I remember the funeral, and what a piteous sight it was afterwards
to see his familiar name on a small headstone in the Old South
Burying-Ground!

Poor little Binny Wallace! Always the same to me. The rest of us
have grown up into hard, worldly men, fighting the fight of life;
but you are forever young, and gentle, and pure; a part of my own
childhood that time cannot wither; always a little boy, always poor
little Binny Wallace!