrary) is never to talk to the child about things
distasteful or wearisome to him. In the first deaf school Miss
Sullivan ever visited, the teacher was busy at the blackboard
telling the children by written words something they did not
want to know, while they were crowding round their visitor
with wide-awake curiosity, showing there were a thousand things

EDUCATION 379

they did want to know. Why not, says Miss Sullivan, make a
language lesson out of what they were interested in ?*

Akin to this idea of talking to the child about what interests
him, is the principle never to silence a child who asks questions,
but to answer the questions as truly as possible; for, says Miss
Sullivan, the question is the door to the child's mind. Miss
Sullivan never needlessly belittled her ideas or expressions
to suit the supposed state of the child's intelligence. She
urged every one to speak to Helen naturally, to give her full
sentences and intelligent ideas, never minding whether Helen
understood or not. Thus Miss Sullivan knew what so many
people do not understand, that after the first rudimentary
definitions of hat, cup, go, sit, the unit of language, as
the child learns it, is the sentence, which is also the unit
of language in our adult experience. We do not take in a
sentence word by word, but as a whole. It is the proposition,
something predicated about something, that conveys an idea.
True, single words do suggest and express ideas; the child may
say simply "mamma" when he means "Where is mamma?" but
he learns the expression of the ideas that relate to mamma — he
learns language — by hearing complete sentences. And though
Miss Sullivan did not force grammatical completeness upon the
first finger-lispings of her pupil, yet when she herself repeated
Helen's sentence, "mamma milk," she filled out the construction,
completed the child's ellipsis and said, "Mamma will bring Helen
some milk."

Thus Miss Sullivan was working out a natural method, which
is so simple, so lacking in artificial system, that her method
seems rather to be a destruction of method. It is doubtful if
we should have heard of Helen Keller if Miss Sullivan had not
been where there were other children. By watching them, she
learned to treat her pupil as nearly as possible like an ordinary
child.

The manual alphabet was not the only means of presenting
words to Helen Keller's fingers. Books supplemented, perhaps
equaled in importance, the manual alphabet, as a means of
teaching language. Helen sat poring over them before she could
read, not at first for the story, but to find words she knew;
and the definition of new words which is implied in their con-
text, in their position with reference to words known, added

•Page $*",

380 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

to Helen's vocabulary. Books are the storehouse of language,
and any child, whether deaf or not, if he has his attention
attracted in any way to printed pages, must learn. He learns
not by reading what he understands, but by reading and remem-
bering words he does not understand. And though perhaps few
children will have as much precocious interest in books as did
Helen Keller, yet the natural curiosity of every healthy child
may be turned to printed pages, especially if the teacher is
clever and plays a word game as Miss Sullivan did. Helen
Keller is supposed to have a special aptitude for languages.
It is true rather that she has a special aptitude for thinking,
and her leaning toward language is due to the fact that language
to her meant life. It was not a special subject, like geography
or arithmetic, but her way to outward things.

When at the age of fourteen she had had but a few lessons
£n German, she read over the words of "Wilhelm Tell" and
managed to get the story. Of grammar she knew nothing and
she cared nothing for it. She got the language from the language
itself, and this is, next to hearing the language spoken, the way
for any one to get a foreign tongue, more vital and, in the
end, easier than our schoolroom method of beginning with the
grammar. In the same way she played with Latin, learning
not only from the lessons her first Latin teacher gave her, but
from going over and over the words of a text, a game she played
by herself.

Mr. John D. Wright, one of her teachers at the Wright-
Humason school, says in a letter to me:

"Often I found her, when she had a little leisure, sitting in her
favourite corner, in a chair whose arms supported the big volume
prepared for the blind, and passing her finger slowly over the
*ines of Moliere's 'Le Medecin Malgre Lui,' chuckling to herself
at the comical situations and humorous lines. At that time
her actual working vocabulary in French was very small, but
by using her judgment, as we laughingly called the mental
process, she could guess at the meanings of the words and put
the sense together much as a child puzzles out a sliced object.
The result was that in a few weeks she and I spent a most
hilarious hour one evening while she poured out to me the whols
story, dwelling with great gusto on its humour and sparkling
wit. It was not a lesson, but only one of her recreations."

So Helen Keller's aptitude for language is her whole menta'

EDUCATION 381

aptitude, turned to language because of its extraordinary value
to her.

There have been many discussions of the question whether
Helen Keller's achievements are due to her natural ability or to
the method by which she was taught.

It is true that a teacher with ten times Miss Sullivan's genius
could not have made a pupil so remarkable as Helen Keller
out of a child born dull and mentally deficient. But it is also
true that, with ten times her native genius, Helen Keller could
not have grown to what she is, if she had not been excellently
taught from the very start, and especially at the start. And
the fact remains that she was taught by a method of teaching
language to the deaf, the essential principles of which are clearly
expressed in Miss Sullivan's letters, written while she was dis-
covering the method and putting it successfully into practice.
And it can be applied by any teacher to any healthy deaf
child, and in the broadest interpretation of the principles, can
be applied to the teaching of language of all kinds to all children.

In the many discussions of this question writers seem to
throw us from one horn to another of a dilemma — either a
born genius in Helen Keller, or a perfect method in the teacher.
Both things may be true at once, and there is another truth
which makes the dilemma imperfect. Miss Sullivan is a person
of extraordinary power. Her method might not succeed so
completely in the hands of any one else. Miss Sullivan's vigor-
ous, original mind has lent much of its vitality to her pupil.
If Miss Keller is fond of language and not interested especially
in mathematics, it is not surprising to find Miss Sullivan's
interests very similar. And this does not mean that Miss Keller
is unduly dependent on her teacher. It is told of her that, as a
child of eight, when some one tried to interfere with her, she
sat sober a few moments and, when asked what was the trouble,
answered, "I am preparing to assert my independence." Such
an aggressive personality cannot grow up in mere dependence
even under the guidance of a will like Miss Sullivan's. But
Miss Sullivan by her "natural aptitude" has done for her pupil
much that is not capable of analysis and reduction to principle;
she has given the inspiration which is in all close friendship, and
which rather develops than limits the powers of either person.
Moreover, if Miss Keller is a "marvel of sweetness and good-
ness," if she has a love "of all things good and beautiful," this

382 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

implies something about the teacher who has lived with her fol
sixteen years.

There is, then, a good deal that Miss Sullivan has done for
Miss Keller which no other teacher can do in just the same way
for any one else. To have another Helen Keller there must be
another Miss Sullivan. To have another well-educated deaf
and blind child, there need only be another teacher, living under
favourable conditions, among plenty of external interests, unsep-
arated from her pupil, allowed to have a free hand, and using
as many as she needs of the principles which Miss Sullivan has
saved her the trouble of finding out for herself, modifying and
adding as she finds it necessary; and there must be a pupil in
good health, of good native powers, young enough not to have
grown beyond recovery in ignorance. Any deaf child or deaf
and blind child in good health can be taught. And the one
to do it is the parent or the special teacher, not the school. I
know that this idea will be vigorously combated by those who
conduct schools for the deaf. To be sure, the deaf school is
the only thing possible for children educated by the State. But
it is evident that precisely what the deaf child needs to be
taught is what other children learn before they go to school at
all. When Miss Sullivan went out in the barnyard and picked
up a little chicken and talked to Helen about it, she was giving
a kind of instruction impossible inside four walls, and impossible
with more than one pupil at a time.

Surely Dr. Howe is wrong when he says, " A teacher cannot
be a child." That is just what the teacher of the deaf child
must be, a child ready to play and romp, and interested in all
childish things.

The temptation to discuss, solely in the light of Helen Keller,
the whole matter of educating the deaf is a dangerous one, and
one which I have not taken particular care to avoid, because
my opinions are of no authority and I have merely tried to
suggest problems and reinforce some of the main ideas expressed
by Miss Sullivan, who is an authority. It is a question whether
Helen Keller's success has not led teachers to expect too much
of other children, and I know of deaf-blind children who are
dragged along by their teachers and friends, and become the
subjects of glowing reports, which are pathetically untrue,
because one sees behind the reports how the children are tugged

EDUCATION 383

at to bring them somewhere near the exaggerated things that
are said about them.

Let me sum up a few of the elements that made Helen Keller
what she is. In the first place she had nineteen months' experi-
ence of sight and sound. This meant some mental development.
She had inherited vigour of body and mind. She expressed
ideas in signs before she learned language. Mrs. Keller writes
me that before her illness Helen made signs for everything,
and her mother thought this habit the cause of her slowness in
learning to speak. After the illness, when they were dependent
on signs, Helen's tendency to gesture developed. How far
she could receive communications is hard to determine, but
she knew much that was going on around her. She recognized
that others used their lips; she "saw" her father reading a paper
and when he laid it down she sat in his chair and held the paper
before her face. Her early rages were an unhappy expression
of the natural force of character which instruction was to turn
into trained and organized power.

It was, then, to a good subject that Miss Sullivan brought her
devotion and intelligence, and fearless willingness to experiment.
Miss Sullivan s methods were so good that even without the
practical result, any one would recognize the truth of the
teacher's ideas. Miss Sullivan has in addition a vigorous
personality. And finally all the conditions were good for that
first nature school, in which the teacher and pupil played
together, exploring together and educating themselves, pupil
and teacher inseparable.

Miss Keller's later education is easy to understand and needs
no further explanation than she has given. Those interested
may get on application to the Volta Bureau, Washington, D. C,
the reports of the teachers who prepared her for college, Mr.
Arthur Gilman of the Cambridge School for Young Ladies, and
Mr. Merton S. Keith.

CHAPTER IV

SPEECH

The two persons who have written authoritatively about
Miss Keller's speech and the way she learned it are Miss Sarah
Fuller,* of the Horace Mann School for the Deaf in Boston,
Massachusetts, who gave her the first lessons, and Miss Sullivan,
who, by her unremitting discipline, carried on the success of
these first lessons.

Before I quote from Miss Sullivan's account, let me try to
give some impression of what Miss Keller's speech and voice
qualities are at present.

Her voice is low and pleasant to listen to. Her speech lacks
variety and modulation; it runs in a sing-song when she is
reading aloud; and when she speaks with fair degree of loud-
ness, it hovers about two or three middle tones. Her voice
has an aspirate quality; there seems always to be too much
breath for the amount of tone. Some of her notes are musical
and charming. When she is telling a child's story, or one with
pathos in it, her voice runs into pretty slurs from one tone to
another. This is like the effect of the slow dwelling on long
words, not quite well managed, that one notices in a child whc
is telling a solemn story.

The principal thing that is lacking is sentence accent and
variety in the inflection of phrases. Miss Keller pronounces
each word as a foreigner does when he is still labouring with the
elements of a sentence, or as children sometimes read in school
when they have to pick out each word .

She speaks French and German. Her friend, Mr. John Hitz,
whose native tongue is German, says that her pronunciation is
excellent. Another friend, who is as familiar with French as
with English, finds her French much more intelligible than
her English. When she speaks English she distributes her

* Miss Fuller's account may be obtained on application to the Volta Bureau,
Washington, D. C.

384

SPEECH 385

emphasis as in French and so does not put sufficient stress on
accented syllables. She says, for example, "pro'-vo'-ca'-tion ,"
"in'-di'-vi'-du'-al," with ever so little difference between the
value of the syllables, and a good deal of inconsistency in the
pronunciation of the same word one day and the next. It would,
I think, be hard to make her feel just how to pronounce dtc*
tionary without her erring either toward dtcltonayry or
dtctton'ry, and, of course, the word is neither one nor the
other. For no system of marks in a lexicon can tell one how
to pronounce a word. The only way is to hear it, especially in
a language like English which is so full of unspellable, suppressed
vowels and quasi- vowels.

Miss Keller's vowels are not firm. Her awful is nearly awfil.
The wavering is caused by the absence of accent on ful, for
she pronounces full correctly.

She sometimes mispronounces as she reads aloud and comes
on a word which she happens never to have uttered, though
she may have written it many times. This difficulty and some
others may be corrected when she and Miss Sullivan have more
time. Since 1894, they have been so much in their books that
they have neglected everything that was not necessary to the
immediate task of passing the school years successfully. Miss
Keller will never be able, I believe, to speak loud without
destroying the pleasant quality and the distinctness of her
words, but she can do much to make her speech clearer.

When she was at the Wright-Humason School in New York,
Dr. Humason tried to improve her voice, not only her word
pronunciation, but the voice itself, and gave her lessons fn tone
and vocal exercises.

It is hard to say whether or not Miss Keller's speech is easy
to understand. Some understand her readily; others do not.
Her friends grow accustomed to her speech and forget that it is
different from that of any one else. Children seldom have any
difficulty in understanding her; which suggests that her delib-
erate, measured speech is like theirs, before they come to the
adult trick of running all the words of a phrase into one move-
ment of the breath. I am told that Miss Keller speaks better
than most other deaf people.

Miss Keller has told how she learned to speak.* Miss Sulli-

* Page 58.

386 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

van's account in her address at Chautauqua, in July, 1894,
at the meeting of The American Association to Promote the
Teaching of Speech to the Deaf, is substantially like Miss Keller's
in points of tact.

MISS SULLIVAN S ACCOUNT OF MISS KELLER S SPEECH

It was three years from the time when Helen began to com-
municate by means of the manual alphabet that she received
her first lesson in the more natural and universal medium of
human intercourse — oral language. She had become very profi-
cient in the use of the manual alphabet, which was her only
means of communication with the outside world; through
it she had acquired a vocabulary which enabled her to converse
freely, read intelligently, and write with comparative ease
and correctness. Nevertheless, the impulse to utter audible
sounds was strong within her, and the constant efforts which
I made to repress this instinctive tendency, which I feared in
time would become unpleasant, were of no avail. I made no
effort to teach her to speak, because I regarded her inability to
watch the lips of others as an insurmountable obstacle. But
she gradually became conscious that her way of communicating
Was different from that used by those around her, and one day
her thoughts found expression. 'How do the blind 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 to her that some deaf children were taught to speakj
but that they could see their teachers' mouths, and that that
was a very great assistance to them. But she interrupted me
to say she was very sure she could feel my mouth very well.
Soon after this conversation, a lady came to see her and told
her about the deaf and blind Norwegian child, Ragnhild Kaata,
who had been taught to speak and understand what her teacher
said to her by touching his lips with her fingers. She at once
resolved to learn to speak, and from that day to this she has
never wavered in that resolution. She began immediately
to make sounds which she called speaking, and I saw the neces-
sity of correct instruction, since her heart was set upon learning
to talk; and, feeling mv own incompetence to teach her, neve*

SPEECH 387

having given the subject of articulation serious study, I
went with my pupil, for advice and assistance, to Miss Sarah
Fuller. Miss Fuller was delighted with Helen's earnestness and
enthusiasm, and at once began to teach her. In a few lessons
she learned nearly all of the English sounds, and in less than a
month she was able to articulate a great many words distinctly.
From the first she was not content to be drilled in single
sounds, but was impatient to pronounce words and sentences.
The length of the word or the difficulty of the arrangement
of the elements never seemed to discourage her. But, with
all her eagerness and intelligence, learning to speak taxed her
powers to the utmost. But there was satisfaction in seeing
from day to day the evidence of growing mastery and the
possibility of final success. And Helen's success has been more
complete and inspiring than any of her friends expected, and
the child's delight in being able to utter her thoughts in living
and distinct speech is shared by all who witness her pleasure
when strangers tell her that they understand her.

I have been asked a great many times whether I think Helen
will ever speak naturally; that is, as other people speak. I am
hardly prepared to decide that question, or even give an opinion
regarding it. I believe that I have hardly begun yet to know
what is possible. Teachers of the deaf often express surprise
that Helen's speech is so good when she has not received any
regular instruction in speech since the first few lessons given
her by Miss Fuller. I can only say in reply, "This is due to
habitual imitation and practice ! practice ! practice !" Nature
has determined how the child shall learn to speak, and all we
can do is to aid him in the simplest, easiest way possible, by
encouraging him to observe and imitate the vibrations in the
voice.

Some further details appear in an earlier, more detailed
account, which Miss Sullivan wrote for the Perkins Institution
Report of 1891.

I knew that Laura Bridgman had shown the same intuitive
desire to produce sounds, and had even learned to pronounc-

388 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

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 labour that such an experiment
would cost.

Moreover, the absence of hearing renders the voice monoto-
nous and often very disagreeable; and such speech is generally
unintelligible except to those familiar with the speaker.

The acquiring of speech by untaught deaf children is always
slow and often painful. Too much stress, it seems to me, is
often laid upon the importance of teaching a deaf child to
articulate — a process which may be detrimental to the pupil's
intellectual development. In the very nature of things, articu-
lation 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 articu-
lation. She was already perfectly familiar with words and the
construction of sentences, and had only mechanical difficulties
to overcome. Moreover, she knew what a pleasure speech
would be to her, and this definite knowledge of what she was
striving for gave her the delight of anticipation which made
drudgery easy. The untaught deaf child who is made to articu-
late does not know what the goal is, and his lessons in speech
are for a long time tedious and meaningless.

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 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 ele-

SPEECH 389

ments 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-by,
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 includ-
ing all tactile impressions) , she felt more and more the pressing
necessity of communicating with those around her. Her
little hands felt 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 upward of sixty signs, all of which were imitative and
were readily understood by those who know her. The only
signs which I think she may have invented were her signs for
small and large* Whenever she wished for anything very
much she would gesticulate in a very expressive manner. Failing
to make herself understood, she would become violent. In
the years of her mental imprisonment she depended entirely
upon signs, and she did not work out for herself any sort of
articulate language capable of expressing ideas. It seems,
however, that, while she was still suffering from severe pain, she
noticed the movements of her mother's lips.

When she was not occupied, she wandered restlessly about
the house, making strange though rarely unpleasant sounds

See Pages 319 and 338.

39o A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

I have seen her rock her doll, making a continuous, monotonous
sound, keeping one hand on her throat, while the fingers of the
other hand noted the movements of her lips. This was in
imitation of her mother's crooning to the baby. Occasionally
she broke out into a merry laugh, and then she would reach out
and touch the mouth of any one who happened to be near her,
to see if he were laughing also. If she detected no smile, she
gesticulated excitedly, trying to convey her thought; but if she
failed to make her companion laugh, she sat still for a few
moments, with a troubled and disappointed expression. 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 showed great pleasure. She always liked to stand
by the piano when some one was playing and singing. She
kept one hand on the singer's mouth, while the other rested on
the piano, and she stood in this position as long as any one
would sing to her; and afterward 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 these formed the foundation for her
first real lesson in speaking.

At the end of the first lesson she was able to pronounce dis-
tinctly the following sounds: a, a, d, e, I, 6, c soft like 5 and hard
like k, g hard, b, I, n, m, t, p, s, u, k, f and d. Hard consonants
were, and indeed still are, very difficult for her to pronounce
in connection with one another in the same word; she often
suppresses the one and changes the other, and sometimes she
replaces both by an analogous sound with soft aspiration.
The confusion between I and r was very noticeable in her speech
at first. She would repeatedly use one for the other. The
great difficulty in the pronunciation of the r made it one of the
last elements which she mastered. The ch, sh and soft g also
gave her much trouble, and she does not yet enunciate them
clearly.*

When she had been talking for less than a week, she met her
friend, Mr. Rodocanachi, and immediately began to struggle

♦The difficulties which Miss Sullivan found in 1&91 are, in a measure, the
difficulties which show in Miss Keller's speech to-day.

SPEECH 391

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, and learned in eleven lessons
9U of the separate elements of speech.

Enough appears in the accounts by Miss Keller's teacher
to show the process by which she reads the lips with her fingers,
the process by which she was taught to speak, and by which, of
course, she can listen to conversation now. In reading the
lips she is not so quick or so accurate as some reports declare. It
is a clumsy and unsatisfactory way of receiving communication,
useless when Miss Sullivan or some one else who knows the
manual alphabet is present to give Miss Keller the spoken words
of others. Indeed, when some friend is trying to speak to
Miss Keller, and the attempt is not proving successful, Miss
Suilivan usually helps by spelling the lost words into Miss
Keller's hand.

President Roosevelt had little difficulty last spring in making
Miss Keller understand him, and especially requested Miss
Sullivan not to spell into her hand. She got every word, for
the President's speech is notably distinct. Other people say
they have no success in making Miss Keller "hear" them.

A few friends to whom she is accustomed, like Mrs. A. C. Pratt,
and Mr. J. E. Chamberlin, can pass a whole day with her and
•-ell her everything without the manual alphabet. The ability
> read the lips helps Miss Keller in getting corrections of her
pronunciation from Miss Sullivan and others, just as it was
the means of her learning to speak at all, but it is rather an
accomplishment than a necessity.

It must be remembered that speech contributed in no way to
her fundamental education, though without the ability to speak,
she could hardly have gone t® higher schools and to college.
But she knows better than any one else what value speech
has had for her. The following is her address at the fiftb
-neeting of the American Association to Promote the Teaching

392 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

:>f Speech to the Deaf, at Mt. Airy, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,
[uly 8, 1896:

ADDRESS OF HELEN KELLER AT MT. AIRY

If you knew all the joy I feel in being able to speak to you
to-day, I think you would have some idea of the value of speech
to the deaf, and you would understand why I want every little
deaf child in all this great world to have an opportunity to
iearn to speak. I know that much has been said and written
on this subject, and that there is a wide difference of opinion
among teachers of the deaf in regard to oral instruction. It
seems very strange to me that there should be this difference of
opinion; I cannot understand how any one interested in our
aducation can fail to appreciate the satisfaction we feel in being
able to express our thoughts in living words. Why, I use
speech constantly, and I cannot begin to tell you how much
pleasure it gives me to do so. Of course I know that it is not
always easy for strangers to understand me, but it will be by
and by; and in the meantime I have the unspeakable happiness
of knowing that my family and friends rejoice in my ability to
speak. My little sister and baby brother love to have me
tell them stories in the long summer evenings when I am at
home; and my mother and teacher often ask me to read to
them from my favourite books. I also discuss the political
situation with my dear father, and we decide the most per-
plexing questions quite as satisfactorily to ourselves as if I
could see and hear. So you see what a blessing speech is to
me. It brings me into closer and tenderer relationship with
those I love, and makes it possible for me to enjoy the sweet
companionship of a great many persons from whom I should
be entirely cut off if I could not talk.

I can remember the time before I learned to speak, and how
I used to struggle to express my thoughts by means of the
manual alphabet — how my thoughts used to beat against my
finger tips like little birds striving to gain their freedom, until
one day Miss Fuller opened wide the prison-door and let them
escape. I wonder if she remembers how eagerly and gladly
they spread their wings and flew away. Of course, it was not
easy at first to fly. The speech-wings were weak and broken,
and had lost all the grace and beauty that had once been theirs;

SPEECH 393

trtdeed, nothing was left save the impulse to fly, but that was
something. One can never consent to creep when one feels an
Impulse to soar. But, nevertheless, it seemed to me sometimes
that I could never use my speech-wings as God intended 1
should use them; there were so many difficulties in the way,
so many discouragements; but I kept on trying, knowing that
patience and perseverance would win in the end. And while
I worked, I built the most beautiful air-castles, and dreamed
dreams, the pleasantest of which was of the time when I should
talk like other people; and the thought of the pleasure it would
give my mother to hear my voice once more, sweetened every
effort and made every failure an incentive to try harder next
time. So I want to say to those who are trying to learn to
speak and those who are teaching them: Be of good cheer,
Do not think of to-day's failures, but of the success that may
come to-morrow. You have set yourselves a difficult task, but
you will succeed if you persevere; and you will find a joy in
overcoming obstacles — a delight in climbing rugged paths,
which you would perhaps never know if you did not sometime
slip backward — if the road was always smooth and pleasant.
Remember, no effort that we make to attain something beautiful
Ss ever lost. Sometime, somewhere, somehow we shall find
that which we seek. We shall speak, yes, and sing, ItJO,. P'i
<k>d intended we should speak and sing.

CHAPTER V

LITERARY STYLE

No one can have read Miss Keller's autobiography without
feeling that she writes unusually fine English. Any teacher
of composition knows that he can bring his pupils to the point
of writing without errors in syntax or in the choice of words
[t is just this accuracy which Miss Keller's early education
fixes as the point to which any healthy child can be brought,
S>id which the analysis of that education accounts for. Those
who try to make her an exception, not to be explained by any
such analysis of her early education, fortify their position by
an appeal to the remarkable excellence of her use of language
even when she was a child.

This appeal is to a certain degree valid; for, indeed, those
additional harmonies of language and beauties of thought which
make style are the gifts of the gods. No teacher could have
made Helen Keller sensitive to the beauties of language and
to the finer interplay of thought which demands expression in
melodious word groupings.

At the same time the inborn gift of style can be starved
or stimulated. No innate genius can invent fine language,
The stuff of which good style is made must be given to
the mind from without and given skilfully. A child of the
muses cannot write fine English unless fine English has
been its nourishment. In this, as in all other things, Miss
Sullivan has been the wise teacher. If she had not had taste
and an enthusiasm for good English, Helen Keller might have
been brought up on the "Juvenile Literature," which belittles
the language under pretense of being simply phrased for chil-
dren; as if a child's book could not, like " Treasure Island" or
"Robinson Crusoe" or the "Jungle Book," be in good style.

If Miss Sullivan wrote fine English, the beauty of Helen
Keller's style would, in part, be explicable at once. But the
extracts from Miss Sullivan's letters and from her reports,

394

LITERARY STYLE. 395

although they are clear and accurate, have not the beauty which
distinguishes Miss Keller's English. Her service as a teacher of
English is not to be measured by her own skill in composition.
The reason why she read to her pupil so many good books is due,
in some measure, to the fact that she had so recently recovered
her eyesight. When she became Helen Keller's teacher she
was just awakening to the good things that are in books, from
which she had been shut out during her years of blindness.

In Captain Keller's library she found excellent books,
Lamb's "Tales from Shakespeare," and better still, Montaigne.
After the first year or so of elementary work she met her
pupil on equal terms, and they read and enjoyed good books
together.

Besides the selection of good books, there is one other cause
for Miss Keller's excellence in writing, for which Miss Sullivan
deserves unlimited credit. That is her tireless and unrelenting
discipline, which is evident in all her work. She never allowed
her pupil to send off letters which contained offenses against
taste, but made her write them over until they were not only
correct, but charming and well phrased.

Any one who has tried to write knows what Miss Keller owes
to the endless practice which Miss Sullivan demanded of her.
Let a teacher with a liking for good style insist on a child's
writing a paragraph over and over again until it is more than
correct, and he will be training, even beyond his own power of
expression, the power of expression in the child.

How far Miss Sullivan carried this process of refinement
and selection is evident from the humorous comment of Dr<
Bell, that she made her pupil a little old woman, too widely
different from ordinary children in her maturity of thought.
When Dr. Bell said this he was arguing his own case. For
it was Dr. Bell who first saw the principles that underlie
Miss Sullivan's method, and explained the process by which
Helen Keller absorbed language from books.

There is, moreover, a reason why Helen Keller writes good
English, which lies in the very absence of sight and hearing.
The disadvantages of being deaf and blind were overcome
and the advantages remained. She excels other deaf people
because she was taught as if she were normal. On the other
hand, the peculiar value to her of language, which ordinary
people take for granted as a necessary part of them like

396 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

their right hand, made her think about language and love it.
Language was her liberator, and from the first she cherished it.
The proof of Miss Keller's early skill in the use of English, and
the final comment on the excellence of this whole method of
teaching, is contained in an incident, which, although at the time
it seemed unfortunate, can no longer be regretted. I refer to the
"Frost King" episode, which I shall explain in detail. Miss
Keller has given her account of it, and the whole matter was
discussed in the first Volta Bureau Souvenir from which I quote
at length:

miss sully van's account of the " frost king*

Hon. John Hitz,

Superintendent of the Volta Bureau, Washington, D. C.

Dear Sir: Since my paper was prepared for the second
edition of the Souvenir "Helen Keller," some facts have been
brought to my notice which are of interest in connection with
the subject of the acquisition of language by my pupil, and if
it is not already too late for publication in this issue of the
Souvenir, I shall be glad if I may have opportunity to explain
them in detail.

Perhaps it will be remembered that in my paper,* where allu-

* In this paper Miss Stiliivan says: " During this winter (1891-92) I went
with her into the yard while a light snow was falling, and let her feel the falling
flakes. She appeared to enjoy it very much indeed. As we went in she
repeated these words, ° Out of the cloud-folds of his garments Winter shakes
the snow.' I inquired of her where she had read this; she did not remember
having read it, did not seem to know that she had learned it. As I had never
heard it, I inquired of several cf my friends if they recalled the words; no one
seemed to remember it. The teachers at the Institution expressed the opinion
that the description did not appear in any book in raised print in that library;
but one lady, Miss Marrett, took upon herself the task of examining books of
poems in ordinary type, and was rewarded by finding the following lines in one
of Longfellow's minor ooems, entitled ' Snowflakes ' ;
* Out of the bosom of the air,
Out of the cloud -folds of her garments shaken,

Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken.

Silent, and soft, and slow.
Descends the snow*.
"It would seem that Helen had learned and treasured the memory of this
expression of the poet, and this morning in the snow-storm had found its
implication."

Photograph by Whitman Studio

MR. JOHN HITZ READING TO MISS KELLER

LITERARY STYLE 397

sion is mads to Helen's remarkable memory, it is noted that
she appears to retain in her mind many forms of expression
which, at the time they are received, she probably does not
understand; but when further information is acquired, the
language retained in her memory finds full or partial expres-
sion in her conversation or writing, according as it proves of
greater or less value to her in the fitness of its application to
the new experience. Doubtless this is true in the case of every
intelligent child, and should not, perhaps, be considered worthy
of especial mention in Helen's case, but for the fact that a child
who is deprived c^ the senses of sight and hearing might not
be expected to be as gifted mentally as this little girl proves to
be; hence it is quite possible we may be inclined to class as
marvelous many things we discover in the development of her
mind which do not merit such an explanation.

In the hope that I may be pardoned if I appear to over-
estimate the remarkable mental capacity and power of compre-
hension and discrimination which my pupil possesses, I wish
to add that, while I have always known that Helen made great
use of such descriptions and comparisons as appeal to her imag-
ination and fine poetic nature, yet recent developments in her
writings convince me of the fact that I have not in the past been
fully aware to what extent she absorbs the language of her
favourite authors. In the early part of her education I had
full knowledge of all the books she read and of nearly all the
stories which were read to her, and could without difficulty
trace the source of any adaptations noted in her writing or
conversation; and I have always been much pleased to observe
how appropriately she applies the expressions of a favourite
author in her own compositions.

The following extracts from a few of her published letters
give evidence of how valuable this power of retaining the mem-
ory of beautiful language has been to her. One warm, sunny
day in early spring, when we were at the North, the balmy
atmosphere appears to have brought to her mind the sentiment
expressed by Longfellow in "Hiawatha," and she almost sings
with the poet: "The ground was all aquiver with the stir ot
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 splendour. 'All its birds and all its blossoms, all its
flowers and all its grasses.' "

393 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

About the same time, in a letter to a friend, in which shft
makes mention of her Southern home, she gives so close a
reproduction from a poem by one of her favourite authors that I
will give extracts from Helen's letter and from the poem itself:

EXTRACTS FROM HELEN S
LETTER

\The entire letter is published
on pp. 245 and 246 of the Re-
port of the Perkins Institution
for 1 891]

The blue-bird 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.

FROM THE POEM ENTITLED
"SPRING," BY OLIVER WEN-
DELL HOLMES

The bluebird, breathing from
his azure plumes

The fragrance borrowed from
the myrtle blooms;

The thrush, poor wanderer,
dropping meekly down,

Clad in his remnant of autum-
nal brown;

The oriole, drifting like a flake
of fire

Rent by a whirlwind from a
blazing spire;

The robin, jerking his spas-
modic throat,

Repeats imperious, his stac-
cato note;

The crack-brained bobolink
courts his crazy mate,

Poised on a bullrush tipsy
with his weight:

Nay, in his cage the lone
canary sings,

Feels the soft air, and spreads
his idle wings.

On the last day of April she uses another expression from
the same poem, which is more an adaption than a reproduc-
tion: "To-morrow April will hide her tears and blushes beneath
the flowers of lovely May."

In a letter to a friend* at the Perkins Institution, dated May
17, 1889, she gives a reproduction from one of Hans Christian

LITERARY STYLE 399

Andersen's stories, which I had read to her not long before.
This letter is published in the Perkins Institution Report (1891),
p. 204. The original story was read to her from a copy of
"Andersen's Stories," published by Leavitt & Allen Bros., and
may be found on p. 97 of Part I. in that volume.

Her admiration for the impressive explanations which Bishop
Brooks has given her of the Fatherhood of God is well known.
In one of his letters, speaking of how God in every way tells us
of his love, he says, "I think he writes it even upon the walls
of the great house of nature which we live in, that he is our
Father." The next year at Andover she said: "It seems to
me the world is full of goodness, beauty, and love; and how
grateful we must be to our heavenly Father, who has given us
so much to enjoy I His love and care are written all over the
walls of nature."

In these later years, since Helen has come in contact with so
many persons who are able to converse freely with her, she has
made the acquaintance of some literature with which I am not
familiar; she has also found in books printed in raised letters,
in the reading of which I have been unable to follow her, much
material for the cultivation of the taste she possesses for poetical
imagery. The pages of the book she reads become to her
like paintings, to which her imaginative powers give life and
colour. She is at once transported into the midst of the events
portrayed in the story she reads or is told, and the characters
and descriptions become real to her; she rejoices when justice
wins, and is sad when virtue goes unrewarded. The pictures
the language paints on her memory appear to make an indelible
impression; and many times, when an experience comes to
her similar in character, the language starts forth with wonder-
ful accuracy, like the reflection from a mirror.

Helen's mind is so gifted by nature that she seems able to
understand with only the faintest touch of explanation every
possible variety of external relations. One day in Alabama, as
we were gathering wild flowers near the springs on the hill-
sides, she seemed to understand for the first time that the
springs were surrounded by mountains, and she exclaimed:
"The mountains are crowding around the springs to look at
their own beautiful reflections !" I do not know where she
obtained this language, yet it is evident that it must have
come to her from without, as it would hardly be possible for a

4oo A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

person deprived of the visual sense to originate such an idea.
In mentioning a visit to Lexington, Mass., she writes: "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 out at
us from beneath the brown leaves." She closes this letter
with, "I must go to bed, for Morpheus has touched my eye-
lids with his golden wand." Here again, I am unable to state
where she acquired these expressions.

She has always seemed to prefer stories which exercise the
imagination, and catches and retains the poetic spirit in all such
literature; but not until this winter have I been conscious that
her memory absorbed the exact language to such an extent
that she is herself unable to trace the source.

This is shown in a little story she wrote in October last
at the home of her parents in Tuscumbia, which she called
"Autumn Leaves." She was at work upon it about two weeks,
writing a little each day, at her own pleasure. When it was
finished, and we read it in the family, it occasioned much com-
ment on account of the beautiful imagery, and we could not
understand how Helen could describe such pictures without
the aid of sight. As we had never seen or heard of any such
etory as this before, we inquired of her where she read it; she
replied, "I did not read it; it is my story for Mr. Anagnos's
birthday." While I was surprised that she could write like
this, I was not more astonished than I had been many times
before at the unexpected achievements of my little pupil,
especially as we had exchanged many beautiful thoughts on
the subject of the glory of the ripening foliage during the autumn
of this year.

Before Helen made her final copy of the story, it was sug-
gested to her to change its title to "The Frost King," as more
appropriate to the subject of which the story treated; to this
she willingly assented. The story was written by Helen in
braille, as usual, and copied by her in the same manner; I
then interlined the manuscript for the greater convenience of
those who desired to read it. Helen wrote a little letter, and,
enclosing the manuscript, forwarded both by mail to Mr. Anagnos
for his birthday.

The story was printed in the January number of the Mentor

LITERARY STYLE 40*

*od, from a review of it in the Goodson Gazette. I was startled
to find that a very similar story had been published in 1873,
seven years before Helen was born. This story, "Frost Fairies,"
appeared in a book written by Miss Margaret T. Canby, entitled
"Birdie and his Fairy Friends." The passages quoted from the
two stories were so much alike in thought and expression as to
convince me that Miss Canby's story must at some time have
been read to Helen.

As I had never read this story, or even heard of the book,
I inquired of Helen if she knew anything about, the matter,
and found she did not. She was utterly unable to recall either
the name of the story or the book. Careful examination was
made of the books in raised print in the library of the Perkins
Institution to learn if any extracts from this volume could
be found there; but nothing was discovered. I then concluded
that the story must have been read to her a long time ago, as
her memory usually retains with great distinctness facts and
impressions which have been committed to its keeping.

After making careful inquiry, I succeeded in obtaining the
information that our friend, Mrs. S. C. Hopkins, had a copy of
this book in 1888, which was presented to her little daughter
in 1873 or 1874. Helen and I spent the summer of 1888 with
Mrs. Hopkins at her home in Brewster, Mass., where she kindly
relieved me, a part of the time, of the care of Helen. She
amused and entertained Helen by reading to her from a collection
of juvenile publications, among which was the copy of "Birdie
and his Fairy Friends"; and, while Mrs. Hopkins does not
remember this story of "Frost Fairies," she is confident that she
read to Helen extracts, if not entire stories, from this volume.
But as she was not able to find her copy, and applications for the
volume at bookstores in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Albany,
and other places resulted only in failure, search was insti-
tuted for the author herself. This became a difficult task, as
her publishers in Philadelphia had retired from business many
years ago; however, it was eventually discovered that her
residence is at Wilmington, Delaware, and copies of the second
edition of the book, 1889, were obtained from her. She has
since secured and forwarded to me a copy of the first edition.
The most generous and gratifying letters have been received
from Miss Canby by Helen's friends, a few extracts from which
are given.

402 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

Under date of February 24, 1892, after mentioning the order
of the publication of the stories in the magazine, she writes:

"All the stories were revised before publishing them in book
form; additions were made to the number as first published, I
think, and some of the titles may have been changed."

In the same letter she writes:

"I hope that you will be able to make her understand that I
am glad she enjoyed my story, and that I hope the new book
will give her pleasure by renewing her friendship with the
Fairies. I shall write to her in a short time. I am so much
impressed with what I have learned of her that I have written
a little poem entitled A Silent Singer, which I may send to her
mother after a while. Can you tell me in what paper the
article appeared accusing Helen of plagiarism, and giving
passages from both stories? I should like much to see it, and
to obtain a few copies if possible."

Under date of March 9, 1892, Miss Canby writes:

"I find traces, in the Report which you so kindly sent me,
of little Helen having heard other stories than that of 'Frost
Fairies.' On page 132, in a letter, there is a passage which
must have been suggested by my story called 'The Rose Fairies'
(see pp. 13-16 of 'Birdie') and on pages 93 and 94 of the Report
the description of a thunderstorm is very much like Birdie's
idea of the same in the 'Dew Fairies' on pages 59 and 60 of my
book. What a wonderfully active and retentive mind that
gifted child must have! If she had remembered and written
down accurately, a short story, and that soon after hearing it,
it would have been a marvel; but to have heard the story once,
three years ago, and in such a way that neither her parents nor
teacher could ever allude to it or refresh her memory about
it, and then to have been able to reproduce it so vividly, even
adding some touches of her own in perfect keeping with the
rest, which really improve the original, is something that very
few girls of riper age, and with every advantage of sight, hearing,
and even great talents for composition, could have done as
well, if at all. Under the circumstances, I do not see how any
one can be so unkind as to call it a plagiarism; it is a wonderful
feat of memory, and stands alone, as doubtless much of her
work will in future, if her mental powers grow and develop with
her years as greatly as in the few years past. I have known
many children well, have been surrounded by them all my life,

LITERARY STYLE 403

and love nothing better than to talk with them, amuse them,
and quietly notice their traits of mind and character; but I do
not recollect more than one girl of Helen's age who had the love
and thirst for knowledge, and the store of literary and general
information, and the skill in composition, which Helen possesses.
She is indeed a 'Wonder-Child.' Thank you very much for
the Report, Gazette, and Helen's Journal. The last made me
realize the great disappointment to the dear child more than
before. Please give her my warm love, and tell her not to feel
troubled about it any more. No one shall be allowed to think
it was anything wrong; and some day she will write a great,
beautiful story or poem that will make many people happy.
Tell her there are a few bitter drops in every one's cup, and the
only way is to take the bitter patiently, and the sweet thankfully.
I shall love to hear of her reception of the book and how she
likes the stories which are new to her."

I have now (March, 1892) read to Helen "The Frost Fairies,"
"The Rose Fairies," and a portion of "The Dew Fairies," but
she is unable to throw any light on the matter. She recognized
them at once as her own stories, with variations, and was much
puzzled to know how they could have been published before
f he was born ! She thinks it is wonderful that two people
should write stories so much alike; but she still considers her
own as original.

I give below a portion of Miss Canby's story, "The Rose
Fairies," and also Helen's letter to Mr. Anagnos containing her
"dream," so that the likenesses and differences may be studied
by those interested in the subject:

THE ROSE FAIRIES

[From "Birdie and his Fairy Friends," by Margaret T. Canby]

One pleasant morning little Birdie might have been seen
sitting quietly on the grass-plat at the side of his mother's
house, looking very earnestly at the rose-bushes.

It was quite early; great Mr. Sun, who is such an early riser
in summer time, had not been up very long; the birds were just
beginning to chirp their "good-mornings" to each other; and
as for the flowers, they were still asleep. But Birdie was so
busy all day, trotting about the house and garden, that he was
always ready for his nest at night, before the birds and flowers

4o4 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

had thought of seeking theirs; and so it came to pass that when
Mr. Sun raised his head above the green woods and smiled
lovingly upon the earth, Birdie was often the first to see him,
and to smile back at him, all the while rubbing his eyes with his
dimpled fists, until between smiling and rubbing, he was wide
awake.

And what do you think he did next ! "Why, the little rogue
rolled into his mamma's bed, and kissed her eyelids, her cheeks,
and her mouth, until she began to dream that it was raining
kisses; and at last she opened her eyes to see what it all meant,
and found that it was Birdie, trying to "kiss her awake," as
he said.

She loved her little boy very dearly, and liked to make him
happy, and when he said, "Please dress me, dear mamma, and
let me go out to play in the garden," she cheerfully consented;
and, soon after, Birdie went downstairs in his morning-dress of
cool linen, and with his round face bright and rosy from its
bath, and ran out on the gravel path to play until breakfast
was ready.

He stood still a moment to look about him, and think what
he should do first. The fresh morning air blew softly in his
face, as if to welcome him and be his merry playmate; and the
bright eye of Mr. Sun looked at him with a warm and glowing
smile; but Birdie soon walked on to find something to play with.
As he came in sight of the rose-bushes that grew near the side
of the house, he suddenly clapped his hands, and with a little
shout of joy stopped to look at them; they were all covered
with lovely rosebuds. Some were red, some white, and others
pale pink, and they were just peeping out of the green leaves,
as rosy-faced children peep out from their warm beds in winter-
time before they are quite willing to get up. A few days before,
Birdie's papa had told him that the green balls on the rose-
bushes had beautiful flowers shut up within them, but the
little boy found it hard to believe, for he was so young that he
did not remember how pretty the roses had been the summer
before. Now he found out that his father's words were true,
for a few days of warm weather had turned the green balls
into rosebuds, and they were so beautiful that it was enough
to make Birdie stand still before them, his blue eyes dancing
with delight and his little hands clasped tightly together.

After awhile he went nearer, and looking closelv at the

LITERARY STYLE 405

buds, found that they were folded up, leaf over leaf, as eyelids
are folded over sleeping eyes, so that Birdie thought they must
be asleep. "Lazy roses, wake up," said he, giving the branches
a gentle shake; but only the dew fell off in bright drops, and the
flowers were still shut up. At last Birdie remembered how he
had awakened his mother with kisses, and thought he would
try the same plan with the roses; so he drew up his red lips
until they looked like a rosebud, too, and bending down a
branch with a lovely pink bud upon it, he kissed it softly two
or three times.

Here the similarity in the language of the story to that in
the letter ceases.

Helen's letter to mr. anagnos

(Written February 2 and 3, 1890.)

[This letter was enclosed in another written in French, dated

Le 1 fevrier 1890.]
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' 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 lov-
ingly upon them. I was a very happy little child with rosy

4o6 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

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
white, and others were delicate pink, and they were peeping out
from between the green leaves like beautiful little 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 dew-
drops; I bent down one cf 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.

"The Frost Fairies" and "The Frost King" are given in full,
as the differences are as important as the resemblances:

THE FROST FAIRIES THE FROST KING

[From "Birdie and his Fairy Friends'*]

By Margaret T. Canby By Helen A. Keller

King Frost, or Jack Frost as King Frost lives in a beauti-

he is sometimes called, lives ful palace far to the North> in
in a cold country far to the

North; but every year he takes the land of perpetual snow,

a journey over the world in a The palace, which is magnl.

LITERARY STYLE

407

car of golden clouds drawn by
a strong and rapid steed called
"North Wind." Wherever he
goes he does many wonderful
things; he builds bridges over
every stream, clear as glass
in appearance but often strong
as iron; he puts the flowers and
plants to sleep by one touch
of his hand, and they all bow
down and sink into the warm
earth, until spring returns;
then, lest we should grieve for
the flowers, he places at our
windows lovely wreaths and
sprays of his white northern
flowers, or delicate little forests
of fairy pine-trees, pure white
and very beautiful. But his
most wonderful work is the
painting of the trees, which
look, after his task is done,
as if they were covered with
the brightest layers of gold
and rubies; and are beautiful
enough to comfort us for the
flight of summer.

I will tell you how King
Frost first thought of this kind
work, for it is a strange story.
You must know that this King,
like all other kings, has great
treasures of gold and precious
stones in his palace; but, being
a good-hearted old fellow, he
does not keep his riches
locked up all the time, but
tries to do good and make
others happy with them. He
has two neighbours, who
live still farther north; one is

ficent 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 architec-
ture 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-look-
ing 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.

4o8 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

King Winter, a cross and
churlish old monarch, who is
hard and cruel, and delights
in making the poor suffer and
weep ; but the other neighbour
is Santa Claus, a fine, good-
natured, jolly old soul, who
loves to do good, and who
brings presents to the poor,
and to nice little children at
Christmas.

Well, one day King Frost
was trying to think of some
good that he could do with
his treasure; smd suddenly he
concluded to send some of it
to his kind neighbour, Santa
Claus, to buy presents of food
and clothing for the poor,
that they might not suffer so
much when King Winter went
near their homes. So he called
together his merry little fairies,
and showing them a number
of jars and vases filled with
gold and precious stones, told
them to carry those carefully
to the palace of Santa Claus,
and give tkem to him with the
compliments of King Frost.
"He will know how to make
good use of the treasure,"
added Jack Frost; then he
told the fairies not to loiter
by the way, but to do his
bidding quickly.

The fairies promised obedi-
ence and soon started on their
journey, dragging the great
glass jars and vases along, as
well as they could, and now

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 endeavours to make a right
use of his riches. So wherever
he goes he does many wonder-
ful works; he builds bridges
over every stream, as trans-
parent 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 the bright faces of
the flowers, he paints the
leaves with gold and crimson
and emerald, and when his
task is done the trees are beau-
tiful enough to comfort us for
the flight of summer. I will
tell you how King Frost hap-
pened 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 neighbour, Santa Claus.

LITERARY STYLE

409

and then grumbling a little at
having such hard work to do,
for they were idle fairies, and
liked play better than work.
At last they reached a great
forest, and, being quite tired,
they decided to rest awhile
and look for nuts before going
any further. But lest the
treasure should be stolen from
them, they hid the jars among
the thick leaves of the forest
trees, placing some high up
near the top, and others in
different parts of the various
trees, until they thought no
one could find them.

Then they began to wan-
der about and hunt for nuts,
and climb the trees to shake
them down, and worked much
harder for their own pleasure
than they had done for their
master's bidding, for it is a
strange truth that fairies and
children never complain of
the toil and trouble they
take in search of amusement,
although they often grumble
when asked to work for the
good of others.

The frost fairies were so
busy and so merry over their
nutting frolic that they soon
forgot their errand and their
King s command to go quickly;
but, as they played and loit-
ered in the forest until noon,
they found the reason why
they were told to hasten; for
although they had, as they

*T will send my treasures to
Santa Claus," said the King to
himself. "He is the very man
to dispose of them satisfac-
torily, 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 con-
taining his treasures, he bade
them carry them to the palace
of Santa Claus as quickly as
they could,. The fairies prom-
ised obedience, and were ofZ
in a twinkling, dragging the
heavy jars and vases along
after them as well as they
could, now and then grumb-
ling a little at having such a
hard task, for they were idle
fairies and loved to play better
than to work. After awhile
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 jour-
Fey. But thinking their treas-
ure might be stolen irci_.
them, they hid the jars ame^
the thick green leaves of the

4io A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

thought, hidden the treasure
so carefully, they had not
secured it from the power of
Mr. Sun, who was an enemy
of Jack Frost, and delighted
co undo bis work and weaken
him whenever he could.

His bright eyes found out
the jars of treasure among the
trees, and as the idle fairies
left them there until noon, at
which time Mr. Sun is the
strongest, the delicate glass
began to melt and break, and
before long every jar and vase
was cracked or broken, and the
precious treasures they con-
tained were melting, too, and
dripping slowly in streams of
gold and crimson over the
trees and bushes of the forest.

Still, for awhile, the frost
fairies did not notice this
strange occurrence, for they
were down on the grass, so
far below the tree-tops that
the wonderful shower of treas-
ure was a long time in reach-
ing them; but at last one of
them said, "Hark ! I believe
it is raining; I certainly hear
the falling drops. ' ' The others
laughed, and told him that it
seldom rained when the sun
was shining; but as they lis-
tened they plainly heard the
tinkling of many drops falling
through the forest, and slid-
ing from leaf to leaf until they
reached the bramble-bushes
beside them, when, to their

various trees until they were
sure that no one could find
them. Then they began to
wander merrily about search-
ing for nuts, climbing trees,
peeping curiously into the
empty birds' nests, and play-
ing 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 dis-
may why they had been bid-
den to hasten, for although
they had, as they supposed,
hidden the treasure carefully,
yet the bright eyes of King
Sun had spied out the jars
among the leaves, 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

LITERARY STYLE

411

great dismay, they found that
the rain-drops were melted
rubies, which hardened on the
leaves and turned them to
bright crimson in a moment.
Then looking more closely at
the trees around, they saw
that the treasure was all
melting away, and that much
of it was already spread over
the leaves of the oak trees and
maples, which were shining
with their gorgeous dress of
gold and bronze, crimson and
emerald. It was very beau-
tiful; but the idle fairies were
too much frightened at the
mischief their disobedience
had caused, to admire the
beauty of the forest, and at
once tried to hide themselves
among the bushes, lest King
Frost should come and punish
them.

Their fears were well found-
ed, for their long absence had
alarmed the king, and he
had started out to look for
his tardy servants, and just
as they were all hidden, he
came along slowly, looking on
all sides for the fairies. Of
course, he soon noticed the
brightness of the leaves, and
discovered the cause, too,
when he caught sight of the
broken jars and vases from
which the melted treasure was
still dropping. And when he
came to the nut trees, and
saw the shells left by the idle

were melting, too, and running
in little streams over the trees
and bushes of the forest.

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 dis-
covered that the rain-drops
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 busher

4i2 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

fairies and all the traces of
their frolic, he knew exactly
how they had acted, and that
they had disobeyed him by
playing and loitering on their
way through the woods.

King Frost frowned and
looked very angry at first,
and his fairies trembled for
fear and cowered still lower in
their hiding-places; but just
then two little children came
dancing through the wood,
and though they did not see
King Frost or the fairies, they
saw the beautiful colour of
the leaves, and laughed with
delight, and began picking
great bunches to take to their
mother. "The leaves are as
pretty as flowers," said they;
and they callM the golden
leaves "buttercups," and the
red ones "roses," and were
very happy as they went sing-
ing through the wood.

Their pleasure charmed
away King Frost's anger, and
he, too, began to admire the
painted trees, and at last he
said to himself, "My treasures
are not wasted if they make
little children happy. I will
not be offended at my idle,
thoughtless fairies, for they
have taught me a new way of
doing good." When the frost
fairies heard these words they
crept, one by one, from their
corners, and, kneeling down
before their master, confessed

and waited silently for some-
thing 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 bright-
ness 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
tc 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 t-he

LITERARY STYLE

4i3

their fault, and asked his par-
don. He frowned upon them
for awhile, and scolded them,
too, but he soon relented, and
said he would forgive them
this time, and would only
punish them by making them
carry more treasure to the
forest, and hide it in the trees,
until all the leaves, with
Mr. Sun's help, were covered
with gold and ruby coats.

Then the fairies thanked
him for his forgiveness, and
promised to work very hard
to please him; and the good-
natured king took them all
up in his arms, and carried
them safely home to his palace.
From that time, I suppose, it
has been part of Jack Frost's
work to paint the trees with
the glowing colours we see in
the autumn; and if they are
not covered with gold and
precious stones, I do not know
how he makes them so bright ;
do you?

painted trees. He said to
himself, "My treasures are
not wasted if they make lit-
tle 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 for-
giveness.

Ever since that time it has
been King Frost's great de-
light 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 im-
agine what makes them so
bright, can you?

If the story of "The Frost Fairies" was read to Helen in the
summer of 1888, she could not have understood very much of
it at that time, for she had only been under instruction since
March, 1887.

Can it be that the language of the story had remained dor-
mant in her mind until my description of the beauty of the
autumn scenery in 1891 brought it vividly before her mental
vision ?

I have made careful investigation among Helen's friends in
Alabama and in Boston and its vicinity, but thus far have been
unable to ascertain any later date when it could have been read
to her

4i4 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

Another fact is of great significance in this connection. "The
Rose Fairies" was published in the same volume with "The
Frost Fairies," and, therefore, was probably read to Helen at
or about the same time.

Now Helen, in her letter of February, 1890 (quoted above),
alludes to this story of Miss Canby's as dream "which I had a
long time ago when I was a very little child." Surely, a year
and a half would appear "a long time ago" to a little girl like
Helen ; we therefore have reason to believe that the stories must
have been read to her at least as early as the summer of 1888.

helen Keller's own statement
{The following entry made by Helen in her diary speaks for itself.)

1892. January 30. This morning I took a bath, and when
teacher came upstairs to comb my hair she told me some very
sad news which made me unhappy all day. Some one wrote to
Mr. Anagnos that the story which I sent him as a birthday
gift, and which I wrote myself, was not my story at all. but that
a lady had written it a long time ago. The person said her story
was called "Frost Fairies." I am sure I never heard it. It
made us feel so bad to think that people thought we had been
untrue and wicked. My heart was full of tears, for I love the
beautiful truth with my whole heart and mind.

It troubles me greatly now. I do not know what I shall do.
I never thought that people could make such mistakes. I am
perfectly sure I wrote the story myself. Mr. Anagnos is much
troubled. It grieves me to think that I have been the cause of
his unhappiness, but of course I did not mean to do it.

I thought about my story in the autumn, because teacher
told me about the autumn leaves while we walked in the woods
at Fern Quarry. I thought fairies must have painted them
because they are so wonderful, and I thought, too, that King
Frost must have jars and vases containing precious treasures,
because I knew that other kings long ago had, and because
teacher told me that the leaves were painted ruby, emerald,
gold, crimson, and brown; so that I thought the paint must be
melted stones. I knew that they must make children happy
because they are so lovely, and it made me very happy to think
that the leaves were so beautiful and that the trees glowed
so, although I could not see them.

LITERARY STYLE 415

i thought everybody had the same thought about the leaves,
but I do not know now. I thought very much about the sad
news when teacher Went to the doctor's; she was not here at
dinner and I missed her.

I do not feel that I can add anything more that will be of
interest. My own heart is too "full of tears" when I remember
how my dear little pupil suffered when she knew "that people
thought we had been untrue and wicked," for I know that she
does indeed "love the beautiful truth with her whole heart
and mind."

Yours truly,

ANNIE M. SULLIVAN.

So much appears in the Volta Bureau Souvenir. The following
letter from Mr. Anagnos is reprinted from the American Annals
of the Deaf, April, 1892 :

PERKINS INSTITUTION AND MASSACHUSETTS SCHOOL FOR
THE BLIND

So. Boston, March 11, 1892.
To the Editor of the Annals.

Sir: In compliance with your wishes I make the following
statement concerning Helen Keller's story of "King Frost."
It was sent to me as a birthday gift on November 7th, from
Tuscumbia, Alabama. Knowing as well as I do Helen's extra-
ordinary abilities I did not hesitate to accept it as her own
work; nor do I doubt to-day that she is fully capable of writing
such a composition. Soon after its appearance in print I
was pained to learn, through the Goodson Gazette, that a portion
of the story (eight or nine passages) is either a reproduction or
adaptation of Miss Margaret Canby's "Frost Fairies." I
immediately instituted an inquiry to ascertain the facts in the
case. None of our teachers or officers who are accustomed to
converse with Helen ever knew or heard about Miss Canby's
book, nor did the child's parents and relatives at home have
any knowledge of it. Her father, Captain Keller, wrote to me
as follows on the subject:

"I hasten to assure you that Helen could not have received any
idea of the story from any of her relations or friends here, none

4i6 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT?

of whom can communicate with her readily enough to impress
her with the details of a story of that character."

At my request, one of the* teachers in the girls' department
examined Helen in regard to the construction of the story.
Her testimony is as follows:

"I first tried to ascertain what had suggested to Helen's mind
the particular fancies which made her story seem like a repro-
duction of one written by Miss Margaret Canby. Helen told
me that for a long time she had thought of Jack Frost as a king,
because of the many treasures which he possessed. Such
rich treasures must be kept in a safe place, and so she had
imagined them stored in jars and vases in one part of the
royal palace. She said that one autumn day her teacher told her
as they were walking together in the woods, about the many
beautiful colours of the leaves, and she had thought that such
beauty must make people very happy, and very grateful to
King Frost. I asked Helen what stories she had read about
Jack Frost. In answer to my question she recited a part of
the poem called 'Freaks of the Frost,' and she referred to a
little piece about winter, in one of the school readers. She could
not remember that any one had ever read to her any stories
about King Frost, but said she had talked with her teacher
about Jack Frost and the wonderful things he did."

The only person that we supposed might possibly have read
the story to Helen was her friend, Mrs. Hopkins, whom she was
visiting at the time in Brewster. I asked Miss Sullivan to go
at once to see Mrs. Hopkins and ascertain the facts in the matter.
The result of her investigation is embodied in the printed note
herewith enclosed.*

I have scarcely any doubt that Miss Canby's little book was
read to Helen, by Mrs. Hopkins, in the summer of 1888. But
the child has no recollection whatever of this fact. On Miss
Sullivan's return to Brewster, she read to Helen the story of
"Little Lord Fauntleroy," which she had purchased in Boston
for the purpose. The child was at once fascinated and absorbed
with the charming story, which evidently made a deeper impres-
sion upon her mind than any previously read to her, as was
shown in the frequent reference to it, both in her conversation
and letters, for many months afterward. Her intense interest

* This note is a statement of the bare facts and an apology, which Mr. Anagnot
Inserted in hi* reports of the Perkins Institute.

LITERARY STYLE 417

In Fauntleroy must have buried all remembrance of ''Frost
Fairies," and when, more than three years later, she had acquired
a fuller knowledge and use of language, and was told of Jack
Frost and his work, the seed so long buried sprang up into new
thoughts and fancies. This may explain the reason why Helen
claims persistently that "The Frost King" is her own story.
She seems to have some idea of the difference between original
composition and reproduction. She did not know the meaning
of the word "plagiarism" until quite recently, when it was
explained to her. She is absolutely truthful. Veracity is the
strongest element of her character. She was very much sur-
prised and grieved when she was told that her composition
was an adaptation of Miss Canby's story of "Frost Fairies."
She could not keep back her tears, and the chief cause of her
pain seemed to be the fear lest people should doubt her truth-
fulness. She said, with great intensity of feeling, "I love the
beautiful truth." A most rigid examination of the child of
about two hours' duration, at which eight persons were present
and asked all sorts of questions with perfect freedom, failed
to elicit in the least any testimony convicting either her teacher
or any one else of the intention or attempt to practice deception.
In view of these facts I cannot but think that Helen, while
writing "The Frost King," was entirely unconscious of ever
having had the story of "Frost Fairies" read to her, and that hei
memory has been accompanied by such a loss of associations
that she herself honestly believed her composition to be
original. This theory is shared by many persons who are
perfectly well acquainted with the child and who are able to
rise above the clouds of a narrow prejudice.

Very sincerely yours,

M. Anagnos.
Director of the Perkins Institution and

Massachusetts School for the Blind.

The episode had a deadening effect on Helen Keller and on
Miss Sullivan, who feared that she had allowed the habit iS
imitation, which has in truth made Miss Keller a writer, xo go
too far. Even to-day, when Miss Keller strikes off a fine phrase,
Miss Sullivan says in humorous despair, "I wonder where she
got that ?" But she knows now, since she has studied with her
pupil in college the problems of composition, under the wise.

*i8 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

advice of Mr. Charles T. Copeland, that the style of every
writer and indeed, of every human being, illiterate or culti-
vated, is a composite reminiscence of all that he has read and
heard. Of the sources of his vocabulary he is, for the most
part, as unaware as he is of the moment when he ate the food
which makes a bit of his thumbnail. With most of us the
contributions from different sources are blended, crossed and
confused. A child with but few sources may keep distinct
what he draws from each. In this case Helen Keller held almost
intact in her mind, unmixed with other ideas, the words of a
story which at the time it was read to her, she did not fully
understand. The importance of this cannot be overestimated.
It shows how the child-mind gathers into itself words it has
heard, and how they lurk there ready to come out when the key
that releases the spring is touched. The reason that we do not
observe this process in ordinary children is, because we seldom
observe them at all, and because they are fed from so many
sources that the memories are confused and mutually destructive.
The story of "The Frost King" did not, however, come from
Helen Keller's mind intact, but had taken to itself the mould
of the child's temperament and had drawn on a vocabulary
that to some extent had been supplied in other ways. The
style of her version is in some respects even better than the
style of Miss Canby's story. It has the imaginative credulity
of a primitive folk-tale; whereas Miss Canby's story is evi-
dently told for children by an older person, who adopts the
manner of a fairy tale and cannot conceal the mature mood
which allows such didactic phrases as "Jack Frost as he is some-
times called," "Noon, at which time Mr. Sun is strongest."
Most people will feel the superior imaginative quality of Helen
Keller's opening paragraph. Surely the writer must become as
a little child to see things like that. "Twelve soldierly looking
white bears" is a stroke of genius, and there is beauty of rhythm
throughout the child's narrative. It is original in the same
way that a poet's version of an old story is original.

This little story calls into life all the questions of language
and the philosophy of style. Some conclusions may be briefly
suggested.

All use of language is imitative, and one's style is made up of
ill other styles that one has met.

The way to write good English is to read it and hear it. Thus

LITERARY STYLE 419

it is that any child may be taught to use correct English by not
being allowed to read or hear any other kind. In a child, the
selection of the better from the worse is not conscious ; he is the
servant of his word experience.

The ordinary man will never be rid of the fallacy that words
obey thought, that one thinks first and phrases afterward.
There must first, it is true, be the intention, the desire to utter
something, but the idea does not often become specific, does
not take shape until it is phrased; certainly an idea is a different
thing by virtue of being phrased. Words often make the
thought, and the master of words will say things greater than
are in him. A remarkable example is a paragraph from Miss
Keller's sketch in the Youth's Companion. Writing of the
moment when she learned that everything has a name, she
says: "We met the nurse carrying my little cousin; and teacher
spelled 'baby.' And for the first time I was impressed with the
smallness and helplessness of a little baby, and mingled with
the thought there was another one of myself, and I was glad
I was myself, and not a baby." It was a word that created
these thoughts in her mind. So the master of words is master
of thoughts which the words create, and says things greater
than he could otherwise know. Helen Keller writing "The
Frost King" was building better than she knew and saying
more than she meant.

Whoever makes a sentence of words utters not his wisdom,
but the wisdom of the race whose life is in the words, though
they have never been so grouped before. The man who can
write stories thinks of stories to write. The medium calls forth
the thing it conveys, and the greater the medium the deeper the
thoughts.

The educated man is the man whose expression is educated.
The substance of thought is language, and language is the
one thing to teach the deaf child and every other child. Let
him get language and he gets the very stuff that language is
made of, the thought and the experience of his race. The lan-
guage must be one used by a nation, not an artificial thing.
Volapiik is a paradox, unless one has French or English or
German or some other language that has grown up in a nation.
The deaf child who has only the sign language of De l'Epee is
an intellectual Philip Nolan, an alien from all races, and his
thoughts are not the thoughts of an Englishman, or a

420 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

Frenchman, or a Spaniard. The Lord's prayer in signs is not
the Lord's prayer in English.

In his essay on style De Quincey says that the best English
is to be found in the letters of the cultivated gentlewoman,
because she has read only a few good books and has not been
corrupted by the style of newspapers and the jargon of street;,
market-place, and assembly hall.

Precisely these outward circumstances account for Helen
Keller's use of English. In the early years of her education
she had only good things to read; some were, indeed, trivial and
not excellent in style, but not one was positively bad in manner
or substance. This happy condition has obtained throughout
her life. She has been nurtured on imaginative literature,
and she has gathered from it into her vigorous and tenacioits
memory the style of great writers. "A new word opens its
heart to me," she writes in a letter; and when she uses the word
its heart is still open. When she was twelve years old, she was
asked what book she would take on a long railroad journey,
"Paradise Lost," she answered, and she read it on the
train.

Until the last year or two she has not been master of her
style; rather has her style been master of her. It is only since
she has made composition a more conscious study that she
has ceased to be the victim of the phrase; the lucky victim,
fortunately, of the good phrase.

When in 1892, she was encouraged to write a sketch of her
life for the Youth's Companion, in the hope that it would
reassure her and help her to recover from the effect of "The Frost
King," she produced a piece of composition which is much
more remarkable and in itself more entertaining at some points
than the corresponding part of her story in this book. When
she came to retell the story in a fuller form, the echo was still
in her mind of the phrases she had written nine years before.
Yet she had not seen her sketch in the Youth's Companion since
she wrote it, except two passages which Miss Sullivan read to
her to remind her of things she should say in this autobiography,,
and to show her, when her phrasing troubled her, how much
better she did as a little girl.

From the early sketch I take a few passages which seem to
me, without making very much allowance for difference in time^
almost as good as anything she has written since;

LITERARY STYLE 421

I [discovered the true way to walk when I was a year old, and
during the radiant summer days that followed I was never still

a minute. . . .

Then when my father came in the evening, I would run to
the gate to meet him, and he would take me up in his strong arms
and put back the tangled curls from my face and kiss me many
times, saying, "What has my Little Woman been doing
to-day? "

But the brightest summer has winter behind it. In the
cold, dreary- month of February, when I was nineteen months
old, I had a serious illness. I still have confused memories
of that illness. My mother sat beside my little bed and tried
to soothe my feverish moans while in her troubled heart she
prayed, "Father in Heaven, spare my baby's life!" But
the fever grew and flamed in my eyes, and for several days my
kind physician thought I would die.

But early one morning the fever left me as mysteriously and
unexpectedly as it had come, and I fell into a quiet sleep. Then
my parents knew I would live, and they were very happy.
They did not know for some time after my recovery that the
cruel fever had taken my sight and hearing ; taken all the light
and music and gladness out of my little life.

But I was too young to realize what had happened. When
I awoke and found that all was dark and still, I suppose I thought
it was night, and I must have wondered why day was so long
coming. Gradually, however, I got used to the silence and
darkness that surrounded me, and forgot that it had ever
been day.

I forgot everything that had been except my mother's tender
love. Soon even my childish voice was stilled, because I had
ceased to hear any sound.

But all was not lost! After all, sight and hearing are but
two of the beautiful blessings which God had given me. The
most precious, the most wonderful of His gifts was still mine.
My mind remained clear and active, "though fled fore'er the
light."

As soon as my strength returned, I began to take an interest
in what the people around me were doing. I would cling
to my mother's dress as she went about her household duties,
and my little hands felt every object and observed every motion,
B.nd in this way J learned a great many things.

422 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

When I was a little older I felt the need of some means o4
communication with those around me, and I began to make
simple signs which my parents and friends readily understood;
but it often happened that I was unable to express my thoughts
intelligibly, and at such times I would give way to my angry
feelings utterly. . . .

Teacher had been with me nearly two weeks, and I had
learned eighteen or twenty words, before that thought flashed
into my mind, as the sun breaks upon the sleeping world; and
in that moment of illumination the secret of language was
revealed to me, and I caught a glimpse of the beautiful country
I was about to explore.

Teacher had been tiying all the morning to make me under-
stand that the mug and the milk in the mug had different
names; but I was very dull, and kept spelling milk for mug, and
mug for milk until teacher must have lost all hope of making
me see my mistake. At last she got up, gave me the mug, and
led me out of the door to the pump-house. Some one was
pumping water, and as the cool, fresh stream burst forth, teacher
made me put my mug under the spout and spelled "w-a-t-e-r,"
Water !

That word startled my soul, and it awoke, full of the spirit
of the morning, full of joyous, exultant song. Until that day
my mind had been like a darkened chamber, waiting for words
to enter and light the lamp, which is thought. . . .

I learned a great many words that day. I do not remem-
ber what they all were; but I do know that mother, father, sister
and teacher were among them. It would have been difficult
to find a happier little child than I was that night as I lay in
my crib and thought over the joy the day had brought me, and
for the first time longed for a new day to come.

The next morning 1 awoke with joy in my heart. Every-
thing I touched seemed to quiver with life. It was because I
saw everything with the new, strange, beautiful sight which
had been given me. I was never angry after that because I
understood what my friends said to me, and I was very busy
learning many wonderful things. I was never still during the
first glad days of my freedom. I was continually spelling,
and acting out the words as I spelled them. I would run, skip,
jump and swing, no matter where I happened to be. Every*
Maine was budding and blossoming. The honeysuckle hung is

LITERARY STYLE 423

ong garlands, deliciously fragrant, and the roses had neve*
been so beautiful before. Teacher and I lived out-of-doors
irom morning until night, and I rejoiced greatly in the forgotten
light and sunshine found again. . . .

The morning after our arrival I awoke bright and early.
A. beautiful summer day had dawned, the day on which I was
to make the acquaintance of a somber and mysterious friend
I got up, and dressed quickly and ran downstairs. I met
Teacher in the hall, and begged to be taken to the sea at once.
"'Not yet," she responded, laughing. "We must have breakfast
first. " As soon as breakfast was over we hurried off to the
shore. Our pathway led through low, sandy hills, and as we
hastened on, I often caught my feet in the long, coarse grass,
and tumbled, laughing, in the warm, shining sand. The beauti-
ful, warm air was peculiarly fragrant, and I noticed it got cooler
and fresher as we went on.

Suddenly we stopped, and I knew, without being told, the
Sea was at my feet. I knew, too, it was immense ! awful ! and
for a moment some of the sunshine seemed to have gone out
of the day. But I do not think I was afraid; for later, when
I had put on my bathing-suit, and the little waves ran up on the
beach and kissed my feet, 1 shouted for joy, and plunged fear-
lessly into the surf. But, unfortunately, I struck my foot on a
rock and fell forward into the cold water.

Then a strange, fearful sense of danger terrified me. The
salt water filled my eyes, and took away my breath, and a
great wave threw me up on the beach as easily as if I liad been
a little pebble. For several days after that I was very timid,
and could hardly be persuaded to go in the water at all; but by
degrees my courage returned, and almost before the summer
was over, i thought it the greatest fun to be tossed about by the
^ea-waves. . , •

I do not know whether the difference or the similarity in
phrasing between the child's version and the woman's is the more
remarkable. The early story is simpler and shows less deliberate
artifice, though even then Miss Kellei was prematurely conscious
vf stvle; but the art of the later narrative, as in the passage

424 SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

a bout tne sea, or the passage on the medallion of Homer, is sure!}
h fulfilment of the promise of the early story. It was in these
early days that Dr. Holmes wrote to her: "I am delighted
with the style of your letters. There is no affectation about them,
and as they come straight from your heart, so they go straight
to mine."

In the years when she was growing out of childhood, her style
lost it* early simplicity and became stiff and, as she says, "peri-
wigged." In these years the fear came many times to Miss
Sullivan lest the success of the child was to cease with child-
hood. At times Miss Keller seemed to lack flexibility; hei
thoughts ran in set phrases which she seemed to have no power
to revise or turn over in new ways.

Then came the work in college — original theme writing with
new ideals of composition or at least new methods of suggesting
those ideals Miss Keller began to get the better of her old
friendly taskmaster, the phrase. This book, her first mature
experiment in writing, settles the question of her ability to write

The style of the Bible is everywhere in Miss Keller's work,
just as it is in the style of most great English writers, Stevenson,
whom Miss Sullivan likes and used to read to her pupil, is another
marked influence. In her autobiography are many quotations,
chiefly from the Bible and Stevenson, distinct from the context
or interwoven with it, the whole a fabric quite of her own design,
Her vocabulary has all the phrases that other people use, and
the explanation of it and the reasonableness of it ought to be
evident by this time, There is no reason why she should strike
from her vocabulary all words of sound and vision. Writing
for other people, she should in many cases be true to outer
fact rather than to her own experience, So long as she uses
words correctly, she should be granted the privilege of using
them freely, and not be expected to confine herself to a vocabu-
lary true to her lack of sight and hearing. In her style, as in
what she writes about, we must concede to the artist what we
dawv to the autobioprar>ber. It should be ext>3«in«3. *v»«
c:.at looh and see are used by the blind, and hear by tne
deaf, for perceive; they are simple and more convenient
words Only a literal person could think of holding the
blind to perception or apperception, when seeing and looking
are so much easier, and have, moreover, in the speech of all
nsn the meaning of intellectual recognition as well as recogm

LITERARY STYLE

425

tion through the sense of sight. When Miss Keller examines
a statue, she says in her natural idiom, as her fingers run over
the marble, "It looks like a head of Flora."

It is true, on the other hand, that in her descriptions, she is
best from the point of view of art when she is faithful to her
own sensations; and this is precisely true of all artists.

Her recent training has taught her to drop a good deal of
her conventionality and to write about experiences in her life
which are peculiar to her and which, like the storm in the wild
cherry tree, mean most and call for the truest phrasing. She
has learned more and more to give up the style she borrowed
from books and tried to use, because she wanted to write like
other people; she has learned that she is at her best when she
"feels" the lilies sway; lets the roses press into her hands and
speaks of the heat which to her means light,

Miss Keller's autobiography contains almost everything
that she ever intended to publish. It seems worth while, how-
ever, to quote from some of her chance bits of writing, which
are neither so informal as her letters nor so carefully composed
as her story of her life. These extracts are from her exercises
in her course in composition, where she showed herself at the
beginning of her college life quite without rival among her
classmates. Mr. Charles T. Copeland, who has been for many
years instructor in English and Lecturer on English Literature
at Harvard and Radcliffe, said to me: "In some of her
work she has shown that she can write better than any pupil
I ever had, man or woman. She has an excellent 'ear' for ths
flow of sentences." The extracts follow:

A few verses of Omar Khayyam's poetry have just been
read to me, and I feel as if I had spent the last half -hour in a
magnificent sepulcher. Yes, it is a tomb in which hope, joy
and the power of acting nobly lie buried. Every beautiful
description, every deep thought glides insensibly into the same
mournful chant of the brevity of life, of the slow decay and
dissolution of all earthly things. The poet's bright, fond
memories of love, youth and beauty are but the funeral torches
shedding their light on this tomb, or to modify the image a
little, they are the flowers that bloom on it, watered with tears
And fed by a bleeding heart Beside the tomb sits a weary soul.

426 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

rejoicing neither in the joys of the past nor in the possibilities of
the future, but seeking consolation in forget fulness. In vain
the inspiring sea shouts to this languid soul, in vain the heavens
strive with its weakness; it still persists in regretting and seeks
a refuge in oblivion from the pangs of present woe. At times
St catches some faint echo from the living, joyous, real world, a
gleam of the perfection that is to be; and, thrilled out of its
despondency, feels capable of working out a grand ideal even
J'in the poor, miserable, hampered actual," wherein it is placed;
but in a moment the inspiration, the vision is gone, and this
great, much-suffering soul is again enveloped in the darkness
of uncertainty and despair

It is wonderful how much time good people spend fighting
the devil. If they would only expend the same amount of
energy loving their fellow men, the devil would die in his own
tracks of ennui,

I often think that beautiful ideas embarrass most people
as much as the company of great men. They are regarded
generally as far more appropriate in books and in public dis-
courses than in the parlor or at the table. Of course I do not
refer to beautiful sentiments, but to the higher truths relating
to everyday life Few people that I know seem ever to pause
in their daily intercourse to wonder at the beautiful bits of
truth they have gathered during their years of study. Often,
when I speak enthusiastically of something in history or in
poetry, I receive no response, and I feel that I must change the
subject and return to the commonest topics, such as the weather,
dressmaking, sports, sickness, "blues" and "worries." To be
sure, I take the keenest interest in everything that concerns
those who surround me; it is this very interest which makes
it so difficult for me to carry on a conversation with some people
who will not talk or say what they think; but I should not be sorry
to find more friends ready to talk with me now and then about
the wonderful things I read. We need not be like "Les Femmes
Savantes"; but we ought to have something to say about what
we learn as well as about what we must do, and what our pro
fessors say or how they mark our themes.

To-day X took luncheon with the Freshman Class of Radcliffe.

LITERARY STYLE 427

This was my first real experience in college life, and a delightful
experience it was ! For the first time since my entrance into
Radcliffe I had the opportunity to make friends with all my
classmates, and the pleasure of knowing that they regarded
me as one of themselves, instead of thinking of me as living
apart and taking no interest in the everyday nothings of their
life, as I had sometimes feared they did. I have often been
surprised to hear this opinion expressed or rather implied by
girls of my own age and even by people advanced in years.
Once some one wrote to me that in his mind I was always "sweet
and earnest," thinking only of what is wise, good and interesting
—as if he thought I was one of those wearisome saints of whom
there are only too many in the world ! I always laugh at
these foolish notions, and assure my friends that it is much better
to have a few faults and be cheerful and responsive in spite of
all deprivations than to retire into one's shell, pet one's affliction,
clothe it with sanctity, and then set one's self up as a monument
of patience, virtue, goodness and all in all; but even while
I laugh I feel a twinge of pain in my heart, because it seems
rather hard to me that any one should imagine that I do not
feel the tender bonds which draw me to my young sisters —
the sympathies springing from what we have in common —
youth, hope, a half-eager, half-timid attitude towards the life
before us and above all the royalty of maidenhood.

Sainte-Beuve says, uIl vient un age peut-Stre quand on n'ecrit
plus." This is the only allusion I have read to the possibility that
the sources of literature, varied and infinite as they seem now,
may sometime be exhausted. It surprises me to find that such
an idea has crossed the mind of any one, especially of a highly
gifted critic. The very fact that the nineteenth century has
not produced many authors whom the world may count among
the greatest of all time does not in my opinion justify the remark
"There may come a time when people cease to write."

In the first place, the fountains of literature are fed by two
vast worlds, one of action, one of thought, by a succession of
creations in the one and of changes in the other. New experiences
and events call forth new ideas and stir men to ask questions
un thought of before, and seek a definite answer in the depths
of human knowledge.

In the second place, if it is true that as manv centuries must

428 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

pass before the world becomes perfect as passed before it became
what it is to-day, literature will surely be enriched incalculably
by the tremendous changes, acquisitions and improvements
that cannot fail to take place in the distant future. If genius
has been silent for a century it has not been idle. On the
contrary, it has been collecting fresh materials not only from
the remote past, but also from the age of progress and develop-
ment, and perhaps in the new century there will be outbursts
of splendor in all the various branches of literature. At
present the world is undergoing a complete revolution, and in
the midst of falling systems and empires, conflicting theories
and creeds, discoveries and inventions, it is a marvel how one
can produce any great literary works at all. This is an age ot
workers, not of thinkers. The song to-day is;

Let the dead past bury its dead.
Act, act in the living present.
Heart within and God overhead -

A little later, when the rush and heat of achievement relax, we
can begin to expect the appearance of grand men to celebrate
in glorious poetry and prose the deeds and triumphs of the
last few centuries.

It is very interesting to watch a plant grow, it is like taking
part in creation. When all outside is cold and white, when the
little children of the woodland are gone to their nurseries in the
warm earth, and the empty nests on the bare trees fill with snow,
my window-garden glows and smiles, making summer within
while it is winter without. It is wonderful to see flowers bloom
in the midst of a snow-storm ! I have felt a bud "shyly doft
her green hood and blossom with a silken burst of sound,"
while the icy fingers of the snow beat against the window-
panes. What secret power, I wonder, caused this blossoming
miracle? What mysterious force guided the seedling from
the dark earth up to the light, through leaf and stem and bud,
to glorious fulfilment in the perfect flower? Who could have
dreamed that such beauty larked in the dark earth, was latent
in the tiny seed we planted ? Beautiful flower, you have taught
me to see a little way into the hidden heart of things. Now
I understand that the darkness everywhere may hold possi-
bilities better even than my hopes.

LITERARY STYLE 429

A FREE TRANSLATION FROM HORACE

Book II — iS.

I am not one of those on whom fortune deigns to smile. My
house is not resplendent with ivory and gold; nor is it adorned
with marble arches, resting on graceful columns brought from
the quarries of distant Africa. For me no thrifty spinners
weave purple garments. I have not unexpectedly fallen heir
to princely estates, titles or power; but I have something more
to be desired than all the world's treasures — the love of my
friends, and honorable fame, won by my own industry and
talents. Despite my poverty, it is my privilege to be the
companion of the rich and mighty. I am too grateful for al/
these blessings to wish for more from princes, or from, the gods
My little Sabine farm is dear to me; for here I spend my happiesl
days, far from the noise and strife of the world.

0, ye who live in the midst of luxury, who seek beautiful
marbles for new villas, that shall surpass the old in splendor,
you never dream that the shadow of death is hanging over yout
halls. Forgetful of the tomb, you lay the foundation of your
palaces. In your mad pursuit of pleasure you rob the sea of
its beach and desecrate hallowed ground. More even than this,
in your wickedness you destroy the peaceful homes of your
clients ! Without a touch of remorse you drive the father from
his land, clasping to his bosom his household gods and his
half-naked children.

You forget that death comes to the rich and the poor alike,
and comes once for all; but remember, Acheron could not be
bribed by gold to ferry the crafty Prometheus back to the sunlit
world. Tantalus, too, great as he was above all mortals, went
down to the kingdom of the dead, never to return. Remember,
too, that, although death is inexorable, yet he is just; for
he brings retribution to the rich for their wickedness, and gives
the poor eternal rest from their toil and sorrow.

Ah, the pranks that the nixies of Dreamland play on us
while we sleep ! Methinks "they are jesters at the Court of
Heaven." They frequently take the shape of daily themes to
mock me; they strut about on the stage of Sleep like foolish
virgins, only they carry well-trimmed note-books in theif

430 A SUPPLEMENTARY ACCOUNT

hands instead of empty lamps. At other times they examine
and cross-examine me in all the studies I have ever had, and
invariably ask me questions as easy to answer as this: "What
was the name of the first mouse that worried Hippopotamus,
satrap of Cambridge under Astyagas, grandfather of Cyrus
the Great?" I wake terror-stricken with the words ringing
in my ears, "An answer or your life !"

Such are the distorted fancies that flit through the mind oi
one who is at college and lives as I do in an atmosphere of
ideas, conceptions and half- thoughts, half-feelings which tumble
and jostle each other until one is almost crazy. I rarely have
dreams that are not in keeping with what I really think and feel,
but one night my very nature seemed to change, and I stood
in the eye of the world a mighty man and a terrible. Naturally
I love peace and hate war and all that pertains to war; I see
nothing admirable in the ruthless career of Napoleon, save its
finish. Nevertheless, in that dream the spirit of that pitiless
slayer of men entered me ! I shall never forget how the fury of
battle throbbed in my veins — it seemed as if the tumultuous
beating of my heart would stop my breath. I rode a fiery
hunter — I can feel the impatient toss of his head now and
the quiver that ran through him at the first roar of the cannon.

Frcm the top of the hill where I stood I saw my army surging
over b sunlit plain like angry breakers, and as they moved, I
saw the green of fields, like the cool hollows between billows.
Trumpet answered trumpet above the steady beat of drums
and the rhythm of marching feet. I spurred my panting
steed and waving my sword on high and shouting, ''I come !
Behold me, warriors — Europe !" I plunged into the oncoming
billows, as a strong swimmer dives into breakers, and struck,
alas, 'tis true, the bedpost !

Now I rarely sleep without dreaming; but before Miss Sullivan
came to me, my dreams were few and far between, devoid
of thought or coherency, except those of a purely physical
nature. In my dreams something was always falling suddenly
and heavily, and at times my nurse seemed to punish me for my
unkind treatment of her in the daytime and return at an usurer's
rate of interest my kickings and pinchings. I would wake
with a start or struggle frantically to escape from my tormentor.
I was very fond of bananas, and one night I dreamed that I
found a long string of them in the dining-room, near the cup-

LITERARY STYLE 431

board, all peeled and deliriously ripe, and all I had to do was
to stand under the string and eat as long as I could eat.

After Miss Sullivan came to me, the more I learned, the
oftener I dreamed; but with the waking of my mind there came
many dreary fancies and vague terrors which troubled my sleep
for a long time. I dreaded the darkness and loved the wood-
fire. Its warm touch seemed so like a human caress, I really
thought it was a sentient being, capable of loving and protecting
me. One cold winter night I was alone in my room. Miss
Sullivan had put out the light and gone away, thinking I was
sound asleep. Suddenly I felt my bed shake, and a wolf seemed
to spring on me and snarl in my face. It was only a dream, but
I thought it real, and my heart sank within me. I dared not
scream, and I dared not stay in bed. Perhaps this was a con-
fused recollection of the story I had heard not long before
about Red Riding Hood. At all events, I slipped down from the
bed and nestled close to the fire which had not flickered out.
The instant I felt its warmth I was reassured, and I sat a long
time watching it climb higher and higher in shining waves.
At last sleep surprised me, and when Miss Sullivan returned
she found me wrapped in a blanket by the hearth.

Often when I dream, thoughts pass through my mind like
cowled shadows, silent and remote, and disappear. Perhaps
they are the ghosts of thoughts that once inhabited the mind of
an ancestor. At other times the things I have learned and the
things I have been taught, drop away, as the lizard sheds its
skin, and I see my soul as God sees it. There are also rare and
beautiful moments when I see and hear in Dreamland. What
if in my waking hours a sound should ring through the silent
halls of hearing? What if a ray of light should flash through
the darkened chambers of my soul ? What would happen, I
ask many and many a time. Would the bow-and-string tension
of life snap ? Would the heart, overweighted with sudden
joy, stop beating for very excess of happiness ?

INDEX

Abstract Ideas, 30-31, 350,
358-359, 365. See _ also
Innate ideas and Religion.

Adams, Benjamin, 4.

Adams, Charles, 4.

JEneid, 111, 245, 251, 253.

Alden, Mr. William L., 236.

Alexander, Mr. Wm. V., see
Editor's Preface.

Algebra, study of, 90-95, 241-
242, 248.

Allen, Mr. E. E., 99, 292.

Alphabet, see Manual.

American Annals of the Deaf,

415- ...

American Association to Pro-
mote the Teaching of Speech
to the Deaf, meeting at
Chautauqua, 80, 224, 300;
extracts from Miss Sulli-
van's paper before, 374~377.
386-387; Helen Keller's
address at meeting at Mt.
Airy, 392-393.

Anagnos, Mr. Michael, 19, 63-
71, 108, 180, 193, 299, 300,
302, 311, 324, 344; letter
from, 415; letters to, 148,
151, 154, 162, 168, 405.

Andersen, Hans Christian, 399.

Andover, visit to, 202, 399.

Anna, Cousin (Mrs. George T.
Turner), letter to, 145.

Arabian Nights, The, 108.

Arithmetic, study of, 36, 81,

175. 239- 339. 364~365-
.As You Like It, 85.
Astronomy, study of, 90, 165.

Bacon's Essays, 265.

Bell, Dr. Alexander Graham,
20, 67, 75, 76, 137-138, 15s.
196, 216, 219, 235, 268-269,
274, 277, 278, 346, 395;
letter to, 148.

Belle, "our dog," 13, 312-
313.

Bennett, Miss Delia, letter to,

165.
Bible, 99, 111-113, 283.
Bible Stories, 108.
Bicycle, 125, 243-244.
Birdie and His Fairy Fne-nas,

65. 401-413-
Black Beauty, 53, 362.
Blind Girls, letters to, 146,

147-
Bok, Mr. Edward W., see

Editor's Preface.
Books, 105-118, 367, 376-377,

379-380, 395. See also

Language, Method, Style, and

specific titles.
Botany, study of, 36, 364.
Boy I Knew, A, 138.
Bradford, Mrs. George H.,

letter to, 232.
Bradstreet, Messrs., letter to,

191.
Braille, 84, 90, 152, 275, 284,

292, 324, 339; difficulty of,

in examinations, 93-95, 259-

260.
Braille Machine, 285, 292.
Bridgman, Laura, 17, 22, 279

290, 297-298, 302, 330, 368.
Brooks, Phillips, 133, 215. 372,

399; letter from, 187; letters

to, 185, 200, 203.
Bryant, William Cullen, 82,

362-363.

433

434

INDEX

Bunker Hill, visit to, 45.
Burke's Speech on Conciliation

with America, 85-86.
Burroughs, Mr. John, 139, 233.

C«sar, study of , 79, 223.
Cambridge School for Young

Ladies, 83-92, 237—240.
Campbell, Mildred, 6.
Canby, Miss Margaret T., 65—

68, 401; letters from, 402—

4°3-
Cards, playing, 126.
Carlyle, 117.

Castle of Otranto, The, 231.
Chambered Nautilus, The, $j.
Chamberlin, Mr. J. E., 121-

122, 236, 391.
Chamberlin, Mrs. J. E., 236.
Checkers, 126.
Chess, 126.

Children, love of, 126.
Chisholm, Dr., 20
Christmas, first, 41—42, 150,

342-343-
Church, first visit to, 347-348.
Cicero, 255.
Circus, 340—341.
Clemens, Mr. Samuel L., 117,

138, 139, 227, 228, 286.
Clement, Mr. Edward H.,

letter to, 209.
Cleveland, Mr. Grover, 155.
Cleveland, Mrs. Grover, letter

to, 211.
Colomba, 262, 264.
Colour, idea of, 149, 288, 335,

339-340.
Communication. See Convert

sation^ Manual Alphabet,

Signs, Speech.
Conversation, knowledge

gained from, 289; theme

on, 426.
Copeland, Mr. Charles Town-
send, 100, 418, 425; letter

to, 272.
Corneille, 97, 264.
Cornell University, 266.
Crouter, Dr., 235.

Death, idea of, 344, 354-355-
Derby, Miss Caroline, letters

to, 207, 210, 214, 219, 223,

224, 225, 231, 233, 234, 244.
Diary, see Journals.
Dickens's American Notes, 17;

A Child's History of England,

108, 367.
Dodge, Mrs. Mary Mapes, 139,

231-
Dog Show, 226.
Dogs, 125.

"Doll," 22-24, 305-306.
Donald, Miss Dora, 255.
Dreams, 429-431.
Drummond, Mr. Henry, 135.

Eclogues, Virgil's, 251, 253.
Economics, study of, 100.
Education, Chapter on, 297-

383. See also for specific

discussions, Books, Language

Method, Style.
Elizabethan Literature, study

of, 100.
Eferton's Middle Ages, 115.
Endicott, Mr. William, 46,

180.
English, study of, 83, 97, 99,

100, 224, 273. See also

Style.
Enoch Arden, 197.
Everett, Edward, 4.
Everett, Lucy Helen, 4.
Examinations. See Radcliffe.

Faery Queen, The, 264.
Fern Quarry, 50-54, 63.
Fire, experience with, 13.
Freeman's History of Europe,

„ "5- T.

French Literature, comments

on, 116.
French, study of, 78, 80, 97,

161-163, 380.
Frey tag's Aus dem Staat Fried'

rtchs des Grossen, 85.
Frost Fairies, The, 64-68, 401;

story quoted in full, 406-

413.

INDEX

435

"Frost King" episode, The,
204; Editor's discussion of,
417-419; Helen Keller's
account of, 63-72, 73; Miss
Sullivan's account of, 396-

4i5-

Frost King, The, Helen

Keller's, 406-413.
Fuller, Mrs. S. R., letter to,

258.
Fuller, Miss Sarah, 59-60, 384,

387; letter to, 183.
Furness, Dr. H. H., 287.

Games. See Cards, Checkers,

Chess, etc.
Garcelon, Dr., 349.
Geography, study of, 35-36,

364.
Geometry, study of, 90-94,

241—242,
German Literature, comments

on , 116, 117.
German, study of, 80, 83, 97,

380.
Gilder, Mr. Richard Watson,

138, 139-
Gilman, Mr. Arthur, 83-92,
237, 240, 260—261, 296,

383-
Gilman, Dr. Daniel C, extract

from letter to Miss Sullivan,

301.
Goethe, gy;Aus Meinem Leben,

85; Faust, 116.
Goodhue, Susanna E., 4.
Goodson Gazette, The, 40 1 .
Great Round World, The, letter

to, 276.
Greece, interest in, 109— no.
"Greek Heroes" (Charles

Kingsley's The Heroes), 108,

369-
Greek, study of, 90, no— in,

241, 253.
Green's A Short History of the

English People, 115, 265,

292.
Greer, Dr. David H., 263-264,

^68; letter to, 253.

Grote, Frau, 84, 261.
Government, study of, 100.

HAGUEW00D,Miss Linnie, 255.

Hale, Dr. Edward E., 4, 136-
137, 139, 258, 346; letters to,
151, 166, 181, 223, 278.

Halifax, visit to, 120-12 1, 277-
278.

Hammond. See Typewriter.

Hands, recognition of, 133,
286.

Harbaugh, Miss, 91.

Hawthorne's The Wonder
Book, 108.

Heady, Mr. Morrison, letters
tp,i53, 159.

Heidi, 108.

Heine's Harzreise, 85.

Henry Esmond, 265.

Herrick, Robert, 117.

Higinbotham, Mr. H. N., 76,
218—219.

History, study of, 83, 97, 115,
116, 224.

Hitz, Mr. John, 255,384; let-
ters to, 212, 234, 239, 249,
259, 264, 267. See also
Editor's Preface.

Hoar, Hon. George F., letter
to, 280.

Holmes, Mr. John H., letter
to, 201.

Holmes, Dr. Oliver "Wendell,
135-136; extract from poem ,
"Spring," 398; letters from,
189, 424; letters to, 182, 198,
202.

Homer, 254; medallion of, 127-
128. See Greek, Iliad.

Hood, Thomas, 117.

Hooker, Miss, 218.

Hopkins, Sophia C, 67, 301,
401; Helen Keller's letter to,
164; Miss Sullivan's letters
to, 3°3-337. 340-352. See
also Editor's Preface.

Horace, Odes of, 100, 264;
Helen Keller's translation
from, 429.

436

INDEX

Howe, Dr. Samuel Gridley, 17,
278—279, 280, 297-298, 302,

378.
Howells, Mr. William Dean,

87, 138, 227, 228, 238.
Hugo, 116.
Humason, Dr. T. A., 225, 226,

385.

Huss, examination on, 102-
103.

Hutton, Mr. Laurence, 138,
227, 228, 231.

Hutton, Mrs. Laurence, 138,
140, 231, 268, 295; letters
to, 229, 237, 239, 240, 241
242, 244, 248, 252, 255, 257,
263, 266, 274. See also
Editor's Preface.

Iliad, ho, hi, 241, 245, 251,

253.
In Memoriam, 79.
Inches, Mrs. Charles E., letter

to, 221.
Innate ideas, 293-294.
Irons, Rev. John D., 78-79,

221.
Irving, Sir Henry, 128, 231.
Irving, Washington, 82.
Irwin, Miss Agnes, 258, 287.
Ivanhoe, 232.
Ivy Green, 5, 308.

Jefferson, Mr. Joseph 128-

130, 287.
Johnson, Samuel, 86.
Journals, extracts from Helen

Keller's, 296, 346-347, 360-

361, 414-415.
Jungle Book, The, 109, 253, 394

Kaata, Miss Ragnhild, 59, 184,

256.
Keith, Mr. Merton S., 92-95,

240, 240-242, 245, 248, 255,

261, 296, 383.
Keller, Captain Arthur H., 4,

14-15, 237, 304, 309, 312,

343> 344, 347-348.

Keller, Caspar, 3.

Keller, Miss Evelina H., lettel
to, 163.

Keller, "Grandfather," 4.

Keller, Helen, ancestry, 3;
birth, 3; characteristics, 6,
14, 17, 287—288, 294—296,

304-305. 323. 355-357. 363-
364; christening, 6; early
home, 4; first lesson, 22, 305;
Frost King episode, 63-72,
396-419; illness, 7; journey
to Baltimore, 18; journey
to Boston, 43; knowledge
before education, 10, 21,
304, 307; knowledge gained
from conversation, 289;
knowledge of life, 295;
knowledge of visible world,
289-290, 357; plan to estab-
lish an institution for deaf
and blind children, 267-269;
pleasures, 119— 131; post-
pones entering Radcliffe,
258; studies at Hulton,
Penn., 78-79, 221; studies
at Wright-Humason School,
80-82, 224-226; studies
under Mr, Merton S. Keith,
240-242, 244-245, 248, 253-
255; tea for kindergarten,
206—209; visit to Andover,
202 ; visit to Cincinnati, 348-
349; visit to Halifax, 120,
277-278; visit to Memphis,
iSo-^2. 345-346; visit to
Niagara, 74, 215-217; visit
to Plymouth, 45, 159— 161;
visit to World's Fair, 75-77,
218-220; work for Tommy
Stringer, 196-202;
Keller, Dr. James, 2>33t 34$,

347. 349-
Keller, Mr. James, 303, 305,

308.

Keller, Mrs. Kate Adams, 4, 9,
87, 221, 303, 304, 308,
343-344 ; letters to, 145
158, 178, 179, 192, 216, 227

Keller, Miss Mildred, 16, 87
333-334 ; letters to, 175, 261

INDEX

437

Keller, Phillips Brooks, 210,

212.
Keller's Landing, 35, 321
Khayyam, see Omar.
King Lear, 113.
King of No-land, 231.
Kipling, Mr. Rudyard, 253.
Kipling's Dreaming True, 248;

Jungle Book, 109, 253, 394.
Kittredge, Professor George

Lyman, 100, 115.
Knowledge, before education,

10, 21, 304, 307; of life, 295;

of visible world, 289—290,

357-
"Knowledge is power,' 104.
Krehl, Mr. George R., letter

to, 197

Ladies' Home Journal, 71;
see also Editor's Preface.

La Fontaine's Fables, 78, 108,
109.

Lamb's Tales from Shakes-
peare, 108, 395.

Lamson, Mrs. Mary Swift, 59,
298 footnote.

Language, absorption of, 106,
161-162, 318, 375, 378, 397.
See also Books, Method,
Style.

Latin, study of, 79, 83, 90, in,
223, 245. 253, 255. 38°-

Lee, Robert E., 4.

Leslie, Miss Elsie, 130.

Lessing's Minna von Barn-
helm, 85.

Letters from Helen Keller to
Mr. Michael Anagnos, 148,
151, 154, 162, 168, 405; Dr.
Alexander G. Bell, 148;
Miss Delia Bennett, 165;
Blind Girls at Perkins Insti-
tution, 146, 147 ; Mrs. George
B. Bradford, 232; Messrs.
Bradstreet, 191; Phillips
Brooks, 185, 200, 203; Mr.
Edward H. Clement, 209;
Mrs. Grover Cleveland, 211;

Letters from Helen Keller to
Mr. Charles T. Copeland,
272; Miss Caroline Derby,
207, 210, 214, 219, 223, 224,
225, 231, 233, 234, 244;
Miss Sarah Fuller, 183; Mrs.
Samuel R. Fuller, 258; The
Great Round World, 276;
Dr. David H. Greer, 2153;
Dr. E. E. Hale, 151, 166,
181, 223, 278; Mr. Morrison
Heady, 153, 159; Mr. John
Hitz, 212, 234, 239, 249,
259, 264, 267 ; Senator
George F. Hoar, 280; Mr.
John H. Holmes, 201; Dr.
Oliver Wendell Holmes, 182,
198, 202; Mrs. Sophia C.
Hopkins, 164; Mrs. Laurence
Hutton, 229, 237, 239, 240,
241, 242, 244, 248, 252,
255. 257, 263, 266, 274;
Mrs. Charles E. Inches, 221;
Miss Evelina H. Keller, 163;
Mrs. Kate Adams Keller,
145, 158, 178, 179, 192, 216^
227; Miss Mildred Keller,
175, 261; Mr. George R.
Krehl, 197; Miss Fannie S.
Marrett, 170 ; Sir John
Everett Millais, 199; Miss
Mary C. Moore, 156; Mr.
Albert H. Munsell, 204;
Chairman of Academic
Board of Radcliffe College,
265; Miss Nina Rhoades,
277; Miss Mary E. Riley,
171; St. Nicholas, 206; John
P. Spaulding, 208; Miss
Anne M. Sullivan, 173;
Mrs. William Thaw, 230,
238, 246, 247; Miss Sarah
Tomlinson, 149; Mrs. George
T. Turner , 145 ; Mr.
William Wade, 176, 251,
255, 271, 275; Charles
Dudley Warner, 236,
243 ; John G. Whittier,
177, 194; Mr. John D.
Wright, 269.

438

INDEX

Letters from Miss Sullivan to
Mrs. Sophia C. Hopkins,

303-337. 34o-352-
Letters, style of Helen Keller s,

143-144.
Letters to Helen Keller from

Phillips Brooks, 187; Dr.

Oliver Wendell Holmes, 189;

John Greenleaf Whittier,

.195-

Liberty, visit to Statue of, 225.

Library at Tuscumbia, 221-
222.

Line Print, "embossed print,"
292.

Lip-reading, 61, 81, 224—226,
391; see also Speech.

Literature. See Books, Eng-
lish, French, German, Greek,
Latin, Style.

"Little Jakey," 182, 186.

Little Lord Fauntleroy, 68,
106—108, 162—163, 169, 416—

4I7-
Little Red Riding Hood, 341,

43*.

Little Women, 108.
Longfellow, 221, 396 footnote.
"Love," 29.
Lowell, J. R., 117.

Masie, Mr. H. W., 233.
Macaulay's Samuel Johnson,

85-86.
Macbeth, 113, 114, 295.
McGirr, Miss Katie, 272.
Magazine for the blind, 275—

, 277-
"Maine Memorial College,"

248—249.
Manual alphabet, 62, 98, 238,

251—252, 256, 291—292.
Manual skill, 290-291, 390,

391, 314.
Marrett, Miss Fannie S., letter

to, 170.
Mathematics. See Algebra,

A rithmetic , Geometry.
Meath, Earl of, and Lady, 178,

181, 197.

Medecin Malgre Lui, Le, 78,

80, 234.
Memory, of people, 286; tactile,

293. See Hands, Touch.
Memphis, visit to, 150-152,

345-346,
Merimee, 116.
Method, Miss Sullivan's, 22,

29-32. 34, 38-40, 301, 308,

3I3~3I4. 3:5. 3*7> 320-321,

33o, 332, 341, 342-343, 351.

358-359, 365-366, 370-371.

375-377; Editor's discussion

of, 3787383, 395-
Metropolitan Club, 227.
Midsummer Night's Dream, A,

265.
Millais, Sir John Everett,

letter to, 199.
Milton, 98; Paradise Lost, 420.
Molierc , 97, 116; Medecin

Malgr6 Lui, 78, 80, 234.
Moore, Alexander, 4.
Moore, Miss Mary C, letter

to, 156.
Morse, Professor, 220.
Munsell, Mr. Albert H., 217,

291; letter to, 204.
Museums, experiences in, 126—

127, 249—250, 290.
Music, knowledge of, 288-

289; study of, 224.
Musset, Alfred de, 97.

"Nancy," 43~44, 152, 3IQ-

Nature, enjoyment of, 122—
125; lessons in, 25, 34-38,
321, 325-326, 332, 369-
370; theme on, 428.

Niagara, visit to, 74, 215-217.

North Alabamian, The, 222.

Odyssey, 253.

Old Mortality, 231.

Olivier, Madame, 80.

Omar Khayyam, theme on,

425-426.
Our World, 47, 105.
Over the Teacups, i8i„

INDEX

439

Perkins Institution, 44, 106;

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Full text of "The Story of My Life : With Her Letters (1887-1901) and a Supplementary Account of Her Education, Including Passages from the Reports and Letters of Her Teacher, Anne Mansfield Sullivan, by John Albert Macy"

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