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HOW THE WORLD IS BEING OPENED TO THESE CHILDREN

REMARKABLE SUCCESS IN EDUCATING THEM AT THE KINDERGARTEN IN BOSTON -- HOW HELEN KELLER IS TAKING PIANO LESSONS.

From the Boston Herald.

Public interest is centering in a large degree about four little children who are in Boston for the purpose of being educated. Robbed by severe illness in their infancy of three of their senses -- sight, hearing, and speech -- these little ones show an intelligence that would shame many another child who has full possession of its faculties.

The Herald has told a good deal regarding the wonderful progress made by Helen Keller, Edith Thomas, and Ellie Robin, and it would seem as though the limit of attainment must have bee reached, particularly by the first-named girl, who has done such wonderful things since, three years ago, she first made the discovery that the world was for her an open book and that she could come in contact with it and make its knowledge her own.

For years men and women have wondered over the story of Laura Bridgman. It seemed almost a miracle, the work that Dr. Howe performed of bringing this child in touch with the world from which she seemed so strangely isolated. It was the opening of a new realm of possibilities to those who had seemed so helpless and so outside the pale of human endeavor. But what was done for Laura Bridgman was but the beginning of what might be done for others like her. The alphabet of possibilities which Dr. Howe taught has been carried on by his successor, Mr. Anagnos, to the point of science.

To-day there under the charge of Mr. Anagnos four who were bereft as she was of the senses that seem to be the most necessary, either for enjoyment or achievement, and who are constantly giving proof that life for them is neither barren of happiness nor unfruitful in accomplished endeavor.

The progress Helen Keller has made during the past year has been more remarkable than that of any previous years, although every one marveled at what she had already done. It was only a little over a year ago that the experiment was tried of teaching her to articulate. She was sent with her brother for a short daily to the Horace Mann school, and the work was systematically begun. The method was explained to her by her teacher, and with the quickness of perception, which in her seems almost intuitive, so lightening-like is the rapidity with which her mind grasps a new idea, she knew what she was expected to do and the manner in which she was to do it.

The one characteristic of Helen Keller is the determination to succeed with which she undertakes anything new. The idea of failure never seems to enter into her head. Because she wants to do it is for her sufficient reason why she should. Her ambition is boundless, her faith in her own powers of achievement sublime.

So she began the work of trying to learn to speak in the same spirit with which she undertakes everything, and her success has been remarkable. She delights in talking, and she will carry on quite a prolonged conversation.

Laying her hand on the lips of the person with whom she is talking, she will understand what is being said, and will then reply to it. Sometimes in her eagerness she will talk with her lips, and spell out her conversation at the same time in her teacher's hand. Not long ago the writer was visiting at South Boston, and when Helen was brought into the room she recognized the visitor and asked after the little daughters, whom she remembered, although she had not met them for ten years. She seemed very interested in hearing about them, what they were doing at school and son on, and sent them many messages.

By and by she left the room to return to her studies, and when the visitor left she met Helen again in the hall.

"Ah," Helen said. "It is you again. What are you doing?"

"Talking about you," was the reply.

"Something very bad, I've no doubt," said Helen, with a sweet laugh that was full of merriment.

"Dreadfully bad," was the answer. "Just as bad as you deserve."

"Well 'bless my boots,' as Louise says in 'Little Women,' how do you know what I deserve?"

There would be nothing wonderful in a conversation like this under normal circumstances, but when it is remembered that the chief participant in it was a deaf, dumb, and blind child of eleven years of age, it becomes remarkable.

The latest thing that Helen has undertaken is learning to play the piano, and this she is doing very readily. It seems almost incredible that she should have any idea of time and melody, but she has a very distinct idea. The story of her progress is gathered from the notes kept by her teacher. After reading them, one is more startled than ever by this child. Certainly no child in full possession of its senses could do better than this one has done, or make more satisfactory progress. She has always been fond of music, enjoying it immensely whenever piano, organ, or orchestra played. She feels the vibration on the floor through her feet, and both she and Edith Thomas know at once when the piano is played in the room with them. When a very little girl, just beginning with Miss Sullivan, she used to tell about going to church to hear the organ, and would sit very quietly, content while it was being played. Instructing her in music was an experiment which has proved a gratifying success.

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March 18 Helen Keller began pianoforte lessons. The lesson was half an hour in length. She learned the position of the white keys, finding them correctly and telling their locations aloud. She also learned the position of her hands, which she seemed to acquire with facility. On the next day she reviewed the first lesson and practiced raising the fingers from the knuckle joint with her stationary hand. The whole notes were explained to her, and her teacher had her play them while she beat time on her shoulders. In teaching rhythm the instructor had her beat it first upon a desk and afterward on the piano. The next two lessons were devoted to an examination of the metronome and experiments with it. Helen was delighted when she could feel the vibrations of the pendulum by placing her hand near enough to touch it lightly with the thumb and forefinger. The teacher then explained to her the half and quarter notes, and she played an exercise in whole notes correctly. At the next lesson the teacher tested Helen's knowledge or comprehension of rhythm by playing and counting unevenly. Helen laughed at the mistakes, and said: "No, you are not quite right."

On the 31st of March she began using both hands, and played a little exercise in different keys very correctly. The next thing was to teach her musical notation by the Braille system: this she comprehended readily, and then she learned an exercise which introduced eighth notes. By the 16th of April she had learned a little piece which she played very prettily and, strange as it may seem, with expression. She seems to tell by the stronger vibrations and the way she presses the keys when she is playing louder. One day she said to her teacher:" I have practiced a great deal and struggled had with my difficulties." And her work shows, and the questions she asks show, too, that she thinks about her work. Her teacher further says that, considering the short time that she has been at work on the piano and the frequent interruptions she has had, she has made remarkable progress. Certainly her performance at Tremont Temple on the occasion of the Commencement exercises was a surprise to every one who heard it.

It due entirely to Helen Keller's efforts that the last of the four children, little Tommy Stringer, has been brought to the kindergarten and placed under instruction.

The case of little Tommy is the most pathetic of all. The other three had homes and parents, and had grown up with care and affection lavished upon them, but this poor little boy was a waif, tossed out into the world, with no one to care for him. His mother had died, and he been left at the hospital to be taken care of by the nurses, who, in justice let it be said, were kind to him and fond of him, though they did nothing in the way of trying to teach him. His father had married again, and neither he nor the new wife wanted the unfortunate boy, and he was to have been sent to the almshouse.

At this juncture Helen Keller heard of him and made up her mind that he must come to the kindergarten. But money was needed for the purpose, and how was she to get it? She felt that the way must be opened, and sure enough it was. A favorite and valuable dog belonging to her had died, and some notice of it being made in the papers and her grief at her loss, some gentlemen proposed to give her another, even more valuable. When Helen was told of their intention she wrote a letter to them telling them that she did not care for another dog, she did not wish to become so attached to another as to the one she had lost, but, if they really wished to do something to make her very happy, they would her as much money as the dog would cost, that she might use it in educating little Tommy Stringer. Helen's letter was generously responded to by the gentlemen, and not only did they respond, but they printed the letter in fac simile and told the story. This brought other contributions, and soon Helen found enough herself in possession of money enough to send for the little boy and have him brought from Pittsburgh.

When Tommy came here about three months ago, brought on by the hospital nurse whose charge he had been, he was to all intents and purposes, a mere baby. He was dressed like one and he was treated like one. He had never been taught anything, he had no signs even by which he let his wants be known. It was almost, seemingly, a hopeless task to train him, but the young teacher, Miss Bull, to whom he had been assigned, began her task full of zeal and enthusiasm. No child so young, for Tommy is only five, had ever been admitted to the kindergarten, and the youngest deaf, dumb, and blind child to begin training was Willie Robin, who was just past six when she came from Texas last January. It was naturally slower work with Tommy than with any of the girls, both because he was younger and because he had not been taught anything, having no mother and there being no children for him to play with. The first thing to be done was to dress him properly and to teach him to respect his clothes and keep them on.

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After he had been here six weeks he had begun developing into a sturdy little fellow, affectionate, full of merriment and quite easily controlled. He had been taught to feed himself, and he used both fork and spoon with ease and neatness. His table behavior was very good indeed. He sat beside his teacher, and every little while he would give a happy laugh, as though he enjoying the conversation of those about him. His teacher was trying to give him some idea of the finger language, but he had not grasped it. It was good fun for him to have her talk on his hand then, taking his own tiny fingers, make him make the letters. He evidently thought it some new amusement devised especially for his entertainment, but that there was any serious intention in it he did not for a moment suspect. He is being taught the difference between "must" and "must not," a very important lesson, by the way, and one little experience will show how readily he takes in the situation.

A party of ladies, the Matron and Trustees and some friends, were sitting together in the sewing room of the kindergarten the other day, and Tommy was there. He was roving about the room, exploring every corner, when suddenly his attention was arrested by the sewing machine. He felt it over until he found the wheel, then sitting down he began to turn it. His teacher gave his hand a little pat, the signal when she wishes him to understand he must not touch an object. He drew back his hand, waited a minute, then reached out again; another tap. Again he sat, his brow knitted as if he were thinking very deeply about something. Suddenly it cleared, then out went the other hand; again the tap. Finding that his hands weren't to be allowed the pleasure of playing with this delightful newly-found toy, he tried the experiment with his feet, first with one, then with the other, with a similar result to that which had attended his attempts with his hands. For a moment after his last trial he sat with knitted brows, then, suddenly jumping up, he turned his back on the temptation, and went contentedly playing with some blocks which Miss Greeley gave him. What went on in the little brain no one could say, but it was evident that by some mental process he had come to the conclusion that he wasn't to touch the sewing machine in any way, he did not return to it again during the afternoon.

Little Tommy and his teacher are spending the Summer with Miss Thayer and her little pupil, Willie Robin, at the home of the former, near Lowell. Miss Thayer thinks that little boy will gain more by contact with Willie a first then by any efforts to teach him. When he once gets the idea into his head that he can communicate with persons and make himself understood, the method of doing it will speedily follow.

The stories of Edith Thomas and Willie Robin have been told very recently, so there is no need of giving much time to them. Edith is astonishing everybody by her beautiful handwork, particularly in the sloyd, which she takes up with marvelous readiness. Willie Robin is already articulating, and she will talk well. She has a most musical voice, and it is fascinating to hear her say "mamma." Her laugh is musical and full of inflections; one could easily believe that had she her hearing; she would sing exquisitely. She is a perfect mimic, and wants to everything like somebody else. Miss Greeley has been suffering from a broken knee, and since her convalesce she walks somewhat stiffly, as her knee is still bound. Willie insists on walking like her. She dances with the teachers, catching the step very readily, and she is grace itself.

What will be the future of these children? Certainly the outlook is not hopeless as it would once have been.