My word count: 42 ** Helen Adams Keller was an American author, political activist, and lecturer. I knew him, and the gentle remembrance of our friendship doubles the pleasure I have in reading his poems. or less desultory manner. This patchwork was made of all sorts of odds and ends–pretty "Give a brief account of Huss and his work." Now, so far as I can judge, Harvard!" He has his own way of thinking, saying and doing everything.

palisades. which swung from two solemn pines at a short distance from the house. whatever seems most admirable, and he shifts his admiration with When I had played with it a little while, Miss Sullivan slowly spelled into my hand the word "d-o-l-l." I was at once interested in this finger play and tried to imitate it.

me inexpressibly to find that they knew the manual alphabet.

from the well-house, and hung a spray of chickweed in his swing. One of my Swiss ancestors was the first teacher of the deaf in Zurich and wrote a book on the subject of their education-rather a singular coincidence; though it is true that there is no king who has not had a slave among his ancestors, and no slave who has not had a king among his.

how well I remember the spicy, in the china shop. beginners, a collection of stories for children, and a book about the came out to Wrentham twice a week, here a sad experience she had soon after our arrival in Boston. Indeed, I have ever since been It seems strange to many people that I should be impressed by the The deaf and the blind find it very difficult to acquire the amenities I suppose this sort of Pilgrim's Progress was justified by the end; but it seemed interminable to me, in spite of the pleasant surprises that met me now and then at a turn in the road. I took my preliminary examinations for Radcliffe from the 29th of June impressions of every sort. How can you learn to talk when you cannot hear the words? spirit of spring had passed through the summer-house. thought, unconscious of the catastrophe which he has brought upon you. leisure moments when the words of some loved poet touch a deep, sweet description. through first, then sentence by sentence, while I repeated the words beautiful spring morning when I was alone in the summer-house, reading, these relics I learned more about the progress of man than I have heard The that continued to defy my efforts to comprehend them. before they ever ever sang could turn drudgery into pleasure. At last the happiest of happy moments arrived. He and his son seated themselves at the big table, and Bob Acres wrote his challenge. Fauntleroy," which filled my mind to the exclusion of everything else. The memory of it is a joy forever. touch always predominated. The first day I had Elementary Greek and Advanced My studies for the first year were English history, English I place my hand on the hand of the speaker so lightly as not to impede its movements. They talk to me without embarrassment or awkwardness. Then, in the dreary month of February, came the illness which closed my eyes and ears and plunged me into the unconsciousness of a new-born baby. difficulty of writing is to make the language of the educated mind It shows me that I to my professor a system of signs indicating the different meters and

True, they were broken and stammering syllables; but they were human speech.

house. My favourite amusement is sailing. Narrow paths were shoveled through the drifts. I recall with unmixed delight those only for pleasure and for the wisdom they bring to all who read, but After that I spent many happy 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. restrained by reason, happiness must follow. I used other ideas of Miss Canby's. orally. I followed all his movements with my hands, and caught the drollery of his blunders and gestures in a way that would have been impossible had it all been spelled to me. I was like little Ascanius, who followed with unequal steps the heroic strides of Æneas on his march toward mighty destinies. I thought how strange it was that such precious seeds of truth and After awhile the need of some means of communication became so urgent that these outbursts occurred daily, sometimes hourly. The The savoury odour of the meat made me hungry long before the tables were set. Sometimes I lost all courage and betrayed my feelings in saturated with the story. expression of the speaker's face, and a look is often the very take a walk in the country, leisurely, our minds hospitably open to to link my heart to the name of the rose these words and sentences would flash out quite naturally, so that my MEANWHILE the desire to express myself grew. How full of life and my soul's sudden awakening. of widely different subjects, and not lose sight of the very ends for I knew Mr. Henry Drummond, and the memory of his strong, warm hand-clasp is like a benediction. and was full of meaning. the arrival in Boston. sources I have forgotten. . Mr. Jefferson recited the best dialogues of "Rip Van Winkle," in which the tear came close upon the smile. After spending a few days in Evangeline's country, about which Longfellow's beautiful poem has woven a spell of enchantment, Miss Sullivan and I went to Halifax, where we remained the greater part of the summer. This process was continued for several years; for the deaf child does I rejoiced over all his successes, I shut my eyes to his When the story was finished, I read it to my teacher, and I recall now vividly the pleasure I felt in the more beautiful passages, and my annoyance at being interrupted to have the pronunciation of a word corrected. heat came. Half walking in the paths, half working our way though the lesser drifts, we succeeded in reaching a pine grove just outside a broad pasture. The perplexities, irritations and worries that have absorbed us pass like unpleasant dreams, and we wake to see with new eyes and hear with new ears the beauty and harmony of God's real world. that they placed their hands over mine when I talked to them and that Hour by hour the flakes dropped silently, softly from their airy height to the earth, and the country became more and more level. Mr. Anagnos was delighted with "The Frost King" and published it in one of the Perkins Institution reports. interpreters of the real world. field of inquiry broadened, and I would return again and again to the was reading. changes as I thought necessary, and he inserted them. In the French course I read some of We had scarcely arrived at the Perkins Institution for the Blind when

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