a little ship at sea." Of a test of Helen's hearing when she was eight years old, Miss Sullivan writes: "All present were astonished when she appeared to hear not only a whistle, but also an ordinary tone of voice. She would turn her head, smile and act as though she had heard what was said. I was then standing beside her, holding her hand. Thinking that she was receiving impressions from mo, I put her hands upon the table and withdrew to the opposite side of the room. The aurists then tried their experiments with quite different results. Helen remained motionless through them all, not once showing the least sign that she realized what was going on." "A medallion of Homer hangs on the wall of my study, conveniently low, so that I can easily reach it and touch the beautiful, sad face with loving reverence. How well I know each line in that majestic brow—tracks of life and bitter evidences of struggle and sorrow; those sightless eyes seeking, even in the cold plaster, for the light and the blue skies of his beloved Hellas, but seeking in vain; the beautiful mouth, firm and true and tender. It is the face of a poet and of a man acquainted with sorrow." Her occupation during a lecture at college is thus described: "The lectures are spelled into my hand as rapidly as possible, and much of the individuality of the lecturer is lost to me in the effort to keep in the race. The words rush through my hand like hounds in pursuit of a hare which they often miss. But in this respect, I do not think I am much worse off than the girls who take notes. If the mind is occupied with the mechanical process of hearing and putting words on paper at pell-mell speed, I should not think one could pay much attention to the subject under consideration or the manner in which it is presented. I can not make notes during the lecture because my hands are busy listening."
The position of the sense of smell in the commonwealth of sensation is for Homo sapiens not a very lofty one. Its exercise is limited, and even when efficient, it is tabooed by the dictates of good manners. Yet it combines, even in those with a full quota of senses, with other forms of knowledge-getting, and frequently has a leading associative force. For the deaf-blind any 'window of the soul,' however narrow its aperture, is a welcome source of illumination; and it is easy to discover in the narrative of Helen Keller's experiences, references and allusions that clearly indicate the direct and associative value of olfactory impressions.
"We walked down to the well-house, attracted by the fragrance of the honeysuckle with which it was covered." "Suddenly a change passed over the tree [in which she was seated]. All the sun's warmth left the air. I knew the sky was black, because all the heat, which meant light to me, had died out of the atmosphere. A strange odor came up from the earth. I knew it was the odor that always precedes
