complexions clear, and cheeks of a soft light vermilion. They had been well educated in childhood, and a natural refinement seemed to regulate their every movement.
It was charming to witness the affection of these two sisters. Not a murmur escaped them, and they appeared to have no fear or anxiety hut for each other. But it was plain earth was not destined long to he the resting place of either.
Marrion sickened—drooped—and died!
Who can picture the distress of the bereaved one? Not they who, when one loved being departs, have others left to live for, and share that spark of high divinity in our nature, the heart's affection! They only can imagine who have one—one only dear friend, and lose that one.
Poor Jane! In the first burst of grief, which lasted for a day and a night, nothing could induce her to leave the corpse. A thousand times she kissed the marble cheek,—beautiful even in death; but no word escaped her.
On the second morning she appeared to rouse, and a look of calm resignation was on her countenance. She knew that her sister's remains must be buried, and felt that she possessed not the means of procuring even a shroud.
Truth, however painful, must be told. Jane was advised by a neighbouring old woman, who had herself lost all in life but her natural kindness of heart, to make application to the parish; and she offered to accompany her to the relieving officer.
Quietly she acquiesced, grateful to her friendly adviser. In three days her case was laid before the proper authorities, and on the fourth a coffin was brought by four poor men, who were instructed to perform all the necessary
