Willie spoke not, but a grieved, yet tender expression rested on his countenance, and his mamma, taking a hand of each within her own, told her that if she were good, if they all were good children, they should go to Willie--although he might not stay with them. She told them of the glorious home to which he was hastening--how happy he would be--never to suffer more--of the white robe--the starry crown and the tiny golden harp that should be his--and how he would be their guardian angel, through day and hush of night, and how joyfully he would welcome each one to his happy home. That mother's heart was bursting, and yet her absorbing love for her child nerved her to this, and as she told of that clime where "the soul wears its mantle of glory," the little sufferer's eye grew so intensely bright that it seemed unearthly. Visions of Heaven seemed opened to his view, and with a face radiant with delight he clasped his hands, and said, "Dear mamma, let me go now." "We must wait, my child, till God sends his angels for you." "Yes," he murmured, "till the angels come," and sunk exhausted into a slumber. Slowly and quietly the children departed--and when next they looked upon him he was shrouded for the grave. In a few moments he awoke, and as he missed the little faces that had been around him, a sad look rested for a moment upon his face--but in an instant, as his eye rested on his young sister, he smiled feebly, and exclaimed--"_They_ are all gone--yet my sweet Lillias is with me still." That night the angels kept vigil around his couch, and ere morn arose upon the earth the unsullied spirit was wafted to its native Heaven. Never--never can _that_ night of Death be effaced from the tablets of memory--marked as it was by such holy, heavenly heroism on the part of that fond and devoted mother. Burning tears were on the father's cheek, and the young Lillias had sobbed herself into a feverish slumber, but until life was over _the mother_ sat by the side of her child, breathing sweet, low whispers of the Better Land, so soon to be his home. She faltered not, and although her heart seemed consuming itself, she would still trace, with an eye of faith, new rays of comfort for the dying one. She could not bear to think that his childish heart should shrink from the grave--nor think of it--invested as it is so often--with dread and gloom. Thus she sustained him to the very portals of Heaven, until he needed earthly consolation no more, until the sheltering arms of Him received him, who hath said--"Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven." As peacefully as a child sinks to rest on a mother's bosom, sunk he into Death's embrace.