He lay upon his little bed, moaning as he moved his aching head from side to side, his pretty curls all strewed about his pillow. The children _would_ come to him--he recognised them at times; then the large blue eye would grow dim--the angel face would flush and pale by turns--the lips would murmur indistinct sounds, and he would grasp my hand convulsively--"Water, water," was his perpetual cry--a burning-thirst tormented him. One of his young playmates held the cup to him, my darling drank from it, and tried to raise his weary head and bow his thanks, but sunk back with a cry of anguish. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The few sands in the hour-glass of that little life ran slowly out; the light from the beautiful eyes shone into mine like rays of hope. The children gazed tearfully upon their "pretty Frank;" he would try to smile, and once he spoke. "Mamma," he whispered, "you will be sorry for poor little Francy--kiss me, mamma; I love you." I bent down--my hot tears fell upon his face--he felt them not--my little flower faded so gently away, that we knew not the moment his spirit departed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ My cup of sorrow was full to the brim.--With anguish too deep for tears, I performed the last offices of love for my darling. I would fain have followed him to his grave in the burying-ground near the fortress; often it seems to me now that there only could I find rest. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ But this is sinful--I should rather pray that my sorrows may be my blessings in futurity. Mr Trail came to me with his gentle words of peace and consolation, but my rebellious heart refused all comfort. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ I _would_ see my darling's little coffin borne from the fortress. I sat at a window that overlooked the gateway, and watched the simple procession with a heart so still, that it seemed turned to stone in its agony. My eyes were fixed and tearless, I dreaded the last look of that coffin which held all my hopes. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ I am a soldier's daughter--but I could take no pride, for the sake of my darling, in the last honours that were paid his little corpse--as it passed the gate, the guard of the Fifty --st regiment turned out and presented arms to the coffin. At this simple but characteristic compliment to my dead child, the well-springs of my full heart overflowed, and I burst into tears. The procession passed through thee gateway, the soldiers retired to the guard-house, the single sentry kept his measured beat, and I, in my desolation, cast myself upon my bed and cried aloud, "What _have_ I done, what _have_ I done, to be so afflicted by the hand of God?"