has captured the enemy's stronghold.

One of Helen's old habits, that is strongest and hardest to
correct, is a tendency to break things. If she finds anything in
her way, she flings it on the floor, no matter what it is: a
glass, a pitcher, or even a lamp. She has a great many dolls, and
every one of them has been broken in a fit of temper or ennui.
The other day a friend brought her a new doll from Memphis, and I
thought I would see if I could make Helen understand that she
must not break it. I made her go through the motion of knocking
the doll's head on the table and spelled to her: "No, no, Helen
is naughty. Teacher is sad," and let her feel the grieved
expression on my face. Then I made her caress the doll and kiss
the hurt spot and hold it gently in her arms, and I spelled to
her, "Good Helen, teacher is happy," and let her feel the smile
on my face. She went through these motions several times,
mimicking every movement, then she stood very still for a moment
with a troubled look on her face, which suddenly cleared, and she
spelled, "Good Helen," and wreathed her face in a very large,
artificial smile. Then she carried the doll upstairs and put it
on the top shelf of the wardrobe, and she has not touched it
since.

Please give my kind regards to Mr. Anagnos and let him see my
letter, if you think best. I hear there is a deaf and blind child
being educated at the Baltimore Institution.


June 2, 1887.