your attention. There was a peace about him which told that death
had come too instantaneously to give any previous pain.

In a chair, at the head of the bed, sat the mother--smiling. She
held one of the hands (rapidly stiffening, even in her warm grasp),
and gently stroked the back of it, with the endearing caress she had
used to all her children when young.

"I am glad you are come," said she, looking up at her husband, and
still smiling. "Harry is so full of fun, he always has something
new to amuse us with; and now he pretends he is asleep, and that we
can't waken him. Look! he is smiling now; he hears I have found him
out. Look!"

And, in truth, the lips, in the rest of death, did look as though
they wore a smile, and the waving light of the unsnuffed candle
almost made them seem to move.

"Look, Amy," said she to her youngest child, who knelt at her feet,
trying to soothe her, by kissing her garments.

"Oh, he was always a rogue! You remember, don't you, love? how full
of play he was as a baby; hiding his face under my arm, when you
wanted to play with him. Always a rogue, Harry!"

"We must get her away, sir," said nurse; "you know there is much to
be done before"--

"I understand, nurse." said the father, hastily interrupting her in
dread of the distinct words which would tell of the changes of