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on the possible impression produced on a sensitive nature by reading
one's own premature obituary； as I have told you has been my recent
experience。 I will not stop to think whether the urgent request for
an autograph by return post； in view of the possible contingencies
which might render it the last one was ever to write； is pleasing or
not。 At threescore and twenty one must expect such hints of what is
like to happen before long。 I suppose； if some near friend were to
watch one who was looking over such a pressing letter； he might
possibly see a slight shadow flit over the reader's features； and
some such dialogue might follow as that between Othello and Iago；
after 〃this honest creature〃 has been giving breath to his suspicions
about Desdemona ：
〃I see this hath a little dash'd your spirits。
Not a jot； not a jot。
。。。。。。。。。。。。。
〃My lord； I see you're moved。〃
And a little later the reader might； like Othello； complain；
〃I have a pain upon my forehead here。〃
Nothing more likely。 But； for myself； I have grown callous to all
such allusions。 The repetition of the Scriptural phrase for the
natural term of life is so frequent that it wears out one's
sensibilities。
But how many charming and refreshing letters I have received！ How
often I have felt their encouragement in moments of doubt and
depression； such as the happiest temperaments must sometimes
experience！
If the time comes when to answer all my kind unknown friends； even by
dictation； is impossible； or more than I feel equal to； I wish to
refer any of those who may feel disappointed at not receiving an
answer to the following general acknowledgments：
I。 I am always grateful for any attention which shows me that I am
kindly remembered。 II。 Your pleasant message has been read to me；
and has been thankfully listened to。 III。 Your book （your essay）
（your poem） has reached me safely； and has received all the
respectful attention to which it seemed entitled。 It would take more
than all the time I have at my disposal to read all the printed
matter and all the manuscripts which are sent to me； and you would
not ask me to attempt the impossible。 You will not； therefore；
expect me to express a critical opinion of your work。 IV。 I am
deeply sensible to your expressions of personal attachment to me as
the author of certain writings which have brought me very near to
you； in virtue of some affinity in our ways of thought and moods of
feeling。 Although I cannot keep up correspondences with many of my
readers who seem to be thoroughly congenial with myself； let them be
assured that their letters have been read or heard with peculiar
gratification； and are preserved as precious treasures。
I trust that after this notice no correspondent will be surprised to
find his or her letter thus answered by anticipation； and that if one
of the above formulae is the only answer he receives； the unknown
friend will remember that he or she is one of a great many whose
incessant demands have entirely outrun my power of answering them as
fully as the applicants might wish and perhaps expect。
I could make a very interesting volume of the letters I have received
from correspondents unknown to the world of authorship； but writing
from an instinctive impulse； which many of them say they have long
felt and resisted。 One must not allow himself to be flattered into
an overestimate of his powers because he gets many letters expressing
a peculiar attraction towards his books； and a preference of them to
those with which he would not have dared to compare his own。 Still；
if the homo unius librithe man of one bookchoose to select one of
our own writing as his favorite volume； it means something；not
much； perhaps； but if one has unlocked the door to the secret
entrance of one heart； it is not unlikely that his key may fit the
locks of others。 What if nature has lent him a master key？ He has
found the wards and slid back the bolt of one lock； perhaps he may
have learned the secret of others。 One success is an encouragement
to try again。 Let the writer of a truly loving letter； such as
greets one from time to time； remember that； though he never hears a
word from it； it may prove one of the best rewards of an anxious and
laborious past； and the stimulus of a still aspiring future。
Among the letters I have recently received； none is more interesting
than the following。 The story of Helen Keller； who wrote it； is told
in the well…known illustrated magazine called 〃The Wide Awake；〃 in
the number for July； 1888。 For the account of this little girl； now
between nine and ten years old； and other letters of her writing； I
must refer to the article I have mentioned。 It is enough to say that
she is deaf and dumb and totally blind。 She was seven years old when
her teacher； Miss Sullivan； under the direction of Mr。 Anagnos； at
the Blind Asylum at South Boston； began her education。 A child
fuller of life and happiness it would be hard to find。 It seems as
if her soul was flooded with light and filled with music that had
found entrance to it through avenues closed to other mortals。 It is
hard to understand how she has learned to deal with abstract ideas；
and so far to supplement the blanks left by the senses of sight and
hearing that one would hardly think of her as wanting in any human
faculty。 Remember Milton's pathetic picture of himself； suffering
from only one of poor little Helen's deprivations：
〃Not to me returns
Day； or the sweet approach of even or morn；
Or sight of vernal bloom； or summer's rose；
Or flocks； or herds； or human face divine；
But cloud instead； and ever…during dark
Surrounds me； from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off； and for the book of knowledge fair
Presented with a universal blank
Of Nature's works； to me expunged and rased；
And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out。〃
Surely for this loving and lovely child does
〃the celestial Light
Shine inward。〃
Anthropologist； metaphysician； most of all theologian； here is a
lesson which can teach you much that you will not find in your
primers and catechisms。 Why should I call her 〃poor little Helen〃？
Where can you find a happier child？
SOUTH BOSTON； MASS。； March 1； 1890。
DEAR KIND POET；I have thought of you many times since that bright
Sunday when I bade you goodbye； and I am going to write you a letter
because I love you。 I am sorry that you have no little children to
play with sometimes； but I think you are very happy with your books；
and your many； many friends。 On Washington's Birthday a great many
people came here to see the little blind children； and I read for
them from your poems； and showed them some beautiful shells which
came from a little island near Palos。 I am reading a very sad story
called 〃Little Jakey。〃 Jakey was the sweetest little fellow you can
imagine； but he was poor and blind。 I used to think； when I was
small and before I could read； that everybody was always happy； and
at first it made me very sad to know about pain and great sorrow； but
now I know that we could never learn to be brave and patient； if
there were only joy in the world。 I am studying about insects in
Zoology； and I have learned many things about butterflies。 They do
not make honey for us； like the bees； but many of them are as
beautiful as the flowers they light upon； and they always delight the
hearts of little children。 They live a gay life； flitting from
flower to flower； sipping the drops of honey…dew； without a thought
for the morrow。 They are just like little boys and girls when they
forget books and studies； and run away to the woods and the fields to
gather wild…flowers； or wade in the ponds for fragrant lilies； happy
in the bright sunshine。 If my little sister comes to Boston next
June； will you let me bring her to see you？ She is a lovely baby and
I am sure you will love ＇her＇。 Now I must tell my gentle poet good…
bye； for I have a letter to write home before I go to bed。 From your
loving little friend；
HELEN A。 KELLER。
The reading of this letter made many eyes glisten； and a dead silence
hushed the whole circle。 All at once Delilah； our pretty table…maid；
forgot her place；what business had she to be listening to our
conversation and reading？ and began sobbing； just as if she had
been a lady。 She could n't help it； she explained afterwards；she
had a little blind sister at the asylum； who had told her about
Helen's reading to the children。
It was very awkward； this breaking…down of our pretty Delilah； for
one girl crying will sometimes set off a whole row of others；it is
as hazardous as lighting one cracker in a bunch。 The two Annexes
hurried out their pocket…handkerchiefs； and I almost expected a se