ith a golden veil so beautiful, that no one saw her faults,
or, if they did, would not believe them to be faults at all.

Glynn, also, grew up and became a _man_. Observe, reader, we don't mean
to say that he became a thing with long legs, and broad shoulders, and
whiskers. Glynn became a real man; an out-and-out man; a being who
realised the fact that he had been made and born into the world for the
purpose of doing that world good, and leaving it better than he found
it. He did not think that to strut, and smoke cigars, and talk loud or
big, and commence most of his sentences with "Aw! 'pon my soul!" was the
summit of true greatness. Neither did he, flying in disgust to the
opposite extreme, speak like a misanthrope, and look like a bear, or
dress like a savage. He came to know the truth of the proverb, that
"there is a time for all things," and following up the idea suggested by
those words, he came to perceive that there is a place for all things--
that place being the human heart, when in a true and healthy condition
in all its parts, out of which, in their proper time, some of those "all
things" ought to be ever ready to flow. Hence Glynn could weep with the
sorrowful and laugh with the gay. He could wear a red or a blue flannel
shirt, and pull an oar (ay, the best oar) at a rowing match, or he could
read the Bible and pray with a bedridden old woman. Had Glynn Proctor
been a naval commander, he might have sunk, destroyed, or captured
fleets. Had he been a soldier, he might have stormed and taken cities;
being neither, he was a greater man than either, for he could "_rule his
own spirit_." If you are tempted, dear reader, to think that an easy
matter, just try it. Make the effort. The first time you chance to be
in a towering rage (which I trust, however, may never be), try to keep
your tongue silent, and, most difficult of all, try at that moment to
pray, and see whether your opinion as to your power over your own spirit
be not changed.

Such were Glynn and Ailie. "So they married, of course," you remark.
Well, reader, and why not? Nothing could be more natural. Glynn felt,
and said, too, that nothing was nearer his heart. And Ailie admitted--
after being told by Glynn that she must be his wife, for he wanted to
have her, and was determined to have her whether she would or not--that
her heart was in similar proximity to the idea of marriage. Captain
Dunning did not object--it would have been odd