A little boy, by the name of Bertie, was taken very ill, and for
sometime continued to grow weaker until he died. A few hours before his
death he revived up, and his first request was, to be bathed in the
river; but his mother persuaded him to be sponged only, as the river
water would be too cold for his weak frame. After his mother had sponged
him with water, he desired to be dressed; when his mother dressed him in
his green coat and white collar, and seated him at the table with all
his books and worldly treasures around him. As he sat there, one would
have thought that he was about to commence a course of study; and yet in
the marble paleness of his features, and in the listless and languid
eye, there was evidence that life in the boy was like an expiring taper,
flickering in the socket. He soon asked to go out in his little
carriage. His grandfather, whom he very much loved, placed him in it,
and carefully avoiding every stone, drew him to a spot commanding the
entire landscape. The tide was up, and the sun was shining on the deep
blue waters, and bathing the distant mountains and the green meadows in
liquid gold. The gardens and orchards around were gay in the rich
crimson blossoms of the apple tree; the air was filled with the sweet
fragrance of flowers, and the birds were singing beautifully, when
little Bertie looked for the last time on the scenes of earth. He could
not remain long, and was soon taken back to the little parlor, where he
sat on the sofa, resting his elbows on the table. It was not long before
the little boy died. But he was very happy. Among his last words were
these, addressed to his little sister three years old: "Well, Emmie,
very ill--me going to Jesus." "Oh, mamma, Emmie loves her Saviour."