were as gentle as kittens; but I told her they would get wild and
fierce as they grew older. She said to the keeper, "I will take
the baby lions home and teach them to be mild." The keeper of the
bears made one big black fellow stand on his hind legs and hold
out his great paw to us, which Helen shook politely. She was
greatly delighted with the monkeys and kept her hand on the star
performer while he went through his tricks, and laughed heartily
when he took off his hat to the audience. One cute little fellow
stole her hair-ribbon, and another tried to snatch the flowers
out of her hat. I don't know who had the best time, the monkeys,
Helen or the spectators. One of the leopards licked her hands,
and the man in charge of the giraffes lifted her up in his arms
so that she could feel their ears and see how tall they were. She
also felt a Greek chariot, and the charioteer would have liked to
take her round the ring; but she was afraid of "many swift
horses." The riders and clowns and rope-walkers were all glad to
let the little blind girl feel their costumes and follow their
motions whenever it was possible, and she kissed them all, to
show her gratitude. Some of them cried, and the wild man of
Borneo shrank from her sweet little face in terror. She has
talked about nothing but the circus ever since. In order to
answer her questions, I have been obliged to read a great deal
about animals. At present I feel like a jungle on wheels!


December 12, 1887.

I find it hard to realize that Christmas is almost here, in spite
of the fact that Helen talks about nothing else. Do you remember
what a happy time we had last Christmas?