most probably have become a geyser. I don't know why, but she went on a visit to Henderson after that evening in the arbor. I suspect the governing power of Georgiana's wisdom to have been put forth here, for within a few days I received from Sylvia a letter which she asked me not to show to Georgiana, and in which she invited me to correspond with her secretly. The letter was of a singularly adhesive quality as to the emotions. Throughout she referred to herself as "the exile," although it was plain that she wrote in the highest spirits; and in concluding she openly charged Georgiana with having given her a black eye--a most unspeakable phrase, surely picked up in the school-room. As a return for the black eye, Sylvia said that she had composed a poem to herself, a copy of which she enclosed. I quote Sylvia's commemorative verses upon her wrongs and her banishment. They show features of metrical excess, and can scarcely claim to reflect the polish of her calmer art; but they are of value to me as proving that whatever the rebuke Georgiana may have given, it had rebounded from that elastic spirit. LINES TO MYSELF Oh! she was a lovely girl, So pretty and so fair, With gentle, love-lit _eyes_, And wavy, dark brown hair. I loved the gentle girl, But, oh! I heaved a sigh When first she told me she could see Out of only _one_ eye. But soon I thought within myself I'd better save my tear and sigh _To bestow upon an older person I know Who has more than one eye_. She is brave and intelligent Too. She is witty and wise. She'll accomplish more now than _another person_ I know Who has _two_ eyes. Ah, you need not pity _her_! _She_ needs not your tear and sigh. She'll make good use, I tell you, Of her _one_ remaining eye. In the home where we are hastening, In our eternal Home on High,