l combined to erect a
triumphal arch of, great splendor, and the woman showed such sensibility
in the choice of mottoes, and such a nice appreciation of the joys of
matrimony, together with a decided leaning towards the bridegroom's
side of the arch, that the shoemaker suggested that she should suit her
actions to her words--that was how he expressed it--and marry him, which
she agreed to do. But she afterwards explained, in breaking the news to
her friends, that they could have knocked her down with a leaf! Whether
this was due to the weakened state of her heart, or to her precarious
position on the ladder, I do not know.

Everybody and everything was in a bustle, with the exception of Aunt
Cecilia, who sat through it all as calm and as beautiful as ever. Not
that she did not feel parting with Pauline, but her love for everybody
and everything was of a nature so purely unselfish that it never
occurred to her to count the cost to herself.

I have never met any one who so completely combines in her character
gentleness and strength as does Aunt Cecilia: so gentle in spirit and
judgment, and so strong in her fight for principles and beliefs. If she
has a weakness, and I could never wish any one I love to be without one,
it lies in her love for Patience. She does not think it right to play in
the morning, but sometimes, being unable to withstand the temptation of
so doing, she plays it in an empty drawer of her writing-table, and if
she hears any one coming, she can close the drawer!

Her greatest interest in life, next to her husband and children, is her
garden and other people's gardens. In fact, she looks at life generally
from a gardening point of view, and is apt to regard men as gardeners,
possible gardeners, or gardeners wasted. As gardeners they have their
very distinct use, and as such deserve every consideration, but if a
man will not till the soil, he is a cumberer thereof. She, at least,
inclines that way in thought. Life, she says, is a garden, children the
flowers, parents the gardeners. "If we treated children as we do roses,
they would be far happier. We don't call roses naughty when they grow
badly and refuse to flower as they ought to; we blame the gardeners or
the soil."

"But, Aunt Cecilia," I say, "one can recommend an unsatisfactory
gardener to a friend, but one can't so dispose of unsatisfactory
parents."

"You must educate them, dear."

Now all this sounds very convincing when said by Aunt Ce