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I SHOULD like to tell you about a visit we have just received from Helen Keller, the little blind girl and deaf-mute. You, doubtless, know something of her story (1) -- how, when she was eighteen months old, she was very, very ill, and when at last the slow recovery came, her parents were horrified to find that she had become perfectly deaf and also blind. For nearly seven years these poor parents had no means of communication with their little girl or she with them. When Helen was seven, five years ago, Mr. Keller wrote to the Perkins Institute for the Blind, in Boston, asking that a teacher might be sent to them in northern Alabama. Miss Sullivan, who at one time had been perfectly blind, and who had taken the course at the Institute, was sent to the Kellers, and remained for two years, teaching Helen and her family how to communicate with one another by means of the manual for the deaf and dumb.

It was then deemed best for Helen to go to the Institute, since she could advance more rapidly there. She has now been there three years, under the charge of Miss Sullivan the entire time.

Once a year she goes home to Alabama for a visit, always accompanied by her dear friend and teacher.

When our principal informed us of Helen's prospective visit, we all were pleased; but still the thought came that it would be very difficult to talk with her, and also a pitiful and rather trying experience to see a person in such a sad condition. We are now very thankful that the opportunity was given us to meet this wonderful child.

Helen came one afternoon with Miss Sullivan and Miss Marrett, another teacher in the school, and also one of our graduates.

In the evening the students were all invited into the drawing-room to meet the visitors and to see what wonders have been done for this once helpless child. She stood with her arm about Miss Sullivan's neck, a tall child for her age, with a very bright and smiling face.

As the different girls came up to meet her, Miss Sullivan repeated their names to Helen by means of the deaf-and-dumb alphabet, and Helen spoke to them.

You ask how can that be?

One of the most marvelous things of all is, that she has learned to articulate. Think of it! She has never heard a human voice in her life. Of course, her articulation is very imperfect; but when she speaks slowly, one can understand quite well what she says. Her teachers think that in a year or two her utterance will be perfectly distinct. Her voice is necessarily peculiar, and listening to its monotonous tones, one can better appreciate how important hearing is to modulation and expression.

About thirty girls were introduced to her, for each of whom she had a pleasant word. I think in no one case did she forget a name.

She felt of the faces, hair, and dress, learning each feature, while every personal peculiarity seemed firmly fixed in her mind.

Some of the girls told her they had recently been to Concord and Lexington, whereupon Helen began to describe her visit there. She spoke of the hills about Concord looking like "beautiful clouds"; and said that the "bending trees were there, the folding ferns among the grass, and the fairies and wood-elves whispering among the violets."

She said she visited the Alcotts' house, and could well imagine "Jo, sitting by the window, writing; Amy, near by, drawing; and sweet Beth sewing; while Meg and Mr. Brooke were merrily chatting together."

Some one mentioned "The Minute-Man," Mr. French's statue, marking the famous battle-ground at Concord; and Helen cried eagerly, "Yes! and 'fired the shot heard round the world!'" quoting from Emerson's beautiful ode, the first lines of which have been inscribed upon the pedestal of the statue

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world!

Soon she added, "Is n't it dreadful for men to kill each other? But I think it is good not to be afraid of death, and to be ready to fight for one's country. My father would n't be afraid to die; he fought in the Rebellion."

Helen is a rather pretty child, and has perfect manners. She is very affectionate, and seems devotedly attached to Miss Sullivan. Every few minutes she would caress her, with a loving smile; and she seems to have a similar affection for all her friends. She has great tact, and has that innate refinement of word and action which it is so delightful to see.

She has been doing a beautiful work of charity. She owned a fine mastiff last winter, which died, and the loss made her quite sad. Some friends raised three hundred dollars, and sent it to her as a gift with which to buy another dog. In the mean time Helen heard of a boy, five years old, Tommy Stringer, who also was blind and deaf. Her tender sympathy was aroused, and she immediately decided to use her money for Tommy's needs. But the yearly expense for one person at the Institute is more than twice as much money as Helen had. Quite confident of success, the little girl wrote letters to nine newspapers, each differently expressed, stating Tommy's needs. As a consequence many subscriptions were sent to Helen, and Tommy has now been an inmate of the asylum for a year or more.