Even when she describes spoiled children and domestic discord, as in _A Very Ill-Tempered Family_, we get an attractive portrait of Isobel, who becomes the peace-maker and is herself helped in her time of struggle by passages from Thomas à Kempis and the petitions of the “Te Deum,” and who is enabled to conciliate and save her hot-tempered brother. This sketch and the companion one of _A Great Emergency_ are full of quaint wit and wisdom, though with fewer verbal quips than the earlier tales. Mrs. Ewing has the art of wrapping up her advice in a fascinating story, and does not make her pills with eight corners. The felicitously chosen titles, often reminding us of John Bunyan, by no means disappoint the reader. Many may think that _Lob Lie by the Fire_ is her completest work of art; and certainly it is a skilfully constructed composition, with a fragrance as of _Cranford_ in its earlier scenes. But it is in the trilogy of her last years that her powers culminated. Between 1879 and 1882 Mrs. Ewing produced the three works most widely popular—_Jackanapes_, _Daddy Darwin’s Dovecot_, and _The Story of a Short Life_. These constitute an imperishable memorial to her genius, and have sold in enormous numbers, reaching to one hundred and fifty thousand in the case of _Jackanapes_. In these books every sentence is carefully chosen; no superfluous word is to be found; we get pen pictures of rarest excellence. In _Jackanapes_ we have the high ideal of soldierly self-sacrifice, and in _The Story of a Short Life_ the application of military habits and endurance to a crippled and stunted life. In _Daddy Darwin’s Dovecot_ we have a sweet idyll of village life. The lad, John March, on emerging from the workhouse school, has the double ambition to be a choir-boy and to take care of doves. We delight to trace his fidelity and diligence; his master soon sees and says that “he’s no vagrant.” “He’s fettling up all along. Jack’s the sort that if he finds a key he’ll look for the lock; if ye give him a knife-blade, he’ll fashion a heft.” And in the peaceful close of the story we listen to the master, with his last strength, saying to his adopted son, “’Twas that sweet voice o’ thine took me back again to public worship, and it’s not the least of all I owe thee, Jack March. A poor reason, lad, for taking up with a neglected duty—a poor reason—but the Lord is a God of mercy, or there’d be small chance for most of us.” As the old man died “his lips were trembling with the smile of acutest joy.”