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《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 gs 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 fad fancy look alike across the years that link the past with the present. The aints the childs 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 have99lib? lost their poignancy; and many is of vital importan my early education have been fotten 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 iing and important.
I was born on June 27, 1880, in Tuscumbia, a little town of northern Alabama.
The family on my fathers side is desded from Caspar Keller, a native of Switzerland, who settled in Maryland. One of my Swiss a九九藏书
ors was the first teacher of the deaf in Zurid wrote a book on the subject of their education--rather a singular ce; though it is true that there is no king who has not had a slave among his aors, and no slave who has not had a king among his.
My grandfather, Caspar Kellers 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 ats of these trips.
My Grandmother Keller was a daughter of one of Lafayettes aides, Alexander Moore, an藏书网d granddaughter of Alexander Spotswood, an early ial Governor of Virginia. She was also sed cousin to Robert E. Lee.
My father, Arthur H. Keller, tain in the federate Army, and my mother, Kate Adams, was his sed 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 Hele, who beloo 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 illhat deprived me of my sight and hearing, in a tiny house sisting of a large square room and a small one, in which the servant slept. It is a in the South to build a small house he homestead as an ao 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 pletely covered with vines, climbing roses and honeysuckles. From the garden it looked like an arbour. The little porch was hidden from view by a s 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 surrounding 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 fort and to hide my hot fa 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, ing suddenly upon a beautiful vine, I reized it by its leaves and blossoms, and k 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 looons from our porch, filling the whole air with their fragrance, untainted by ahy smell; and in the early m, washed in the dew, they felt so soft, so pure, I could not help w if they did not resemble the asphodels of Gods garden.
The beginning of my life was simple and much like every other little life. I came, I saw, I 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 aor whom he highly esteemed, and he deed to take any further part in the discussion. My mother solved the problem by giving it as her wish that I should be called after her mother, whose maiden name was Hele. But in the excitement of carryio church my father lost the name on the way, very naturally, si was one in which he had deed to have a part. When the minister asked him for it, he just remembered 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 dye,”
and one day I attracted every otention 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 tio make some sound for that word after all other speech was lost. I ceased making the sound "wah-wah" only when I learo spell the word.
They tell me I walked the day I was a year old. My mother had just take 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 mothers 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 mog-bird, one summer ri fruit and roses, oumn of gold and crimson sped by aheir 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 unsciousness of a new-born baby. They called it acute gestion of the stomad brain. The doctor thought I could not live. Early one m, however, the fever left me as suddenly and mysteriously as it had e. There was great rejoi９９lib?g in the family that m, but no one, not even the doctor, khat I should never see or hear again.
I fancy I still have fused recolles of that illness. I especially remember the tenderness with which my mother tried to soothe me in my waling hours of fret and pain, and the agony and bewilderment 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 a more dim each day. But, except for these fleeting memories, if, ihey be memories, it all seems very unreal, like a nightmare. Gradually I got used to the silend darkhat surrounded me and fot that it had ever been different, until she came--my teacher--who was to set my spirit free. But during the first een months of my life I had caught glimpses of broad, green fields, a luminous sky, trees and flowers which the darkhat followed could not wholly blot out. If we have once seen, "the day is ours, and what the day has shown.”
Chapter II
I ot recall what happened during the first months after my illness. I only know that I sat in my mothers lap or g to her dress as she went about her household duties. My hands felt every objed observed every motion, and in this way I learo know many things. Soon I felt the need of some unication with others and began to make crude signs. A shake of the head meant "No" and a nod, "Yes," a pull meant "e" and a push, "Go." Was it bread that I wahen 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 w the freezer and shivered, indig cold. My mother, moreover, succeeded in making me uand a good deal. I always knew when she wished me t her something, and I would run upstairs or anywhere else she indicated. Indeed, I owe to her loving wisdom all that was bright and good in my long night.
I uood a good deal of what was going on about me. At five I learo fold and put away the 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 pany, and when the guests took 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 pany 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 fad 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 eain the pany.
I do not remember when I first realized that I was different from other people; but I k 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 versing and touched their lips. I could not uand, and was vexed. I moved my lips aiculated 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 khat it hurt Ella, my o kick her, and when my fit of temper was over I had a feeling akin tret. But I ot remember any instan which this feeling prevented me from repeating the naughtiness when I failed to get what I wanted.
In those days a little cirl, Martha Washington, the child of our cook, and Belle, an old setter, and a great hunter in her day, were my stant panions. Martha Washington uood 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 enter. I was strong, active, indifferent to sequences. 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 i, kneading dough balls, helping make ice-cream, grinding coffee, quarreling over the cake-bowl, and feeding the hens and turkeys that swarmed about the kit steps. Many of them were so tame that they would eat from my hand a me feel them. One big gobbler snatched a tomato from me one day and ran away with it. Inspired, perhaps, by Master Gobblers 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 in out-of-the-laces, 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 wao go egg-hunting, but I would double my hands and put them on the ground, which meant something round in the grass, and Martha always uood. When we were fortunate enough to find a I never allowed her to carry the eggs home, making her uand by emphatic signs that she might fall and break them.
The sheds where the was stored, the stable where the horses were kept, and the yard where the cows were milked m and evening were unfailing sources of io Martha ahe 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 ehe pleasant odours that filled the house and the tidbits that were given to Martha Washington ao 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 stog because the others did; I ot remember, however, that the ceremony ied 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 o July afternoon. One was black as ebony, with little bunches of fuzzy hair tied with shs stig out all over her head like corkscrews. 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 shs and clipping all the leaves off the honeysuckle that were within reach, I turned my attention to Marthas corkscrews. She objected at first, but finally submitted. Thinking that turn and turn about is fair play, she seized the scissors and cut off one of my curls, and would have cut them all off but for my mothers timely interference.
Belle, , my other panion, 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 iive. 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 a９9ｌｉｂ.s 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 ptuous sniffs, go to the opposite side of the hearth and lie down again, and I, wearied and disappointed, went off in searartha.
Many is 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 happeo spill water on my apron, and I spread it out to dry before the fire which was flickering oting-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 hat brought Viny, my old o the rescue. Throwing a bla 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 m I locked my mother up in the pantry, 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 vinced 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 uand 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 uhe wardrobe in the hall. I could not be io tell where the key was. My father was obliged to get a ladder and take Miss Sullivan out through the window--muy 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 o..he family sisted of my father and mother, two older half-brothers, and, afterward, a little sister, Mildred. My earliest distinct recolle of my father is making my way through great drifts of neers 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 a, 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, and a celebrated shot. o his family he loved his dogs and gun. His hospitality was great, almost to a fault, and he seldom came home without bringing a guest. His special pride was the big garden where, it was said, he raised the fi watermelons and strawberries in the ty; 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 vio 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 aes, 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 fathers 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 experieh death.
How shall I write of my mother? She is so o me that it almost seems indelicate to speak of her.
For a long time I regarded my little sister as an intruder. I khat I had ceased to be my mothers only darling, and the thought filled me with jealousy. She sat in my mothers lap stantly, 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 affe, so that she became much the worse 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 ofte an hour or more rog 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 oo whom as yet no tie of love bound me I grew angry. I rushed upon the cradle and over-tur, 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 affec藏书网
tions that grow out of endearing words and as and panionship. But afterward, when I was restored to my humaage, Mildred and I grew into each others hearts, so that we were tent to go hand-in-hand wherever caprice led us, although she could not uand 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 uood were invariably followed by outbursts of passion. I felt as if invisible hands were holding me, and I made frantic?9９ｌｉb. efforts to free myself. I struggled--not that struggling helped matters, but the spirit of resistance was strong within me; I generally broke down in tears and physical exhaustion. If my mother happeo 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 unication became sent that these outbursts occurred daily, sometimes 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 uhat any one would e to su out-of-the-lace as Tuscumbia to teach a child who was both deaf and blind. Indeed, my friends aives sometimes doubted whether I could be taught. My mothers only ray of hope came from Diss "Ameriotes." She had read his at of Laura Bridgman, 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 probably died with him; and if they had not, how was a little girl in a far-off town in Alabama to receive the be of them?
When I was about six years old, my father heard of an emi oculist in Baltimore, who had been successful in many cases that had seemed hopeless. My parents at oermio 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 orain. 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 tehe ductor, too, was kind. Often when he went his rounds I g to his coat tails while he collected and puhe tickets. His punch, with which he let me play, was a delightful toy. Curled up in a er 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 ical shapeless thing, this improvised doll, with no nose, mouth, ears or eyes--nothing that even the imagination of a child could vert into a face. Curiously enough, the absence of eyes struck me more than all the other defects put together. I poihis 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 u until I found my aunts cape, which was trimmed with large beads. I pulled two beads off and indicated to her that I wanted her to sew them on my doll. She raised my hand to her eyes in a questioning way, and I nodded eically. The beads were sewed in the right plad I could not tain myself for joy; but immediately I lost all i in the doll. During the whole trip I did not have o of temper, there were so many things to keep my mind and fingers 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 sult Dr. Alexander Graham Bell of Washington, who would be able to give him information about schools and teachers of deaf or blind children. Ag on the doctors advice, we went immediately to Washington to see Dr. Bell, my father with a sad heart and many misgi?t>vings, I wholly unscious 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 whideared Dr. Bell to so mas, 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 uood my signs, and I k 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, panionship, knowledge, love.
Dr. Bell advised my father to write to Mr. Anagnos, director of the Perkins Institution in Boston, the se of Dr. Howes great labours for the blind, and ask him if he had a teacher petent to begin my education. This my father did at once, and in a few weeks there came a kier f?t>rom Mr. Anagnos with the f assurahat 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 diviouched 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 sider the immeasubbr>rable trasts betweewo lives which it ects. It was the third of March, 1887, three months before I was seven years old.
Oernoon of that eventful day, I stood on the porch, dumb, expet. I guessed vaguely from my mothers 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 oeps. The afternoon surated the mass of honeysuckle that covered the porch, and fell on my upturned face. My fingers lingered almost unsciously on the familiar leaves and blossoms which had just e 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 up?99ｌib.on me tinually for weeks and a deep languor had succeeded this passioruggle.
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 beati for something to happen? I was like that ship before my education began, only I was without pass or sounding-line, and had no way of knowing how he harbour was. "Light! give me light!" was the wordless y soul, and the light of love shone on me in that very hour.
I felt approag footsteps, I stretched out my hand as I supposed to my mother. Some oook it, and I was caught up and held close in the arms of her who had e to reveal all things to me, and, more than all things else, to love me.
The m 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-l-l." I w9９ｌｉb.
as at oerested 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 elling a word or even that words existed; I was simply making my fingers go in monkey-like imitation. In the days that followed I learo spell in this unprehending 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 uood that everything has a name.
One day, while I laying with my new doll, Miss Sullivan put my big rag doll into my lap also, spelled "d-o-l-l" and tried to make me uand that "d-o-l-l" applied to both. Earlier in the day we had had a tussle over the ?words "m-u-g" and "w-a-t-e-r." Miss Sullivan had tried to impress it upohat "m-u-g" is mug and that "w-a-t-e-r" is water, but I persisted in founding the two. In despair she had dropped the subject for the time, only to re 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. her sorrow nret followed my passioburst. I had not loved the doll. Iill, dark world in which I lived there was n se or tenderness. I felt my teacher sweep the fragments to one side of the hearth, and I had a sense of satisfa that the cause of my disfort was removed. She brought me my hat, and I knew I was going out into the warm sunshihis thought, if a wordless sensation may be called a thought, made me hop and skip with pleasure.
We walked dowh 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 uhe 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 upoions9９lib? of her fingers. Suddenly I felt a misty sciousness as of something fotten--a thrill of returning thought; and somehow the mystery of language was revealed to me. I khen 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 is true, but barriers that could in time be swept away.
I left the well-house eager to learn. Everything had a name, and eaame gave birth to a hought. As we returo 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 e to me. Oering 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 repentand 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 blossom for me, "like Aarons 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 e.
Chapter V
I recall many is of the summer of 1887 that followed my souls sudden awakening. I did nothing but explore with my hands and learn the name of every object that I touched; and the more I hahings and learheir names and uses, the more joyous and fident grew my sense of kinship with the rest of the world.
Wheime 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 benefice 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 s and live and thrive from land to land, how the squirrel, the deer, the lion 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 learo do a sum in arithmetic or describe the shape of the earth, Miss Sullivan had taught me to fiy in the fragrant woods, in every blade of grass, and in the curves and dimples of my baby sisters 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 taught me that nature is not always kind. One day my teacher and I were returning from a long ramble. The m had been fine, but it was growing warm and sultry when at last we turned our faces home..very window-sill; indeed, I could hardly walk without stumbling on a bit of Christmas ed up in tissue paper. But when my teacher presented me with a ary, my cup of happiness overflowed.
Little Tim was so tame that he would hop on my finger a died cherries out of my hand. Miss Sullivan taught me to take all the care of my new pet. Every m after breakfast I prepared his bath, made his cage and sweet, filled his cups with fresh seed and water from the well-house, and hung a spray of chickweed in his swing.
One m 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 opehe door. At first I did not realize what had happened; but when I put my hand in the cage and Tims pretty wings did not meet my touch or his small pointed? claws take hold of my finger, I khat I should never see my sweet little singer again.
Chapter IX
The importa 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 orain to keep me amused. I sat quietly beside Miss Sullivan, taking in with eager i 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 orain and brought delicious dy and pop balls through t..he car. On the seat opposite me sat my big rag doll, Nancy, in a new gingham dress and a beruffled sunbo, looking at me out of two bead eyes. Sometimes, when I was not absorbed in Miss Sullivans descriptions, I remembered Nancys existend took her up in my arms, but I generally calmed my sce 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 pelled her to eat, although she had never shown any special liking for them. The laundress at the Perkins Institutioly carried her off to give her a bath. This was too much for poor Nancy. When I saw her she was a formless heap of cotton, which I should not have reized at all except for the two bead eyes which looked out at me reproachfully.
Wherain at last pulled into the station at Boston it was as if a beautiful fairy tale had e true. The "once upon a time" was now; the "far-away co.9９liｂ.untry" 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 khe manual alphabet. What joy to talk with other children in my own language! Until then I had been like a fner speaking through an interpreter. In the school where Laura Bridgman was taught I was in my own try. 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 surprise 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 uood my own deprivations, yet I had thought vaguely that sihey could hear, they must have a sort of "sed sight," and I was not prepared to find one child and another a another deprived of the same precious gift. But they were so happy and tehat I lost all sense of pain in the pleasure of their panionship.
One day spent with the blind children made me feel thhly at home in my new enviro, and I looked eagerly from one pleasant experieo another as the days flew swiftly by. I could not quite vince 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 mo, ting the steps, and w as I went higher a higher if the soldiers had climbed this great stairway and shot at the enemy on the ground below.
The day we went to Plymouth by water. This was my first trip on the o and my first voyage in a steamboat. How full of life and motion it was! But the rumble of the maery 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 piic out of doors. I was more ied, I think, in the great ro which the Pilgrims lahan in anything else in Plymouth. I could touch it, and perhaps that made the ing 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 kileman gave me at Pilgrim Hall, and I have fis curves, the split in the tre and the embossed figures "1620," and turned over in my 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 tih shame, even while we glory in the ce and energy that gave us our "try Beautiful.”
Among the many friends I made in Boston were Mr. William Endicott and his daughter. Their kio 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 o 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 Kis.”
Chapter X
Just before the Perkins Institution closed for the summer, it was arrahat 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 recolle of that summer is the o. I had always lived far inland and had never had so much as a whiff of salt air; but I had read in a big book called "Our World" a description of the o which filled me with wonder and an intense longing to touch the mighty sea and feel it roar.９９ｌｉb?. So my little heart leaped high with eager excitement when I khat 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 rod 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 rod the 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 wae this poor dumb creature out of his element, and after awhile I felt happy ihought that perhaps he had returo the sea.
Chapter XI
Iumn I returo my Southern home with a heart full of joyous memories. As I recall that visit North I am filled with wo the riess and variety of the experiehat cluster about it. It seems to have been the beginning of everything. The treasures of a new, beautiful world were laid a.. my feet, and I took in pleasure and information at every turn. I lived myself into all things. I was ill a moment; my life was as full of motion as those little is that crowd a whole existeo 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 frolie little streams ran through it from springs in the rocks above, leaping here and tumbling there in laughing cascades wherever the rocks tried to bar their way. The opening was filled with ferns whipletely 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 evergreens 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 er of the wood--an illusive, fragrant something that made the heart glad. In places the wild muse and scuppernong viretched from tree to tree, making arbours which were always full of butterflies and buzzing is. It was delightful to lose ourselves in the green hollows of that tangled wood ie afternoon, and to smell the cool, delicious odours that came up from the earth at the close o藏书网f day.
Our cottage was a sort h camp, beautifully situated oop 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-sts. 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 ahe wind shake their branches, or the leaves twirl downward iumn 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 able to stand before these wily hunters. "To-morrow to the chase!" was their good-night shout as the cirerry friends broke up for the night. The me 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 uhe 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 crag and hounds rag ahead, and away went the champion hunters "with hark and whoop and wild halloo!”
Later in the m reparations for a barbecue. A fire was ki the bottom of a deep hole in the ground, big sticks were laid crosswise at the top, a was hung from them and turned on spits.
Around the fire squatted negroes, driving away the flies with long brahe savoury odour of the meat made me hungry long before the tables were set.
When the bustle aement of preparation was at its height, the hunting party made its appeararuggling in by twos and threes, the men hot and weary, the horses covered with foam, and the jaded hounds panting aed--and not a single kill! Every man declared that he had seen at least one deer, and that the animal had e very close; but however hotly the dogs might pursue the 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 fot its disappoi, however, a 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 forehead. 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 ms 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 round about way.
We always returo the cottage with armfuls of laurel, goldenrod, ferns and geous s-flowers such as grow only in the South.
S?９９ｌｉb?ometimes I would go with Mildred and my little cousins to gather persimmons. I did hem; but I loved their fragrand 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!
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 i excitement that a cow or a horse had strayed orack. About a mile distant there was a trestle spanning a deep ge. It was very difficult to walk over, the ties were wide apart and so narrow that o 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, "Theres 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 ohere came a faint "puff, puff”
from the distance.
"I see the train!" cried Mildred.t>, and in another mi 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 regaihe 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藏书网 opportunities such as had never been mio enter into the treasures of the snow.
I recall my surprise on disc that a mysterious hand had stripped the trees and bushes, leaving only here and there a wrinkled leaf. The birds had flown, and their empty s 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 withdrawn to their roots, and there, curled up in the dark, lay fast asleep. All life seemed to have ebbed away, and evehe sun shohe day was Shrunk and cold, As if her veins were .9９ｌiｂ.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 desding. Hour by hour the flakes dropped silently, softly from their airy height to the earth, and the try became more and more level. A snowy night closed upon the world, and in the m one could scarcely reize 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 fot that we were in the midst of a desolate solitude, shut in from all unication 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 a against the windows, as the winds rioted up and down the try.
Ohird 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 imperable drifts lay scattered in every dire.
Narrow paths were shoveled through the drifts. I put on my cloak and hood a out. The air stung my cheeks like fire. Half walking ihs, half w our way through the lesser drifts, we succeeded in rea..g a pine grove just outside a broad pasture. The trees stood motionless and white like figures in a marble frieze. There was no odour of pine-needles. The rays of the sun fell uporees, so that the twigs sparkled like diamonds and dropped in showers wheouched them. So dazzling was the light, it peed even the darkhat veils my eyes.
As the days wore on, the drifts gradually shrunk, but before they were wholly gone aorm came, so that I scarcely felt the earth under my feet once all winter. At intervals the trees lost their icy c, and the bulrushes and underbrush were bare; but the lake lay frozen and hard beh the sun.
Our favourite amusement during that winter was tobogganing. In places the shore of the lake rises abruptly from the waters 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 she that binds us to earth, and joining hands with the winds we felt ourselves divine!
Chapter XIII
It was in the spring of 1890 that I learo 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 hahe movements of my lips. I leased 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 sihroat, 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 mothers 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 fotten 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 unication, but because the need of exerg my vocal ans was imperative. There was, however, one word the meaning of which I still remembered, WATER. I pronou "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 learo spell the word on my fingers.
I had known for a long time that the people about me used a method of unication different from mine; and even before I khat a deaf child could be taught to speak, I was scious of dissatisfa with the means of unication I already possessed. One who is entirely depe upon the manual alphabet has always a sense of restraint, of narrowness. This feeling began to agitate me with a vexing, forward-reag sense of a lack that should be filled. My thoughts would often rise a up like birds against the wind, and I persisted in using my lips and voice. Friends tried to disce this tendency, feari it would lead to disappoi. But I persisted, an.d an act soon occurred which resulted in the breaking down of this great barrier--I heard the story nhild Kaata.
In 1890 Mrs. Lamson, who had been one of Laura Bridgmans teachers, and who had just returned from a visit to Norway and Sweden, came to see me, and told me nhild Kaata, a deaf and blind girl in Norway who had actually been taught to speak. Mrs. Lamson had scarcely fielling me about this girls 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 advid assistao Miss Sarah Fuller, principal of the Horace Mann School.
This lovely, sweet-natured lady offered to teach me herself, and we begawenty-sixth of March, 1890.
Miss Fullers method was this: she passed my hand lightly over her face, a me feel the position of her tongue and lips when she made a sound. I was eager to imitate every motion and in an hour had learned six elements of speech: M, P, A, S, T, I. Miss Fuller .gave me eleven lessons in all. I shall never fet the surprise and delight I felt when I uttered my first ected sentence, "It is warm." True, they were broken and stammering syllables; but they were human speech. My soul, scious of rength, came out of bondage, and was reag through those broken symbols of speech to all knowledge and all faith.
No deaf child who has early tried to speak the words which he has never heard--to e out of the prison of silence, where no tone of love, no song of bird, no strain of music ever pierces the stillness-- fet the thrill of surprise, the joy of discovery which came over him wheered his first word. Only such a one appreciate the eagerness with which I talked to my toys, to storees, birds and dumb animals, or the delight I felt when at my call Mildred ran to me or my dogs obeyed my ands. 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 uand me, but most people would not have uood one word in a hundred. Nor is it true that, after I had learhese elements, I did the rest of the work myself. But for Miss Sullivans genius, untiring perseverand devotion, I could not have progressed as far as I have toward natural speech. In the first place, I laboured night and day before I could be uood even by my most intimate friends; in the sed place, I needed Miss Sullivans assistance stantly in my efforts to
articulate each sound clearly and to bine 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 at all appreciate the peculiar difficulties with which I had to tend. In reading my teachers lips I was wholly depe on my fingers: I had to use the sense of tou catg 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 ractice, practice, practice.
Discement and weariness cast me down frequently; but the moment the thought that I should soo home and show my loved ones what I had aplished, spurred me on, and I eagerly looked forward to their pleasure in my achievement.
"My little sister will uand me now," was a thought strohan all obstacles. I used to repeat ecstatically, "I am not dumb now." I could not be despo 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 discarded the manual alphabet as a medium of unication on my part; but Miss Sullivan and a few friends still use it in speaking to me, for it is more ve and more rapid than lip-reading.
Just here, perhaps, I had better explain our use of the manual alphabet, which ..elight in this great park. I loved to have it described every time I e; for it was beautiful in all its aspects, and these aspects were 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 i. 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, Tarrytown, the home of Washingt, where I walked through "Sleepy Hollow.”
The teachers at the Wright-Humason School were allanning how they might give the pupils every advahat those who hear enjoy--how they might make much of few tendencies and passive memories in the cases of the little ones--ahem 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 uand what his friendship meant to me. He, who made every one藏书网 happy in a beautiful, unobtrusive way, was most kind and teo Miss Sullivan and me. So long as we felt his loving presend khat he took a watchful i in our work, fraught with so many difficulties, we could not be
disced. His going away left a va our lives that has never been filled.
Chapter XVIII
In October, 1896, I ehe 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 annou, "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 ear desire, which impelled me to enter into petition 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 bee a fixed purpose; and it was decided that I should go to Cambridge. This was the 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 instru given.
Of course my instructors had had no experien teag any but normal pupils, and my only means of versing with them was bbr>reading their lips. My studies for the first year were English history, English literature, German, Latin, arithmetic, Latin position and occasional themes. Until then I had aken a course of study with the idea of preparing for college; but I had been well drilled in English by Miss Sullivan, and it soon became evident to my teachers that I needed no special instru 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 instru in Latin; but German was the subject with which I was most familiar.
In spite, however, of these advahere 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 textbooks 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 y Latin in braille, so that I could recite with the irls. My instructors soon became suffitly 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 positions and translations at home on my typewriter.
Each day Miss Sullivao the classes with me and spelled into my hand with infiience 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 ceive. Frau Grote, my German teacher, and Mr.
Gilman, the principal, were the only teachers in the school who learhe finger alphabet to give me instru. No one realized more fully than dear Frau Grote how slow and ina.９９ｌｉb.e her spelling was.
heless, in the goodness of her heart she laboriously spelled out her instrus to me in special lessons 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, ahree chapters of Caesars "Gallic War.”
In German I read, partly with my fingers and partly with Miss Sullivans assistance, Schillers "Lied von der Glocke" and "Taucher," Heines "Harzreise," Freytags "Aus dem Staat Friedrichs des Grossen," Riehls "Fluch Der Sheit," Lessings "Minna von Barnhelm," and Goethes "Aus meinem Leben." I took the greatest delight in these German books, especially Schillers wonderful lyrics, the history of Frederick the Greats magnifit achievements and the at of Goethes life. I was sorry to finish "Die Harzreise," 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 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," Burkes "Spee ciliation with America," and Macaulays "Life of Samuel Johnson." Mr. Gilmans broad views
of history and literature and his clever explanations made my work easier and pleasahan it could have been had I only read notes meically with the necessarily brief explanations given in the classes.
Burkes speech was more instructive than any 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 tending natiored seemed to mht before me. I wondered more and more, while Burkes masterly speech rolled on in mighty surges of eloquence, how it was that King Gee and his ministers could have turned a deaf ear to his warning prophecy of our victory and their humiliation. Theered 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 stra was that such precious seeds of truth and wisdom should have fallen among the tares of ignorand corruption.
In a different way Macaulays "Life of Samuel Johnson" was iing. My heart went out to the lonely man who ate the bread of affli in Grub Street, a, in the midst of toil and cruel suffering of body and soul, always had a kind word, a 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 Macaulays brilliand his admirable faculty of making the onplace 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 uhe attitude of reveren which I had listeo the Demosthenes of Great Britain.
At the Cambridge school, for the first time in my life, I ehe panionship of seeing and hearing girls of my own age. I lived with several others in one of the pleasant houses ected with the school, the house where Mr. Howells used to live, and we all had the advantage of home life. I joihem in many of their games, even blind mans buff and froli the snow; I took long walks with them; we discussed our studies and read aloud the things that ied us. Some of the girls learo speak to me, so that Miss Sullivan did not have to repeat their versation.
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 29th of Juo 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 ihing, 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 ted. The examination papers were given out at nine oclock at Harvard and brought to Radcliffe by a special messenger. Each didate was known, not by his name, but by a number. I was No. 233, but, as I had to use a typewriter, my identity could not be cealed.
It was thought advisable for me to have my examinations in a room by myself, because the noise of the typewriter might disturb the irls. Mr. Gilman read all the papers to me by means of the manual alphabet. A man laced on guard at the door to prevent interruption.
The first day I had German. Mr. Gilman sat beside me ahe paper through first, theence by sentence, while I repeated the words aloud, to make sure that I uood him perfectly. The papers were difficult, and I felt very anxious as I wrote out my answers oypewriter. Mr. Gilman spelled to me what I had written, and I made such ges as I thought necessary, and he ied them. I wish to say here that I have not had this advantage sin 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 correly such mistakes as I recall in the few minutes allowed, and make notes of these corres at the end of my paper. If I passed with higher credit in the prelimihan 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, Frend German, which Mr. Gilman gave me from previous Harvard papers.
Mr. Gilma my written work to the examiners with a certificate that I, didate No. 233, had written the papers.
All the other preliminary examinations were ducted 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 enced 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 sed year at the Gilman school, I was full of hope aermination to succeed. But during the first few weeks I was 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 instruiss 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 ary 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 doweps and processes of my work. I could not follow with my eyes the geometrical figures drawn on the blackboard, 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 clusion, the stru and the process of the proof. In a word, every study had it藏书网s obstacles. Sometimes I lost all ce arayed 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 apparatus arrived, and I threw myself into the work with renewed fidence. Algebra ary were the only studies that tio defy my efforts to prehend them. As I have said before, I had no aptitude for mathematics; the different points were not explaio 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 overe these difficulties when a occurred which ged everything.
Just before the books came, Mr. Gilman had begun to remonstrate with Miss Sullivan on the ground that I was w too hard, and in spite of my ear 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. Gilmaeacher), and oher, that I could without too much effort plete my preparation in two years more. Mr. Gilman at first agreed to this; but when my tasks had bee someerplexing, 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 seveh of November I was not very well, and did not go to school. Although Miss Sullivahat my indisposition was not serious, yet Mr. Gilman, on hearing of it, declared that I was breaking down and made ges in my studies which would have re impossible for me to take my final examinations with my class. In the end the difference of opinioween Mr. Gilman and Miss Sullivaed in my mothers withdrawing my sister Mildred and me from the Cambridge school.
After some delay it was arrahat I should tinue 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 iham, twenty-five miles from Boston.
From February to July, 1898, Mr. Keith came out to Wrentham twice a week, and taught me algebra, gereek and Latin. Miss Sullivan interpreted his instru.
In October, 1898, we retur>９９lib?t> to Boston. Fht months Mr. Keith gave me lessons five times a week, in periods of about an hour. He explained each time what I did not uand 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, aurhem to me.
In this way my preparation for college went on without interruption. I found it much easier and pleasao be taught by myself than to receive instru in class. There was no hurry, no fusion. My tutor had plenty of time to explain what I did not uand, so I got on faster and did better work than I ever did in school. I still found more difficulty in mastering problems in mathematics than I did in any other of my studies. I wish algebra ary had been half as easy as the languages and literature. But even mathematics Mr. Keith made iing; he succeeded in whittling problems small enough to get through my brain. He kept my mind alert and eager, and trai to reason clearly, and to seek clusions calmly and logically, instead of jumping wildly into spad 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.
Oh and 30th of June, 1899, I took my final examinations for Radcliffe College. The first day I had Elementary G..reek and Advanced Latin, and the sed 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 Ameri braille. Mr. Vining was a strao me, and could not unicate with me, except by writing braille. The proctor was also a stranger, and did not attempt to unicate with me in any way.
The braille worked well enough in the languages, but when it came to geometry and algebra, difficulties arose.
I was sorely perplexed, a disced wasting much precious time, especially in algebra. It is true that I was familiar with all literary braille in on use in this try--English, Ameri, and New York Point; but the various signs and symbols iry and algebra ihree systems are very different, and I had used only the English braille in my algebra.
Two days before the examinations, Mr. Vini me a braille copy of one of the old Harvard papers in algebra. To my dismay I found that it was in the Ameriotation. I sat down immediately 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 learation. But on the night before the algebra examination, while I was struggling over some very plicated examples, I could not tell the binations of bracket, brad 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 Ameri symbols.
Iry my chief difficulty was that I had always been aced 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 fusing, 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 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 muy ability to solve problems mentally, and had not trained me to write examination papers. sequently my work ainfully 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 ohe administrative board of Radcliffe did not realize how difficult they were making my examinations, nor did they uand the peculiar difficulties I had to surmount. But if they uionally placed obstacles in my way, I have the solation of knowing that I overcame them all.
Chapter XX
The struggle for admission to college was ended, and I could er 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 i for me. I had looked forward to it for years.
A potent force withirohan 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 khat there were obstacles in the way; but I was eager to overe them. I had taken to heart the words of the wise Roman who said, "To be banished from Rome is but to live outside of Rome." Debarred from the great highways of knowledge, I was pelled to make the journey across try by unfrequented roads--that was all; and I khat 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 iy and light, and I felt withihe capacity to know all things. In the wonderland of Mind I should be as free as another. Its people, sery, manners, joys, tragedies should be living, tangible interpreters of 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 on 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, whie 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 uh ohoughts. One goes to college to learn, it seems, not to think. Wheers 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 fort ihought that I am laying up treasures for future enjoyment, but I am improvident enough to prefer present joy to h riches ag..ainst a rainy day.
My studies the first year were French, German, history, English position and English literature. In the French course I read some of the works of eille, Moliere, Rae, 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 eighteenth tury, and in English literature studied critically Miltons poems and "Areopagitica.”
I am frequently asked how I overe the peculiar ditions under which I work in college. In the classroom I am of course practically alohe professor is as remote as if he were speaking through a telephohe 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 meical process of hearing and putting words on paper at pell-mell speed, I should not think one could pay much attention to the subjeder sideration or the manner in which it is presented. I ake notes during the lectures, because my hands are busy listening. Usually I jot down what I 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 professors have no difficulty in finding out how little I know. When I begaudy of Latin prosody, I devised and explaio my professor a system of signs indig the differeers and quantities.
I use the Hammond typewriter. I have tried many maes, and I find the Hammond is the best adapted to the peculiar needs of my work. With this mae movable type shuttles be used, and one have several shuttles, each with a differe of characters--Greek, Frenathematical, acc to the kind of writing one wishes to do oypewriter. 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. sequently I need more time to prepare my lessons than irls. 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 feters, while in the world without irls are laughing and singing and dang, makes me rebellious; but I soon recover my buoyand laugh the distent out of my heart. For, after all, every one who wishes to gain true knowledge must climb the Hill Difficulty alone, and sihere 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 enced, 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, however, in these struggles. Mr. William Wade and Mr. E. E. Allen, Principal of the Pennsylvania Institution for the Instru of the Blind, get for me many of the books I need in raised print. Their thoughtfulness has been more of a help and encement to me than they ever know.
Last year, my sed year at Radcliffe, I studied English position, the Bible as English position, the govers of Amerid Europe, the Odes of Horace, and Latin edy. The class in position was the pleasa. It was very lively. The lectures were always iing, vivacious, witty; for the instrur. Charles Townsend Copeland, more than any one else I have had until this year, brings before you literature in all its inal freshness and power. For one short hour you are permitted to drink iernal beauty of the old masters without needless interpretation or exposition. You revel in their fihoughts. You enjoy with all your soul the sweet thunder of the Old Testament, fetting the existence of Jahweh and Elohim; and you go home feeling that you have had "a glimpse of that perfe in which spirit and form dwell in immortal harmony; truth ay bearing a new growth on the a stem of time.”
This year is the happiest because I am studying subjects that especially i me, eics, Elizabethan literature, Shakespeare under Professee L. Kittredge, and the History of Philosophy under Professor Josiah Royce. Through philosophy oers with sympathy of prehension 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 eveheir living touch. They are there, it is true; but they seem mummified. We must extract them from the ied wall of learning and dissed analyze them before we be sure that we have a Milton or an Isaiah, and not merely a clever imitation. Many scholars fet, it seems to me, that our enjoyment of the great works of literature depends more upon the depth of our sympathy than upon our uanding. The trouble is that very few of their laborious explanations sti 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, ao have no appreciation of the flower fresh bathed in heavens dew. Again and again I ask impatiently, "Why myself with these explanations and hypotheses?" They fly hither and thither in my thought like blind birds beating the air with iual wings. I do not mean to object to a thh knowledge of the famous works we read. I objely to the interminable ents and bewildering criticisms that teach but ohing: 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 ot 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 whie reads. When one reads hurriedly and nervously, having in mind writtes and examinations, ones brain bees encumbered with a lot of choice bric-a-brac for which there seems to be little use. At the present time my mind is so full of heterogeneous matter that I almost despair of ever being able to put it in order. Whenever I ehe region that was the kingdom of my mind I feel like the proverbial bull in the a shop. A thousand odds and ends of knowledge e 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 fiven the wicked >sh!--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 ce oozing out at my finger ends. The days before these ordeals take place are spent in cramming your mind with mystiula and iible dates--unpalatable diets, until you wish that books and sd 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 sufirouble invariably fail you at a pinch.
"Give a brief at of Huss and his work." Huss? Who was he and what did he do? The name looks strangely familiar. You ransack your budget 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 mihe 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--revolutions, schisms, massacres, systems of gover; 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 er is your man, serenely brooding on his own private thought, unscious 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 er and go home, your head full of revolutionary schemes to abolish the divine right of professors to ask questions without the sent of the questioned.
It es 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 mog and strutting about before me, pointing to the bull in the a shop assailed by hailstones and the bugbears with pale looks, an unanalyzed species! Let them mo. 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 ged.
While my days at Radcliffe were still iure, they were encircled with a halo of romance, which they have lost; but iransition from romantic to actual I have learned many things I should never have known had I not tried the experiment. One of them is the precious sce of patience, which teaches us that we should take our education as we would take a walk in the try, leisurely, our minds hospitably open to impressions of every sort. Suowledge floods the soul unseen with a souidal 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 mans progress is to feel the great heart-throbs of humanity through the turies; and if one does not feel in these pulsations 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 knowledge whies to others through their eyes and thei９９ｌiｂ?
y 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 tent.
Sometimes, it is true, a sense of isolation enfolds me like a ist as I sit alone and wait at lifes shut gate.
Beyond there is light, and musid sweet panionship; but I may er. Fate, silent, pitiless, bars the way. Fain would I question his imperious decree, for my heart is still undisciplined and passionate; but my tongue will not utter the bitter, futile words that rise to my lips, and they fall bato my heart like uears. Siles immense upon my soul. Then es hope with a smile and whispers, "There is joy in self-fetfulness." So I try to make the light in others eyes my sun, the musi 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 happiness! Some of them would be found written in our literature ao the hearts of many, while others would be wholly unknown to most of my readers. But their influehough it escapes fame, shall live immortal in the lives that have beeened 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, riatures impart ter, impatient spirits a wonderful restfulness which, in its essence, is divihe 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 Gods real world. The solemn nothings that fill our everyday life blossom suddenly intht 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 lifes path again; but the influence of their calm, mellow natures is a libation poured upon our distent, and we feel its healing touch, as the o feels the mountain stream freshening its brine.
I have often been asked, "Do not people bore you?" I do not uand quite what that means. I suppose the calls of the stupid and curious, especially of neer reporters, are always inopportune. I also dislike people who try to talk down to my uanding. 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 fiips, 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 ging touch of a childs hand; but there is as much potential sunshine in it for me as there is in a loving glance for others. A hearty handshake or a friendly letter gives me genuine pleasure.
I have many far-off friends whom I have never seen. Ihey are so many that I have often been uo reply to their letters; but I wish to say here that I am always grateful for their kind words, however insuffitly I aowledge them.
I t it one of the sweetest privileges of my life to have known and versed with many men of genius.
Only those who knew Bishop Brooks 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 childs 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 carrying away a fihought that grew iy ah of meaning as I grew. Once, when I uzzled 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 , and remember that the possibilities of goreater than the possibilities of evil; and you have the key to Heaven." And his life py illustration of this great truth. In his noble soul love and widest knowledge were blended with faith that had bee insight. He saw God in all that liberates and lifts, In all that humbles, sweetens and soles.
Bishop Brooks taught me no special creed ma; 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 cherished friends awaitihere in Gods 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 Bible through; also some philosophical works ion, among them Swedenbs "Heaven and Hell" and Drummonds "Ast of Man," and I have found no creed or system more soul-satisfying than Bishop Brookss creed of love. I knew Mr. Henry Drummond, and the memory of his strong, warm hand-clasp is like a beion. He was the most sympathetic of panions. He knew so mud was so genial that it was impossible to feel dull in his presence.
I remember well the first time I saw Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes. He had invited Miss Sullivan ao call on him one Sunday afternoon. It was early in the spring, just after I had learo speak. We were shown at oo 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 aher in the room whie that it was full of books, and I stretched out my hand instinctively to find them. My fingers lighted upon a beautiful volume of Tennysons 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 armchair, while he brought different iing things for me to examine, and at his request I recited "The Chambered Nautilus," which was then my favorite poem. After that I saw Dr.Holmes many times and learo love the man as well as the poet.
Oiful 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 speey heart. He had a book of his poems in raised print from which I read "In School Days." He was delighted that I could pronouhe words so well, and said that he had no difficulty in uandihen I asked many questions about the poem, and read his answers by plag my fingers on his lips. He said he was the little boy in the poem, and that the girls name was Sally, and more which I have fotten. I also recited "Laus Deo," and as I spoke the cluding verses, he placed in my hands a statue of a slave from whose croug figure the fetters were falling, even as they fell from Peters limbs when the angel led him forth out of prison. Afterward we went into his study, and he wrote his autograph for my teacher ["With great admiration of thy noble work in releasing from bohe mind of thy dear pupil, I am truly thy friend. john J. Whittier."] and expressed his admiration 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 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 aplish. 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 seeifully expressed in his own life--love of try, kio 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. Sihen 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 Warners book. Here in Dr. Bells laboratory, or in the fields on the shore of the great Bras dOr, 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 goverure air-ship. Dr. Bell is profit in many fields of sce, and has the art of making every subject he touches iing, even the most abstruse theories. He makes you feel that if you only had a little more time, you, too, might be an ior. 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 geions of childreo e; 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 opportuo 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. Laureton. It was a great privilege to visit him and dear Mrs. Hutton in their lovely home, aheir library ahe beautiful ses and bright thoughts gifted friends had written for them. It has been truly said that Mr. Hutton has the faculty ing out in every ohe best thoughts and ki ses. One does not o read "A Boy I Knew" to uand him--the most generous, sweet-natured boy I ever knew, a good friend in all sorts of weather, who traces the footprints 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 ofte advised and helped me in my progress through college. When I find my work particularly difficult and discing, 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 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 Clareedman. I also knew Mr.
Charles Dudley Warhe most 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 sympathetid 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 subjed entered into deep dispute, or made versation sparkle with epigrams and happy witticisms. I was like little Asius, who followed with unequal steps the heroic strides of Aeneas 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 prig his signature in braille. I read from Mark Twains 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 handshake. Even while he utters his ical 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 iing 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 currence of the heart, books taining their own thoughts, soul-illumined letters, and photographs that I love to have described again and again. But there is not spaention all my friends, and ihere 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. Laureton.
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 sel have never failed my teacher and me in all the years we have known her.
To the other friend I am also deeply ied. He is well known for the powerful hand with which he guides vast enterprises, and his wonderful abilities 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 aowledge his generosity and affeate i 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) INTRODU Helen Kellers letters are important, not only as a supplementary story of her life, but as a demonstration of her growth in thought and expression--the growth whi itself has made her distinguished.
These letters are, however, not merely remarkable as the produs 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 important are her ats of eech meant to her, of how she felt the statues, the dogs, the chis at the poultry show, and how she stood in the aisle of St. Bartholomews ahe an rumble. Those are passages of whie would ask for more. The reason they are paratively 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 oh 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 try, and so has been separated from most of her friends aives. Of her friends, many have been distinguished people, to whom--not often, I think, at the sacrifice of spoy--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 elling of a childs 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 days lesson in geography or botany, her parrot-like repetition of what she has heard, and her scious display of new words, are delightful and instructive; for they show not only what she was learning, but how, by putting it all into letters, she made the new knowledge and the new words her own.
So these seles from Miss Kellers correspondence are made with two purposes--to show her development and to preserve th藏书网es not altogether at for what she felt and ehe vibration of the air as the an notes swelled made her sway in answer.
Sometimes she puts her hand on a sihroat to feel the muscular thrill and tra, 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 posers from having literally felt their music, Schumann being her favourite." If she knows the differeween Schumann ahoven, it is because she has read it, and if she has read it, she remembers it and tell any one who asks her.
Miss Kellers effort to reach out a other people on their own intellectual ground has kept her informed of daily affairs. When her education became more systematid 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 ined. 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 versation, the frieo her has ceased for some moments to spell into her hand, the question es iably, "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 otle occasional affairs of life.
Much of her knowledge es 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 iing place like Niagara, whoever apanies her--usually, of course, Miss Sullivan--is kept busy giving her an idea of visible details. Miss Sullivan, who knows her pupils mind, selects from the passing landscape essential elements, which give a certain clearo Miss Kellers imagined view of an outer world that to our eyes is fused and overloaded with particulars. If her panion does not give her enough details, Miss Keller asks questions until she has pleted the view to her satisfa.
She does not see with her eyes, but through the inner faculty to serve which eyes were given to us. Wheurns from a walk and tells some one about it, her descriptions are accurate and vivid. A parative experience drawn from written descriptions and from her teachers 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 inplete as one might suppose. Occasionally she astonishes you by ignorance of some fact whio one happens to have told her; for instance, she did not know, until her first pluo the sea, that it is salt. Many of the detached is and facts of our daily life pass around and over her unobserved; but she has enough detailed acquaintah the world to keep her view of it from being essentially defective.
Most that she knows at first hand es 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 differen 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 aplishments, her sense of touch has not been used enough to develop it very far beyond normal aess. A friend tried Miss Keller one day with several s. She was slower than he expected her to be iifying them by their relative weight and size. But it should be said she almost never handles money--one of the many sordid ay details of life, by the way, which she has been spared.
She reizes the subjed general iion 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 feel the sweep of lih her whole hand, she knows in their higher esthetic value. She suggests herself that she know them better than we do, because she get the true dimensions and appreciate more immediately the solid nature of a sculptured figure. When she was at the Museum of Fis in Bostoood on a step-ladder a both hands play over the statues. When she felt a bas-relief of dang girls she asked, "Where are the singers?" When she found them she said, "One is silent." The lips of the singer were closed.
It is, however, in her daily life that one best measure the delicacy of her senses and her manual skill. She seems to have very little sense of dire. 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 parison is hard to make, except with other deaf-blind persons. Her dexterity is not notable either in parison with the normal person, whose movements are guided by the eye, or, I am told, with other blind people. She has practised no single structive 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 mao make, after models, some ventional designs of the outlines of leaves and rosettes. The only thing she does which requires skill with the hands is her work oypewriter. 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 manuscripts seldom tain typographical errors when she hands them to Miss
Sullivan to read. Her typewriter has no special attats. She keeps the relati>99ｌｉb.ve position of the keys by an occasional touch of the little finger oer edge of the board.
Miss Kellers 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 Sullivans "mysterious telegraphiunications" with her pupil. The manual alphabet is that in use among all educated deaf people. Most diaries tain an engraving of the manual letters. The deaf person with sight looks at the fingers of his panion, but it is also possible to feel them. Miss Keller puts her fingers lightly over the hand ９９ｌｉｂ?of one who is talking to her ahe words as rapidly as they be spelled. As she explains, she is not scious of the siters or of separate words. Miss Sullivan and others who live stantly with the deaf spell very rapidly--fast enough to get a slow lecture, not fast enough to get every word of a rapid speaker.
Anybody learn the manual letters in a few minutes, use them slowly in a day, and in thirty days of stant use talk to Miss Keller or any other deaf person without realizing what his fingers are doing. If more people khis, and the friends aives of deaf children learhe manual alphabet at ohe deaf all over the world would be happier aer educated.
Miss Keller reads by means of embossed print or the various kinds of braille. The ordinary embossed book is made with romaers, 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 thiess of the thumbnail. The books are large, about the size of a volume of an encyclopedia. Greens "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 Kellers friends realizes most strongly that she is blind is when he es on her suddenly in the dark and hears the rustle of her fingers across the page.
The most ve print for the blind is braille, which has several variations, too many, indeed--English, Ameri, 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 facsimile on page xv [omitted from etext] gives an idea of how the raised dots look. Each character (either a letter or a special braille tra) is a bination made by varying in plad number 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 binations 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 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 hey 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 fortuhan most blind people in the kindness 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 Instru of the Blind, to print, as he has on several occasioions 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 than we see then, as because it is one of her habits of mind to do things thhly and well. When a passage is her, or she o remember it for some future use, she flutters it off swiftly on the fingers of her right hand. Sometimes this finger-play is unscious. Miss Keller talks to herself absent-mindedly in the manual alphabet. When she is walking up or down the hall or along the veranda, her hands go flying along beside her like a fusion 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 have said. For Miss Keller to spell a senten the manual alphabet impresses it on her mind just as we learn a thing from having heard it many times and call back
the memory of 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 neighbours house she assing, by the distinctive odours. As her intellect grew she became less depe on this seo what extent she now identifies objects by their odour is hard to determihe sense of smell has fallen into disrepute, and a deaf person is relut to speak of it. Miss Kellers acute sense of smell may at, however, in some part for that reition of persons and things which it has been ary 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 ohis much is certain, she ot have any sehat 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 re with her normality. She is no more mysterious and plex than any other person. All that she is, all that she has done, be explained directly, except such things in every human being as never 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 ception of abstract ideas before she learned language. If she had any ception, there is no way of disc it now; for she ot remember, and obviously there was no record at the time. She had no ception of God before she heard the word "God," as her ents very clearly show.
Her sense of time is excellent, but whether it would have developed as a special faculty ot be known, for she has had a watch since she was seven years old.
Miss Keller has two watches, which have been givehey are, I think, the only ones of their kind in America. The watch has on the back cover a flat gold indicator which be pushed freely around from left tht until, by means of a pin ihe 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, bees for a blind person by this special attat in effee 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 suffitly delicate to feel the position of the hands and not disturb or ihem.
The firaits of Miss Kellers character are so well known that one needs not say much about them. Good sense, good humour, and imagination keep her scheme of things sane aiful. 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 be 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 Harpers Magazine in 1896 was true then, and it remains true now: "I believe she is the purest-minded human ever ience.... The world to her is what her own mind is. She has not even learhat exhibition on whiany pride themselves, hteous indignation. "Some time ago, when a poli shot dead her dog, a dearly loved daily panion, she found in her fivi no nation for the man; she only said, If he had only known what a good dog she was, he wouldnt have shot her. It was said of old time, Lord five 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 her been made effeminate by the weak and silly literature, nor has it been vitiated by that which is suggestive of baseness. In sequence her mind is not only vigorous, but it is pure. She is in love with hings, with houghts, and with the characters of noble men and women.”
She still has a childlike aversion tedies. Her imagination is so vital that she falls pletely uhe illusion of a story, and lives in its world. Miss Sullivan writes in a letter of 1891: "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 d.“
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. Laureton, "is the greatest gift of the mind; it requires the same effort of the brain that it takes to balaneself 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 vention. She has the ce of her metaphors ahem take her skyward when we poor self-scious folk would think them rather too bookish for ordinary versation.
She always says exactly what she thinks, without fear of the plain truth; yet no one is more tactful and adroit than she in turning an unpleasant truth so that it will do the least possible hurt to the feelings 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 preat. Theeacher calls her an incible little sermonizer, and she laughs at herself. Often, however, her sober ideas are not to be laughed at, for her earness carries her listeners with her. There is he least false seiousness in what she says. She means everything so thhly that her very quotations, her echoes from what she has read, are in truth inal.
Her logid her sympathy are in excellent balance. Her sympathy is of the swift and ministering sort which, fortunately, she has found so often in other people. And her sympathies 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 mihen she asked clear, peing 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 structive reasoning; and she was excellent in pure mathematics, though she seems o have e much. Some of the best of her writing, apart from her fanciful and imaginative work, is her exposition in examinations and teical themes, and in some letters which she found it necessary to write to clear up misuandings, 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-- isnt too practical, for if she is, Im afraid shell 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 fusion, to love everybody sincerely, to a everything with the highest motives, and to trust in dear God uatingly.”
CHAPTER III.-1
EDUCATION It is now sixty-five years since Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe khat he had made his way through Laura Bridgmans fio her intelligehe names of Laura Bridgman and Helen Keller will always be liogether, and it is necessary to uand what Dr. Howe did for his pupil before one es to an at of Miss Sullivans 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, ied especially in the education of all defectives, the feeble-mihe 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, Neshire, 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 experimental stist and had in him the spirit of New England transdentalism with its large faith and large charities. Sd 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 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 vinced him that language be veyed through type to the mind of the blind-deaf child, who, before education, is iate of the baby who has not learo prattle; indeed, is in a much worse state, for the brain has grown in years without natural nourishment.
After Lauras 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 unig 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 dire carried on the work of teag her language.
Too much ot be said in praise of Dr. Howes work. As an iigator he kept always the stists attitude. He never fot 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 systematid careful. From a stific standpoint it is unfortuhat it was impossible to keep such a plete record of Helen Kellers development. This in itself is a great ent on the differeween Laura Bridgman and Helen Keller. Laura always remained an object of curious study. Helen Keller became so rapidly a distinctive personality that she kept her teacher in a breathless raeet the needs of her pupil, with no time or strength to make a stific study.
In some ways this is unfortunate. Miss Sulliva the beginning that Helen Keller would be more iing and successful than Laura Bridgman, and she expresses in one of her letters the need of keeping notes. But her temperament nor training allowed her to make her pupil the object of any experiment or observation which did not help in the childs development. As soon as a thing was done, a definite goal passed, the teacher did not always look bad describe the way she had e. The explanation of the fact was unimportant pared to the fact itself and the need of hurrying on. There are two other reasons why Miss Sullivans records are inplete. It has always been a severe tax on her eyes to write, and she was early disced 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. Howes son-in-law and his successor as Director of the Perkins Institution, about her work with her pupil, the Boston papers began at oo publish exaggerated ats 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 taining 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 verses fluently when he says apple give, or baby walk go. I suppose if you included his screaming, crowing, whimpering, grunting, squalling, with occasional kicks, in his versation, it might be regarded as fluent--even eloquent.
Then it is amusing to read of the elaborate preparation I underwent to fit me for the great task my frierusted to me. I am sorry that preparation didnt 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 dont 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 neers; so they enlarge upon it and i ridiculous embellishments. One paper has Helen demonstrating problems iry by means of her playing blocks. I expect to hear hat she has written a treatise on the in and future of the plas!”
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, iant pliah the request of Mr. Anagnos, an at 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 Helens progress has been a triumphal march from the beginning, and he has many flattering things to say about her teacher. I think he is ined to exaggerate; at all events, his language is too glowing, and simple facts are set forth in such a mahat they bewilder one. Doubtless the work of the past few months does seem like a triumphal mar; but then people seldom see the halting and painful steps by which the most insignifit 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 Sullivans at on which he based his statements. The neers caught Mr. Anagnoss spirit and exaggerated a hundred-fold. In a year after she first went to Helen Keller, Miss Sullivan found herself and her pupil the tre of a stupendous fi. 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 troversial 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 oatements, because they were surrounded by the vague eloquenr. Anagnos. Thus the story of Helen Keller, incredible when told with moderation, had the misfortuo be heralded by exaggerated annous, and naturally met either an ignorant credulity or an incredulous hostility.
In November, 1888, another report of the Perkins Institution appeared with a sed paper by Miss Sullivan, and then nothing official ublished until November, 1891, when Mr. Anagnos issued the last Perkins Institutio taining anything about Helen Keller. For this report Miss Sullivan wrote the fullest and largest at she has ever written; and in this report appeared the "Frost King," which is discussed fully in a later chapter. Then the troversy waxed fiercer than ever.
Finding that other people seemed to know so much more about Helen Keller than she did, Miss Sulliva 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. Bells request, she prepared in 1894 for the meeting at Chautauqua of the Ameri Association to Promote the Teag 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 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 published articles about her and Miss Keller, still she sees that Miss Kellers book should include all the information that the teacher could at present furnish. So she seo the publication 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 il there she was like a mother to her. In these letters we have an almost weekly record of Miss Sullivans work. Some of the details she habbr>d fotten, 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 Sullivans work. But it is evident that in these letters she was making a clear analysis of what she was doing.
She was her own critid 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 ieag of the deaf but ieag of all children. The extracts from her letters as form an important tribution to pedagogy, and more than justify the opinion of Dr. Daniel C. Gilman, who wrote in 1893, when he resident of Johns Hopkins Uy: "I have just read... your most iing at 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 affe which has inspired your labours.”
Miss Anne Mansfield Sullivan was born at Springfield, Massachusetts. Very early in her life she became almost totally blind, and she ehe Perkins Institution October 7, 1880, when she was fourteen years old.
Later her sight artially restored.
Mr. Anagnos says in his report of 1887: "She was obliged to begin her education at the lowest and most elementary point; but she showed from the very start that she had in herself the ford capacity whisure 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 a 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 Sullivans 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. Anagnos reended 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. Howes 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 Sullivans 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 previous99liｂ? 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 "uhe dire of Mr. Anagnos" is erroneous. Ihree 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 evehe manual alphabet with facility as a means of unir. Anagnos wrote in the report of the Perkins Institution, dated November 27, 1888: "At my urgent request, Helen, apanied by her mother aeacher, came to the North in the last week of May, and spent several months with us as uests.... We gladly allowed her to use freely our library of embossed books, our colle of stuffed animals, sea-shells, models of flowers and plants, and the rest of our apparatus for instrug the blind through the sense of touch. I do not doubt that she derived from them much pleasure and not a little profit. But whether Helen stays at home or makes visits in other parts of the try, her education is always uhe immediate dire and exclusive trol of her teacher. No oerferes with Miss Sullivans plans, or shares iasks. She has been allowed entire freedom in the choieans ahods for carrying on her great work; and, as we judge by the results, she has made a most judicious and discreet use of this privilege. What the little pupil has thus far aplished is widely known, and her wonderful attais and general admiration; but only those who are familiar with the particulars of the grand achievement know that the credit is largely due to the intelligence, wisdom, sagacity, uing perseverand 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 ahusiastic devotion.”
Here follow in order Miss Sullivaers and the most important passages from the reports. I have omitted from each succeedi what has already been explained and does not o be repeated. For the ease of the reader I have, with Miss Sullivans sent, made the extracts run together tinuously and supplied words of e and the resulting necessary ges in syntax, and Miss Sullivan has made slight ges 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 aime. 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. I 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 aful. 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 wele and a hearty handshake. My first question was, "Where is Helen?" I tried with all my might to trol the eagerhat made me tremble so that I could hardly walk. As roached 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 oeps, 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 fad 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 keyhole. Finding that there was, she turo me, making the sign of turning a key and pointing to the bag. Her mother interfered 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 her attention by showing her my watd letting her hold it in her hand. Instantly the tempest subsided, and we went upstairs together. Here I opehe bag, and she went through it eagerly, probably expeg to find something to eat. Friends had probably brought her dy in their bags, and she expected to find some in mine. I made her uand, 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 eating, and nodded again. She uood in a flash and ran downstairs to tell her mother, by means of emphatic signs, that there was some dy in a trunk for her. She returned in a few minutes and helped me put away my things. It was too ical to see her put on my bo and cock her head first on one side, then oher, 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. Howes description of Laura Bridgman when she came to the Institution. But theres nothing pale or delicate about Helen. She is large, strong, and ruddy, and as urained 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 sihe illhat 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 something. Her mouth is large and finely shaped. You see at a glahat she is blind. One eye is larger thaher, and 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 trol her. The greatest problem I shall have to solve is how to discipline and trol her without breaking her spirit. I shall go rather slowly at first and try to win her love. I shall not attempt to quer her by force alone; but I shall insist on reasonable obedience from the start. Ohing that impresses everybody is Helens tireless activity. She is ill a moment. She is here, there, and everywhere. Her hands are ihing; 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-l-l" slowly in her hand and poio 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 a my hand, and I repeated the letters. She imitated them very well and poio 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 tihe 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 wa and tried to take it; but I spelled the wain 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 wain, holding the doll toward her as I held the cake. She made the letters "d-o-l" and I made the other "l" and gave her the doll. She ran downstairs with it and could not be io return to my room all day.
Yesterday I gave her a sewing-card to do. I made the first row of vertical lines a her feel it and notice that there were several rows of little holes. She began to work delightedly and fihe card in a few minutes, and did it very ly 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 Fridays "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 fihe word "c-a-k-e" and obeyed her and. She was delighted. Then I spelled "d-o-l-l" and began to hunt for it. She follows with her hands every motion you make, and she khat 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, theated 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-l-l" more emphatically, and opehe door for her; but she obstinately refused to obey. She had not fihe cake she was eating, and I took it away, indig 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 ehe room again.
She was very troublesome when I began to write this m. She kept ing 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, a 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 oo 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 examihem thoughtfully and began again. This time she put on the glass bead first and the two wooden ones . 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 fihe string, and put the beads round her neck. I did not make the knot large enough in the 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 diime, bringing the strings to me now and then for my approval.
My eyes are very muflamed. I know this letter is very carelessly written. I had a lot to say, and couldnt stop to think how to express things ly. 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 m. Although I try very hard not to force issues, I find it very difficult to avoid them.
Helens 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 m I would not let her put her hand in my plate. She persisted, and a test of wills followed. Naturally the family was much disturbed, ahe 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, kig and screaming and trying to pull my chair from under me. She kept this up for half an hour, the 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 o me, she seemed bewildered. After a few minutes she came back to her plad 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 iing her ba her chair again, ahe spoon in her hand, pellio take up the food with it and put it in her mouth. In a few minutes she yielded and finished her breakfast peaceably. Then we had aussle 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 kid scream all ain. It was another hour before I succeeded iing her napkin folded. Then I let her out into the warm sunshine a up to my room and threw myself on the bed exhausted. I had a good cry a better. I suppose I shall have many such battles with the little woman before she learns the only two essential things I teach her, obediend love.
Good-by, dear. Dont worry; Ill do my best and leave the rest to whatever power mahat which we ot. I like Mrs. Keller very much.
Tuscumbia, Alabama, March 11, 1887.
Since I wrote you, Helen and I have goo live all by ourselves 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 uand what it was.
Every thwarted desire was the signal for a passioburst, and as she grew older and strohese tempests became more violent. As I began to teach her, I was beset by many difficulties. She wouldnt yield a point without testing it to the bitter end. I couldnt coax her or promise with her. To get her to do the simplest thing, such as bing her hair or washing her hands or buttoning her boots, it was necessary to use force, and, of course, a distressing se followed. The family naturally felt ined to interfere, especially her father, who ot 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 or anything else until she learo obey me. I have thought about it a great deal, and the more I think, the more certain I am that obedience is the gateway through whiowledge, yes, and love, too, ehe mind of the child. As I wrote you, I meant to go slowly at first. I had ahat I could win the love and fideny 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 the childs heart. She accepted everything I did for her as a matter of course, and refused to be caressed, and there was no way of appealing to her affe or sympathy or childish love of approbation. She would or she wouldnt, and there was an end of it. Thus it is, we study, plan and prepare ourselves for a task, and when the hour for a arrives, we find that the system we have followed with such labour and pride does not fit the occasion; and then theres 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 reat need brought it to light.
I had a good, frank talk with Mrs. Keller, and explaio her how difficult it was going to be to do anything with Helen uhe 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 reize the place, as she had oftehere, but she would have no idea of her surroundings, and they could e every day to see that all was going well, with the uanding, 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 ge of paradise. It sists 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 vihat grow so luxuriantly that you have to part them to see the garden beyond. Our meals are brought from the house, and we usually eat on the piazza. The little negro boy takes care of the fire when we need one, so I 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 oher 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 tell you. The struggle lasted for nearly two hours. I never saw such strength and enduran a child. But fortunately for us both, I am a little stronger, and quite as obstinate when I set out. I finally succeeded iing her on the bed and covered her up, and she lay curled up as he edge of the bed as possible.
The m 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 dont 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 hahem exactly as she has seen her mother and the nurse handle her baby sister.
This m Nancy, her favourite doll, seemed to have some difficulty about swallowing the milk that was being administered to her in large spoonfuls; for Helen suddenly put down the cup and began to slap her on the bad turn her over on her krotting her gently and patting her softly all the time. This lasted for several mihen 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 mothers 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, 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 w out finely. I have not had any trouble at all with Heleher yesterday or to-day. She has learhree new words, and when I give her the objects, the names of which she has learned, she spells them uatingly; but she seems glad when the lesson is over.
We had a good frolic this m out in the garden. Helen evidently knew where she was as soon as she touched the boxwood hedges, and made many signs which I did not uand. 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 Kellers letter last summer. Mr. Wilson, a teacher at Florence, and a friend of the Kellers, studied at Harvard the summer before ao the Perkins Institution to learn if anything could be done for his friends child. He saw a gentleman whom he presumed to be the director, and told him about Helen. He says the gentleman was not particularly ied, but said he would see if anything could be done.
Doesnt it seem strahat Mr. Anagnos never referred to this interview?
March 20, 1887.
My heart is singing for joy this m. A miracle has happehe light of uanding has shone upon my little pupils mind, and behold, all things are ged!
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 of Scotch wool. She learhe stitch this week, and is very proud of the achievement. When she succeeded in making a 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, she will sit in my lap for a minute or two; but she does not return my caresses. The great step--the step that ts--has been taken. The little savage has learned her first lesson in obedience, and finds the yoke easy. It now remains my pleasant task to dired mould the beautiful intelligehat is beginning to stir in the child-soul. Already people remark the ge in Helen.
Her father looks in at us m and evening as he goes to and from his office, and sees her tentedly 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 dont 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 p or drinking, which shows that she has fused the words. She has no idea yet that everything has a name.
Yesterday I had the little negro boy e in when Helen was having her lesson, and learters, too. This pleased her very mud 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 f it to suit her, she patted him on his woolly head so vigorously that I thought some of his slips were iional.
One day this week Captain Keller brought Belle, a setter of which he is very proud, to see us. He wondered if Helen would reize her old playmate. Helen was giving Nancy a bath, and didnt 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 didnt seem very anxious to attract her attention. I imagine she has been rather roughly handled sometimes by her little mistress. The dog hadnt been in the room more than half a minute, however, before Helen began to sniff, and dumped the doll into the wash-bowl a about the room. She stumbled upon Belle, who was croug he window where Captain Keller was standing. It was evident that she reized the dog; for she put her arms round her ned squeezed her. Then Helen sat down by her and began to manipulate her claws.
We couldnt think for a sed what she was doing; but when we saw her make the letters "d-o-l-l" on her own fingers, we khat she was trying to teach Belle to spell.
March 28, 1887.
Helen and I came home yesterday. I am sorry they would us stay another week; but I think I have made the most I could of the opportuhat were mihe past two weeks, and I dont expect that I shall have any serious trouble with Helen iure. The back of the greatest obstacle ih ress is broken. I think "no" and "yes," veyed by a shake or a nod of my head, have bee facts as apparent to her as hot and cold or as the differeween pain and pleasure. And I dont ihat the lesson she has lear the cost of so much pain and trouble shall be unlearned. I shall staween her and the over-indulgence of her parents. I have told Captain and Mrs. Keller that they must not interfere with me in any way. I have done my best to make them see the terrible injustice to Helen of allowio have her way ihing, and I have pointed out that the processes of teag the child that everything ot 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 ot help seeing in their child has given them more fiden 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 wouldnt use her napkin at table. I think she wao 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 at.
Helen didnt e up to my room after supper, and I didnt see her again until breakfast-time. She was at her place when I came down. She had put the napkin under her , instead of pinning it at the back, as was her . She called my attention to the new arra, 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 arrahe objects oable 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 ond made the sign for it. I showed her the napkin and pi 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 uood 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, a for the napkin. She pi round her ned made the sign for cake (it didnt 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. I 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 m 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 ing she is.
At ten we e in and string beads for a few minutes. She make a great many binations now, and often is new ones herself. Then I let her decide whether she will sew or knit or crochet. She learo 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 could do it. But I am always glad when this work is over for the day.
Sewing and crocheting are iions of the devil, I think. Id rather break stones on the kings highway than hem a handkerchief. At eleven we have gymnastics. She knows all the free-hand movements and the "Anvil Chorus" with the dumb-bells. 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 tha exercises. The hour from twelve to one is devoted to the learning of new words. BUT YOU MUSTNT 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 froli the yard with the little darkies, who were her stant panions 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 fs ahe turkeys. Often, when the weather is fine, we drive from four to six, o to see her aunt at Ivy Green or her cousins iown. Helens 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 uhe little woman and put her to bed. She sleeps with me now.
Mrs. Keller wao get a nurse for her, but I cluded Id rather be her han 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 keen 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, DY, EYE (X), FINGER (X), TOE (X), HEAD (X), CAKE, BABY, MOTHER, SIT, STAND, WALK. On April 1st she learhe nouns KNIFE, FORK, SPOON, SAUCER, TEA, PAPA, BED, and the verb RUN.
April 5, 1887.
I must write you a lihis m because something very important has happened. Helen has taken the sed great step in her education. She has learhat EVERYTHING HAS A NAME, AND THAT THE MANUAL ALPHABET IS THE KEY TO EVERYTHING SHE WANTS TO KNOW.
In a previous letter I think I wrote you that "mug" and "milk" had given Helen more trouble than all the rest.
She fused the nouns with the verb "drink." She didnt know the word for "drink," but went through the pantomime of drinking whenever she spelled "mug" or "milk." This m, while she was washing, she wao 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 uhe spout while I pumped. As the cold water gushed forth, filling the mug, I spelled "w-a-t-e-r" in Helens free hand. The word ing so close upon the sensation of cold water rushing over her hand seemed to startle her. She dropped the mug and stood as oransfixed. A new light came into her face. She spelled "water" several times. Then she dropped on the ground and asked for its name and poio the pump and the trellis, and suddenly turning round she asked for my name. I spelled "Teacher." Just then the nurse brought Helens little sister into the pump-house, and Helen spelled "baby" and poio the nurse. All the way back to the house she was highly excited, and learhe 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, E, and a great many more.
P.S.--I didnt finish my letter in time to get it posted last night; so I shall add a line. Helen got up this m 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 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 lear home. She is anxious for her friends to spell, and 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. Aice that her face grows more expressive each day.
I HAVE DECIDED NOT TO TRY TO HAVE REGULAR LESSONS FOR THE PRESENT. I AM GOING TO TREAT HELELY LIKE A TWO-YEAR-OLD CHILD. IT OCCURRED TO ME THE OTHER DAY THAT IT IS ABSURD TO REQUIRE A CHILD TO E TO A CERTAIN PLACE AT A CERTAIN TIME AE CERTAIN LESSONS, WHEN HE HAS NOT YET ACQUIRED A W 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 es into the world with the ability to learn, and he learns of himself, provided he is supplied with suffit outward stimulus. He sees people do things, aries to do them. He hears others speak, aried to speak. BUT LONG BEFORE HE UTTERS HIS FIRST WORD, HE UANDS WHAT IS SAID TO HIM. I have been Helens little cousin lately. She is about fifteen months old, and already uands a great deal. In respoo questions she points out prettily her nose, mouth, eye, , cheek, ear. If I say, "Where is babys 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 mothers chair, or covers her face with her hands and peeps out at me with an expression of genuine roguishness. She obeys many ands like these: "e," "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 beeed hundreds of times in her hearing, and it is perfectly evident that she uands them. These observations have given me a clue to the method to be followed in teag Helen language.I SHALL TALK INTO HER HAND AS WE TALK INTO THE BABYS EARS. I shall assume that she has the normal childs capacity of assimilation and imitation. I SHALL USE PLETE SENTENCES IN TALKING TO HER, and fill out the meaning with gestures and her descriptive signs when y requires it; but I shall not try to keep her mind fixed on any ohing. I shall do all I to i and stimulate it, and wait for results.
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 suspi that she is perf a most difficult feat. She learns because she t help it, just as the bird learns to fly. But dont imagihat she "talks fluently." Like her baby cousin, she expresses whole sentences by single words. "Milk," with a gesture means, "Give me more milk.”
"Mother," apanied by an inquiring look, means, "Were 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 whitally ahe purpose of a language lesson. It 藏书网is an adaptation of hide-the-thimble. I 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 iy 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 searow I keep up her i in the game for an hour or longer, and she shows much more intelligence, and ofte iy in the search.
This m 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 thh iigation. Finding no trace of the cracker there, she poio my stomad spelled "eat," meaning, "Did you eat it?”
Friday we went down town a a gentleman who gave Helen some dy, 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 dy." Mrs. Keller spelled, "No--baby eat--no." Heleo the cradle a of Mildreds mouth and poio her owh. Mrs. Keller spelled "teeth." Helen shook her head and spelled "Baby teeth--no, baby eat--no," meaning of course, "Baby ot eat because she has h.”
May 8, 1887.
No, I dont want any more kindergarten materials. I used my little stock of beads, cards and straws at first because I didnt 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 supposition 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 aer, if less showily. Let him go and e freely, let him touch real things and bine his impressions for himself, 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 teag fills the mind with artificial associations that must be got rid of, before the child develop indepe ideas out of actual experiences.
Helen is learning adjectives and adverbs as easily as she learned nouns. The idea alrecedes the word.
She had signs for SMALL and LARGE long before I came to her. If she wanted a small objed was given a large one, she would shake her head and take up a tiny bit of the skin of one haweehumb and finger of the other. If she wao 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 ow tell her t me a large book or a small plate, to go upstairs slowly, to run fast and to walk quickly. This m she used the jun 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 couldnt make out at first what it was all about. She kept spelling "dog--baby" and pointing to her five fingers oer another, and sug them. My first thought was, one of the dogs has hurt Mildred; but Helens 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 er 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 muterested in the feeding process, and spelled "m" 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 whetle 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 poio each puppy, oer 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 thahers, and she spelled "small," making the sign at the same time, and I said "very small." She evidently uood that VERY was the name of the hing that had e into her head; for all the way back to the house she used the word VERY correctly. Oone was "small," another was "very small." Wheouched her little sister, she said: "Baby--small. Puppy- very small." Soon after, she began to vary her steps from large to small, and little ming steps were "very small." She is going through the house nolying the new words to all kinds of objects.
Since I have abahe idea ular lessons, I find that Helen learns much faster. I am vihat 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. ITS MUCH BETTER, I THINK, TO ASSUME THAT THE CHILD IS DOING HIS PART, AND THAT THE SEED YOU HAVE SOWN WILL BEAR FRUIT IIME. Its only fair to the child, anyhow, and it saves you munecessary trouble.
May 16, 1887.
We have begun to take long walks every m, immediately after breakfast. The weather is fine, and the air is full of the st of strawberries. Our objective point is Kellers Landing, oennessee, about two miles distant. We never knoe get there, or where we are at a given moment; but that only adds to our enjoyment, especially whehing 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 cate. The down under a tree, or in the shade of a bush, and talk about it. Afterwards, if it has survived the lesso it go; but usually its life ay are sacrificed oar of learning, though in another se lives forever; for has it not been transformed into living thoughts? It is wonderful how wee ideas!
Every new word Helen learns seems to carry with it y for many more. Her mind grows through its ceaseless activity.
Kellers Landing was used during the war to land troops, but has long since goo pieces, and is rown with moss and weeds. The solitude of the place sets one dreaming. he 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," whiterpreted, means, I think, a "live squirrel." We go home about diime 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 ADVAN THE DEVELOPMENT OF HER INTELLECT, AND IS AN INVALUABLE STIMULUS TO THE ACQUISITION OF LANGUAGE. I ASK ALL HER FRIENDS TO ENCE HER TO TELL THEM OF HER DOINGS, AND TO MA AS MUCH CURIOSITY AND PLEASURE IN HER LITTLE ADVENTURES AS THEY POSSIBLY . This gratifies the childs love of approbation and keeps up her i 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, as herself into hopeless tangles of nouns and verbs; but so does the hearing child. I am sure these difficulties will take care of themselves. 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 fotten. Thus her vocabulary groace, and the new werminate and bring forth new ideas; and they are the stuff out of which heaven ah are made.
May 22, 1887.
My wrows more abs and iing every day. Helen is a wonderful child, so spontaneous and eager to learn. She knows about 300 words now and A GREAT MANY ON 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 moreover, it is giveo rouse and guide this bright intelligence.
If only I were better fitted for the great task! I feel every day more and more ie. My mind is full of ideas; but I ot get them int shape. You see, my mind is undisciplined, full of skips and jumps, and here and there a lot of things huddled together in dark ers. How I long to put it in order! Oh, if only there were some oo help me! I need a teacher quite as much as Helen. I know that the education of this child will be the distinguishi of my life, if I have the brains and perseverao aplish it. I have made up my mind about ohing: 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 Perezs and Sullys 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 he 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 find the words most quickly, Helen with her fingers, or I with my eyes, and she learns as many new words as I 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 little story about a bee or a cat or a little boy in this way. I ow tell her to go upstairs or down, out of doors or into the house, lock or unlock a door, take objects, sit, stand, walk, run, lie, creep, roll, or climb. She is delighted with a-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 quest of a sentence as a general who has captured the enemys stronghold.
One of Helens old habits, that is stro 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 uand that she must not break it. I made her gh the motion of knog the dolls head oable and spelled to her: "No, no, Helen is naughty. Teacher is sad," a 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," a her feel the smile on my face. She went through these motions several times, mimig every movement, theood very still for a moment with a troubled look on her face, which suddenly cleared, and she spelled, "Good Helen," and wreathed her fa a very large, artificial smile. Then she carried the doll upstairs and put it oop shelf of the wardrobe, and she has not touched it since.
Please give my kind regards to Mr. Anagnos a him see my letter, if you thi. I hear there is a deaf and blind child being educated at the Baltimore Institution.
June 2, 1887.
The weather is scorg. We need rain badly. We are all troubled about Helen. She is very nervous aable. 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 m, and tinues all day long. If I refuse to talk to her, she spells into her own hand, and apparently carries on the liveliest versation with herself.
I gave her my braille slate to play with, thinking that the meical prig of holes in the paper would amuse her a her mind. But what was my astonishment when I found that the little witch was writiers! I had no idea she knew what a letter was. She has often goh me to the post-offiail letters, and I suppose I have repeated to her things I wrote to you. She koo, that I sometimes write "letters to blind girls" on the slate; but I didnt 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 wao 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 m--five. Baby--cry. Hot. Helen walk--no. Sunfire--bad. Frank--e. 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, catg from the text the meaning of words she doesnt know; and her eager questions indicate the outward reag of her mind and its unusual powers.
The ht 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 m, she said, "Book--cry," and pleted her meaning by shaking and ns 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 wasnt afraid, and must sleep in its case, and that "girl" mustnt read in bed. She looked very roguish, and apparently uood that I saw through her ruse.
I am glad Mr. Anagnos thinks so highly of me as a teacher. But "genius" and &quinality" are words we should not use lightly. If, ihey apply to me eveely, I do not see that I deserve any laudation on that at.
And right here I want to say something which is for your ears alone. Something withiells me that I shall succeed beyond my dreams. Were it not for some circumstahat make su idea highly improbable, even absurd, I should think Helens education would surpass in i and wonder Dr. Howes achievement. I know that she has remarkable powers, and I believe that I shall be able to develop and mould them. I ot 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 ot explain it; but when difficulties arise, I am not perplexed or doubtful. I know how to meet them; I seem to divine Helens peculiar needs. It is wonderful.
Already people are taking a deep i in Helen. No one see her without being impressed. She is no ordinary child, and peoples i in her education will be no ordinary i. 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 dition: It is this: you must promise o show my letters to any one. My beautiful Helen shall not be transformed into a prodigy if I help it.
June 5, 1887.
The heat makes Helen languid and quiet. Ihe 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 t me some water, she said: "Legs very tired. Legs cry much.”
She is muterested in some little chis that are peg their way into the world this m. I let her hold a shell in her hand, ahe chi "chip, chip." Her astonishment, when she felt the tiny creature inside, ot be put in a letter. The hen was very gentle, and made no obje to our iigations. Besides the chis, 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 tless questions--questions not easy to answer either. After seeing the chi e out of the egg, she asked: "Did baby pig grow in egg? Where are many shells?”
Helens head measures twenty and one-half inches, and mine measures twenty-one and one-half inches. You see, Im only one inch ahead!
June 12, 1887.
The weather tinues hot. Helen is about the same--pale and thin; but you mustnt think she is really ill. I am sure the heat, and not the natural, beautiful activity of her mind, is responsible for her dition. 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 ful. 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 suggest many absurd and impossible remedies. But so far nobody seems to have thought of chlor her, which is, I think, the only effective way of stopping the natural exercise of her faculties. Its queer hoeople always are with advi any real or imaginary emergency, and no matter how many times experience has showo be wrong, they tio set forth their opinions, as if they had received them from the Almighty!
I am teag Helen the square-haers as a sort of diversion. It gives her something to do, and keeps her quiet, which I think is desirable while this eiher lasts. She has a perfect mania for ting. She has ted everything in the house, and is now busy ting the words in her primer. I hope it will not occur to her to t 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 fellohirls his "New York Flyer" round the nursery, making "horseshoe curves" undreamed of by less imaginative engineers, is trating his whole soul on his toy lootive.
She just came to say, with a worried expression, "Girl--not t very large (many) words." I said, "No, go and play with Nancy." This suggestion didnt please her, however; for she replied, "No. Nancy is very sick." I asked what was the matter, and she said, "Much (many) teeth do make Nancy sick." (Mildred is teething.) I happeo tell her the other day that the vine on the fence was a "creeper." She was greatly amused, and began at oo 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 "lant.”
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 ceit very much.
June 15, 1887.
We had a glorious thuempest last night, and its much cooler to-day. We all feel refreshed, as if wed had a shower-bath. Helens as lively as a cricket. She wao 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 tio mahe same eagero 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 circumferehe line being drawn round the head so as to pass over the prominences of the parietal and frontal bones. Above this lihe head rises one and one-fourth inches.
During our walks she keeps up a tinual spelling, and delights to apany it with as 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. In one lesson I taught her these words: BEDSTEAD, MATTRESS, SHEET, BLA, FORTER, SPREAD, PILLOW. The 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, SLOLE-SUGAR and TER, and she had not fotten one of these last. This will give you an idea of the retentive memory she possesses. She t to thirty very quickly, and write seven of the square-haers and the words which be made with them. She seems to uand about writiers, and is impatient to "write Fraer." She enjoys pung holes in paper with the stiletto, and I supposed it was because she could examihe 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, "si bed," and write that. She kept this up for nearly an hour. She was (or imagined she utting on paper the things which had ied her. When she had fihe letter she carried it to her mother and spelled, "Fraer," 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 reizes instantly a person whom she has o, and spells the name. Unlike Laura Bridgman, she is fond of gentlemen, aice that she makes friends with a gentleman soohan 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 scarcely stand.
She discovered a hole in her boot the other m, and, after breakfast, she went to her father and spelled, "Helen new boot Simpson (her brother) buggy store man." One easily see her meaning.
July 3, 1887.
There was a great rumpus downstairs this m. 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 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 scratg 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.
Heleed, and Viried 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 wao kiss me. I said, "I ot kiss naughty girl.”
She spelled, "Helen is good, Viney is bad." I said: "You struck Viney and kicked her and hurt her. You were very naughty, and I ot 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 khat 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 diable she was greatly disturbed because I did, and suggested that "ake tea for teacher." But I told her that my heart was sad, and I didnt feel like eating.
She began to cry and sob and g to me.
She was very much excited when we went upstairs; so I tried to i her in a curious i called a stick-bug. Its the queerest thing I ever saw--a little bundle of fagots fasteogether in the middle. I wouldnt believe it was alive until I saw it move. Eve looked more like a meical toy than a living creature.
But the poor little girl couldnt fix her attention. Her heart was full of trouble, and she wao talk about it.
She said: " 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, "Viney () 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, a Viney kiss her, though she didurn the caress. She has been unusually affeate since, and it seems to me there is a sweetness-a soul-beauty in her face which I have not seen before.
July 31, 1887.
Helens pencil-writing is excellent, as you will see from the enclosed letter, which she wrote for her own amusement. I am teag her the braille alphabet, and she is delighted to be able to make words herself that she 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 beore insistent. I remember how unbearable I used to find the inquisitiveness of my friends children; but I know now that these questions indicate the childs growing i in the cause of things. The "why?" is the DOOR THROUGH WHICH HE EHE WORLD OF REASON AND REFLE. "How does carpenter know to build house?" "Who put chis in eggs?" "Why is Viney black?" "Flies bite--why?" " 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 isnt more logical than the minds of ordinary children. On the whole, her questions are analogous to those that a bright three-year-old child asks; but her desire for knowledge is so ear, the questions are edious, though they draw heavily upon my meager store of information, and tax my iy 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: "My, 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 learhe names of all the people iel, about twenty, I think. The m we were astoo find that she remembered all of them, and reized every one she bbr>99lｉb.had met the night before. She taught the young people the alphabet, and several of them learo talk with her.
One of the girls taught her to dahe 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 Helens picture taken with a fuzzy, red-eyed little poodle, who got himself into my ladys good graces by tricks and ing devices known only to dogs with an instinct fetting what they want.
She has talked incessantly since her return about what she did in Huntsville, aice 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 anything 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 clusion she asked her mother if she should like to see "very high mountain aiful cloudcaps." I hadnt 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 vey to one who has never seen a mountain the fai idea of its grandeur; and I dont 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.
I do wish things would stop being born! "New puppies," "new calves" and "new babies" keep Helens i in the why and wherefore of things at white heat. The arrival of a new baby at Ivy Greeher day was the occasion of a fresh outburst of questions about the in of babies and live things in general. "Where did Leila get new baby? How 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 Evelyns sister?" etc., etc. These questions were sometimes asked under circumstances which rehem 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 ahem. Its a great mistake, I think, to put children off with falsehoods and nonsense, when their growing powers of observation and discriminatioe in them a desire to know about things. From the beginning,
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I HAVE MADE IT A PRACTICE TO ANSWER ALL HELENS QUESTIONS TO THE BEST OF MY ABILITY IN A WAY INTELLIGIBLE TO HER, and at the same time truthfully. "Why should I treat these questions differently?" I asked myself. I decided that there was no reason, except my deplorable ignorance of the great facts that underlie our physical existe was no doubt because of this ignorahat I rushed in where more experienced angels fear to tread. There isnt a living soul in this part of the world to whom I go for advi 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 dont think I made a mistake. I took Helen and my Botany, "How Plants Grow," up iree, where we often go to read and study, and I told her in simple words the story of plantlife. I reminded her of the , beans and watermelon-seed she had planted in the spring, and told her that the tall in the garden, and the beans and watermelon 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 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 e out. I made her uand that all life es from an egg. The mother bird lays her eggs in a and keeps them warm until the birdlings 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 e out. I told her that she could call the egg the cradle of life. Then I told her that other animals like the dog and cow, and human beings, do not lay their eggs, but nourish their young in their own bodies. I had no difficulty in making it clear to her that if plants and animals didnt produce offspring after their kind, they would cease to exist, and everything in the world would soon die. But the fun of sex I passed over as lightly as possible. I did, however, try to give her the idea that love is the great tinuer of life. The subject was difficult, and my knowledge ie; but I am glad I didnt shirk my responsibility; for, stumbling, hesitating, and inplete as my explanation was, it touched deep responsive chords in the soul of my little pupil, and the readiness with which she prehehe great facts of physical life firmed me in the opinion that the child has dormant within him, when he es into the world, all the experiences of the race. These experiences are like photographiegatives, until language develops them and brings out the memory-images.
September 4, 1887.
Helen had a letter this m from her uncle, Doctor Keller. He invited her to e to see him at Hot Springs. The Springs ied her, and she asked many questions about it. She knows about cold springs. There are several uscumbia; 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 e out of the ground. She wao know who made fire uhe ground, and if it was like the fire in stoves, and if it burhe 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 sentences 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 edy from the door. Belle was sleepy, and Mildred iive. 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 her by the ned forced her to lie down again. In the meantime Mildred had got the letter and crept away with it. Hele 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." The up and stood very still, as if listening with her feet for Mildreds "thump, thump." When she had located the sound, she went quickly 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, aated a moment before answering.
Then she said: &qu girl did eat letter. Helen did slap very wrong girl." I told her that Mildred was very small, and didnt know that it was wrong to put the letter in her mouth.
"I did tell baby, no, no, much (many) times," was Helens reply.
I said, "Mildred doesnt uand your fingers, and we must be very geh her.”
She shook her head.
"Baby--not think. Helen will give baby pretty letter," and with that she ran upstairs and brought down a ly folded sheet of braille, on which she had written some words, and gave it to Mildred, saying, "Baby 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 be of my experience. Besides, they said Helens wonderful deliverance might be a 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 strait-jacket. Its 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. This does not mean, however, that she always uses them correctly. Sometimes her sentences are like ese puzzles; but they are the kind of puzzles children make whery to express their half-formed ideas by means of arbitrary language. She has the true language-impulse, and shows great fertility of resour making the words at her and vey her meaning.
Lately she has been muterested in colour. She found the word "brown" in her primer and wao know its meaning. 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 for the weary there. Helen was eager to know "more colour." I wonder if she has any vague idea of colour--any remi impression of light and sound. It seems as if a child who could see and hear until her eenth month must retain some of her first impressions, though ever so faintly.
Helen talks a great deal about things that she ot know of through the sense of touch. She asks many questions about the sky, day and night, the o 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, Vihink is black.”
You see, she had ahat the colour of our thoughts matched that of our skin. I couldnt 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 at for the report is finished a off. I have two copies, and will send you one; but you mustnt show it to anybody. Its Mr. Anagnoss property until it is published.
I suppose the little girls enjoyed Heleer. 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 letter 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 m I happeo say, "Helen will go upstairs." She laughed and said, "Teacher is wrong. You will go upstairs." This is anreat forward step. Thus it always is. Yesterdays perplexities are strangely simple to-day, and to-days difficulties bee to-morrows pastime.
The rapid development of Helens mind is beautiful to watch. I doubt if any teacher ever had a work of such abs i. There must have been one lucky star in the heavens at my birth, and I am just beginning to feel its benefit influence.
I had two letters from Mr. Anagnos last week. He is mrateful 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 forthing annual report.”
October, 1887.
You have probably read, ere this, Helens sed 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 realize the rapid adva 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 versation. Her passion for writiers and puttihoughts upon paper grows more intense. She now tells stories in which the imagination 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 thinking a moment she said, "My eyes are bad!" then she ged it into "My eyes are sick!”
Miss Sullivans first report, which ublished in the official report of the Perkins Institution for the year 1887, is a short summary of what is fully recorded iters. 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 tinuous 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 Helens hand on the baby and formed the letters "b-a-b-y,”
which she repeated without help and with the light of a new intelligen her face.
On our way back to the house everything she touched had to be named for her, aition was seldom necessary. her the length of the word nor the bination of letters seems to make any differeo 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 ut IN a trunk, and then ON it, and these prepositions were spelled for her. Very soon she learhe differeween ON and IN, though it was some time before she could use these words iences of her own. Whe ossible she was made the actor in the lesson, and was delighted to stand ON the chair, and to be put INTO the wardrobe. In e with this lesson she learhe names of the members of the family and the word IS. "Helen is in wardrobe," "Mildred is in crib," "Box is on table," "Papa is on bed," are spes of sentences structed by her during the latter part of April.
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 differen size at oaking the bullet she made her habitual sign for SMALL--that is, by ping a little bit of the skin of one hand. Theook 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. Thetention 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 sisters head and said to her mother, "Mildreds head is small and hard." 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 day, while exerg, she spelled to me, "Helen wind fast," and began to walk rapidly. Then she said, "Helen wind slow," again suiting the a to the words.
I now thought it time to teach her to read printed words. A slip on which rinted, in raised letters, the word BOX laced on the object, and the same experiment was tried with a great many articles, but she did not immediately prehend that the label-name represehe thing. Then I took an alphabet sheet and put her finger oter 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. I turo 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 ences in raised letters which she could uand; but she would sit for hours feeling each word in her book. Wheouched oh which she was familiar, a peculiarly sweet expression lighted her face, and we saw her tenance growing sweeter and more ear every day. About this time I sent a list of the words she ko 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 arrahem into sentehis 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 uand 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 fine herself to phrases already learned, but could unicate any thought that assing through her mind. I put one of the writing boards used by the bliween the folds of the paper oable, 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 fi 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 learo express her ideas on paper, I aught her the braille system. She lear gladly when she discovered that she could herself read what she had written; and this still affords her stant pleasure. For a whole evening she will sit at the table writing whatever es 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 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 w retly 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 t." I wished her to make the groups of threes and supposed she would then have to t 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 cluded 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 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, a oering the cemetery for the first time in her life, with her mother ao look at some flowers, she laid her hand on our eyes aedly 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 scious of the presence of her brother, although we were distant from him. She spelled his name repeatedly and started in the dire in which he was ing.
When walking or riding she often gives the names of the people we meet almost as soon as we reize them.
The letters take up the at again.
November 13, 1887.
We took Helen to the circus, and had "the time of our lives"! The circus people were muterested in Helen, and did everything they could to make her first circus a memorable event. They let her feel the animals whe 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 a her hand oar performer while he went through his tricks, and laughed heartily wheook off his hat to the audience. Oe little fellow stole her hair-ribbon, and aried to snatch the flowers out of her hat. I dont know who had the best time, the monkeys, Helen or the spectators. 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 s and rope-walkers were all glad to let the little blind girl feel their es and follow their motions whe ossible, and she kissed them all, to show her gratitude. Some of them cried, and the wild man of Borneo shrank from her sweet little fa 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 learo 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, its so o feel sad when youve nothing particular to be sad about. I am teag her little rhymes and verses, too. They fix beautiful thoughts in her memory. I think, too, that they qui all the childs faculties, because they stimulate the imagination. Of course I dont try to explaihing. If I did, there would be no opportunity for the play of fancy. TOO MUCH EXPLANATION DIRECTS THE CHILDS ATTENTION TO WORDS AENCES, SO THAT HE FAILS TO GET THE THOUGHT AS A WHOLE. I do not think anyone read, or talk for that matter, until he fets words aences ieical 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. Helens dependene for almost everything makes me strong and glad.
Christmas week was a very busy one here, too. Helen is io all the childreertais, and I take her to as many as I . I wao know children and to be with them as much as possible. Several little girls have learo spell on their fingers and are very proud of the aplishment. Otle chap, about seven, ersuaded to learters, 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 uzzled, 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 them, evidently thinking they were all meant for her. It was not difficult, however, to make her uand that there resent for each child, and treat delight she ermitted 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. Otle girl had fewer presents than the rest, and Helen insisted on sharing her gifts with her. It was very sweet to see the childrens eager i in Helen, and their readio give her pleasure. The exercises began at nine, and it was one oclock before we could leave. My fingers and head ached; but Helen was as fresh and full of spirit as when we left home.
After di began to snow, and we had a good frolid an iing lesson about the snow. Sunday m the ground was covered, and Helen and the cooks children and I played snowball. By noon the snow was all go 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 Helens 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 uand the little stories I tell her; but staition fixes the words and phrases in the mind, and little by little the meaning will e to her. I SEE NO SENSE IN "FAKING" VERSATION FOR THE SAKE OF TEAG LANGUAGE. ITS STUPID AND DEADENING TO PUPIL AND TEACHER. TALK SHOULD BE NATURAL AND HAVE FOR ITS OBJE EXGE OF IDEAS. If there is nothing in the childs mind to unicate, 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." I HAVE TRIED FROM THE BEGINNING TO TALK NATURALLY TO HELEN AND TO TEACH HER TO TELL ME ONLY THINGS THAT I 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, a along finely. The childs eagerness and i carry her over many obstacles that would be our undoing if we stopped to define and explaihing. What would happen, do you think, if some one should try to measure our intelligence by our ability to defihe o words we use? I fear me, if I were put to such a test, I should be sigo the primary class in a school for the feeble-minded.
It was toug aiful to see Helen enjoy her first Christmas. Of course, she huog--two of them lest Santa Claus should fet one, and she lay awake for a long time and got up two or three times to see if anything had happened. When I told her that Santa Claus would not e until she was asleep, she shut her eyes and said, "He will think girl is asleep." She was awake the first thing in the m, and ran to the fireplace for her stog; and when she found that Santa Claus had filled both stogs, she danced about for a mihen 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 e back for the gifts when he discovered his mistake. The ring you sent her was ioe of the stog, 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 ent was, "Now Nancy will go to party." When she saw the braille slate and paper, she said, "I will write maers, 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 differeween this bright Christmas and the last, when their little girl had no scious part in the Chris.mas 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 us; but I never realized until this m what a blessing you have been to us." Captain Keller 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 wrandfather 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 e with things to eat. She knows that her father shoots partridges and deer and ame.
This m she asked me the meaning of "carpenter," and the question furhe text for the days lesson. After talking about the various things that carpenters make, she asked me, "Did carpenter make me?”
and before I could answer, she spelled quickly, "No, no, photographer made me in Sheffield.”
One of the greatest iron furnaces has been started in Sheffield, and we went over the other evening to see them make a "run." Helehe heat and asked, "Did the sun fall?”
January 9, 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 ving! 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 ing 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! I came here simply because circumstances made it necessary for me to earn my living, and I seized upon the first opportunity that offered itself, although I did not suspeor did he, that I had any special fitness for the work.
January 26, 1888.
I suppose you got Heleer. The little rascal has taken it into her head not to write with a pencil. I wanted her to write to her Uncle Frank this m, but she objected. She said: "Pencil is very tired in head. I will write Uncle Frank braille letter." I said, "But Uncle Frank ot read braille." "I will teach him," she said. I explaihat Uncle Frank was old, and couldnt 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 fi. I said to her, "You are a naughty girl." "No," she replied, "pencil is very weak." I think her obje to pencil-writing is readily ated for by the fact that she has been asked to write so many spes for friends and strangers. You know how the children at the Institutio it. It is irksome because the process is so slow, and they ot read what they have written or correct their mistakes.
Helen is more and more ied in colour. When I told her that Mildreds eyes were blue, she asked, "Are they like wee skies?" A little while after I had told her that a ation 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 didnt uand the word-play. I 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 fused to be reizable, 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 did much. It was nothing but excitement from first to last--drives, luns, receptions, and all that they involve when you have an eager, tireless child like Helen on your hands. She talked incessantly. I dont know what I should have done, had some of the young people not learo talk with her. They relieved me as much as possible. But even then I ever have a quiet half hour to myself. It is always: "Oh, Miss Sullivan, please e and tell us what Helen means," or "Miss Sullivan, wont you please explain this to Helen? We t make her uand." I believe half the white population of Memphis called on us. Helen etted and caressed enough to spoil an angel; but I do not think it is possible to spoil her, she is too unscious of herself, and too loving.
The stores in Memphis are very good, and I mao spend all the mohat I had with me. One day Helen said, "I 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 Nancys hat. She answered promptly, "I will pay tes." "What will you do with the dollar?" I asked. "I will buy some good dy to take to Tuscumbia," was her reply.
We visited the Stock Exge and a steamboat. Helen was greatly ied in the boat, and insisted on being shown every inch of it from the eo 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 iiers sihe publication 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 Helens progress is without a parallel in the education of the deaf, or something like that and he says many hings about her teacher.
March 5, 1888.
I did not have a ce 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.[Most of this journal was lost. Fortunately, however, Helen Keller wrote so maers and exercises that there is no lack of records of that sort.] I dont know how long she will keep it up. Its 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 fad hands, bed 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, fierimals. Fierce is much cross and strong and very hungry. I do not love fierimals. I wrote letter to Uncle James. He lives in Hs. He is doctor. Doakes sick girl well. I do not like sick. Then I ate my dinner. I like much icecream very much. After dinner father went tham 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 e to see you when the sun shines. Mrs. Newsum is Roberts wife. Robert is her husband. Robert and I will run and jump and hop and dand 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 laugh. 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. Thorntoo school as his face dirty. Boy must be very careful. After supper I played romp with Teacher in bed. She buried me uhe 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 breakfast this m that he wished I would take Helen to church. The Presbytery would be there in a body, and he wahe mio see Helen. The Sunday-school was in session when we arrived, and I wish you could have seen the sensation Helerance 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 beloo the visiting ministers; but soon she reized some little friends among them, and I told her the ministers didnt bring their children with them. She looked disappointed and said, "Ill send them many kisses." One of the ministers wished me to ask Helen, "What do ministers do?" She said, "They read and talk loud to people to be good." He put her answer down in his note 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 oher side of her. He gave her his watch to play with; but that didnt keep her still. She wao show it to the little boy in the seat behind us. When the union service began, she smelt the wine, and sniffed so loud that every one in the church could hear. When the wine assed to our neighbour, he was obliged to stand up to preveaking 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-tail she touched must urn round and give an at of the children he left at home, and receive kisses acc to their number. Everybody laughed at her antics, and you would have thought they were leaving a plausement rather than a church. Captain Keller invited some of the mio dinner. Helen was irrepressible. She described in the most animated pantomime, supplemented by spelling, what she was going to do ier. Finally she got up from the table ahrough the motion of pig seaweed and shells, and splashing ier, holding up her skirts higher than roper uhe circumstahehrew herself on the floor and began to swim so eically 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 intermio 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 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 ati.
We spent a delightful week with the "doctors." Dr. Keller met us in Memphis. Almost every one orain hysi, and Dr. Keller seemed to know them all. When we reached ati, we found the place full of doctors. There were several promi Boston physis among them. We stayed at the Bur House.
Everybody was delighted with Helen. All the learned men marveled at her intelligend gaiety. There is something about her that attracts people. I think it is her joyous i ihing and everybody.
Wherever she went she was the tre of i. She was delighted with the orchestra at the hotel, and whehe music began she danced round the room, hugging and kissing every one she happeo touch.
Her happiness impressed all; nobody seemed to pity her. Oleman said to Dr. Keller, "I have lived long and seen many happy faces; but I have never seen such a radiant face as this childs before to-night." Another said, "Damn me! but Id give everything I own in the world to have that little girl always near me." But I havent 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.
Gar, who was Governor of Maine several years ago? He took us to drive oernoon, and wao 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 uzzled. He had never heard of "talking-gloves"; but I explaihat she had seen a glove on which the alphabet rinted, 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 huimes by the learned doctors. It seems strahat 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 childs mind, as to teach 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 childs mind. If his experiences and observations hadnt led him to the cepts, 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 arbitrary 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 indig that he remembers the unpleasaion. You label it SOUR, and he adopts your symbol. If you had called these sensations respectively BLAd WHITE, he would have adopted them as readily; but he would mean by BLAd WHITE the same things that he means by SWEET and SOUR. In the same way the child learns from many experieo differentiate his feelings, and we hem for him--GOOD, BAD, GENTLE, ROUGH, HAPPY, SAD. It is not the word, but the capacity to experiehe sensation that ts in his education.
This extract from one of Miss Sullivaers is added because it tains iing casual opinions stimulated by 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 khe manual alphabet, and talked to her without an interpreter. They were asto her and of language. Not a child in the school, they said, had anything like Helens facility of expression, and some of them had been under instru for two or three years. I was incredulous at first; but after I had watched the children at work for a couple of hours, I khat what I had been told was true, and I wasnt surprised. In one room some little tots were standing before the blackboard, painfully strug "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." Wheered the room, the childrens 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 girls name is Helen.
She is deaf. She ot see. We are very sorry." I said: "Why do you write those sentences on the board?
Wouldnt the children uand if you talked to them about Helen?" The teacher said something about getting the correct stru, and tio stru exercise out of Helen. I asked her if the little girl who had written about the new dress articularly pleased with her dress. "No," she replied, "I think not; but children learer if they write about things that them personally." It seemed all so meical 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 uand 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 e. This sort of thing may be necessary in some stages of education; but it isnt the way to acquire language. NOTHING, I THINK, CRUSHES THE CHILDS IMPULSE TO TALK NATURALLY MORE EFFECTUALLY THAN THESE BLACKBOARD EXERCISES. The schoolroom is not the place to teay young child language, least of all the deaf child.
He must be kept as unscious 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, with puzzling questions in grammar, or with anything that is ao joy. But I must not get into the habit of critig other peoples methods too severely. I may be as far from the straight road as they.
Miss Sullivans sed report brings the at down to October 1st, 1888.
During the past year Helen has enjoyed excelleh. Her eyes and ears have been examined by specialists, and it is their opinion that she ot 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 respeg physical qualities; but, acc to emi authority, these senses do exert a great influen the mental and moral development. Dugald Stewart says, "Some of the most signifit words relating to the human mind are borrowed from the sense of smell; and the spicuous 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 fand the moral emotions of the heart." Heleainly derives great pleasure from the exercise of these senses. Oering a greenhouse her tenance bees radiant, and she will tell the names of the flowers with which she is familiar, by the sense of smell alone. Her recolles of the sensations of smell are very vivid. She enjoys in anticipation the st of a rose or a violet; and if she is promised a bouquet of these flowers, a peculiarly happy expression lights her face, indig 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 aess and delicacy. Indeed, her whole body is so finely ahat she seems to use it as a medium fing herself into closer relations with her fellow creatures. 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 tnize her friends and acquaintahe instant she touches their hands or clothing, but she also perceives the state of mind of those around her. It is impossible for any oh whom Helen is versing 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 versation, and she discovers meaning in every ge of position, and in the varied play of the muscles of the hand. She responds quickly to the gentle pressure of affe, the pat of approval, the jerk of impatiehe firm motion of and, and to the many other variations of the almost infinite language of the feelings; and she has bee so expert in interpreting this unscious language of the emotions that she is often able to divine our very thoughts.
In my at 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 sidering the matter, that this power may be explained by her perfect familiarity with the muscular variations of those with whom she es into tact, caused by their emotions. She has been forced to depend largely upon this muscular sense as a means of ascertaining the mental dition of those about her. She has learo ect certain movements of the body with anger, others with joy, and others still with sorrow. One day, while she was out walking with her mother and Mr. Anagnos, a boy threw a torpedo, which startled Mrs. Keller. Helehe ge in her mothers movements instantly, and asked, "What are we afraid of?" On one occasion, while walking on the on with her, I saolice officer taking a man to the station-house. The agitation which I felt evidently produced a perceptible physical ge; for Helen asked, excitedly, "What do you see?”
A striking illustration of this strange power was retly shown while her ears were being examined by the aurists in ati. Several experiments were tried, to determine positively whether or not she had any perception of sound. 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 upoable, and withdrew to the opposite side of the room. The aurists then tried their experiments with quite differes. Helen remained motiohrough 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 tenance ged whenever she oken to, but there was not such a decided lighting up of the features as when I had held her hand. In the at of Helen last year it was stated that she knew nothing about death, or the burial of the body; yet oering 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 I knew her, she had handled a dead chi, or bird, or some other small animal. Some time after the visit to the cemetery before referred to, Helen became ied in a horse that had met with an act by whie 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 Hele 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 explaihat he had been shot to relieve him from suffering, and that he was now BURIED--put into the ground. I am ined to believe that the idea of his having been iionally shot did not make much impression upon her; but I think she did realize the fact that life was extin the horse as in the dead birds she had touched, and also that he had been put into the ground. Sihis 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 apanied my friend ahrough the graveyard. She examined ooer 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. Whetention was drawn to a marble slab inscribed with the name FLOREN relief, she dropped upon the ground as though looking for something, then turo me with a face full of trouble, and asked, "Were 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 tio ask these distressing questions, we left the cemetery. Florence was 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 ift. 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 Florences." This was true, although we were at a loss to uand how she guessed it. A letter written to her mother in the course of the following week gave an at of her impression in her own words: "I put my little babies to sleep in Florences little bed, and I take them to ride in her carriage. Poor little Florence is dead. She was very sid 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. Dave her medie 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 Helens mind, she is a very natural child. She is fond of fun and frolid 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 uand her. She will play for hours together with children who ot uand a single word she spells, and it is pathetic to watch the eager gestures aed pantomime through which her ideas aions find expression. Occasionally some little birl will try to learn the manual alphabet. Then it is beautiful to observe with atience, sweetness, and perseverance Helen endeavours t 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 youhan herself, and a baby invariably calls forth all the motherly instincts of her nature. She will hahe baby as tenderly as the most careful nurse could desire. It is pleasant, too, to note her thoughtfulness for little children, and her readio yield to their whims.
She has a very sociable disposition, and delights in the panionship of those who 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 inteerest, 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 aced 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 siy. Her heart is too full of unselfishness and affe to allow a dream of fear or unkindness. She does not realize that one be anything but kied and tender. She is not scious of any reason why she should be awkward; sequently, her movements are free and graceful.
She is very fond of all the living things at home, 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 m she was greatly distressed by finding that one of the dogs had a block fasteo her collar. We explaihat it was doo keep Pearl from running away. Helen expressed a great deal of sympathy, and at every opportunity during the day 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 explaio 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 hors and birds and large flies and worms are eating all of my fathers 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 tio 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 prow stronger, more active and subtle, and the language by which she expresses this intellectual activity gains in fluend 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, aables 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 unig these things, Helen mas inteerest; and, in default of words, she indicates by gestures and pantomime her desire to learn more of her surroundings and of the great forces which are operating everywhere. In this way, she learns tless new expressions without any apparent effort.
From the day when Helen first grasped the idea that all objects have names, and that these be unicated 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 tenden her part to use only the important words in a sentence.
She would say: "Helen milk." I got the milk to show her that she had used the correct word; but I did not let her drink it until she had, with my assistance, made a plete sentence, as "Give Helen some milk to drink.”
In these early lessons I enced her in the use of different forms of expression for veying the same idea. If she was eating some dy, I said: "Will Helen please give teacher some dy?" or, "Teacher would like to eat some of Helens dy," 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 stantly 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 aition than through any explanation of mihis is especially true of her earlier lessons, when her knowledge of language was so slight as to make explanation impossible.
I always made it a practice to use the words descriptive of emotions, of intellectual or moral qualities and as, in e 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; ALSHT, 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 bination 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 ected with the act, seemed to impress itself on her mind much as if I had placed her hand upon an objed then spelled its name. Sihat time she has always used the word THINK.
At a later period I began to use such words as PERHAPS, SUPPOSE, EXPECT, FET, 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, and what they will do. versations of this kind are frequent: HELEN. What is little boys 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 on 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 expeg Jack, and are waiting for him.
After the words have bee familiar to her, she uses them in position.
September 26, [1888].
"This m 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 teag her the use of language, I have not fined myself to any particular theory or system. I have observed the spontaneous movements of my pupils mind, and have tried to follow the suggestions thus given to me.
Owing to the nervousness of Helens temperament, every precaution has been taken to avoid unduly exg her already very active brain. The greater part of the year has bee in travel and in visits to different places, and her lessons have been those suggested by the various ses and experiehrough which she has passed. She tio mahe same eagero learn as at first. It is never necessary te her to study. Indeed, I am often obliged to coax her to leave an example or a position.
While not fining myself to any special system of instru, I have tried to add teneral information and intelligeo enlarge her acquaintah things around her, and t her into easy and natural relations with people. I have enced her to keep a diary, from which the followiion 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 ay little blind boys. I do love them. Little blind girls sent me a pretty work-basket. 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 Nand Adeline and Allie. I will go to ati in May and buy another child.
Then I will have four children. New babys 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 on the ground. The blue-bird makes her in a hollow tree and her eggs are blue. The robins 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 e to shoring is here.
"James killed snipes for breakfast. Little chis 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 a it flowing.
"I caught fish with hook and line and pole. We climbed 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 you, little calf, a his arms around calfs ned kissed her. The calf licked good boys face with lh tongue. Calf must not open mouth much to kiss. I am tired, and teacher does not wao write more.”
Iumn she went to a circus. While we were standing before his cage the lion roared, and Helehe vibration of the air so distinctly that she was able to reproduce the 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 otion 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 oher side. Between these humps she had placed her doll, which she was giving a ride around the room. I 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 a camels gait. When I asked her what she was doing, she replied, "I am a very funny camel.”
During the wo years her Mr. Anagnos, who was in Europe for a year, nor Miss Sullivan wrote anything about Helen Keller for publication. In 1892 appeared the Perkins Institutio for 1891, taining a full at of Helen Keller, including many of her letters, exercises, and positions. 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 Kellers writing during the third, fourth and fifth years of her education. It was the first two years that ted. From Miss Sullivans part of this report I give her most important ents and such biographical matter as does not appear elsewhere in the present volume.
These extracts Mr. Anagnos took from Miss Sullivans notes and memoranda.
One day, while her pony and her donkey were standing side by side, Hele from oo the other, examining them closely. At last she paused with her hand upon Neddys 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 handsomely 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 ot help it, and I love you just as well as if you were the most beautiful creature in the world.”
Helen has beely ied iory 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 bohat showed plainly through it; the knees knuckled over, and the fs were very unsteady. I had beeing some hay, and the wind rolled a little lock of it that way, and the poor creature put out her long, thin ned picked it up, and then turned round and looked about for more. There eless look in the dull eye that I could not help notig, 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 vulsively. "It inger," was all she could say at first. Later, when she was able to talk about it, she said: "Pihe 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 go of her flashing eyes, all the playfulness go of her manner. Oh, how terrible it was! I never knew before that there could be such a ge in anything. There were very few spots of sunshine in pingers life, and the sadnesses were so many!" After a moment she added, mournfully, "I fear some peoples lives are just like Gingers.”
This m Helen was reading for the first time Bryants 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, "Theres freedom at thy gates, a," 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 oransported into the midst of the events of a 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 eveers into the spirit of battle; she says, "I think it is right for men to fight against wrongs and tyrants.”
Here begins Miss Sullivans ected at in the report of 1891: During the past three years Helen has tio 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 disadvahe danger of unduly severe mental application.
Her mind is so stituted that she is in a state of feverish u while scious that there is something that she does not prehend. I have never knowo be willing to leave a lesson when she felt that there was anything in it which she did not uand. If I suggest her leaving a problem in arithmetitil the day, she answers, "I think it will make my mind stroo do it now.”
A few evenings ago we were discussing the tariff. Helen wanted me to tell her about it. I said: "No. You ot uand it yet." She was quiet for a moment, and then asked, with spirit: "How do you know that I ot uand? I have 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 uood some of them." I have found it best not to tell her that she ot uand, because she is almost certain to bee excited.
Not long ago I tried to show her how to build a tower with her blocks. As the design was somewhat plicated, the slightest jar made the structure fall. After a time I became disced, 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 determio build the tower herself; and for nearly three hours she worked aatiently gathering up the blocks whehey fell, and beginning ain, until at last her perseverance was ed with success. The tower stood plete in every part.
Until October, 1889, I had not deemed it best to fine 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 try, where everything was neerplexing; and, until she gained a knowledge of language, it was not possible to give her a definite course of instru.
Moreover, Helens inquisitiveness was so great during these years that it would have interfered with her progress in the acquisition of language, if a sideration of the questions which were stantly to her had been deferred until the pletion of a lesson. In all probability she would have fotten the question, and a good opportunity to explain something of real io her would have been lost. Therefore it has always seemed best to me to teaything whenever my pupil o know it, whether it had any bearing on the projected lesson or not, her inquiries have often led us far away from the subjeder immediate sideration.
Siober, 1889, her work has been mular and has included arithmetic, geography, zoology, botany and reading.
She has made siderable progress iudy of arithmetic. She readily explains the processes of multiplication, addition, subtra, and division, and seems to uand the operations. She has nearly finished Colbural arithmetic, her last work being in improper fras. She has also done some good work in written arithmetic. Her mind works so rapidly, that it often happens, that when I give her an example she will give me the correswer 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 suggested that we take a walk and then perhaps she would uand it. She shook her head decidedly, and said: "My enemies would think I was running away. I must stay and quer them now," and she did.
The intellectual improvement which Helen has made in the past two years is shown more clearly in her greater and of language and in her ability tnize 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, PRISE, ENERGY, REPRODU, 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 prehend the more abstruse meanings of the word MYSTERY, but she uood readily that it signified something hidden or cealed, and when she makes greater progress she will grasp its more abstruse meaning as easily as she now does the simpler signification. In iigating any subject there must occur at the beginning words and phrases which ot be adequately uood until the pupil has made siderable adva; 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 e to one anothers 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 my surest guide. I have always talked to Helely 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 uand this or that word I always reply: "Never mind whether she uands each separate word of a sentence or not. She will guess the meanings of the new words from their e with others which are already intelligible to her.”
Iing books for Helen to read, I have never chosen them with refereo 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 necessary that the things described should be familiar and iing, and the English pure and simple. I remember distinctly when she first attempted to read a little story. She had learhe 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 m we caught a mouse, and it occurred to me, with a live mouse and a live cat to stimulate her i, that I might arrange some sentences in such a way as to form a little story, and thus give her a new ception of the use of language. So I put the followiences in the frame, and gave it to Helen: "The cat is on the box. A mouse is in the box. The cat see the mouse. The cat would like to eat the mouse. Do not let the cat get the mouse. The cat have some milk, and the mouse have some cake." The word THE she did not know, and of course she wished it explained. At that stage of her adva it would have been impossible to explain its use, and so I did not try, but moved her finger on to the word, which she reized 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 sed sentence, I showed her that there really was a mouse in the box. She then moved her fio the lih an expression of eager i. "The cat see the mouse." Here I made the cat look at the mouse, a Helehe cat. The expression of the little girls tenance showed that she erplexed. 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 aut her on the floor, at the same time c the box with the frame. When she read, "Do not let the cat get the mouse!" she reized the ion in the sentence, and seemed to know that the cat must not get the mouse. GET a were new words. She was familiar with the words of the last sentence, and was delighted when allowed to act them out. By signs she made me uand that she wished aory, and I gave her a book taining very short stories, written in the most elementary style. She ran her fingers along the lines, finding the words she knew and guessing at the meaning of others, in a way that would vihe most servative of educators that a little deaf child, if given the opportunity, will learn to read as easily and naturally as ordinary children.
I am vihat Helens 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 relutly. One day as we left the library I noticed that she appeared more serious than usual, and I asked the cause. "I am thinking how much wiser we always are when we leave here than we are when we e," was her reply.
When asked why she loved books so much, she once replied: "Because they tell me so much that is iing about things I ot see, and they are ired or troubled like people. They tell me over and over what I want to know.”
While reading from Diss "Childs 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 disced 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 defihe words in this sentence; a she had caught the authors meaning, and was able to give it in her own words. The lines are still more idiomatic, "Wheonius left the try, they fell upon his troops aook 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 overe 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 learo use the Caligraph typewriter, and writes very correctly, but not rapidly as yet, having had less than a months practice.
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 versation. I have found it a ve medium of unig 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 uands what is said to her.
It was hoped that one so peculiarly endowed by nature as Helen, would, if left eo her own resources, throw some light upon such psychological questions as were not exhaustively iigated by Dr. Howe; but their hopes were not to be realized. In the case of Helen, as in that of Laura Bridgman, disappoi was iable. 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 Helens case su end could not have been attained without depriving 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 Helens faculties that it would not be possible to keep her inquisitive spirit for ah of time from reag out toward the unfathomable mysteries of life. But great care has been taken not to lead her thoughts prematurely to the sideration of subjects which perplex and fuse all minds. Children ask profound questions, but they often receive shallow answers, or, to speak more correctly, they are quieted by suswers.
"Were did I e from?" and "Where shall I go when I die?" were questions Helen asked when she was eight years old. But the explanations which she was able to uand at that time did not satisfy, although they forced her to remain silent, until her mind should begin to 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, enablio express her own ceptions and ideas clearly, and also to prehend the thoughts and experiences of others, she became acquainted with the limit of humaive power, and perceived that some power, not human, must have created the earth, the sun, and the thousand natural objects with which she erfectly familiar.
Finally she one day demanded a name for the power, the existence of which she had already ceived in her own mind.
Through Charles Kingsleys "Greek Heroes" she had bee familiar with the beautiful stories of the Greek gods and goddesses, and she must have met with the wOD, HEAVEN, SOUL, and a great many similar expressions in books.
She never asked the meaning of such words, nor made any ent 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 ear Christian, tried to tell her about God but, as this lady did not use words suited to the prehension of the child, they made little impression upon Helens mind. When I subsequently talked with her she said: "I have something very funny to tell you. A. says God made me and every o 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 satisfa, laughiily 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 be made out of love. Love is only something in our hearts. Then A. said another very ical thing. She says He (meaning God) is my dear father. It made me laugh quite hard, for I know my father is Arthur Keller.”
I explaio her that she was not yet able to uand 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 ascribing to Mother Nature whatever she felt to be beyond the power of man to aplish. 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 flrow." The followiract from my notes will show what 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 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 Natures warm smile, and the raindrops are her tears.”
Later she said: "I do not know if Mother Nature made me. I think my mot me from heaven, but I do not know where that place is. I know that daisies and pansies e 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 agine who made Mother Nature, 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 fotten 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 tact. She almost overwhelmed me with inquiries which were the natural outgrowth of her quied intelligence.
Early in May she wrote oablet the following list of questions: "I wish to write about things I do not uand. Who made the earth and the seas, and everything? What makes the sun hot? Where was I before I came to mother? I knolants 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 chis e 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.”
any one doubt after reading these questions that the child who was capable of asking them was also capable of uanding at least their elementary answers? She could not, of course, have grasped such abstras as a plete ao her questions would involve; but ones whole life is nothing more than a tinual advan the prehension of the meaning and scope of such ideas.
Throughout Helens education I have invariably assumed that she uand whatever it is desirable for her to know. Uhere had been in Helens mind some sutellectual 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 y of superhumaive 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 at for their in, and to interpret the great and mysterious forces of nature.”
She khat the Greeks had many gods to whom they ascribed various powers, because they believed that the sun, the lightning, and a huher natural forces, were indepe and superhuman powers. But after a great deal of thought and study, I told her, men came to believe that all forces were maions of one power, and to that power they gave the name GOD.
She was very still for a few minutes, evidently thinking early. She then asked, "Who made God?" I was 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 ot think." It is often necessary to remihat there are infinitely many things that the wisest people in the world ot explain.
No creed ma has been taught to Helen, nor has any effort been made to force religious beliefs upotention. Being fully aware of my own inpeteo give her any adequate explanations of the mysteries whiderlie 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 explaio 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 do so at present without getting a very erroneous ception 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 listeo it.
When she referred to our versation 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 instan which Jesus raised the dead, she was much perplexed, saying, "I did not know life could e bato the dead body!”
One day she said, sadly: "I am blind and deaf. That is why I ot see God." I taught her the word INVISIBLE, and told her we could not see God with our eyes, because He irit; but that when our hearts were full of goodness aleness, then we saw Him because then we were more like Him.
At aime 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, " 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 ging the word--"my soul was in Athens, but my body was here iudy." At this moment ahought seemed to flash through her mind, and she added, "But Mr. Anagnos did not speak to my soul." I explaio 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 hundred years." When asked if she would not like to live ALWAYS in a beautiful try called heaven, her first question was, "Where is heaven?" I was obliged to fess 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 ot we know as much about heaven as we do about fn tries?" I told her in very simple language that there may be many places called heaven, but that essentially it was a dition--the fulfilment of the hearts desire, the satisfa of its wants; and that heaveed wherever RIGHT was aowledged, believed in, and loved.
She shrinks from the thought of death with evident dismay. Retly, 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 aime 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 h, our world would soon be so crowded with living creatures that it would be impossible for any of them to live fortably." "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 on words and idioms shows how necessary it is that we should make sure that she receives their correct meaning. When told retly that Hungarians were born musis, 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 huunes 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 ception of its meaning.
Haviold that the soul was without form, she was much perplexed at Davids words, "He leadeth my soul." "Has it feet? 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 ossible to keep this knowledge from her; and it will always be paratively easy to prevent her from ing in personal tact with vid wiess. The fact that sis, and that great misery results from it, dawned gradually upon her mind as she uood more and more clearly the lives and experiences of those arouhe y of laenalties had to be explaio her. She found it very hard to recile the presence of evil in the world with the idea of God which had beeed 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 m９９lｉb?, and hurt her head so badly?" Aime 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 do all things?”
Surrounded by loving friends and the ge influences, as Helen had always been, she has, from the earliest stage of her intellectual enlighte, willingly dht. 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 sequence, and of another as not inteo 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 Ameri Association to Promote the Teag of Speech to the Deaf, tain her latest written at of her methods.
You must not imagihat as soon as Helen grasped the idea that everything had a name she at once became mistress 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 aences which she used in expressihoughts were all reprodus of what we had used in versation with her, and which her memory had unsciously retained. And ihis is true of the language of all children. Their language is the memory of the language they hear spoken in their homes. tless repetition of the versation of daily life has impressed certain words and phrases upon their memories, and when they e 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 pupils mind was all but vat.
She had been living in a world she could not realize. LANGUAGE and KNOWLEDGE are indissolubly ected; they are interdepe. 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 oo another, I proceeded to awaken her further i in the OBJECTS whose names she learo spell with such evident joy. I AUGHT LANGUAGE FOR THE PURPOSE OF TEAG IT; but invariably used language as a medium for the unication of THOUGHT; thus the learning of language was T 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 fluenless they have something clearly in their minds which they wish to unicate, 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 fine my pupil to any system. I always tried to find out what ied her most, and made that the starting-point for the new lesson, whether it had any bearing on the lesson I had plao 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 something 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 bees 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 ot help it.
Helen acquired language by practid 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 tact with the LIVING language itself; she was made to deal with it in everyday versation, 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 stantly than I should have doh my mouth; for had she possessed the use of sight and hearing, she would have been less depe on me for eai and instru.
I believe every child has hidden away somewhere in his being noble capacities which may be quied 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 tio 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 ditions.
They require guidand sympathy far more than instru.
I think much of the fluency with which Helen uses language is due to the fact that nearly every impression which she receives es through the medium of language. But after due allowance has been made for Helens natural aptitude for acquiring language, and for the advantage resulting from her peculiar enviro, I think that we shall still find that the stant panionship of good books has been of supreme importan her education. It may be true, as some maintain, that language ot express to us much beyond what we have lived and experienced; but I have always observed that children mahe greatest delight in the lofty, poetiguage which we are too ready to think beyond their prehension.
"This is all you will uand," 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 wont uand it," they pleaded, delighted with the rhythm, and the beauty which they felt, even though they could not have explai. It is not necessary that a child should uand every word in a book before he 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 uand, and it remained in her mind until needed, when it fitted itself naturally and easily into her versation and positions. Indeed, it is maintained by some that she reads too much, that a great deal inative 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 vihat inal position without the preparation of much reading is an impossibility. Helen has had the best and purest models in language stantly preseo her, and her versation and her writing are unscious reprodus of what she has read. Reading, I think, should be kept indepe of the regular school exercises. Children should be enced to read for the pure delight of it. The attitude of the child toward his books should be that of unscious receptivity. The great works of the imagination ought to bee 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 he fi lines are reproduced. Helen has the vitality of feeling, the freshness and eagerness of i, 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 onplace to her; for her imagination colours all life with its own rich hues.
There has been much discussion of suiss Sullivans 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 Kellers education, however, is so fually a question of language teag that it rather includes the problems of the deaf than limits itself to the deaf aloeachers draw their own clusions. For the majority of readers, who will not approach Miss Kellers life from the educators point of view, I will summarize a few principal things in Miss Sullivahods.
Miss Sullivan has begun where Dr. Howe left off. He ied the instrument, the physical means of w, but the teag of language is quite ahing from the meical means by which language may be taught. By experiment, by studying other children, Miss Sullivan came upon the practical way of teag 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 separately by definition, but should be given language by endless repetition of language which it does not uand. And this is Miss Sullivans great discovery. All day long in their play-time and work-time Miss Sulliva spelling into her pupils hand, and by that Helen Keller absorbed words, just as the child in the cradle absorbs words by hearing thousands of them before he uses one and by associating the words with the occasion of their utterahus he learns that words hings and as and feelings. Now, that is the first principle in Miss Sullivahod, ohat had practical results, and one which, so far as I discover, had never been put in practi 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 sed principle in her method (the numerical order is, of course, arbitrary) is o talk to the child about things distasteful or wearisome to him. In the first deaf siss 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 they did want to know. Why not, says Miss Sullivan, make a language lesson out of what they were ied in?
Akin to this idea of talking to the child about what is him, is the principle o silence a child who asks questions, but to ahe questions as truly as possible; for, says Miss Sullivan, the question is the door to the childs mind. Miss Sullivan never needlessly belittled her ideas or expressions to suit the supposed state of the childs intelligence. She urged every oo speak to Helen naturally, to give her full sentences and intelligent ideas, never minding whether Helen uood or not. Thus Miss Sullivan knew what so many people do not uand, 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 veys arue, 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 plete sentences. And though Miss Sullivan did not frammatical pleteness upon the first finger-lispings of her pupil, yet when she herself repeated Heleence, "mamma milk," she filled out the stru, pleted the childs ellipsis and said, "Mamma will bring Helen some milk.”
Thus Miss Sullivan was w out a natural method, which is so simple, so lag in artificial system, that her method seems rather to be a destru of method. It is doubtful if we should have heard of Helen Keller if Miss Sullivan had not beehere were other children. By watg them, she learo treat her pupil as nearly as possible like an ordinary child.
The manual alphabet was not the only means of presenting words to Helen Kellers fingers. Books supplemented, perhaps equaled in importahe manual alphabet, as a means of teag language. Helen sat p 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 text, in their position with refereo words known, added to Helens 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 uands, but by reading and remembering words he does not uand. And though perhaps few children will have as much precocious i in books as did Helen Keller, yet the natural curiosity of every healthy child may be turo printed pages, especially if the teacher is clever and plays a wame 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 in German, she read over the words of "Wilhelm Tell" and mao 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, o hearing the language spoken, the way for any oo get a fn 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 er, in a chair whose arms supported the big volume prepared for the blind, and passing her finger slowly over the lines of Molieres Le Mede Malgre Lui, chug to herself at the ical situations and humorous lines. At that time her actual w 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 seogether 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 whole story, dwelling with great gusto on its humour and sparkling wit. It was not a lesson, but only one of her recreations.”
So Helen Kellers aptitude for language is her whole mental aptitude, turo language because of its extraordinary value to her.
There have been many discussions of the questioher Helen Kellers 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 Sullivans genius could not have made a pupil so remarkable as Helen Keller out of a child born dull aally defit. 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 teag language to the deaf the essential principles of which are clearly expressed in Miss Sullivaers, written while she was disc the method and putting it successfully into practice. And it be applied by any teacher to ahy deaf child, and in the broadest interpretation of the principles, be applied to the teag 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 benius in Helen Keller, or a perfect method ieacher. Both things may be true at once, and there is aruth which makes the dilemma imperfect. Miss Sullivan is a person of extraordinary power. Her method might not succeed so pletely in the hands of any one else. Miss Sullivans vigorous, inal mind has lent much of its vitality to her pupil. If Miss Keller is fond of language and not ied especially in mathematics, it is not surprising to find Miss Sullivans is very similar.
And this does not mean that Miss Keller is unduly depe oeacher. It is told of her that, as a child of eight, when some oried 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." Su aggressive personality ot grow up in mere dependence even uhe guidance of a will like Miss Sullivans. But Miss Sullivan by her "natural aptitude" has done for her pupil much that is not capable of analysis aion 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 goodness," if she has a love "of all things good aiful," this implies something about the teacher who has lived with her for sixteen years.
There is, then, a good deal that Miss Sullivan has done for Miss Keller whio other teacher 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 aeacher, living under favourable ditions, among plenty of external is, unseparated 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 be taught. And the oo do it is the parent or the special teacher, not the school. I know that this idea will be vigorously bated by those who duct 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 o be taught is what other children learn before they go to school at all.
When Miss Sulliva out in the barnyard and picked up a little chi and talked to Helen about it, she was giving a kind of instrupossible inside four walls, and impossible with more than one pupil at a time.
Surely Dr. Howe is wrong when he says, "A teacher ot be a child." That is just what the teacher of the deaf child must be, a child ready to play and romp, and ied in all childish things.
The temptation to discuss, solely in the light of Helen Keller, the whole matter of edug 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 reinfore of the main ideas expressed by Miss Sullivan, who is an authority. It is a questioher Helen Kellers success has not led teachers to expeuch of other children, and I know of deaf-blind children who are dragged along by their teachers and friends, and bee the subjects of glowis, which are pathetically untrue, because one sees behind the reports how the childreugged at t them somewhere he 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 een months experience of sight and sound. This meant some mental development. She had ied 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 depe on signs, Helens tendency to gesture developed. How far she could receive unications is hard to determine, but she knew much that was going on around her. She reized that others used their lips; she "saw" her father reading a paper and when he laid it dow in his chair ahe paper before her face. Her early rages were an unhappy expression of the natural force of character whistru was to turn into trained and anized power.
It was, then, to a good subject that Miss Sullivan brought her devotion and intelligence, and fearless willio experiment. Miss Sullivahods were so good that even without the practical result, any one would reize the truth of the teachers ideas. Miss Sullivan has in addition a vigorous personality. And finally all the ditions were good for that first nature school, in which the teacher and pupil played together, expl together and edug themselves, pupil and teacher inseparable.
Miss Kellers later education is easy to uand and needs no further explanation than she has given. Those ied 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 Kellers speed the way she lear 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 uing discipline, carried on the success of these first lessons.
Before I quote from Miss Sullivans at, let me try to give some impression of what Miss Kellers speed voice qualities are at present.
Her voice is loleasant 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 loudness, 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 childs story, or oh pathos in it, her voice runs into pretty slurs from ooo ahis is like the effect of the slow dwelling on long words, not quite well mahat oices in a child who is telling a solemn story.
The principal thing that is lag is sentence at and variety in the iion of phrases. Miss Keller pronounces each word as a fner does when he is still lab with the elements of a sentence, or as children sometimes read in school when they have to pick out each word.
She speaks Frend 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 emphasis as in Frend so does not put suffit stress on ated syllables. She says for example, "pro-vo-ca-tion,”
"in-di-vi-du-al," with ever so little differeween the value of syllables, and a good deal of insisten the pronunciation of the same word one day and the . It would, I think, be hard to make her feel just how to pronounce DIARY without her erriher toward DIAYRY or DIRY, and, of course the word is her one nor the other. For no system of marks in a lexi 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 Kellers vowels are not firm. Her AWFUL is nearly AWFIL. The wavering is caused by the absence of at on FUL, for she pronounces FULL correctly.
She sometimes mispronounces as she reads aloud and es on a word which she happens o 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 mu their books that they have ed 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 distiness of her words, but she do muake her speech clearer.
When she was at the Wright-Humason School in New York, Dr. Humason tried to improve her voiot only her word pronunciation, but the voice itself, and gave her lessons in tone and vocal exercises.
It is hard to say whether or not Miss Kellers speech is easy to uand. Some uand her readily; others do not. Her friends grow aced to her speed fet that it is different from that of any one else. Children seldom have any difficulty in uanding her; which suggests that her deliberate measured speech is like theirs, before they e to the adult trick of running all the words of a phrase into one movement of the breath. I am told that Miss Keller speaks better than most other deaf people.
Miss Keller has told how she learo speak. Miss Sullivans at in her address at Chautauqua, in July, 1894, at the meeting of The Ameri Association to Promote the Teag of Speech to the Deaf, is substantially like Miss Kellers in points of fact.
MISS SULLIVANS AT OF MISS KELLERS SPEECH It was three years from the time when Helen began to unicate 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 bee very profit in the use of the manual alphabet, which was her only means of unication with the outside world; through it she had acquired a vocabulary whiabled her to verse freely, read intelligently, and write with parative ease and correess. heless, the impulse to utter audible sounds was strong within her, and the stant efforts which I made to repress this instinctive tendency, which I feared in time would bee 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 scious that her way of unig 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 explaio her that some deaf childreaught to speak, but that they could see their teachers mouths, and that that was a very great assistao them. But she interrupted me to say she was very sure she could feel my mouth very well. Soon after this versation, a lady came to see her and told her about the deaf and blind Nian child, Ragnhild Kaata, who had been taught to speak and uand what her teacher said to her by toug 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 y of correstru, since her heart was set upon learning to talk; and, feeling my own inpeteo teach her, never having given the subject of articulation serious study, I went with my pupil for advid assistao Miss Sarah Fuller. Miss Fuller was delighted with Helens earness ahusiasm, and at once began to teach her. In a few lessons she learned nearly all of the English sounds, and ihan a month she was able to articulate a great many words distinctly. From the first she was not tent to be drilled in single sounds, but was impatient to pronounce words aehe length of the word or the difficulty of the arra of the elements never seemed to disce her. But, with all her eagerness and intelligence, learning to speak taxed her powers to the utmost. But there was satisfa in seeing from day to day the evidence of growing mastery and the possibility of final success. And Helens success has been more plete and inspiring than any of her friends expected, and the childs delight in being able to utter her thoughts in living and distinct speech is shared by all who witness her pleasure when straell her that they uand 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 opiniarding it. I believe that I have hardly beguo know what is possible. Teachers of the deaf often express surprise that Helens speech is so good when she has not received any regular instru in speech sihe first few lessons given her by Miss Fuller. I 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 do is to aid him in the simplest, easiest ossible, by encing him to observe and imitate the vibrations in the voice.
Some further details appear in an earlier, more detailed at, which Miss Sullivan wrote for the Perkins Institutio of 1891.
I khat Laura Bridgman had shown the same intuitive desire to produce sounds, and had even learo pronounce a few simple words, which she took great delight in using, and I did not doubt that Helen could aplish as much as this. I thought, however, that the advantage she would derive would not repay her for the time and labour that su experiment would cost.
Moreover, the absence of hearing rehe voice monotonous 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 teag a deaf child to articulate--a process which may be detrimental to the pupils intellectual development. In the very nature of things, articulation is an unsatisfaeans of education; while the use of the manual alphabet quis and invigorates mental activity, sihrough it the deaf child is brought into close tact with the English language, and the highest and most abstract ideas may be veyed to the mind readily and accurately. Helens case proved it to be also an invaluable aid in acquiring articulation. She was already perfectly familiar with words and the stru of sentences, and had only meical difficulties to overe. Moreover, she knew what a pleasure speech would be to her, and this definite knowledge of what she was striving fave her the delight of anticipation which made drudgery easy. The untaught deaf child who is made to articulate 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 teag Helen to speak, it may be well to state briefly to what extent she had used the vocal ans before she began to receive regular instru in articulation. When she was stri down with the illness which resulted in her loss of sight and hearing, at the age of een months, she was learning to talk. The unmeaning babblings of the infant were being day by day scious 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 藏书网had ceased to speak intelligibly because she could no longer hear a sound. She tio exercise her vocal ans meically, as ordinary children do. Her cries and laughter and the tones of her voice as she pronounced many word elements were perfectly natural, but the child evidently attached no significe to them, and with one exception they were produot with any iion of unig with those around her, but from the sheer y of exerg her innate, anid hereditary faculty of expression. She always attached a meaning to the word water, which was one of the first sounds her baby lips learo form, and it was the only word which she tio 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. heless, it was the only sign she ever made for water, and not until she had learo spell the word with her fingers did she fet the spoken symbol. The word water, and the gesture which corresponds to the wood-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 including all tactile impressions), she felt more and more the pressing y of unig with those around her. Her little hands felt every objed observed every movement of the persons about her, and she was quiitate 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 uood by those who knew her. The only signs which I think she may have ied 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 uood, she would bee violent. In the years of her mental impriso 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 mothers lips.
When she was not occupied, she wandered restlessly about the house, making strahough rarely unpleasant sounds. I have seen her rock her doll, making a tinuous, monotonous sound, keeping one hand ohroat, while the fingers of the other hand he movements of her lips. This was in imitation of her mothers ing 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 happeo be near her, to see if he were laughing also. If she detected
no smile, she gesticulated excitedly, trying to vey her thought; but if she failed to make her panion laugh, she sat still for a few moments, with a troubled and disappointed expression. She leased with anything which made a noise. She liked to feel the cat purr; and if by ce she felt a dog i of barking, she showed great pleasure. She always liked to stand by the piano when some one laying and singing. She kept one hand on the singers 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 tinuous sound which she called singing. The only words she had learo pronouh any degree of distiness previous to March, 1890, were PAPA, MAMMA, BABY, SISTER. These words she had caught without instru from the lips of friends. It will be seen that they tain three vowel and six sonant 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 distinctly the following sounds: a, a", a^, e, i, o, c soft like s and hard like k, g hard, b, l, n, m, t, p, s, u, k, f and d. Hard sonants were, and iill are, very difficult for her to pronoun e with one another in the same word; she often suppresses the one and ges the other, and sometimes she replaces both by an analogous sound with soft aspiration. The fusioween l 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. [The difficulties which Miss Sullivan found in 1891 are, in a measure, the difficulties which show in Miss Kellers speech today.] When she had been talking for less than a week, she met her friend, Mr. Rodoachi, and immediately began tle with the pronunciation of his name; nor would she give it up until she was able to articulate the word distinctly. Her i never diminished for a moment; and, in her eagero overe the difficulties which beset her on all sides, she taxed her powers to the utmost, and learned in eleven lessons all of the separate elements of speech.
Enough appears in the ats by Miss Kellers 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 listen to versation 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 unication, 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 Sullivan usually helps by spelling the lost words into Miss Kellers hand.
President Roosevelt had little difficulty last spring in making Miss Keller uand him, and especially requested Miss Sullivan not to spell into her hand. She got every word, for the Presidents speech is notably distinct. Other people say they have no success in making Miss Keller "hear" them.
A few friends to whom she is aced, like Mrs. A. C. Pratt, and Mr. J. E. Chamberlin, pass a whole day with her and tell her everything without the manual alphabet. The ability to read the lips helps Miss Keller iing corres 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 aplishment than a y.
It must be remembered that speech tributed in no way to her fual education, though without the ability to speak she could hardly have goo 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 fifth meeting of the Ameri Association to Promote the Teag of Speech to the Deaf, at Mt. Airy, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, July 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 uand why I want every little deaf child in all this great world to have an opportunity to learn 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 instru. It seems very strao me that there should be this difference of opinion; I ot uand how any oerested in our education fail to appreciate the satisfa we feel in being able to express our thoughts in living words. Why, I use speech stantly, and I ot begin to tell you how much pleasure it gives me to do so.
Of course I know that it is not always easy for strao uand me, but it will be by and by; and in the meantime I have the unspeakable happiness of knowing that my family and friends rejoi 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 perplexing 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 panionship of a great many persons from whom I should be entirely bbr>cut off if I could not talk.
I remember the time before I learo speak, and how I used tle to express my thoughts by means of the manual alphabet--how my thoughts used to beat against my fiips like little birds striving to gain their freedom, until one day Miss Fuller opened wide the prison-door ahem 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 grad beauty that had once been theirs; indeed, nothing was left save the impulse to fly, but that was something. One ever sent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar. But, he>less, it seemed to me sometimes that I could never use my speech-wings as God intended I should use them; there were so many difficulties in the way, so many discements; but I kept , knowing that patiend perseverance would win in the end. And while I worked, I built the most beautiful air-castles, and dreamed dreams, the pleasa 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 more, sweetened every effort and made every failure an iive to try harder ime. So I want to say to those who are trying to learn to speak and those who are teag them: Be of good cheer. Do not think of to-days failures, but of the success that may e to-morrow. You have set yourselves a difficult task, but you will succeed if you persevere, and you will find a joy in overing 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 somethiiful is ever lost. Sometime, somewhere, somehow we shall find that which we seek. We shall speak, yes, and sing, too, as God intended we should speak and sing.
CHAPTER V.
LITERARY STYLE No one have read Miss Kellers autobiography without feeling that she writes unusually fine English. Any teacher of position knows that he bring his pupils to the point of writing without errors in syntax or in the choice of words. It is just this accuracy which Miss Kellers early education fixes as the point to whiy healthy child be brought, and which the analysis of that education ats for. Those who try to make her an exception not to be explained by any sualysis 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, ihose additional harmonies of language aies 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 wroupings.
At the same time the inbift of style be starved or stimulated. No innate genius i 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 ot 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 ahusiasm food English, Helen Keller might have been brought up on the "Juveerature," which belittles the language under pretense of being simply phrased for children; as if a childs 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 Kellers style would, in part, be explicable at once.
But the extracts from Miss Sullivaers and from her reports, although they are clear and accurate, have not the beauty which distinguishes Miss Kellers English. Her service as a teacher of English is not to be measured by her own skill in position. The reason why she read to her pupil so many good books is due, in some measure, to the fact that she had so retly recovered her eyesight. When she became Helen Kellers 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 Kellers library she found excellent books, Lambs "Tales from Shakespeare," aer 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 sele of good books, there is oher cause for Miss Kellers excellen writing, for which Miss Sullivan deserves unlimited credit. That is her tireless and uing discipline, which is evident in all her work. She never allowed her pupil to send off letters which tained 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 food style insist on a childs writing a paragraph over and ain 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 refi aion is evident from the humorous ent 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 Sullivahod, and explaihe 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 overe and the advantages remained. She excels other deaf people because she was taught as if she were normal. Oher hand, the peculiar value to her of language, which ordinary people take franted as a necessary part of them like 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 Kellers early skill in the use of English, and the final ent on the excellence of this whole method of teag, is tained in an i, which, although at the time it seemed unfortunate, o longer be regretted. I refer to the "Frost King" episode, which I shall explain iail. Miss Keller has given her at of it, and the whole matter was discussed in the.99lｉｂ. first Volta Bureau Souvenir from which I quote at length: MISS SULLIVANS AT OF THE "FROST KING”
HON. JOHN HITZ, Superinte of the Volta Bureau, Washington, D. C.
Dear Sir: Since my paper repared for the sed edition of the Souvenir "Helen Keller," some facts have been brought to my notice which are of i in e 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 iail.
Perhaps it will be remembered that in my paper*, where allusion is made to Helens remarkable memory, it is hat she appears to retain in her mind many forms of expression which, at the time they are received, she probably does not uand; but when further information is acquired, the language retained in her memory finds full or partial expression in her versation or writing, acc as it proves of greater or less value to her iness of its application to the new experience. Doubtless this is true in the case of every intelligent child, and should not, perhaps, be sidered worthy of especial mention in Helens case, but for the fact that a child who is deprived of the senses of sight and hearing might not be expected to be as gifted mentally as this little girl proves to be; he is quite possible we may be ined to class as marvelous many things we discover in the development of her mind which do not merit su explanation.
* In this paper Miss Sullivan says: "During this winter (1891-92) I went with her into the yard while a light snow was falling, a her feel the falling flakes. She appeared to enjoy it very mudeed. 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 lear. As I had never heard it, I inquired of several of 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 Longfellows minor poems, 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 Desds the snow. "It would seem that Helen had learned and treasured the memory of this expression of the poet, and this m in the snow-storm had found its application.”
In the hope that I may be pardoned if I appear to overestimate the remarkable mental capacity and power of prehension 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 parisons as appeal to her imagination and fine poetiature, yet ret developments in her writings vince 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 versation; and I have always been much pleased to observe horopriately she applies the expressions of a favourite author in her own positions.
The followiracts from a few of her published letters give evidence of how valuable this power of retaining the memory 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 se expressed by Longfellow in "Hiawatha," and she almost sings with the poet: "The ground was all aquiver with the stir of new life. My heart sang for very joy. I thought of my own dear home. I khat in that sunny land spring had e in all its splendour. All its birds and all its blossoms, all its flowers and all its grasses.“
About the same time, in a letter to a friend, in which she makes mention of her Southern home, she gives so close a reprodu from a poem by one of her favourite authors that I will give extracts from Heleer and from the poem itself: EXTRACTS FROM HELEER [The eter is published on pp. 245 and 246 of the Report of the Perkins Institution for 1891] 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 mog-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 song.
FROM THE POEM ENTITLED "SPRING" BY OLIVER WENDELL 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 autumnal brown; The oriole, drifting like a flake of fire Rent by a whirlwind from a blazing spire; The robin, jerking his spasmodic throat, Repeats imperious, his staccato he crack-brained bobolink courts his crazy mate, Poised on a bullrush tipsy with his weight: Nay, in his cage the lone ary 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 adaptation than a reprodu: "To-morroril will hide her tears and blushes beh the flowers of lovely May.”
In a letter to a friend at the Perkins Institution, dated May 17, 1889, she gives a reprodu from one of Hans Christian Andersens stories, which I had read to her not long before. This letter is published in the Perkins Institutio (1891), p. 204. The inal story was read to her from a copy of "Andersens 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 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! His love and care are written all over the walls of nature.”
In these later years, since Helen has e in tact with so many persons who are able to verse 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 uo follow her, much material for the Part I. in that volume.172
cultivation of the taste she possesses for poetical imagery. The pages of the book she reads bee to her like paintings, to which her imaginative pive life and colour. She is at oransported into the midst of the events portrayed iory she reads or is told, and the characters and descriptions bee 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 experienes to her similar in character, the language starts forth with wonderful accuracy, like the refle from a mirror.
Helens mind is so gifted by nature that she seems able to uand with only the faiouch of explanation every possible variety of external relations. One day in Alabama, as we were gathering wild flowers he springs on the hillsides, she seemed to uand 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 owiful refles!" I do not know where she obtaihis language, yet it is evident that it must have e to her from without, as it would hardly be possible for a person deprived of the visual seinate su idea. Iioning 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 anemohe wild violet, the hepatica, and the funny little curled-up ferns all peeped out at us from beh the brown leaves." She closes this letter with, "I must go to bed, for Morpheus has touched my eyelids with his golden wand." Here again, I am uo state where she acquired these expressions.
She has always seemed to prefer stories which exercise the imagination, and catches aains the poetic spirit in all such literature; but not until this winter have I been scious that her memory absorbed the exact language to su extent that she is herself uo 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 muent on at of the beautiful imagery, and we could not uand how Helen could describe such pictures without the aid of sight. As we had never seen or heard of any such story as this before, we inquired of her where she read it; she replied, "I did not read it; it is my story for Mr. Anagnoss birthday." While I was surprised that she could write like this, I was not more astohan I had been many times before at the ued achievements of my little pupil, especially as we had exged maiful 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 suggested to her to ge its title to "The Frost King,”
as more appropriate to the subject of which the story treated; to this she willingly assehe story was written by Helen in braille, as usual and copied by her in the same manner, I then interlihe manuscript for the greater venience 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 rinted in the January number of the Mentor and, 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. by, entitled "Birdie and his Fairy Friends." The passages quoted from the two stories were so much alike in thought and expression as to vince me that Miss bys story must at some time have beeo 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 uo 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 aracts from this volume could be found there; but nothing was discovered. I then cluded that the story must have beeo her a long time ago, as her memory usually retains with great distiness facts and impressions which have been itted to its keeping.
Part I. in that volume.173
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 reseo her little daughter in 1873 or 1874. Helen and I spent the summer of 1888 with Mrs. Hopkins at her home ier, Mass., where she kindly relieved me a part of the time, of the care of Helen. She amused aertained Helen by reading to her from a colle 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 fident that she read to Heleracts, if ire 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 instituted 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 sed 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 gratifyiers have been received from Miss by by Helens friends, a few extracts from which are given: 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 ged.”
In the same letter she writes: "I hope that you will be able to make her uand 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. you tell me in aper the article appeared acg 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 by 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 thuorm is very much like Birdies idea of the same in the Dew Fairies on page 59 and 60 of my book.
What a wonderfully active aive 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 ohree years ago, and in such a way that her 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 inal, is something that very few girls of riper age, and with every advantage of sight, hearing, and evealents for position, could have done as well, if at all. Uhe circumstances, I do not see how any one 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 prow and develop with her years as greatly as in the feast. I have known many children well, have been surrounded by them all my life, and love nothier 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 Helens age who had the love and thirst for knowledge, and the store of literary and general information, and the skill in position, which Helen possesses. She is indeed a Wonder-Child. Thank you very much for the Repazette, and Helens Journal. The last made me realize the great disappoio 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 Part I. in that volume.174
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 ones 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 o 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 uo throw any light oter. She reized them at once as her own stories, with variations, and was much puzzled to know how they could have been published before she was born! She thinks it is wonderful that two people should write stories so much alike; but she still siders her own as inal.
I give beloortion of Miss bys story, "The Rose Fairies," and also Heleer to Mr. Anagnos taining her "dream," so that the likenesses and differences may be studied by those ied in the subject: THE ROSE FAIRIES [From"Birdie and his Fairy Friends," by Margaret T. by] One pleasant m little Birdie might have been seen sitting quietly on the grass-plat at the side of his mothers house, looking very early at the rose-bushes.
It was quite early; great Mr. Sun, who is su early riser in summer time, had not been up very long; the birds were just beginning to chirp their "good-ms" 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 at night, before the birds and flowers 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 ! Why, the little rogue rolled into his mammas 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, a me go out to play in the garden," she cheerfully sented; and, soon after, Birdie went downstairs in his m-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 m air blew softly in his face, as if to wele 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 he 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 wiime before they are quite willing to get up. A few days before, Birdies 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 fathers words were true, for a few days of warm weather had turhe green balls into rosebuds, and they were SO beautiful that it was enough to make Birdie stand still before them, his blue eyes dang with delight and his little hands clasped tightly together.
Part I. in that volume.175
After awhile he went nearer, and looking closely at the 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 iter ceases.
HELEER 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 friends letter and see all the queer mistakes she has made in French, but I think you will be pleased to know that I 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 laying 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 m in the beautiful springtime, I thought I was sitting on the soft grass under my dear mothers window, looking very early 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 lovingly upon them. I was a very happy little child with rosy cheeks, and large blue eyes, and the most beautiful golden ris you imagihe fresh m air blew gently in my face, as if to wele, 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 rosebushes to show my delight.
After a while I went very o a beautiful white rose-bush which was pletely covered with buds and sparkling with dewdrops; I bent down one of 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 preother, 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 e home, freatly miss you. Please give my love to yood Greek friends, ahem that I shall e to Athens some day.
Lovingly your little friend and playmate, HELEN A. KELLER.
"The Frost Fairies" and "The Frost Kings" are given in full, as the differences are as important as the resemblahe Frost Fairies [From "Birdie and his Fairy Friends"] by Margaret T. by King Frost, or Jack Frost as he is sometimes called, lives in a cold try far to the North; but every year he Part I. in that volume.176
takes a journey over the world in a 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 appeara often strong as iros the flowers and plants to sleep by oouch of his hand, and they all bow down and sink into the warm earth, until spriurns; the 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 pirees, 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 fort us for the flight of summer.
I will tell you how King Frost first thought of this kind work, for it is a straory. 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 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 whs presents to the poor, and to tle children at Christmas.
Well, one day King Frost was trying to think of some good that he could do with his treasure; and suddenly he cluded 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 weheir homes. So he called together his merry little fairies, and showing them a number of jars and vases filled with gold and precious stoold them to carry those carefully to the palace of Santa Claus, and give them to him with the pliments of King Frost. "He will know how to make good use of the treasure," added Jack Frost; theold the fairies not to loiter by the way, but to do his bidding quickly.
The fairies promised obediend soon started on their journey, dragging the great glass jars and vases along, as well as they could, and now 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 befoing any further. But lest the treasure should be stolen from them, they hid the jars among the thick leaves of the forest trees, plag some high up he top, and others in different parts of the various trees, until they thought no one could find them.
Then they began to wander 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 masters bidding, for it is a straruth that fairies and children never plain of the toil and trouble they take in searusement, 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 fot their errand and their kings and to go quickly; but, as they played and loitered in the forest until noon, they found the reason why they were told to hasten; for although they had, as they thought, hiddereasure so carefully, they had not secured it from the power of Mr. Sun, who was an enemy of Jack Frost, and delighted to undo his 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 stro, the delicate glass began to melt and break, and before long every jar and vase was cracked or broken, and the precious treasures they tained were melting, too, and dripping slowly in streams of gold and crimsohe 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 treasure was a long time in reag 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 listehey plainly heard the tinkling of many Part I. in that volume.177
drops falling through the forest, and sliding from leaf to leaf until they reached the bramble-bushes beside them, when, to their great dismay, they found that the RAIN-DROPS were MELTED RUBIES, which hardened on the leaves and turhem tht 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 geous dress of gold and bronze, crimson and emerald. It was very beautiful; but the idle fairies were too much frighte the mischief their disobedience had caused, to admire the beauty of the forest, and at oried to hide themselves among the bushes, lest King Frost should e and punish them.
Their fears were well founded, 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 fairies and all the traces of their frolic, he kly how they had acted, and that they had disobeyed him by playing and l 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 dang 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 pig great buo take to their mother. "The leaves are as pretty as flowers," said they; and they called the golden leaves "buttercups," and the red ones "roses," and were very happy as they went singing through the wood.
Their pleasure charmed away King Frosts anger, aoo, began to admire the pairees, and at last he said to himself, "My treasures are not wasted if they make little children happy. I will not be offe 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 ers, and, kneeling down before their master, fessed their fault, and asked his pardon. He frowned upon them for awhile, and scolded them, too, but he sooed, and said he would five them this time, and would only punish them by making them carry more treasure to the forest, and hide it irees, until all the leaves, with Mr. Suns help, were covered with gold and ruby coats.
Then the fairies thanked him for his fiveness, 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 Frosts work to paint the trees with the glowing colours we see iumn; and if they are NOT covered with gold and precious stones, I do not know how he makes them sht; DO YOU?
The Frost King by Helen A. Keller King Frost lives in a beautiful palace far to the North, in the land of perpetual snow. The palace, which is magnifit beyond description, was built turies 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 iy a thousand glittering spires. Nothing could be more beautiful than the architecture of this ice-palace. The walls are curiously structed of massive blocks of ice which terminate in cliff-like towers. The entrao the palace is at the end of an arched recess, and it is guarded night and day by twelve soldierly-looking 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 wele you kindly, for he loves children, and it is his chief delight to give them pleasure.
Part I. in that volume.178
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 wonderful works; he builds bridges over every stream, as transparent as glass, but often as strong as iron; he shakes the forest trees until the ripe nuts fall into the laps of laughing childres the flowers to sleep with oouch of his hand; the 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 dohe trees are beautiful enough to fort us for the flight of summer. I will tell you how King Frost happeo think of painting the leaves, for it is a straory.
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. "I will send my treasures to Santa Claus,”
said the King to himself. "He is the very man to dispose of them satisfactorily, 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 taining his treasures, he bade them carry them to the palace of Santa Claus as quickly as they could. The fairies promised obedience, and were off in a twinkling, dragging the heavy jars and vases along after them as well as they could, now and then grumbling 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 tinuing their journey. But thinking their treasure might be stolen from them, they hid the jars among the thick green leaves of the various trees until they were sure that no one could find them. Then they began to wander merrily about searg for nuts, climbing trees, peeping curiously into the empty birds s, and playing hide and seek from behind the trees. Now, these naughty fairies were so busy and so merry over their frolic that they fot all about their errand and their masters and to go quickly, but soon they found to their dismay why they had been bidden to hasten, for although they had, as they supposed, hiddereasure 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 being 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 stohey tained 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 reag 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 discovered that the rain-drops were melted rubies which hardened on the leaves, and turhem 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 geous dresses of gold and crimson and emerald. It was very beautiful, but the disobedient fairies were thteo notice the beauty of the trees. They were afraid that King Frost would e and punish them. So they hid themselves among the bushes and waited silently for something to happen. Their fears were well founded, for their long absence had alarmed the King, and he mounted North Wind a out in search of his tardy couriers. Of course, he had not gone far wheiced the brightness 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 happeo them if just then a party of boys and girls had ered the wood. When the children saw the trees all aglow with brilliant colors they clapped their hands and shouted for joy, and immediately began to pick great buo take home. "The leaves are as lovely as the flowers!" cried they, in their delight. Their pleasure bahe anger from King Frosts heart and the frown from his brow, aoo, began to admire the pairees. He said to himself, "My treasures are not wasted if they make little 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, fessed Part I. in that volume.179
their fault, and asked their masters fiveness.
Ever sihat time it has been King Frosts great delight to paint the leaves with the glowing colors we see iumn, and if they are not covered with gold and precious stones I agine what makes them sht, you?
If the story of "The Frost Fairies" was read to Helen in the summer of 1888, she could not have uood very much of it at that time, for she had only been under instru since March, 1887.
it be that the language of the story had remained dormant in her mind until my description of the beauty of the autumn sery in 1891 brought it vividly before her mental vision?
I have made careful iigation among Helens friends in Alabama and in Boston and its viity, but thus far have been uo ascertain any later date when it could have beeo her.
Another fact is of great signifi this e. "The Rose Fairies" ublished in the same volume with "The Frost Fairies," and, therefore, robably 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 bys as a 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 Heleherefore have reason to believe that the stories must have beeo her at least as early as the summer of 1888.
HELEN KELLERS OWN STATEMENT (The followiry made by Helen in her diary speaks for itself.) 1892. January 30. This m I took a bath, and when teacher came upstairs to y 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 hought 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 iumn, because teacher told me about the autumn leaves while we walked in the woods at Fern Quarry. I thought fairies must have paihem because they are so wonderful, and I thought, too, that King Frost must have jars and vases taining precious treasures, because I khat 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 khat 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.
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 doctors; she was not here at dinner and I missed her. I do not feel that I add anything more that will be of i. My ow 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.”
Part I. in that volume.180
Yours truly, ANNIE M. SULLIVAN.
So much appears in the Volta Bureau Souvenir. The followier from Mr. Anagnos is reprinted from the Ameri 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 pliah your wishes I make the following statement ing Helen Kellers 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 Heleraordinary 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 position. Soon after its appearan print I aio learn, through the Goodson Gazette, that a portion of the story (eight or nine passages) is either a reprodu or adaptation of Miss Margaret bys "Frost Fairies." I immediately instituted an inquiry to ascertain the facts in the case.
None of our teachers or officers who are aced to verse with Helen ever knew or heard about Miss bys book, nor did the childs parents aives 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 of whom unicate 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 stru of the story. Her testimony is as follows: "I first tried to ascertain what had suggested to Helens mind the particular fancies which made her story seem like a reprodu of one written by Miss Margaret by. 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 imagihem stored in jars and vases in one part of the royal palace.
She said that oumn day her teacher told her as they were walking together in the woods, about the maiful 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 ao 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 ier. I asked Miss Sullivan to go at oo see Mrs. Hopkins and ascertain the facts iter. The result of her iigation is embodied in the printed note herewith enclosed. [This note is a statement of the bare facts and an apology, which Mr. Anagnos ied in his report of the Perkins Institute.] I have scarcely any doubt that Miss bys little book was read to Helen, by Mrs. Hopkins, in the summer of 1888. But the child has no recolle whatever of this faiss Sullivaurn to Brewster, she read to Heleory of "Little Lord Fauntleroy," which she had purchased in Boston for the purpose. The child was at once fasated and absorbed with the charming story, which evidently made a deeper impression upon her mind than any previously read to her, as was shown in the frequent refereo it, both in her versation aers, for many months afterward. Her inteerest 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 houghts and fahis may explain the reason why Helen claims persistently that "The Frost King" is her own story. She seems to have some idea of the differeween inal position and reprodu. She Part I. in that volume.181
did not know the meaning of the word "plagiarism" until quite retly, when it was explaio her. She is absolutely truthful. Veracity is the stro element of her character. She was very much surprised and grieved when she was told that her position was an adaptation of Miss bys 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 truthfulness. She said, with great iy of feeling, "I love the beautiful truth." A mid 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 aimony vig either her teacher or any one else of the iion or attempt to practice deception.
In view of these facts I ot but think that Helen, while writing "The Frost King," was entirely unscious of ever having had the story of "Frost Fairies" read to her, and that her memory has been apanied by such a loss of associations that she herself holy believed her position to be inal. This theory is shared by many persons erfectly 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 effe Helen Keller and on Miss Sullivan, who feared that she had allowed the habit of imitation, which has in truth made Miss Keller a writer, to 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 position, uhe wise advir. Charles T. Copeland, that the style of every writer and indeed, of every human being, illiterate or cultivated, is a posite reminisce 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 whee the food which makes a bit of his thumbnail. With most of us the tributions from different sources are blended, crossed and fused. A child with but few sources may keep distinct what he draws from each. In this case Helen Keller held almost inta her mind, unmixed with other ideas, the words of a story which at the time it was read to her she did not fully uand. The importance of this ot be overestimated. It shows how the child-mind gathers into itself words it has heard, and how they lurk there ready to e 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 fused and mutually destructive. The story of "The Frost King" did not, however, e from Helen Kellers mind intact, but had taken to itself the mould of the childs 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 eveer thayle of Miss bys story. It has the imaginative credulity of a primitive folktale; whereas Miss bys story is evidently told for children by an older person, ts the manner of a fairy tale and ot ceal the mature mood which allows such didactic phrases as "Jack Frost as he is sometimes called," "Noon, at which time Mr.
Sun is stro." Most people will feel the superior imaginative quality of Helen Kellers opening paragraph.
Surely the writer must bee 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 childs narrative. It is inal in the same way that a poets version of an old story is inal.
This little story calls into life all the questions of language and the philosophy of style. Some clusions may be briefly suggested.
All use of language is imitative, and oyle is made up of all other styles that one has met.
The way to write good English is to read it and hear it. Thus it is that any child may be taught to use correglish by not being allowed to read or hear any other kind. In a child, the sele of the better from the worse is not scious; he is the servant of his word experience.
Part I. in that volume.182
The ordinary man will never be rid of the fallacy that words obey thought, that ohinks first and phrases afterward. There must first, it is true, be the iion, the desire to utter something, but the idea does not often bee 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 Kellers sket the Youths panion. Writing of the moment when she learhat 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 buildier 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 write stories thinks of stories to write. The medium calls forth the thing it veys, 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 ohing to teach the deaf child and every other child. Let him get language as the very stuff that language is made of, the thought and the experience of his race. The language must be one used by a nation, not an artificial thing. Volapuk is a paradox, unless one has French lish erman or some other language that has grown up in a nation. The deaf child who has only the sign language of De lEpee is an intellectual Philip Nolan, an alien from all races, and his thoughts are not the thoughts of an Englishman, or a Fren, or a Spaniard. The Lords prayer in signs is not the Lords prayer in English.
In his essay on style De Quincey says that the best English is to be found iters of the cultivated gentlewoman, because she has read only a few good books and has not been corrupted by the style of neers and the jargon of street, market-place, and assembly hall.
Precisely these outward circumstances at for Helen Kellers use of English. In the early years of her education she had only good things to read; some were, irivial and not excellent in style, but not one ositively bad in manner or substahis happy dition has obtaihroughout her life. She has been nurtured on imaginative literature, and she has gathered from it intorous and tenaemory 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 orain.
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 position a more scious 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 enced to write a sketch of her life for the Youths panion, 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 position which is much more remarkable and in itself more eaining 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 sket the Youths panion since she wrote it, except two passages which Miss Sullivao 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 differen time, almost as good as anything she has written since: Part I. in that volume.183
I discovered the true way to walk when I was a year old, and during the radiant summer days that followed I was ill 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 fad 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 een months old, I had a serious illness. I still have fused memories of that illness. My mother sat beside my little bed and tried to soothe my feverish moans while iroubled heart she prayed, "Father in Heaven, spare my babys life!" But the fever grew and flamed in my eyes, and for several days my kind physi thought I would die.
But early one m the fever left me as mysteriously and uedly as it had e, 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 musid 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 ing. Gradually, however, I got used to the silend darkhat surrounded me, and fot that it had ever been day.
I fot everything that had been except my mothers 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 givehe most precious, the most wonderful of His gifts was still mine. My mind remained clear and active, "though fled foreer the light.”
As soon as my strength returned, I began to take an i in what the people around me were doing. I would g to my mothers dress as she went about her household duties, and my little hands felt every objed observed every motion, and in this way I learned a great many things.
When I was a little older I felt the need of some means of unication with those around me, and I began to make simple signs which my parents and friends readily uood; but it often happehat I was uo 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 leareen 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 try I was about to explore.
Teacher had been trying all the m to make me uand that the mug and the milk in the mug had different names; but I was very dull, a spelling MILK f, 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 umping water, and as the cool fresh stream burst forth, teacher made me put my mug uhe spout and spelled "w-a-t-e-r," Water!
That word startled my soul, and it awoke, full of the spirit of the m, 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 remember what they all were; but I do know that MOTHER, Part I. in that volume.184
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 broug藏书网ht me, and for the first time longed for a new day to e.
The m I awoke with joy in my heart. Everything 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 uood what my friends said to me, and I was very busy learning many wonderful things. I was ill during the first glad days of my freedom. I was tinually spelling and ag out the words as I spelled them. I would run, skip, jump and swing, no matter where I happeo be. Everything was budding and blossoming. The honeysuckle hung in long garlands, deliciously fragrant, and the roses had never been so beautiful before. Teacher and I lived out-of-doors from m until night, and I rejoiced greatly in the fotten light and sunshine found again....
The m after our arrival I awoke bright and early. A beautiful summer day had dawhe 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, crass, and tumbled, laughing, in the warm, shining sand. The beautiful, warm air eculiarly 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 koo, it was immense!
awful! and for a moment some of the sunshine seemed to have go 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 bead kissed my feet, I shouted for joy, and plunged fearlessly into the surf. But, unfortunately, I struck my foot on a rod fell forward into the cold water.
Then a strange, fearful sense of daerrified 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 had been a little pebble. For several days after that I was very timid, and could hardly be persuaded to go ier at all; but by degrees my ce returned, and almost before the summer was over, I thought it the greatest fun to be tossed about by the sea-waves....
I do not know whether the difference or the similarity in phrasiween the childs version and the womans is the more remarkable. The early story is simpler and shows less deliberate artifice, though even then Miss Keller rematurely scious of style, but the art of the later narrative, as in the passage about the sea, or the passage on the medallion of Homer, is surely a 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 e straight from your heart, so they ght to mine.”
In the years when she was growing out of childhood, her style lost its early simplicity and became stiff and, as she says, "periwigged." In these years the fear came many times to Miss Sullivahe success of the child was to cease with childhood. At times Miss Keller seemed to lack flexibility, her thoughts ran i phrases which she seemed to have no power to revise or turn over in new ways.
Then came the work in college--inal theme writing with new ideals of position 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 Kellers work, just as it is iyle 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 text or interwoven with it, the whole a fabric quite of her own design. Her vocabulary has all the phrases that other Part I. in that volume.185
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 grahe privilege of using them freely, and not be expected to fine herself to a vocabulary true to her lack of sight and hearing. Iyle, as in what she writes about, we must cede to the artist what we deny to the autobiographer. It should be explaioo, that LOOK and SEE are used by the blind, and HEAR by the deaf, for PERCEIVE; they are simple and more ve 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 men the meaning of intellectual reition as well as reition through the sense of sight. When Miss Keller examines a statue, she says in her natural idiom, as her fingers ruhe marble, "It looks like a head of Flora.”
It is true, oher hand, that in her descriptions, she is best from the point of view of art when she is faithful to her owions; and this is precisely true of all artists.
Her ret training has taught her to drop a good deal of her ventionality 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 wao write like other people; she has learhat 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 Kellers autobiography tains almost everything that she ever inteo publish. It seems worth while, however, to quote from some of her ce bits of writing, which are her so informal as her letters nor so carefully posed as her story of her life. These extracts are from her exercises in her course in position, 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 aurer on English Literature at Harvard and Radcliffe, said to me: "In some of her work she has shown that she write better than any pupil I ever had, man or woman. She has an excellent ear for the flow of sentences.”
The extracts follow: A few verses of Omar Khayyams poetry have just beeo me, and I feel as if I had spent the last half-hour in a magnifit sepulcher. Yes, it is a tomb in which hope, joy and the power of ag nobly lie buried. Every beautiful description, every deep thought glides insensibly into the same mournful t of the brevity of life, of the slow decay and dissolution of all earthly things. The poets bright, fond memories of love, youth ay 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 bleedi. Beside the tomb sits a weary soul, rejoig her in the joys of the past nor in the possibilities of the future, but seeking solation in fetfulness. In vain the inspiring sea shouts to this languid soul, in vain the heavens strive with its weakness; it still persists iting and seeks a refuge in oblivion from the pangs of present woe.
At times it catches some faint echo from the living, joyous, real world, a gleam of the perfe that is to be; and, thrilled out of its despondency, feels capable of w out a grand ideal even "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 uainty 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 pany of great men. They are regarded generally as far more appropriate in books and in public discourses than in the parlor or at the table.
Of course I do not refer to beautiful ses, but to the higher truths relating to everyday life. Few people that I know seem ever to pause in their daily intercourse to wo the beautiful bits of truth they have gathered during their years of study. Often when I speak enthusiastically of something in history or iry, Part I. in that volume.186
I receive no response, and I feel that I must ge the subjed return to the oopics, such as the weather, dressmaking, sports, siess, "blues" and "worries." To be sure, I take the kee i ihing that s those who surrou is this very i which makes it so difficult for me to carry on a versation 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 professors say or how they mark our themes.
To-day I took lun with the Freshman Class of Radcliffe. This was my first real experien college life, and a delightful experie was! For the first time since my entrao 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 i 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. One one wrote to me that in his mind I was always "sweet and ear," thinking only of what is wise, good and iing--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 ones shell, pet ones affli, clothe it with sanctity, and the ones self up as a mo 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 imagihat I do not feel the tender bonds which draw me to my young sisters--the sympathies springing from what we have in on--youth, hope, a half-eager, half-timid attitude towards the life before us and above all the royalty of maidenhood.
Sainte-Beuve says, "Il vient un age peut-etre quand o 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 su idea has crossed the mind of any one, especially of a highly gifted critic. The very fact that the eenth tury has not produced many authors whom the world may t among the greatest of all time does not in my opinion justify the remark, "There may e a time when people cease to write.”
In the first place, the fountains of literature are fed by two vast worlds, one of a, one of thought, by a succession of creations in the one and of ges iher. New experiences as call forth new ideas and stir men to ask questions unthought of before, and seek a definite answer in the depths of human knowledge.
In the sed place, if it is true that as mauries must pass before the world bees perfect as passed before it became what it is to-day, literature will surely be enriched incalculably by the tremendous ges, acquisitions and improvements that ot fail to take pla the distant future. If genius has been silent for a tury it has not been idle. On the trary, it has been colleg fresh materials not only from the remote past, but also from the age ress and development, and perhaps in the new tury there will be outbursts of splendor in all the various branches of literature. At present the world is undergoing a plete revolution, and in the midst of falling systems and empires, flig theories and creeds, discoveries and iions, it is a marvel how one produy great literary works at all. This is an age of workers, not of thinkers. The song to-day is: Let the dead past bury its dead, Act, a the living present, Heart within and God overhead.
A little later, when the rush a of achievement relax, we begin to expect the appearance of grao celebrate in glorious poetry and prose the deeds and triumphs of the last few turies.
It is very iing to watch a plant grow, it is like taking part iion. When all outside is cold and Part I. in that volume.187
white, whetle children of the woodland are goo their nurseries in the warm earth, and the empty s 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 doff 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 fuided 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 lurked in the dark earth, was latent iiny seed we planted? Beautiful flower, you have taught me to see a little way into the hidde of things. Now I uand that the darkness everywhere may hold possibilities better even than my hopes.
A FREE TRANSLATION FROM HORACE BOOK II-18.
I am not one of those on whom fortune deigns to smile. My house is not resple with ivory and gold; nor is it adorned with marble arches, resting on graceful ns brought from the quarries of distant Africa. For me no thrifty spinners urple garments. I have not uedly falleo princely estates, titles or power; but I have something more to be desired than all the worlds 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 panion of the rid mighty. I am too grateful for all 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 happiest days, far from the noise and strife of the world.
O, 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 your halls. Fetful of the tomb, you lay the foundation of your palaces. In your mad pursuit of pleasure you rob the sea of its bead desecrate hallowed ground. More even than this, in your wiess you destroy the peaceful homes of your ts!
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 fet that death es to the rid the poor alike, and es 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, o return. Remember, too, that, although death is inexorable, yet he is just; for he brings retribution to the rich for their wiess, 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 oage of Sleep like foolish virgins, only they carry well-trimmed note-books in their 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-stri with the words ringing in my ears, "An answer or your life!”
Such are the distorted fahat flit through the mind of one who is at college and lives as I do in an atmosphere of ideas, ceptions 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 ge, and I stood in the eye of the world a mighty man and a terrible. Naturally I love pead hate war and all that pertains to war; I see nothing admirable ihless career of Napoleon, save its finish. heless, in that dream the spirit of that pitiless slayer of meered me! I shall never fet 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 feel the impatient toss of his head now and the quiver that ran through him at the first roar of the on.
Part I. in that volume.188
From the top of the hill where I stood I saw my army surging over a 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 marg feet. I spurred my panting steed and waving my sword on high and shouting, "I e! Behold me, warriors--Europe!" I plunged into the oning 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 physiature. 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 aurn at an usurers rate of i my kigs and pings. 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, he cupboard, all peeled and deliciously ripe, and all I had to do was to stand uhe string a as long as I could eat.
After Miss Sullivan came to me, the more I learhe 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 woodfire. Its warm touch seemed so like a human caress, I really thought it was a se being, capable of loving and proteg 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 t 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 fused recolle of the story I had heard not long before about Red Riding Hood. At all events, I slipped down from the bed aled close to the fire which had not flickered out. The instant I felt its warmth I was reassured, and I sat a long time watg it climb higher and higher in shining waves. At last sleep surprised me, and when Miss Sullivaurned she found me ed in a bla by the hearth.
Often when I dream, thoughts pass through my mind like cowled shadows, silent ae, and disappear.
Perhaps they are the ghosts of thoughts that onhabited the mind of an aor. 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 aiful 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, hted with sudden joy, stop beating for very excess of happiness?
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