thing useful in the box. In the morocco
portfolio which contained the bank-notes, there were the usual little
instruments--a knife, scissors, pencils, stiletto, and also a small
bottle of Eau de Cologne, which was particularly serviceable in
restoring my children. I began by cutting the cords that tied us. I then
rubbed my dear children with the Eau de Cologne, made them inhale it,
and even swallow a little. The wind was still blowing, but the clouds
began to break, and the sun appeared, which dried and warmed us. My poor
children opened their eyes, and knew me, and I felt I was not utterly
comfortless; but their first words were to ask for their father and
brother. I could not tell them they were no more. I tried to deceive
myself, to support my strength, by a feeble and delusive hope. M. Hirtel
swam well, the sailor still better; and the last words I had heard still
rung in my ears--'Do not be uneasy, I will save the child.' If I saw
anything floating at a distance, my heart began to beat, and I ran
towards the water; but I saw it was only wreck, which I could not even
reach. Some pieces were, however, thrown on shore, and with these and
our own raft I was enabled to make a sort of shelter, by resting them
against a rock. My poor children, by crouching under this, sheltered
themselves from the rain, or from the rays of the sun. I had the good
fortune to preserve a large beaver hat, which I wore at the time, and
this protected me; but these resources gave me little consolation; my
children were complaining of hunger, and I felt only how much we were in
want of. I had seen a shell-fish on the shore, resembling the oyster,
or muscle. I collected some, and, opening them with my knife, we made a
repast on them, which sufficed for the first day. Night came--my
children offered up their evening prayer, and I earnestly besought the
succour of the Almighty. I then lay down beside my babes on our raft, as
conveniently as we could, and they soon slept. The fearful thoughts of
the past, and dreadful anticipations of the future, prevented me from
sleeping. My situation was indeed melancholy; but I felt, as a mother, I
ought not to wish for death.

"As soon as day broke, I went close to the shore, to seek some
shell-fish for our breakfast. In crossing the sand, I nearly plunged my
foot into a hole, and fancied I heard a crash. I stooped, and putting my
hand into the opening, found it was full of eggs; I had broken two or
three, whi