ithin, for there she
found Warwick's Essays, and between each of these one of the poems from
Moor's Diary. Far away there in Switzerland they had devised this
pleasure for her, and done honor to the woman whom they both loved, by
dedicating to her the first fruits of their lives. "Alpen Rosen" was its
title, and none could have better suited it in Sylvia's eyes, for to her
Warwick was the Alps and Moor the roses. Each had helped the other;
Warwick's rugged prose gathered grace from Moor's poetry, and Moor's
smoothly flowing lines acquired power from Warwick's prose. Each had
given her his best, and very proud was Sylvia of the little book, over
which she pored day after day, living on and in it, eagerly collecting
all praises, resenting all censures, and thinking it the one perfect
volume in the world.

Others felt and acknowledged its worth as well, for though fashionable
libraries were not besieged by inquiries for it, and no short-lived
enthusiasm welcomed it, a place was found for it on many study tables,
where real work was done. Innocent girls sang the songs and loved the
poet, while thoughtful women, looking deeper, honored the man. Young men
received the Essays as brave protests against the evils of the times,
and old men felt their faith in honor and honesty revive. The wise saw
great promise in it, and the most critical could not deny its beauty and
its power.

Early in autumn arrived a fresh delight; and Jessie's little daughter
became peacemaker as well as idol. Mark forgave his enemies, and swore
eternal friendship with all mankind the first day of his baby's life;
and when his sister brought it to him he took both in his arms, making
atonement for many hasty words and hard thoughts by the broken whisper--

"I have two little Sylvias now."

This wonderful being absorbed both households, from grandpapa to the
deposed sovereign Tilly, whom Sylvia called her own, and kept much with
her; while Prue threatened to cause a rise in the price of stationery by
the daily and copious letters full of warning and advice which she sent,
feeling herself a mother in Israel among her tribe of nine, now safely
carried through the Red Sea of scarlatina. Happy faces made perpetual
sunshine round the little Sylvia, but to none was she so dear a boon as
to her young god-mother. Jessie became a trifle jealous of "old Sylvia,"
as she now called herself, for she almost lived in baby's nursery;
hurrying over in time to assist at