OUR SENTIMENTAL GARDEN 



new fashion that appeared in our bench was promptly 

 copied by the bouncing Miss Condrens and Miss Mahons 

 opposite. 



There was, I recollect, one personage who inspired me 

 with great admiration. She was a Mrs. Condren and her 

 Christian name was Eliza. The daughter of what is 

 called a " warm farmer/ 7 she had been forbidden all thoughts 

 of matrimony by him, who held the holy estate in as 

 much disfavour as did Mrs. Browning's father. 

 Well on in years, and presumably bored by her maiden 

 state, she had at length eloped with an elderly admirer/ 

 and though she had " done very well for herself " and her 

 spouse was quite as " warm " as her papa, the latter main- 

 tained towards them both an undying resentment. No 

 wonder Mrs. Condren moved in a halo of romance in our 

 eyes. Added to this she was always very handsomely 

 attired in a shining purple silk, which filled the chapel with 

 its rustle. She also sported a yellow bonnet with bunches 

 of wax grapes andlast touch of elegancedependent 

 from its brim, a lace veil embroidered also with grapes, a 

 cluster of which completely covered one eye and part of 

 her cheek. 



Quite another type was old Judy in her little brown shawl 

 and lilac sun-bonnet, who knelt ostentatiously just in front 

 of the altar rails, apart from the rest of the congregation / 

 and who punctuated the service and sermon with loud 

 clacks of her tongue, groans from and thumps upon her 

 attenuated chest. My mother was once highly amused by 

 Judy's pantomime during a particular discourse. 

 " Blessed are the poor/' announced the young curate with 

 his rolling Irish emphasis. 

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