ar as I have toward natural speech. In the first place, I laboured
night and day before I could be understood even by my most intimate
friends; in the second place, I needed Miss Sullivan's assistance
constantly in my efforts to articulate each sound clearly and to
combine all sounds in a thousand ways. Even now she calls my attention
every day to mispronounced words.

All teachers of the deaf know what this means, and only they can at all
appreciate the peculiar difficulties with which I had to contend. In
reading my teacher's lips I was wholly dependent on my fingers: I had
to use the sense of touch in catching the vibrations of the throat, the
movements of the mouth, and the expression of the face; and often this
sense was at fault. In such cases I was forced to repeat the words or
sentences, sometimes for hours, until I felt the proper ring in my own
voice. My work was practice, practice, practice. Discouragement and
weariness cast me down frequently; but the next moment the thought that
I should soon be at home and show my loved ones what I had
accomplished, spurred me on, and I eagerly looked forward to their
pleasure in my achievement.

"My little sister will understand me now," was a thought stronger than
all obstacles. I used to repeat ecstatically, "I am not dumb now." I
could not be despondent while I anticipated the delight of talking to
my mother and reading her responses from her lips. It astonished me to
find how much easier it is to talk than to spell with the fingers, and
I discarded the manual alphabet as a medium of communication on my
part; but Miss Sullivan and a few friends still use it in speaking to
me, for it is more convenient and more rapid than lip-reading.

Just here, perhaps, I had better explain our use of the manual
alphabet, which seems to puzzle people who do not know us. One who
reads or talks to me spells with his hand, using the single-hand manual
alphabet generally employed by the deaf. I place my hand on the hand
of the speaker so lightly as not to impede its movements. The position
of the hand is as easy to feel as it is to see. I do not feel each
letter any more than you see each letter separately when you read.
Constant practice makes the fingers very flexible, and some of my
friends spell rapidly--about as fast as an expert writes on a
typewriter. The mere spelling is, of course, no more a conscious act
than it is in writing.

When I had made speech my own, I