ank you for all your love and kindness. I
thank you all; I bless you all. God bless you all;" and thus to the
end, grateful and loving, Charley spoke his last words.

For now his silken hair lay heavy and damp upon his snow-white
forehead; and as the solemn twilight deepened into shade, and the
first star broke like a promise in the sky, one little upward
fluttering sigh was heard, and they knew that this life was ended, and
Charley was winging his bright way to HEAVEN.

Not a word was spoken, not a sob broke the stillness. The moonbeams,
struggling into the room, disclosed the little mother on her knees by
the small white couch, her head buried in the white coverings. The
children sat sorrow-stricken, motionless, almost breathless, their
eyes fastened on the face of the dead child, in a despairing hope that
he might speak again; but not a breath stirred those still lips. The
good doctor, after a while, tenderly raised the heart-broken mother,
and led her away, and then sending for some kind neighbors, they
gently and lovingly prepared the remains of Charley for their last
quiet resting-place.

How lovely now looked what was left of the good and lovely boy. The
glistening golden curls pressed closely around the broad, open brow,
white as a lily, and a heaven-sent smile just parted the pale lips.
The leaves of a cluster of white roses curled around his little hands,
which were folded so tenderly above his stilled and quiet heart; and
every flower that he loved was placed with tears and kisses all about
him.

But oh! what a desolate cry arose in those children's hearts when the
little coffin was closed, and the sweet, peaceful face was seen no
more. Charley was in heaven--Charley was happy, but they wanted him,
_they wanted him_.

It seemed so cruel that the world should go on gay as ever, and their
Charley dead. They wondered, as they came on board the boat, which was
to carry what was left of their darling back to New York, they
wondered why every face was not tearful, when theirs was so full of
sorrow.

They made a little grave for him in the beautiful Greenwood Cemetery.
The soft moonlight sleeps lovingly upon it, and people tread lightly
as they approach and read the name of "LAME CHARLEY."

Slowly and sadly passed the rest of the summer, for the little mother
told no more stories. Once she tried, for she could not bear to see
the sad faces of her children; alas! that one vanished face, with its
sweet, grat