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In telling us of Tommy, she said, "When he was a little baby, his dear mama died and then he was sick, and the light went out of his eyes, and the hearing from his ears. Now he has come to be educated. And by and by," she added, "when he knows more words, he will understand what a wonderful thing language is, and how education brings music and love to body and soul." It is difficult to realize that such words are from the lips of a child not then twelve years old.

The next morning Helen was taken up into the cast-room. She was led first to the cast of Niobe, and allowed to pass her fingers over the face. She knows a few pieces of sculpture, but this was quite new to her, and she had never heard the pitiful story of the poor mother robbed of her little ones.

Passing her hands softly over the features, she said, "She is a woman"; and then, quite low, "She looks sad." The young Nero's bust was shown, and she said, "He is young and pretty."

"Do you know anything about Nero?" asked one of the girls. "Oh, yes," she replied quickly. "He was a king of Rome." After this the head of Nero as an old man was shown her. She looked grave while touching his face, and said slowly, "He is changed. The nose is the same, but he is so proud," and she pursed up her lips in imitation of his.

A little baby's image pleased her very much, and she murmured softly to herself while caressing the round face and chubby limbs; then, looking up with a sweet smile, repeated some verses describing a child.

Dante's cast interested her exceedingly. She did not know anything about him, except that he was a poet. When she was told that he was a patriot, exiled from home and a wanderer for many years, she said thoughtfully, "He loved Italy." We next took her into the art-room, and showed her some of the articles used for studies in still-life.

She was especially pleased with an old spinning-wheel; and the instant her fingers touched the flax, she cried, "Flax! It is blue!" Her teacher hastened to tell her that it is only the flower that is blue, and that flax itself is white. Helen quickly began:

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day.

"Yes," said Miss Sullivan; "the poet referred to the flowers."

She was delighted with a tambourine, and wished to know how it was used. She was sorry to lay it aside. Of course she cannot hear a sound from musical instruments, but the vibrations please her wonderfully, and she is very fond of music. One of the girls played to her upon the piano, and it was a pretty sight to watch the changes of light in her face. She could scarcely keep quiet to listen; and when the "Skirt Dance" was played her hands and feet kept time constantly to the music. She afterward sat down herself and played a simple exercise which she had learned.

She held quite a little reception later in the day, and many people from town came in to see her -- professors and their wives, and many children of her own age. Helen asked the latter such pointed questions that they were often at a loss to reply, and appealed to their mothers for help. To one little boy she said, "What is your favorite city?" The little boy looked perplexed, and finally, anxious to make a reply, said, "Boston." "Mine are Venice and Florence," said Helen, "among those I have read of. My own home I love best of all." When Professor Coy was introduced, she remarked naively, "I have heard of coy maidens, but not of men." With a French gentleman she spoke a few words in French, and then added, "I think Paris is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. The French are very gay, are they not?" "Yes, too gay sometimes," he replied. Oh," she said, "some day I want to know French." "We will speak it together the next time we meet," he answered as he shook hands with her, and she smiled a bright reply.

-Letter in Helen Keller's handwriting.-

Dear St. Nicholas;

It gives me very great pleasure to send you my autograph because I want the boys and girls who read St. Nicholas to know how blind children write. I suppose some of them wonder how we keep the lines straight so I will try to tell them how it is done. We have a grooved board which we put between the pages when we wish to write. The parallel grooves correspond to lines and when we have pressed the paper into them by means of the blunt end of the pencil it is very easy to keep the words even. The small letters are all made in the grooves, while the long ones extend above and below them. We guide the pencil with the right hand, and feel carefully with the fore finger of the left hand to see that we shape and space the letters correctly. It is very difficult at first to form them plainly but if we keep on trying it gradually becomes easier, and after a great deal of practice we can write legible letters to our friends. Then we are very, very happy. Sometime they may visit a school for the blind. If they do, I am sure, they will wish to see the pupils write.

Very sincerely, your little friend
Helen Keller