The Argosy — page 169: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Our Middy. 157 new silk, Carry. Easter was so cold I didn’t put it on, and now it will do nicely for my wedding-gown.” “ Aunty, are you going to be married ?” I said, kissing the dear old face. My aunt blushed, and declared I was so upset I could not speak a word of sense. Well, I was married, and my dear aunt wore the new silk, and we went straight to Grenford on a lovely summer day. Michael’s old house- keeper and her niece had been settled there a week beforehand, and the furniture of his bachelor days, with some few additions, was all we had to begin with. But how pretty it all looked when we walked across the fields from the station. The scent of a gloire de dijon rose always recalls that summer evening to me. I never see any so fine as ours. What a strange power flowers and music have—how they bring back with a sudden thrill days that are past, friends who have “ gone home to rest,” whilst we are still toiling over our task! And when all was quiet and peaceful, Michael took the big key of the church, and we went through the garden, under the lime trees, and into the church, and kneeling again before the altar, prayed our prayers for ourselves and for each other: that now when God had given us our desire He might not send /eanness withal into our souls. Within the year Mr. Grenville died, and it was after his death that my acquaintance with Mrs. Grenville deepened into friendship and affection. She was as nearly perfect as I imagine any human being can be ; one of the few who can always be showering benefits on others without making them feel under obligations. It was such a pleasure to her to do a kindness, it almost seemed as if a hearty appreciation of it made Her the one who was obliged. I never saw anything so beautiful as her manner in a cottage, and the whole parish adored her. Harry was like his mother, and the most loving and lovable boy I ever met. He was always in mischief, yet everyone lovedhim. He painted my large white cat to look like a tiger, and the poor animal had to be killed ; but there were floods of tears, and the only punishment I inflicted was not letting him dig the hole and superintend the burial. He was a clever lad, though never given to study overmuch. He was very fond of music. He did not inherit this from his mother; and his guardian, an old-fashioned sort of unmusical man, objected strongly to his learning. It led young men into low society, he thought. Such a mistake ! I am certain music is a talent to foster in aboy. Harry would sit quiet by the hour when I was playing, and I was the culprit who taught him. And wonderful progress he made. It was a sort of secret from his mother which she was well aware of all the time. I never shall forget one Sunday afternoon when Harry ventured to perform on the grand pianoforte in the drawing-room. I happened {to be in the garden with Mrs, Grenville when the sounds of “Campdown Racecourse,” and “Slap Bang,” reached- us,‘ His comliichooks.com