against all ailments,
it would seem. It is hard to conceive of her as yielding to the great
conqueror. If the tongue and an inflexibility of temper were the
weapons, she would whip Death from her chamber at the last. It seems
like amiability almost to hear such a one as she talk of her
approaching, inevitable dissolution,--so kindly in her to yield that
point!

And she does; she declares it over and over, there are far feebler ones
who do not declare it half so often. If she is to be conquered and the
Johns banner go down, she will accept the defeat so courageously and so
long in advance that the defeat shall become a victorious confirmation
of the Johns prophecy.

She is still earnest in all her duties; she gives cast-away clothing to
the poor, and good advice with it. She is rigorous in the observance of
every propriety; no storm keeps her from church. If the children of a
new generation climb unduly upon the pew-backs, or shake their curly
heads too wantonly, she lifts a prim forefinger at them, which has lost
none of its authoritative meaning. She is the impersonation of all good
severities. A strange character! Let us hope that, as it sloughs off its
earthly cerements, it may in the Divine presence scintillate charities
and draw toward it the love of others. A good, kind, bad
gentlewoman,--unwearied in performance of duties. We wonder as we think
of her! So steadfast, we cannot sneer at her,--so true to her line of
faith, we cannot condemn her,--so utterly forbidding, we cannot love
her! May God give rest to her good, stubborn soul!

* * * * *

Upon Sundays of August and September there may be occasionally seen in
the pew of Elderkin Junior a gray-haired old gentleman, dressed with
scrupulous care, and still carrying an erect figure, though somewhat
gouty in his step. This should be Mr. Maverick, a retired merchant, who
is on a visit to his daughter. He makes wonderful gifts to a certain
little boy who bears a Puritan name, and gives occasional ponderous sums
to the parish. In winter, his head-quarters are at the Union Club.

And Doctor Johns? Yes, he is living still,--making his way wearily each
morning along the street with his cane. Going oftenest, perhaps, to the
home of Adele, who is now a matron,--a tender, and most womanly and
joyful matron,--and with her little boy--Reuben Elderkin by name--he
wanders often to the graves where sleep his best beloved,--Rachel, so
early l