I rose from my chair. am ready."

"Mr. Burrows, I

"No," said sister Anne, "I will go for her myself."

I followed her, as led by Mr. Burrows; we traversed long passages, and went up several flights of stairs. At the door of a bedroom we stopped. Sister Anne shrunk back; until that moment it had not occurred to her how Cousin Mark would look at her intrusion. As we stood, we could hear his voice, screaming, shouting, cursing, swearing, each expression more blasphemous than the preceding one.

Mr. Burrows understood her hesitation. "He is quite delirious," he said, "and knows no one; do not be afraid of him either. I will stand with you until the child comes."

survive the night." No one spoke. "Can | pared, after Ahne's nervousness during the you guess what I come to you for? I know past three days, to see her so calm and no other relatives he has in London; indeed, strong, but she told Mr. Burrows she would until a week or so ago, I knew nothing of wait with the nurse, and he need not have him. He is dying, that is plain; but then any fears for her; she had none for herself. there is the child; she is lying on the bed So Mr. Burrows thanked us, said "Goodbeside him I cannot move her, and she night," and we turned back into the room. must be taken away. Will you do this for At the end of half-an-hour we were all to-night, until I can see further? Though there still. The fire had burned low, down they are no concern of mine, personally, to a heap of glowing cinders without any I cannot see the child suffer as she is do- blaze; the nurse dozed in an arm-chair, and ing." the little child still lay with waking eyes, watching us all, but gradually seeming more and more drowsy. I laid a plaid over her to keep her warm, and then sat down on a low stool by the bed, where I could see the sick man's face, and my poor sister's too, who sat in the same rigid way I had so often lately seen her do, with her eyes also fixed on the wreck that lay before us. The wind whistled in the chimney, and the rain beat against the window-panes without, a dreary accompaniment to the heavy breathing of the sleeper within. The man (I cannot bring myself to call him "cousin," as Anne did, for such he never was to me, though it looks unkind to my dear sister to disown him thus) was sleeping so soundly, I began to ponder whether I could not induce Sister Anne to go to bed, and wishing more than ever the child would sleep, when we were all aroused by the figure in the bed springing up suddenly and screaming for help. Anne and I shrunk back out of his sight; the nurse, startled from her doze, flew over to the bed. He tried to say something for some minutes, but could not; at last he screamed, "I am dying-I am dying!" and when no answer came, "and you know it." With We want in, and for a minute Anne glaring eyes, he strove and struggled for looked at the sleeping man, and I also. To speech again; it seemed a long time, but it see that dark, coarse face, with its wicked, might have been a few seconds; at last he fierce expression, heightened by the matted, gasped out, "A small carpet-bag-bring it, tangled hair that hung about it, made my I say, woman. She searched the room, blood stand still, and a sorrowful heart for seemed fruitless, for still he screamed. my poor sister's delusion, that had wor- last I recollected having seen a small bag shipped such an image all those years, made hanging at the back of the door. I looked; me fear that I, her only sister, might grow it was there still; and keeping out of sight, to hate one she had loved so well. Fan- I handed it to the nurse." "Open it," he chette lay on the outside of the clothes, with her head upon the pillow, beside her father, her bright eyes passing from one to the other, as if she knew what our object was in coming there. All our efforts failed to move He was growing hoarse with the effort he her; she resisted them all, and at last we was making. There was nothing else for had reluctantly to abandon the attempt. it; the nurse heaped them on the red coals, We went outside the door to consult with they caught quickly, and blazed instantaMr. Burrows what was best to be done. He neously; the draught of the chimney sucked was obliged to leave, and he feared the sick them up, and one by one each black and red nurse would not be care-taker enough to glowing mass, floating up, and out into the quiet my sister's fear; for we agreed to wait night air, passed away. I longed to save until the child fell asleep, and then remove them, even a few; as regarded the child they her carefully and tenderly. I was not pre-might be of value; but it could remain but

As we stood, silence suddenly fell within the room. Mr. Burrows stepped forward and went into the room, leaving us standing there. Sister Anne leaned against the door-post; I watched her with such an anxious heart. Presently Mr. Burrows came out. "He is in a heavy sleep; it is a good time."

it

At

yelled; "empty it out." She did so, and a number of letters and loose papers fell on the floor. "Put them in the fire, all of them." She hesitated. "Burn them!"

His loud voice had startled the child from the sleep she had half fallen into, and sitting up, she cried, in a frightened voice, "O papa! O papa!" almost blinded by her pretty hair falling over her face, and by her

tears.

I saw how soon now all would be over, and I longed to get Sister Anne away, but how I knew not, and to move the child seemed utterly hopeless. The nurse appeared to understand what I wanted, and made signs the little girl was so frightened she would be glad to come. So I stole up to Anne and said, softly, "Sister, you and I must take the child away now." She looked at me, as if she hardly understood me, but when I lifted the little one she rose also and followed me. We sat down in our own room, the little one clinging to me, still sobbing, in a low voice. Sister Anne neither moved nor spoke. Presently my little charge fell asleep, and I carried her softly into my own room, and put her in bed, and when I came back Anne was quietly crying by our own fire. I sat down too, and waited, and after a time of her own accord she spoke "Cousin Mark-Cousin Mark, is this the end?" It was said so bitterly, and I tried to say something soothing, but words would not come, so we had another long silence. And then we talked a little now and then till daybreak, when I got Anne to go to bed, and she fell asleep.

a wish under such circumstances. While Mr. Burrows promised to communicate with they burned, their owner sat up in bed, Mr. Thornberry, in case he would choose to watching with frightful eagerness their con- give directions about the interment of his sumption, and, when the fierce flame had deceased relative. But that day it had been caught them all, he gave one triumphant discovered that Mr. Thornberry, in right of yell, and fell back insensible. his mother, and no other, was entitled to the thirty thousand pounds! and he seemed to think it very odd Mr. Burrows should annoy him at such a time with such communications. Certainly, unfortunate Mark could not have deserved worse epithets than his cousin bestowed upon him. He should have dealt gently with the dead, although he had long known, and had experienced often, Mark's want of probity. There was nothing else for it, so Sister Anne and I bought mourning, and followed little Fanchette's father to the grave. Poor little soul, she was an orphan, and a most friendless one: and, when Anne and I talked the matter over, we wished very much to take her back with us to Westcott, and bring her up; but we were not sure whether the limited means we could leave her at our death would justify us in keeping her. So we consulted Mr. Burrows; and Anne told him what we had; how our annuities died with us; but he thought Aunt Whinnery's legacy of the five hundred pounds (it had been originally six hundred, but, as one hundred was intended for Mary Trundle, we only reckoned on five) was quite sufficient to remove all our doubts. When it was decided we were to take the child, we were quite surprised at all Mr. Burrows said; he was, I am sure, a worthy, benevolent, kind-hearted man himself, or it would never have occurred to him to call us so for such a trifling affair. He even talked of us finding the child perhaps a great charge, and insisted we should allow him to write to New Orleans and to Boulogne, to see if her mother's friends could be found, but I objected to that, for fear they might claim her; so did Anne, but she thought it right to do so, and left the matter in Mr. Burrows' hands; and from what we afterwards heard, I do not think they were ever traced. We settled upon the plan of her education at once. Sister Anne was to teach her English, darning, and marking, and it was to be my part to see she did not forget the French she now spoke tolerably, and when old enough to add mezzotinto drawing, and a little music. One thing my sister said, that, as the daughters of an English clergyman and well-descended gentleman, it would appear highly unbecoming in us to allow the use of such a fantastical foreign name as "Fanchette," so from the day we adopted her she was called "Fanny."

:

After breakfast came Mr. Burrows. I saw him, and we talked about the funeral. It was no use to think about sending for relatives; he had no near ones. Mr. Thornberry and ourselves were equally near. Together, Mr. Burrows and I looked over Mark's trunks; but, whether it was that all trace had been destroyed by the burning of the papers, or what, I know not, we could discover no trace of where he had lived, or how, those twenty-five years; but from what he had himself told Mr. Burrows, we feared nothing good or creditable could be made known.

In his coat-pocket we found two or three bank-notes, enough to defray all the expenses incurred; and in a pocket-book, in which they were, we found the copy of his marriage register, at New Orleans, to a Frances de Saielle; also of little Fanchette's baptism at Paris, and some bills, dated about three weeks back, of the funeral of his wife. at Boulogne.

Now it was come to his own funeral, and

The night we reached home, when Fanny was in bed, and we were sitting together in the drawing-room, I was trying to be as

cheerful as I could, so I said, "Well, Sister Anne, if it were not for the child who is now asleep in the next room, I would be inclined to fancy our finding the advertisement, and then going up to London, had been all a dream."

"Not so to me, Sister Margery," she said. "It has been wakening from a long dream, a very long dream, in which I dreamed that I was right and all the world was wrong. I cannot tell you what a deep, strong lesson it was mine to learn in London; to thank God fervently for preserving me from a dreadful lot in life, to see the hand that has led me all through, and broken my idol before my face. 'With loving-kindness have I drawn thee.' O yes, dear sister, it was 'something to my advantage,' do not doubt it; better than all the gold and silver our cousins Thornberry have got."

genitor was found first in the reign or George I., while ours claimed near relationship with the good Bishop Hooper, of martyr memory in the Reformation days. I have reason to think this grieved her very much; and then my husband always calls me "Madge," and she never liked that. For my part, I never knew how much I loved the words "dear Madge," until their sound became a part of my daily life.

I had less reluctance in leaving Sister Anne now, as I saw that our little niece Fanny was giving fair promise of growing up to be a most dear and loving little companion; her mirthful, childish spirits far more than compensated for the loss of my society; and in pleasantly watching the unfolding of her young mind, each year of my dear sister's life yielded more happiness; and tranquilly looking forward to a genial old age-hers cared for by Fanny, and mine by my dear husband-instead of the desolate prospect we two lonely old maids once had,

It was not very long after these events, when our old neighbor, Mr. Sternborough, came back from London to live at Westcott. I forgot to mention before, that, having I now lay down my pen. heard accidentally of our being in London, One word more. With my husband's he had called to see us at the Golden Sheaf. characteristic thoughtfulness, I have since He had at one time, during our father's life- discovered that, though fully aware of all time, been very intimate with our family; the particulars of our London visit, he never, and it was not very long after his coming by the smallest word or hint, betrayed one back when he asked me the same question single circumstance connected with it to our he had done many years before, and I answered him, as I had once wished to do; for, since those days in London, when Anne had been so weak, and I, comparatively speaking, strong, I had gained courage to act decisively for myself, and as Sister Anne no longer noted the little things, I took upon myself the greater one, and before long I said Yes to good, kind Frank Sternborough. I do not think Anne ever liked it well she sighed, and said nothing for two hours after Mr. Sternborough told her. His family was not as old as ours; his pro

neighbors; and my sister was thus spared the gossip otherwise called forth; and our bringing Fanny back, and our new black dresses, had always afforded sufficient explanation of our journey. As to good, kind Mr. Burrows, Mr. Sternborough found an opportunity not long after of obliging him very effectually, for which Sister Anne and I felt very grateful; for it was no small burden on our hearts to think of the debt of kindness we owed him, which only in kindness could ever be repaid.

PERFUMES IN AN INDUSTRIAL SENSE.-About | for its cultivation of roses. Nor is this exten160,000 gallons of perfumed spirits are annu- sive use surprising, when we consider the quanally consumed by British India and Europe, in tity of flowers necessary to produce an essence; the manufacture of odoriferous compounds. a drachm of ottar of roses requires two thouOne French house alone annually uses eighty sand rose blooms. This, however, is nothing to thousand pounds of orange flowers, sixty thou- jasmin; the price of its essential oil is £9 the sand pounds of cassia flowers, fifty-three thou- fluid ounce. Of course there is a good deal of sand pounds of roses, forty-two thousand pounds" manufacture" going on with the more expenof jasmin blossoms, thirty-two thousand pounds sive perfumes. The rose-leaf geranium does of violets, twenty thousand pounds of tuberose, duty for the rose; the perfume of the magnolia sixteen thousand pounds of lilac, and other is superb, but practically it is of no use to the odorous plants in still greater proportions. manufacturer, from the scarcity of the plant Flower planters exist in the south of France, and other causes; the purchaser, however, gets Turkey in Europe, Turkey in Asia, and India. a combination of half-a-dozen articles instead, Nor is England without this branch of cultiva- and if he is satisfied with his "essence of magtion. At Mitcham, in Surrey, lavender is ex-nolia," who has any right to complain? The tensively grown, and produces a plant unri- perfume of the lily and the eglantine evaporate valled in the world-four times the price even to such an extent, under any known treatment, of French lavender; and the same spot is noted that they are never used.

From Household Words.

THE LOST ENGLISH SAILORS.

IT has been said, "There is an end to all things. We have paid our debt to Sir John Franklin and his missing crews." The truth is, that we have but just earned the means of paying it. Any question that may now arise as to the propriety of making final search for the survivors or remains of the lost expedition, all knowing at last distinctly where to seek, is simply the question whether, now that we are able to pay in full our debt of honor-and of more than honor, of the commonest humanity-we are to leave it undischarged upon some plea of a statute of limitations.

years, bring them back to their homes. What does it matter? That there can be any such men we do not believe, or, if there be, we care not for them, and we care not for what they could disclose. There is an end to all things. We have paid our debt to Sir John Franklin and his missing crews. The search is perilous, and we will have no more of it.

We hold this line of reasoning to be unsound in every particular. Let us begin with the peril that is to deter us from the sending out of that small band of volunteers whose labor for a single season would most probably suffice to bring our long search to a proper end. What is this peril, that it Sir John Franklin, one of a gallant com- should scare us? During the last year or pany of one hundred and thirty-eight men, two we have been accustomed to hear, withsailed for the polar seas in the spring of the out flinching, of as many men killed in a year eighteen hundred and forty-five. He day by battle and by blunder as have perwas heard of the next summer, and then ished in pursuit of knowledge or on missions never more. As one result of search, how-of humanity at either pole, for aught we ever, it was found that his ships had entered know, since the creation of the world. But Barrow's Strait, where there were distinct for the result of the Franklin expedition we traces of their having been laid up for winter should have had reason to consider Arctic in the neighborhood of Cape Riley and voyages not very dangerous to life, though Beechy Island. An active search for further no doubt sharp tests of human wit, and vestiges of the course these travellers had skill, and powers of endurance. Not a few taken, and for exact tidings of their fate, has ships have been lost; but, of the crews that since been carried on at sundry times by have gone out-except the one catastrophe twenty vessels and more than a thousand that closes and a lesser one that opened the men. The searches had already shown where long story of adventure at the Pole-more they are not, when from the borders of almost men have lived than might have lived had the sole remaining spot in which a search they remained at home; and they have lived was possible, came startling intelligence that and learnt what they could not have learnt there they are. Hereupon, there are some at home. Shut up in Arctic monasteries, people who profess that they are satisfied. with no monkish souls, men have learnt enNow, they say-now that we know where to ergetically to respect and help each other, find what we have been seeking, we still think to trust in each other, and have faith in God. the man a mere enthusiast who would require The entire series of books written by Arctic that we should take a step towards it. Let sailors, except only one or two, bears most it lie. Sir John Franklin and his companions emphatic witness to the fine spirit of manwere declared dead in the London Gazette hood nourished among those who bear in nearly three years ago. It is almost twelve company the rigors of the frozen sea. Of years since the men thus officially extin- all the brave men who have left our shores guished left our shores. They are all bound to seek the lost crews of the Erebus and to be dead. Why should we look for them? Terror, there have died no more than by disWe care not that posterity should be told ease or casualty would have died had they how they died. Dr. Rae tells that they been during the same length of time living died cannibals, and he says he repeats this quietly in London. There has been lost, by statement on the authority of Esquimaux accidental death, only a single officer, Lieuwho say they got it by report from other tenant Bellot. All England grieved for Esquimaux. Other searches have shown him; and by the common mourning for his reason to suspect that some of our missing death England and France were knit in friends were murdered. Others, again, have reason for believing that a few of the lost voyagers may still be alive, as preferring to starvation, the companionship of the poor savage tribes. They may be living in their snow huts, eating seal and walrus; never losing the belief that England seeks, and will not seek in vain, to rescue them, and will, although it may be after many

closer brotherhood. We have lost several vessels, chiefly because we sent out five under a commander who has since proclaimed in a book that he was unable to apply himself to work in the true Arctic temper. But even for the lost wood and iron we have compensation. One of the deserted ships, the Resolute, drifted to sea, and, having become an American prize, gave to the

United States an opportunity of doing a had strayed from a party which, having right deed so thoroughly, and with so gallant landed at Port Warren, built a house there, a courtesy, that, at a time when vexed topics and went afterwards inland. The Esquimaux, were chafing the two brother nations who supplied Dr. Rae with information, against one another, the ship became the said, as we need hardly remind any one,means of showing both how truly they are that thirty white bodies had been found dead friends. The very accidents of Arctic enter- on the mainland at the mouth of Black prise have thus tended to promote peace on River, and five on Montreal Island; that earth as surely as its daily effort strengthens there were stores also; and that the men good-will among men. had fed upon each other before they died. We need say no more, then, of the dread" None of the Esquimaux with whom I conof peril. A thousand sailors have gone out versed," said Dr. Rae, "had seen the in search of Franklin, and have come home whites, nor had they ever been at the place again. But they had narrow escapes. where the bodies were found, but had their Truly, they had. They went out to face information from those who had been there, peril, and they faced it. Between narrow and who had seen the party when travelescape and no escape there is all the differ- ling." Dr. Rae's interpreter became anxence that there is between life and death. ious to join his brethren, and did afterwards Surely we are not to be scared, by escapes escape to them. Mr. Anderson, who was from danger. Probably, there is no man sent out to confirm Dr. Rae's report, found, forty years of age who has not, at least five on the ground indicated, so far as he or six times in his life, narrowly escaped be- searched it, during a too hurried visit, more ing killed. The instinct of self-preservation, evidence that men belonging to the lost with the help of his five wits, has brought crews had been there, but no bodies or him through them all. Take that instinct graves. He supposed the bodies to have away, and there is as much peril of death been covered by drifting sand, on which to the landsman from the omnibuses in Cheapside, as to the seaman from the floes in Barrow's Strait. Where the peril is more certain, the guard is the more constant, there is more presence of mind; and so it is that great risks often prove less dangerous than little risks. And all this while we talk of death as if it were extinction; as if Christian men might reasonably turn back through fear of being overtaken by it, while engaged in the performance of their duty!

Lieutenant Pim observes," How was it then the drifting sands did not enshroud such small articles as pieces of rope, bunting, a letter-clip, &c., &c., picked up by him?" And Mr. Pim remarks further, that when he crossed Melville Island in 1853, he found, at Point Nias, the bones of ptarmigan and other remnants of a meal left by Sir Edward Parry three-and-thirty years before. We put no faith in the drift of sand.

Thomas Mistigan, one of Dr. Rae's exploring party, came home with the impression that" perhaps one or two of Sir John's men may be still alive and among the Esquimaux. That Sir John Franklin himself lives, it is too much to hope. That all struggled to live on any thing rather than die by starvation or suicide, is certain.

The peril talked about is not, therefore, too great; and, were it greater, should not daunt us if it be a duty to complete-as we now can the search for Franklin. That this is a duty we, for our own parts, cannot hesitate to think. When Franklin and his companions had been five years from Eng- That some may be still living, we delibland, a body of about forty Europeans, who erately hold to be as likely as that all are must have been part of their little band-the dead. Sir John himself has said in words ships then lost-were seen by Esquimaux which Lieutenant Pim aptly takes as the near the north shore of King William's motto to An Earnest Appeal to the British Land, travelling south. They were then Public on behalf of the Missing Arctic Expemaking for the continent of America. That dition-" Where Esquimaux do live out a this or another party reached land near the fair period of life, it is but reasonable to mouth of Back (or the Great Fish) River, suppose that Europeans may subsist and relics brought home by Dr. Rae-if we re-survive for many years." ject Esquimaux testimony-are sufficient Dr. Kane, when, in his own day of Arctic evidence. Captain M'Clure gives some peril, hope of release seemed to be gone, was elight evidence of Esquimaux, leading us to actually on the point of doing what many of imagine that another party from the ships our countrymen may probably have done. landed, perhaps, on the mainland at Point" I well know," writes the brave American, Warren, farther west. He saw an old, flat" how glad I would have been, had my duties brass button hanging from the ear of a chief, to others permitted me to have taken refuge who said that it was taken from a white man among the Esquimaux of Smith's Straits and killed by one of his tribe. The white man | Etah Bay. Strange as it may seem to you,