landscape we lose in the deepening twilight.


February 10, 1888.

We got home last night. We had a splendid time in Memphis, but I
didn't rest much. It was nothing but excitement from first to
last--drives, luncheons, receptions, and all that they involve
when you have an eager, tireless child like Helen on your hands.
She talked incessantly. I don't know what I should have done, had
some of the young people not learned to talk with her. They
relieved me as much as possible. But even then I can never have a
quiet half hour to myself. It is always: "Oh, Miss Sullivan,
please come and tell us what Helen means," or "Miss Sullivan,
won't you please explain this to Helen? We can't make her
understand." I believe half the white population of Memphis
called on us. Helen was petted and caressed enough to spoil an
angel; but I do not think it is possible to spoil her, she is too
unconscious of herself, and too loving.

The stores in Memphis are very good, and I managed to spend all
the money that I had with me. One day Helen said, "I must buy
Nancy a very pretty hat." I said, "Very well, we will go shopping
this afternoon." She had a silver dollar and a dime. When we
reached the shop, I asked her how much she would pay for Nancy's
hat. She answered promptly, "I will pay ten cents." "What will
you do with the dollar?" I asked. "I will buy some good candy to
take to Tuscumbia," was her reply.

We visited the Stock Exchange and a steamboat. Helen was greatly