here came a swift change of his features; his
face turned white, as the waters whiten when a sudden breath passes over
their still surface; the muscles instantly relaxed, and Iris, released
at once from her care for the sufferer and from his unconscious grasp,
fell senseless, with a feeble cry,--the only utterance of her long
agony.

Perhaps you sometimes wander in through the iron gates of the Copp's
Hill burial-ground. You love to stroll round among the graves that crowd
each other in the thickly peopled soil of that breezy summit. You
love to lean on the freestone slab which lies over the bones of the
Mathers,--to read the epitaph of stout William Clark, "Despiser of Sorry
Persons and little Actions,"--to stand by the stone grave of sturdy
Daniel Malcolm and look upon the splintered slab that tells the old
rebel's story,--to kneel by the triple stone that says how the three
Worthylakes, father, mother, and young daughter, died on the same day
and lie buried there; a mystery; the subject of a moving ballad, by the
late BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, as may be seen in his autobiography, which will
explain the secret of the triple gravestone; though the old philosopher
has made a mistake, unless the stone is wrong.

Not very far from that you will find a fair mound, of dimensions fit
to hold a well-grown man. I will not tell you the inscription upon the
stone which stands at its head; for I do not wish you to be sure of the
resting-place of one who could not bear to think that he should be known
as a cripple among the dead, after being pointed at so long among the
living. There is one sign, it is true, by which, if you have been a
sagacious reader of these papers, you will at once know it; but I fear
you read carelessly, and must study them more diligently before you will
detect the hint to which I allude.

The Little Gentleman lies where he longed to lie, among the old
names and the old bones of the old Boston people. At the foot of his
resting-place is the river, alive with the wings and antennae of its
colossal water-insects; over opposite are the great war-ships, and the
heavy guns, which, when they roar, shake the soil in which he lies; and
in the steeple of Christ Church, hard by, are the sweet chimes which are
the Boston boy's Ranz des Vaches, whose echoes follow him all the world
over.

In Pace!

I, told you a good while ago that the Little Gentleman could not do a
better thing than to leave a