THE CHILDREN'S LIFE.
It was early in the sweet summer time. The young green leaves were bending over, and tenderly caressing the budding fruit and flowers, and the air was balmy with orchard blooms.
Your old friends, the Nightcap children, were as merry and happy and well as ever, except Charley—poor lame Charley. He was much worse; his sufferings had greatly increased with the dreadful hip disease, and a terrible cough racked his delicate and wasted frame. Death had been coming slowly on for a long time; but now he hastened his footsteps, and Charley knew that he should never see another summer in this world. He was not afraid to die—oh, no! the guileless, holy life of the gentle boy had robbed death of its sting. He well knew that this life was but a small part of our career, and the separation from those he loved so well, would be short. His faith in his Saviour was perfect and entire. He would soften the pang of parting to those left behind, and He would guide them with unchanged love to their darling in heaven.
The good little mother was advised by the doctor to take Charley into the country, somewhere up the beautiful Hudson River, among those grand old hills where the air is so bracing and pure.
It happened, fortunately, that one of her oldest friends, who was an officer at West Point, was obliged to leave there upon some government expedition for about three months; and he offered his pretty cottage to his friend for that time. This was most delightful, as Charley could have far more comfort living in this way than in a boarding-house; and the rest of the children would not have to be tied up by the leg to the bedposts, because their noise disturbed other people.
So the little mother gladly and gratefully accepted the offer, and was now very busy making up dozens of petticoats and panta loons, and coarse brown aprons, and great sun-bonnets, buying copper-toed shoes, so that the children might go where they pleased, and do any thing they liked, except tumble into the river, or fall down a well to live with the bull-frogs.
A few days before they left, the grand Japanese procession took place in New York; and Minnie said, "Oh, mamma, please take us to see the Jackanapes," which made the rest laugh. So down Broadway they all went, looking like a boarding-school that took boys as well as girls, with the little mother marching like a captain at their head, and turned into a fine store, opposite the City Hall Park, that belonged to their uncle, where they had such an excellent view, that their faces were a perfect picture of wonder and delight while the procession was passing.
"Dear me!" exclaimed George, "I am nearly crazy with joy; I wish the Japanese would come every day. How funny! they all look like old women in black nightgowns!"
"And their heads have little top-knots, like Poland hens," said Henry; "and see that fellow sticking his foot on the edge of the carriage—look! his great toe is put in a thumb!"