Often when I dream, thoughts pass through my mind like cowled shadows, silent and remote, and disappear. Perhaps they are the ghosts of thoughts that once inhabited the mind of an ancestor. At other times the things I have learned and the things I have been taught, drop away, as the lizard sheds its skin, and I see my soul as God sees it. There are also rare and beautiful moments when I see and hear in Dreamland. What if in my waking hours a sound should ring through the silent halls of hearing? What if a ray of light should flash through the darkened chambers of my soul? What would happen, I ask many and many a time. Would the bow-and-string tension of life snap? Would the heart, overweighted with sudden joy, stop beating for very excess of happiness?
Endnotes
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For Miss Sullivan’s account see “Miss Sullivan’s Account of Miss Keller’s Speech.” ↩
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For the documents in this matter see “Miss Sullivan’s Account of the ‘Frost King.’ ” ↩
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“With great admiration of thy noble work in releasing from bondage the mind of thy dear pupil, I am truly thy friend. John G. Whittier.” ↩
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The Atlantic Monthly, . ↩
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Miss Fuller gave Helen Keller her first lesson in articulation. See Chapter IV, Speech. ↩
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Ragnhild Kaata. ↩
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For the documents in this matter see “Miss Sullivan’s Account of the ‘Frost King.’ ” ↩
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See part 1, chapter 14. ↩
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Phillips Brooks died . ↩
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The number of deaf-blind young enough to be benefited by education is not so large as this; but the education of this class of defectives has been neglected. ↩
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Read by Dr. Hale at the celebration of the centenary of Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe, at Tremont Temple, Boston, . ↩
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Most of this journal was lost. Fortunately, however, Helen Keller wrote so many letters and exercises that there is no lack of records of that sort. ↩
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See part 1, chapter 13. ↩
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See Miss Sullivan’s letter, May 8, 1887, and report of her lesson, April 5, 1887. ↩
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The difficulties which Miss Sullivan found in 1891 are, in a measure, the difficulties which show in Miss Keller’s speech today. ↩
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In this paper Miss Sullivan says: “During this winter (1891–92) I went with her into the yard while a light snow was falling, and let her feel the falling flakes. She appeared to enjoy it very much indeed. As we went in she repeated these words, ‘Out of the cloud-folds of his garments Winter shakes the snow.’ I inquired of her where she had read this; she did not remember having read it, did not seem to know that she had learned it. As I had never heard it, I inquired of several of my friends if they recalled the words; no one seemed to remember it. The teachers at the Institution expressed the opinion that the description did not appear in any book in raised print in that library; but one lady, Miss Marrett, took upon herself the task of examining books of poems in ordinary type, and was rewarded by finding the following lines in one of Longfellow’s minor poems, entitled ‘Snowflakes’:
‘Out of the bosom of the air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.’“It would seem that Helen had learned and treasured the memory of this expression of the poet, and this morning in the snowstorm had found its application.” ↩
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The entire letter is published on pp. 245 and 246 of the Report of the Perkins Institution for 1891. ↩
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From Birdie and His Fairy Friends, by Margaret T. Canby. ↩
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This letter was enclosed in another written in French, dated . ↩
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From Birdie and His Fairy Friends. ↩
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This note is a statement of the bare facts and an apology, which Mr. Anagnos inserted in his report of the Perkins Institute. ↩
