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."

* * * * *

THE BOY AND THE GOLD ROBIN.

A bright eyed boy was sleeping upon a bank of blossoming clover. The
cool breeze lifted the curls from his brow, and fanned with downy
wings his quiet slumbers, while he lay under the refreshing shade of a
large maple tree. The birds sang to him during his happy hours of
sleep. By and by he awoke, and a beautiful gold robin sat on the
spray, and sung a song of joy. The boy reached out his hands to secure
the prize, but the robin spread his golden wings and soared away. He
looked after it with a longing gaze, and when it disappeared from his
sight, he wept aloud. At this moment, a form of light approached, and
took the hands of the child and pointed upwards; and he saw the bird
soaring in freedom, and the sun shining upon its burnished plumes.
Then the shining one said: "Do you love that beautiful bird?" In the
midst of his tears the child replied, "Oh, yes." "Then," said the
angel, "shall it not wing its flight from flower to flower and be
happy, rather than to dwell in a prison with thee?" Then the streams
and flowering vales of Elysium, that breathe the pure air of freedom,
spake: "Wouldst thou bring her back to thee, and make her a prisoner?
Dry up thy tears, and let thy song be, 'Stay not here, but speed thy
flight, O bright one, and snuff the mellow air of freedom.' God made
the birds to be happy in their short existence, and ought we to
deprive them of their own elements of happiness, and take from them
the freedom which they enjoy?"

*