The Story of My Life, Helen Keller [e novels to read online .txt] 📗
- Author: Helen Keller
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The reports which you have read in the paper about me are not true at all. We received the Silent Worker which you sent, and I wrote right away to the editor to tell him that it was a mistake. Sometimes I am not well; but I am not a “wreck,” and there is nothing “distressing” about my condition.
I enjoyed your dear letter so much! I am always delighted when anyone writes me a beautiful thought which I can treasure in my memory forever. It is because my books are full of the riches of which Mr. Ruskin speaks that I love them so dearly. I did not realize until I began to write the sketch for the Companion, what precious companions books have been to me, and how blessed even my life has been: and now I am happier than ever because I do realize the happiness that has come to me. I hope you will write to me as often as you can. Teacher and I are always delighted to hear from you. I want to write to Mr. Bell and send him my picture. I suppose he has been too busy to write to his little friend. I often think of the pleasant time we had all together in Boston last spring.
Now I am going to tell you a secret. I think we, Teacher, and my father and little sister, and myself, will visit Washington next March!!! Then I shall see you, and dear Mr. Bell, and Elsie and Daisy again! Would not it be lovely if Mrs. Pratt could meet us there? I think I will write to her and tell her the secret too. …
Lovingly your little friend,
Helen Keller.
P.S. Teacher says you want to know what kind of a pet I would like to have. I love all living things—I suppose everyone does; but of course I cannot have a menagerie. I have a beautiful pony, and a large dog. And I would like a little dog to hold in my lap, or a big pussy (there are no fine cats in Tuscumbia) or a parrot. I would like to feel a parrot talk, it would be so much fun! but I would be pleased with, and love any little creature you send me.
H. K.
To Miss Caroline Derby
Tuscumbia, Alabama, February 18, 1893.
… You have often been in my thoughts during these sad days, while my heart has been grieving over the loss of my beloved friend,10 and I have wished many times that I was in Boston with those who knew and loved him as I did … he was so much of a friend to me! so tender and loving always! I do try not to mourn his death too sadly. I do try to think that he is still near, very near; but sometimes the thought that he is not here, that I shall not see him when I go to Boston—that he is gone—rushes over my soul like a great wave of sorrow. But at other times, when I am happier, I do feel his beautiful presence, and his loving hand leading me in pleasant ways. Do you remember the happy hour we spent with him last June when he held my hand, as he always did, and talked to us about his friend Tennyson, and our own dear poet Dr. Holmes, and I tried to teach him the manual alphabet, and he laughed so gaily over his mistakes, and afterward I told him about my tea, and he promised to come? I can hear him now, saying in his cheerful, decided way, in reply to my wish that my tea might be a success, “Of course it will, Helen. Put your whole heart in the good work, my child, and it cannot fail.” I am glad the people are going to raise a monument to his memory. …
In March Helen and Miss Sullivan went North, and spent the next few months traveling and visiting friends.
In reading this letter about Niagara one should remember that Miss Keller knows distance and shape, and that the size of Niagara is within her experience after she has explored it, crossed the bridge and gone down in the elevator. Especially important are such details as her feeling the rush of the water by putting her hand on the window. Dr. Bell gave her a down pillow, which she held against her to increase the vibrations.
To Mrs. Kate Adams Keller
South Boston, April 13, 1893.
… Teacher, Mrs. Pratt and I very unexpectedly decided to take a journey with dear Dr. Bell … Mr. Westervelt, a gentleman whom father met in Washington, has a school for the deaf in Rochester. We went there first. …
Mr. Westervelt gave us a reception one afternoon. A great many people came. Some of them asked odd questions. A lady seemed surprised that I loved flowers when I could not see their beautiful colors, and when I assured her I did love them, she said, “no doubt you feel the colors with your fingers.” But of course, it is not alone for their bright colors that we love the flowers. … A gentleman asked me what beauty meant to my mind. I must confess I was puzzled at first. But after a minute I answered that beauty was a form of goodness—and he went away.
When the reception was over we went back to the hotel and teacher slept quite unconscious of the surprise which was in
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