with respect for the future clerical rank of her nephew, and for his
already being a bachelor of arts. The old woman's voice spoke outside of
Septimius, rambling away, and he paying little heed, till at last dinner
was over, and Septimius drew back his chair, about to leave the table.

"Nephew Septimius," said the old woman, "you began this meal to-day without
asking a blessing, you get up from it without giving thanks, and you soon
to be a minister of the Word."

"God bless the meat," replied Septimius (by way of blessing), "and make it
strengthen us for the life he means us to bear. Thank God for our food,"
he added (by way of grace), "and may it become a portion in us of an
immortal body."

"That sounds good, Septimius," said the old lady. "Ah! you'll be a mighty
man in the pulpit, and worthy to keep up the name of your
great-grandfather, who, they say, made the leaves wither on a tree with
the fierceness of his blast against a sin. Some say, to be sure, it was an
early frost that helped him."

"I never heard that before, Aunt Keziah," said Septimius.

"I warrant you no," replied his aunt. "A man dies, and his greatness
perishes as if it had never been, and people remember nothing of him only
when they see his gravestone over his old dry bones, and say he was a good
man in his day."

"What truth there is in Aunt Keziah's words!" exclaimed Septimius. "And how
I hate the thought and anticipation of that contemptuous appreciation of a
man after his death! Every living man triumphs over every dead one, as he