The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. “‘A SONG OF LADIES AND MY LADY “‘Saintly white and a lily is Mary, Margaret’s violets, sweet and shy; Green and dewy is Nellie-bud fairy, Forget-me-nots live in Gwendolen’s eye. He must know she’ll be at a convent. Dorling said deferentially. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. "Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. Roddy muffed two. "A miserly old woman.
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