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I joined the little blind children in their work and play, and talked continually. I was delighted to find that nearly all my new friends could spell with their fingers. Oh, what happiness! to talk freely with other children! to feel at home in the great world! Until then, I had been a little foreigner, speaking through an interpreter; but in Boston, in the city where Doctor Howe had lived, and where Laura Bridgman was taught, I was no longer a stranger. I was at home! and the dream of my childhood was accomplished.

Soon after our arrival in Boston, we visited Plymouth, and in that quaint, old Puritan town I listened with eager interest to the story of the coming of the Pilgrim Fathers. That was my first lesson in history. And a few days later, when I had climbed the Bunker Hill Monument, Teacher told me how brave, unselfish men won our dear country's freedom, my heart was thrilled, and I was proud of being born an American.

We spent one very happy morning with the deaf children at the Horace Mann School. I had never thought I should learn to talk like other people until Teacher told me that morning the little deaf children were being taught to speak. Then I was eager to learn myself, and two years afterward, in that very school, I did learn to speak, and another wall which seemed to stand between my soul and the outside world was broken down.

Dear Miss Fuller taught me in a short time to make all the sounds which constitute that wonderful, curious thing we call speech. My mother had thought her little child's voice lost forever; but lo! Love had found it, and brought it home.

I wish now to speak of my visit to the seaside; for it was during my sojourn at the north that I received my first impressions of the great ocean. It was about the middle of July, after my mother had returned to our home in the sunny south, that Teacher and I went to Brewster, a pleasant little town on Cape Cod, where we spent a very happy summer.

The morning after our arrival, I awoke bright and early. A beautiful summer day had dawned, the day on which I was to make the acquaintance of a sombre and mysterious friend. I got up, and dressed quickly and ran down-stairs. I met Teacher in the hall, and begged to be taken to the sea at once. "Not yet," she responded, laughing. "We must have breakfast first."

As soon as breakfast was over, we hurried off to the shore. Our pathway led through low, sandy hills, and as we hastened on, I often caught my feet in the long, coarse grass, and tumbled, laughing, in the warm, shining sand. The beautiful, warm air was peculiarly fragrant, and I noticed it got cooler and fresher as we went on.

Suddenly we stopped, and I knew, without being told, the sea was at my feet. I knew, too, it was immense! awful! And for a moment some of the sunshine seemed to have gone out of the day. But I do not think I was afraid; for later, when I had put on my bathing suit, and the little waves ran up on the beach, and kissed my feet, I shouted for joy, and plunged fearlessly into the surf. But, unfortunately, I struck my foot on a rock, and fell forward into the cold water.

Then a strange, fearful sense of danger terrified me. The salt water filled my eyes, and took away my breath, and a great wave threw me up on the beach as easily as if I had been a little pebble. For several days after that I was very timid, and could hardly be persuaded to go in the water at all but by degrees my courage returned, and almost before the summer was over, I thought it the greatest fun to be tossed about by the sea-waves.

Oh, the happy, happy hours I spent, hunting the wonderful shells! How pretty they were with their lovely, fresh hues, and exquisite shapes! And how pleasant it was to sit on the sandy bank, and braid the sea-grass, while Teacher told me stories of the Sea, and described, in simple words that I could understand, the majestic ocean, and the ships that drifted in the distance like white-winged birds.

People sometimes seem surprised that I love the ocean when I cannot see it. But I do not think it is strange. It is because God has planted the love of His wonderful works deep in the hearts of His children, and whether we see them or not, we feel everywhere their beauty and mystery enfolding us.

I returned to my southern home at the beginning of November, with a head full of joyous memories, and a heart full of grateful love for the dear friends who had done so much for my happiness.

It was long before we again visited the beautiful City of Kind Hearts. I continued my studies at home, and grew gladder every day and night because of the new, wonderful knowledge that was coming to me. Of course I do not mean that I was never sad. I suppose every one has sorrows. Our dear poet has said: "Into each life some rain must fall," and I am sure the rain is as needful for us as it is for the flowers.

I wept bitterly when I heard of the death of my beautiful dog; for I loved her tenderly. Oh! Lioness was so brave and gentle. She would lay her head in my lap when I caressed her, and I knew there was a gentle, loving expression in her brown eyes. And how it grieved me to think I should never see her again! But even that sorrow had a bright side.