The Ruling Passion Strong in Death

She had been a beauty and a belle in the days of Gen. Jackson. She had been a fine, well-kept ruin along through the days of Zachary Taylor and Franklin Pierce. Somehow she had held her own with Andy Johnson, but she [...] down the home-stretch with Ulysses, and here, on the dawn of a third term, or an impeachment, the poor woman was put to bed for the last time. She was past speaking, but she peevishly motioned toward her head and a neighboring box, from which her affectionate daughter took a flower-trimmed cap. The poor old head, so soon to be taking its final rest, was stuck into it, a lace handkerchief thrown over the helpless hand, and, sensible of her improved appearance, the dying woman listened to the minister. By this time several members of the family arrived, and a doctor, making his regular visit, said, "Mrs. — can't [last] an hour, at the farthest," and so left us alone with the old, old woman, already within the shadow of those mysterious gates.

She was in the full possession of her senses, occasionally getting a faint renewal of her vocal powers, and weakly whispering something unintelligible to the anxious ears that bent above her. From the recess of a window a tearful group speculated what the last struggling, flickering desire might be. "It's about Robert, her son that's in Havana," whispered a niece. "No! poor old dear; it's some agony in her head; see, she motions toward it," returned another. "Perhaps she wants the window open," suggested a disciple of A.J. Davis; "you know when a person is dying, they either desire a window raised, or some one is impelled to raise one, and thus the freed spirit makes its exit." This theory struck me as being the right thing, when grandma got one more purchase on the flying silver thread so nearly broken. This time we heard it: almost strong were the last words of dear, old, fashionable grandma, and they were these: "Don't bury me in Barker's front."

Does any one surmise that "Barker's front" is a fashionable portion of the family lot in Greenwood? Far from it. The "Barker's front" from which this dying woman turned away was a new front-piece of black hair made by a hair-dresser named Barker, which had never suited this old lady. Of all the "last words" on record, it seems to me these few feeble remarks of Grandma G— are the most characteristic.