for extra coffins is in many a dread of the
dreadful co-tenants of the grave, and those
who have shrunk from rats and worms during
their lifetime, cannot endure that such
intruders should visit their remains unchecked.
When such precautions are assured they die
easier. Thus it was that the late Sir Philip
Crampton—Sir Walter Scott's Crampton—who
died only a few years ago, left directions that
his coffin should be filled up with plaster of
Paris "to keep away the rats," which was
accordingly done. We may imagine this dismal
and grotesque operation in presence of the
relatives, the plasterers pouring in their liquid
material, the gradual covering in of the poor
relics, the last glimpses, and the final " setting"
in one hard mass. It was of this physician,
when a public testimonial was being planned,
to be set up in a public burying-ground to his
memory, that a truly witty remark was made
by a brother of the profession, who, arguing
the needlessness of such a commemoration,
applied a famous inscription. " For," he said,
"si monumentum quæris circumspice."

The remaining curious specimens on our list,
of wills and will-making, must be reserved for
another chapter next week.

THE BROWN-PAPER PARCEL.

IN FIVE CHAPTERS. CHAPTER I.

A very woman: one in whom
The spring-time of her childish years
Hath never lost its fresh perfume,
Though knowing well that life hath room
For many blights and many tears.

LOWELL.

"Miss MACKWORTH, Miss Mackworth!"

"Miss Mackworth, do look what we've
got."

With a shout, a rush, and a bang, four
children, loaded with packages, stormed into
the school-room of a certain house in
Onslow-square, London, eager to exhibit their
holiday purchases to their young governess.

Miss Mackworth was seated on the floor
in the cheerful fire-light, and close beside
her crouched three little mortals, four-year-
old twin girls, and a fat toddling baby boy,
all watching with wide-open eyes and
suspended breath, while her steady fingers
built up, brick on brick, a splendid tower
nearly as high as the mantel-piece.

"O Miss Mackworth!" cried Archie, a
rough-headed boy of eight, " it has been so
jolly. First we went to Bond Street, and
then to the German Fair, and then to the
Bazaar—and only look here!"

"Miss Mackworth, please look at our
dolls," petitioned twin girls of six.

"Oh! stuff about your stupid dolls!
What does Miss Mackworth care for such
girls' trash. Miss Mackworth, here's a
cross bow! Won't I make the deer at
Granny's look out sharp!"

"Now Archie, Archie," interposed Carrie,
a demure damsel of ten,  rather oppressed
by the weight of her eldership, "do put
the things down properly, and then Miss
Mackworth can see them. Dear! are the
nursery children here?" as baby made a
sudden onslaught on the tower of bricks,
and tumbled it down with a great crash.

"Yes," said Mary Mackworth. " Nurse
and Harriet are busy packing, and the poor
little things seemed so dreadfully in the
way that I asked leave to have them down
here. They have been very good."

"I'm glad they have been good," said
Carrie, patronisingly: " now Archie, don't
you go cutting that string. You'll be teazing
us all for string to-morrow, you know
you will."

"Bother to-morrow! I shall be at Littlemore,
and Granny'll give me heaps of string.
I say! Miss Mackworth—"

Then arose the tumult afresh, and Miss
Mackworth, forbearing to hush where hushing
was vain, gave full and free attention
to every article exhibited; admired and
criticised, praised the serviceable presents
chosen by Carrie for the almshouse women
and servants at Littlemore, and finally
proised to cut out and place some garments for
endless dolls bought for grandmama's school-
tree. The hubbub did not subside until the
arrival of the nursemaid in quest of the little
ones reminded the school-room party that
they must make haste to prepare for tea.

In three hours' time the little flock were
all in bed, and Miss Mackworth sate, in sole
possession of the school-room, busily engaged
in arranging the promised dolls' clothes.

Presently, Mrs. Halroyd came in: a pretty,
faded woman, still quite young, but with
the matronly figure and somewhat worn
countenance which generally distinguish the
mother of a " large small family."

"How good-natured of you, Miss Mackworth,"
she said, glancing at the governess's
work: " you spoil those little people!" And
then, as she laid an envelope on the table,
she said nervously, colouring and hesitating,
"I think, you will find that quite right: and
I will let you know the day of our return—
probably not before the 20th of January—
my mother-in-law wishes for a long visit
this year."

"Thank you very much."

"You don't go to your uncle's this time,
I think?"

"Oh, no!" and the bright dark colouring
deepened, and the brown eyes danced,
but half tearfully: "I am going home! to
Farley-in-the-Fields. ' '

"Ah! yes," said Mrs. Halroyd, her