astic expectation, and away we
go! He set his heart upon hearing the thunderous roar of Niagara, so off
we went, by the White Star Line. His enjoyment was complete, when at last
he stood close to the Horseshoe Fall, on the Canadian side, with his hand
on the rail at the place where the spray showers over you, and the great
rushing boom seems all around. And as we stood there together, a little
bird on a twig beside us, began to sing!--Garth is putting it all into a
symphony.

How true is what you say of the genial friendliness of Americans! I was
thinking it over, on our homeward voyage. It seems to me, that, as a
rule, they are so far less self-conscious than we. Their minds are fully
at liberty to go out at once, in keenest appreciation and interest, to
meet a new acquaintance. Our senseless British greeting: "How do you
do?"--that everlasting question, which neither expects nor awaits an
answer, _can_ only lead to trite remarks about the weather; whereas
America's "I am happy to meet you, Mrs. Dalmain," or "I am pleased to
make your acquaintance, Lady Ingleby," is an open door, through which we
pass at once to fuller friendliness. Too often, in the moment of
introduction, the reserved British nature turns in upon itself,
sensitively debating what impression it is making; nervously afraid of
being too expansive; fearful of giving itself away. But, as I said, the
American mind comes forth to meet us with prompt interest and
appreciative expectation; and we make more friends, in that land of ready
sympathies, in half an hour, than we do in half a year of our own stiff
social functions. Perhaps you will put me down as biassed in my opinion.
Well, they were wondrous good to Garth and me; and we depend so greatly
upon people _saying_ exactly the right thing at the right moment. When
friendly looks cannot be seen, tactful words become more than ever a
necessity.

Yes, little Geoff's eyes are bright and shining, and the true golden
brown. In many other ways he is very like his father.

Garth sends his love, and promises you a special accompaniment to the
"Blackbird's Song," such as can easily be played with one finger!

It seems so strange to address this envelope to Mrs. O'Mara. It reminds
me of a time when I dropped my own identity and used another woman's
name. I only wish your experiment might end as happily as mine.

Ah, Myra dearest, there is a Best for every life! Sometimes we can only
reach it by a rocky path or