It was early in the sweet summer time. The young green leaves were bending over, and tenderly caressing the budding fruit and flowers, and the air was balmy with orchard blooms.

Your old friends, the Nightcap children, were as merry and happy and well as ever, except Charley—poor lame Charley. He was much worse; his sufferings had greatly increased with the dreadful hip disease, and a terrible cough racked his delicate and wasted frame. Death had been coming slowly on for a long time; but now he hastened his footsteps, and Charley knew that he should never see another summer in this world. He was not afraid to die—oh, no! the guileless, holy life of the gentle boy had robbed death of its sting. He well knew that this life was but a small part of our career, and the separation from those he loved so well, would be short. His faith in his Saviour was perfect and entire. He would soften the pang of parting to those left behind, and He would guide them with unchanged love to their darling in heaven.

The good little mother was advised by the doctor to take Charley into the country, somewhere up the beautiful Hudson River, among those grand old hills where the air is so bracing and pure.

It happened, fortunately, that one of her oldest friends, who was an officer at West Point, was obliged to leave there upon some government expedition for about three months; and he offered his pretty cottage to his friend for that time. This was most delightful, as Charley could have far more comfort living in this way than in a boarding-house; and the rest of the children would not have to be tied up by the leg to the bedposts, because their noise disturbed other people.

So the little mother gladly and gratefully accepted the offer, and was now very busy making up dozens of petticoats and panta loons, and coarse brown aprons, and great sun-bonnets, buying copper-toed shoes, so that the children might go where they pleased, and do any thing they liked, except tumble into the river, or fall down a well to live with the bull-frogs.

A few days before they left, the grand Japanese procession took place in New York; and Minnie said, "Oh, mamma, please take us to see the Jackanapes," which made the rest laugh. So down Broadway they all went, looking like a boarding-school that took boys as well as girls, with the little mother marching like a captain at their head, and turned into a fine store, opposite the City Hall Park, that belonged to their uncle, where they had such an excellent view, that their faces were a perfect picture of wonder and delight while the procession was passing.

"Dear me!" exclaimed George, "I am nearly crazy with joy; I wish the Japanese would come every day. How funny! they all look like old women in black nightgowns!"

"And their heads have little top-knots, like Poland hens," said Henry; "and see that fellow sticking his foot on the edge of the carriage—look! his great toe is put in a thumb!"

At this they all laughed, and Harry, laughing too, cried out: "I don't mean that; I mean that they knit thumbs in their stockings, and stick their great toes in;—dear! how it must tickle!"

It was a grand sight. Many of the stores were decorated with numerous little Japanese flags, which consist of a large red ball in the centre of a plain white surface, and many Japanese lanterns were hung around. The soldiers looked and marched splendidly; and the fine music was enchanting. Guns were firing in the Park, and smoking and flaming like steamboat funnels: little boys were popping off squibs and crackers, and everybody seemed perfectly happy.

"Dear me!" cried Arthur, "I wish I could hear the speeches they intend to make. I suppose they will be stuck full of compliments, not a word of which the Mayor will understand; but, of course, he will bow a great many times to show that he agrees with it all: and then he, in return, will make a speech to the ambassadors, all flaming over with fine words and flummery, and the Japanese will bow all in a row like four-and-twenty fiddlers—and oh! how nice it will all be!"

When the children got home, they told Charley about the grand procession, all speaking at once; and one of them put on an old black gown of his mother's, and half shut his eyes, and would have shaved his head, if his mother had let him, to show Charley just how they looked; because he, poor little fellow, had to stay behind—he could not have endured the fatigue of that long day away from home. But his kind little mother never forgot him; she was de termined he should see something; so about eight o'clock that evening, two horses, with a nice comfortable barouche, were driven up to the door, and Charley was tenderly lifted in, and two large pillows were placed behind and at his side, and his mother and two of the oldest children were driven slowly down Broadway to see the illumination.

The street was crowded. Beautiful colored lanterns were hung here and there, and little Japanese flags fluttered in every direction. As they came near the great Metropolitan Hotel, where the Japanese were staying, the crowd increased, and a burst of delightful surprise broke from Charley and the rest, as the beautiful blazing windows came in view. In each of the several hundred win dows were fine Japanese lanterns of different colors and two little flags. Such a glittering and a fluttering as they made! and over the door was the word "Welcome," in blazing gas-burners, with the splendid flag of the United States on one side, and a great Japanese banner on the other. Everybody was shouting and hurrahing, and every up-turned face looked happy, but none so merry and joyous as the children in the carriage; their eyes fairly danced with delight, and their faces looked as if they had been illuminated too. All they wanted was to have two little Japanese flags fastened to their ears, and to be placed in the windows, to have beaten the lanterns and gas-burners all to pieces.

After they had looked just as long as they liked, and shouted and waved their hats, when they saw any of the Japanese at the windows shaking out their queer-looking black pocket-handkerchiefs with round white spots, the carriage turned round, and the children had a fine drive home, perfectly delighted with the unusual grandeur of a ride in a carriage at night; that was almost the best of all, to be out after bed-time. They thought they could never admire the bright stars enough, which, with their sleepless eyes, watched the world below—fit emblems of the difference between the things made by man, and the enduring works of God. Before long those glittering lights below would fade and die; while these heavenly luminaries would shine on forever.

The next evening the little mother thought she would call upon Captain Porter, who had the Japanese in charge. He was a brave, noble-hearted officer, and an old friend, and accordingly she went with some other friends. Captain Porter received them very kindly, and amused them very much with funny accounts of how the Japanese were stared at, and sometimes annoyed by people who ought to know better. While she sat there, there came a knock at the door, and a morocco case was handed in: it was opened; and what do you think appeared? You will hardly believe it: some sets of false teeth; one set of them jet black, as a present! The little mother laughed, and wondered if the dentist who sent them, thought the Japanese would want to have their own teeth pulled right out, and these put right in. Then two gentlemen came in, and wanted Captain Porter to persuade the Japanese to buy a lot of guns from them, very cheap, indeed. Then, who do you think came in? Why, "Little Tommy," the young Japanese that everybody was talking about.

He looked so very smiling, that the two comical little triangular slits in his head which served for eyes nearly disappeared, when Captain Porter took him by the hand and introduced him to the little mother.

"How do?" said he, and shook hands with her; then he took up Captain Porter's sword and belt and buckled it round his waist, and said, "Ver good sword, indeed;" then he tried on the Captain's naval uniform cap, with the gold band round it, and ran and looked in the glass. It would not go on very well, on account of Tommy's pig-tail, which was fastened in a knot on the very top of his half-shaven pate, and which stuck up rather inconveniently: then the Captain said, "Tommy, this lady wants to see the portrait of your little Washington sweetheart; come, show it to her."

"No show," said Tommy; which answer made the little mother esteem him very much, because it was plain that he had too much self-respect, and too much respect for the young lady, if she was a little girl only twelve years old, to show her likeness to every stranger. He was not going to be made fun of. Not he!

Presently the little mother got up to go; and, shaking hands with Tommy, said, "Good-bye Tommy; I mean to send you a 'Nightcap' book. It is written by 'Aunt Fanny.' Say, Aunt Fanny."

"Arnta Farnny. Yes! I like it," answered Tommy, holding the little mother's hand; "but you," he continued, "I like you; are you Spaniss?"

"No," said she.

"You Frence?"

"No," said she, smiling.

"You Angliss?"

"No," said she.

"Why, Tommy, she is an American," said Captain Porter.

"Ah," cried Tommy; "she so leetle—she ver good—good-bye:" then he wrote his name on a card for her, and she went home very much pleased. But just before she went, Captain Porter told her that the great phrenologist, Mr. Fowler, who knows all about you by merely looking at the outside of your head, had been to see Tommy, and had told him that he had the most tremendous bumps for reading, writing, and arithmetic, that ever were seen; a great bump of trying on American clothes; making love to little girls; eating sugar-candy, and having a good time generally; and scarcely any bump at all for getting up early in the morning, working hard, or taking medicine; in fact, that his cranium was as full as the Metropolitan Hotel, of all sorts of good things; which flattering description delighted Tommy so much, that he wrote Mr. Fowler of his own accord, and without any assistance from Captain Porter or any other dictionary, the following note of thanks:

And now every thing was made in the way of "anti-tear-clothes," as the children called them, and the express wagon was sent for on the afternoon of the 19th of June to carry the baggage down to the steamboat.

The express man stared with amazement at the quantity of children whisking and frisking, and rushing and brushing about in the hall; and, still more, at the trunks, boxes, and bundles, that were brought clattering and tumbling down the stairs for him to take away.

Just before he was leaving with the last bundle, little Johnny rushed breathless down the stairs with what looked like a horse's tail, only shorter and smaller, in one hand, and an old tin-box that had once contained preserved tomatoes in the other, and screamed out, "Here!—say! man, man! take this! here, take it! It's mamma's hair! she's forgotten to sew it on her head! here, pack it up in this tin-box, and tie it with a rope, and put it on board the steamboat—will you?"

Dear me! how the poor express man did bite his lips and swell his cheeks, and turn very red, and try not to laugh: but it would come out, and he laughed himself nearly into fits, while the little mother felt for a moment as if she could have shaken Johnny into fits, but only for a moment; for, after all, what was the use of being angry: he meant to be so useful and thoughtful, and if her hair was so thin, she had to buy some to put with it—why, it was nothing to be ashamed of; so she laughed, too, at last, and all the children joined in with such good-will, that the canary bird over the way hearing such a pleasant noise, set up his pipes and twittered in company, and sang so shrill and loud, that all his feathers stood out on end; and, on the whole, it was thought a very good joke.

And now a great hotel carriage, which is about three times as large as any other, drove up, and the children were packed in it, till it was as full as an egg; and they gave three cheers, as it started, to the astonishment of all the neighbors, and sang "John Brown had a little Indian" all the way down to the boat.

There had been so many berths engaged for one name, that the Captain thought there must be a colony going out west to set up a town for themselves. But when he saw the family marching down the gang-plank two-and-two, like the animals that went into the ark, from the biggest to the smallest, he lifted up his hands and exclaimed, "Dew tell! what an orful lot of children! I shud think that old lady'd want the patience of Job, any how!"

Ah! the Yankee-talking Captain didn't know what you and I know—that these children all "loved one another" and that made every thing easy to the little mother.

There was no wrangling in that family. They left all that to "dogs and cats," and "bears and lions," as I am sure all good children do. There was plenty of noise, to be sure; but this the great power of love changed into sweet melody, so that, instead of irritating you, as a rude blustering wind would do, it charmed and delighted, because it was first passed over the Æolian harp-strings of love.

And now, before I forget it, let's have a little laugh you and I, over that ridiculous picture of our "Nightcap children" in "Baby Nightcaps." I intended to have had a picture of the little mother surrounded by lots of pretty children playing about her; but, instead of that, I was presented with a family that made my sides ache with laughter. Such noses and such hats! I want to tip that tall-spook-of-a-boy's hat off his head every time I look at it; And such a baby! Apple-dumpling face and squint eyes! Never mind! The funny printer wanted to make us laugh, and I am sure he did—one of us, any way; but don't you believe, for a moment, that our Nightcap children looked the least like his. Not a bit of it!

When the family were all comfortably settled, the splendid palace-like steamboat—the Alida—started from the pier, and was soon gliding so swiftly over the water, that the magnificent Palisades rose in the blue evening air, while the golden glory of sunset was still lingering upon them. Charley sat by his mother, with his curly head pressed close against her breast; his pure and simple thoughts mirrored in his sweet face. He was silently thanking God for the beautiful changing picture before his eyes. All the children were enjoying the trip; for their mother had taught them to feel and appreciate the beauty, goodness, and grandeur of all God's works; and, save an exclamation of delight now and then, they sat quite still.

But the silence did not last long. Of course not. If children are quite still for more than five minutes at a time, you may be sure they are either sick or in mischief; so presently George exclaimed,—

"Just see that sea-gull dipping his wings in the river!"

"That's the way he does his washing," said Annie.

"Oh! look at that row-boat," cried Harry; "four gentlemen and three ladies rowing with parasols."

How the children laughed, and pretended to see the parasols rowing, till Harry explained that he meant that the ladies had the parasols, and the gentlemen were rowing. His mother said she would have to give him a dish of boiled grammar for his breakfast, if he did not mind his antecedents better.

"Grammar!" cried George; "dreadful! Aren't you all glad school-days are over for the summer?"

At this blissful recollection all the children clapped their hands at such a rate, that a fat old lady jumped up in a hurry and gave a queer little squeak, because she thought the boiler was bursting; and although they were now in the very middle of the broad Tappaan Sea, she waddled off to order the captain to set her immediately on shore; and a select company of blue jays, who had just started from the Palisades to take tea with some brown sparrows on the other side, turned somersets and flew back again, almost tripping each other up in their hurry.

"Yes, indeed," answered Annie, "glad enough. Just think; no more hard sums either. I do believe arithmetic is meant on purpose to torment us, and that's the reason Willie made that mistake with such a grave face, when the lady asked him how far he had gotten in his sums."

"So it is," cried Clara; "Willie said he had got to distraction; I, for one, wish that all the people that make the arithmetic books had to eat them with pepper-sauce the moment they were printed—and that would be the end of them."

"But compositions! Just think of compositions!" cried Harry; "they are the most hateful things. Just because I wrote in my last one, that 'a mule is a beast of burden which draws a rail-car shaped like a zebra, and is sometimes used for carts with two long ears and a miserable tail,' they all burst out laughing at me, and I very nearly cried—I did cry."

"Well, never mind, Harry," cried George; "it is all over now, and we are going to that delightful West Point: I wonder if those soldiers we saw parading with the Japanese last Saturday came from West Point? they were such splendid fellows."

"Yes, indeed," cried Harry; "I dare say they did; they looked as if they were afraid of nothing, but would be really glad to have an arm or a leg shot off in every battle, and are so brave, that they would keep on fighting the enemies of America, if they had only an ear and one great-toe left."

Charley lifted his head and laughed at this, for he could hear all the children were saying; and he whispered to his mother, "Isn't Harry a funny fellow? The idea of one ear, and a great-toe firing a gun!" and he laughed again a sweet, low laugh; and Clara, who was sitting nearest, took his small thin white hand and kissed it, and patted it, and murmured, "Oh, Charley, I'm so glad you are happy; I'm so glad that cruel pain has gone away."

All this time they had been passing many beautiful villages and elegant country mansions, half buried in luxuriant foliage. They were now leaving the Tappaan Sea; and soon after the little mother showed the children Sunnyside, the lovely home of the great Washington Irving.

"He does not live there any more," said she; "his home is now 'Eternal in the Heavens;' but his fame, and goodness, and renown will live in every land for many, many years; and I hope the beautiful Sunnyside will never fall into neglect or decay as long as his memory lasts."

The children looked with mournful in terest at the beautiful place; but when their mother pointed out the spot where Major Andre was captured, there was quite a difference of opinion; the boys were glad that he, the spy, was taken and hung by the great Washington, while the more tender-hearted girls wished he could have escaped: and Minnie said, "General Wassingter ought to have forgiven him, because he would not like to be hung himself—would he?" which, I think, was the golden-rule way of putting the case.

And now the banks seemed to close in, and great dark mountains rose on either side.

"There's Anthony's nose," said the little mother.

"Where? where?" cried the children, and looked with eager interest, as the profile of a great Roman nose was pointed out on the edge of a mountain. They were also delighted with Sugar-loaf Mountain, and wished it had really been made of sugar, for they thought they would like to eat a hole through it. As they were eagerly gazing at the splendid view which had now darkened and deepened with twilight shadows, a saucy puff of wind came round a jutting point, and in an instant blew off Minnie's round hat.

"Oh! my hat! my hat!" she screamed; "get it! get it! quick! before it goes across the Atlantic Ocean, and runs up the big mountains. Oh! get it! get it!"

How everybody around did laugh, as George jumped after the hat, which Minnie thought would walk on the Atlantic Ocean; and how Minnie jumped and laughed when he caught it just as it was flying off on its travels. I have no words to tell, but everybody after that listened to the comical talk of the Nightcap children, who caused so much merriment, that they arrived at West Point before they knew it; but had to burst out with laughter again as Minnie, gravely looking up, said, "Is this West Point? Well, I don't think it looks so very, very Pointy."

The first stars were peeping out, and the little birds had sung their evening hymns and were hushed into stillness, as the children got into the stage, the strong horses of which toiled up the short but steep ascent, and they soon arrived at their summer home. "Oh, what a beautiful cottage!" exclaimed Harry, and George, and Clara; "it seems covered with roses; it must be the Castle of Perfect Happiness."

They all hurried in, in the most delightful bustle; and the children had a grand time assisting the little mother to unpack every thing. You would have imagined, to look in at the windows, that the house was full of fishes out of water; they kept up such a continual bouncing and fluttering about, but they were not fishes, nor pollywogs, nor tadpoles, nor any thing like them; they were a company of capering children, taking all sorts of little boxes and bundles out of trunks, and putting them in the wrong places, and then running to get some more, because they liked the fun of helping.

The good-natured little mother did not think them at all in the way: she only laughed softly to herself, and would not for forty new bandboxes have given them any ear-boxes for what they were doing. No, indeed! she just let them trot about as much as they liked with the pillows, boxes, bags, and bundles, of which there seemed to be about a hundred and fifty; and when they were tired of helping, she quietly arranged the things in their proper places.

Oh! how soundly the children slept that night with the "fragrant stillness" all around them, far away from the roar and whirl of the great city. The moonlight, sweet and mournful, flooded the earth, and a white ray stole into the room where Charley lay and rested lovingly above his head.

The next day Charley was very ill indeed. Even the short journey from the city had overtasked his strength. He lay in a darkened chamber, for his mother had to shut out the sweet sunshine, his head and side were so racked with pain.

The children crept lovingly up to the door of the room they were not permitted to enter many times during the day; to hope in a whisper that he felt better, and went about the pretty cottage on tip-toe—all their merriment gone. You would hardly believe they were the same children that yesterday had kept half the people in the steamboat laughing; so changed and still were they become, through their love for their sick brother.

The little mother sent for the doctor. He belonged to the army, and, of course dressed like the officers in military uniform.

When he entered, the children gazed with wonder and delight upon his bright buttons, each of which had an astonishing spread-eagle engraved upon it, and thought they could never admire enough the beautiful gold lace upon his coat-sleeves. Really, he was quite a shining doctor.

He became interested with Charley at once: the sweet, patient smile of the suffering boy won his heart.

"My dear madam," said he to the little mother, "this is nothing but temporary exhaustion; with some strengthening medicine which I shall leave, and a good night's rest, our dear little friend will be as well as he was before he came up; and I am in great hopes that this bracing mountain air will soon make him much better than he was before he came."

The children now approached the door and begged leave to enter, for they wanted to hear about Charley, and have a "good look" at the "soldier doctor."

"Well, my little friends," said he, in a hearty, cheery voice, "so you've come up, I suppose, to help the fairies amuse Charley this summer."

"Fairies!" exclaimed the children; "DELIGHTFUL! Are there fairies here?"

"Lots of them," answered the doctor, laughing—"that is, if I may believe my man, Patrick O'Neal. He declares he has seen the fairy rings in the beautiful hollow at the foot of Crow Nest mountain many and many a time."

"Oh dear! how perfect!" cried the children; "only fancy the dear little fairies dancing on the parade-ground in the moonlight."

"Not exactly," said the doctor, laughing again; "fairies don't come so near the haunts of mortals; besides, the cadets want the parade-ground for their own dances and rings—not fairy rings—for those are made with sparkling dew-drops, while the cadets have to content themselves with tallow can dles stuck into scooped-out turnips and placed in a circle, and the lights throwing the shadows up, make the long legs of the cadets look like ever so many great goblin black spiders, hopping harem-scarem over each other; but the cadets call them 'Stag-dances.'"

"Stag dances," cried the children, "who ever heard of such a thing? Why! do they nail antlers on their foreheads and go on all-fours? Dear doctor! how do they go?"

"Some on their heels, and some on their toes; but I never saw one dance on all-fours; and, as to the antlers, without them they prance: 'tis because they're all boys, that it's called a 'stag dance.'"

"Why, only listen," whispered George to Annie, "he is talking poetry—how queer!"

"Isn't he a nice bright doctor?" said Minnie; "he shines so shiny, and he's so very buttony; I think his buttons are splendid."

The doctor heard this speech and burst out laughing, and then seeing that Minnie looked abashed, he took out his penknife, and in a moment had snipt off one of the spread-eagle buttons, and said,—"Here, little lady-bird—here is a bright button, which you can fasten up your cloak with to-night when you go to the fairies' midsummer ball; for, I suppose, you will all have an invitation, and when I come to-morrow, I expect to hear all about it. Good-bye, Charley; old fellows like you and I don't care to go to balls, but we won't object to hearing about the fairy festival, because that you know will be something particularly superfine;" and he went away smiling, leaving the delighted children chattering like a perfect army of magpies about the fairies, and pretending to think that the good-natured doctor was really in earnest.