Grace had her own anxieties just at that time; there was a certain doctor at the hospital who had felt the cold glamour of this crystal-clear nature, and poor Grace had been astonished to discover some answering human weakness in a heart which she had thought devoted to heavenly things. There had been hours of fierce struggle, poor child; so no wonder she needed to go into "retreat" if she would escape from the dear and wholesome instinct of the living world.

"Grace," said Dr. Lavendar, twitching his eyebrows at her, "when is Sally going to get married?”

"I don't know, I'm sure," she answered, a little startled.

Then he made his appeal. He was very much moved as he told her the story of Sally and Andrew, and the long, patient, lasting love.

"They've waited all these these years. Grace, isn't your duty plain?"

It was so far from plain that he had to put it into bolder words:

"Give up this artificial life, my child; come back and do your duty in that station of life where it pleased God to call

you.

Give Sally her chance."

It was so astonishing, so preposterous to his hearer that there was an instant when she almost laughed. Leave the hospital? Leave her sick, and poor, and sinning folk? Leave her vocation, and go back to darn Robert's children's stockings, and let Sally get married? It struck her as absolutely ludicrous.

"Why!" she protested. "But, Dr. Lavendar, you don't realize-just think of the work to be done here—”

"There's a-plenty of work in Old Chester. My girl, listen to me: you think this work serves God; and so it does. But there is no better service of God than the simple doing of the duty He gives you in your family life. Gracie, don't try so hard to save your soul; he that would save his life shall lose it. Do you remember who said that? Come home and do your duty. You can wear these things in Old Chester, if you want to," he added, with eager simplicity.

At that a spark came into the eye of Sister Mary Eunice which was just a little of this world. However, she restrained any sharp expression of opinion; she explained to him, in gentle detail, how impossible it was for her to think of what he proposed; indeed, she was

very gentle with poor stupid Protestant Dr. Lavendar, who sat frowning at the crucifix on the whitewashed wall opposite him, and rapping the bare floor now and then with his impatient umbrella.

When he went away she had only tender feelings for him, for, after all, she had received her first spiritual instruction (such as it was) from the simple old man; even his sharp words did not make her angry:

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Go and seek for light, Grace; read your Bible and get over this gimcrackery. Don't think so much about petticoats, but follow your Saviour, who went down to Nazareth with his father and mother, and was subject unto them until he was thirty years old. Good-by! I'm disappointed in you. What have I been teaching all these years to produce a child like this?"

He went away angry, and grieved, and wondering; but most of all determined: Sally and Andrew should be married,— somehow!-if he had to use force to get 'em to stand up and listen to the mar riage service! Coming down from Mercer, he sat on the box-seat with the stagedriver, and Jonas said, afterwards, that he hardly opened his head for the whole twenty-one miles. He stabbed at the footboard with his umbrella, and frowned, and thrust out his lower lip, and looked, Jonas said, as cross as two sticks.

"It's got to stop," he said to himself. "It's wicked, and I'll tell 'em so!" Then he pounded so hard with his umbrella that the off horse twitched his ears nervously, and Jonas looked round at him open-mouthed.

He made plan after plan; but each one was discarded because he saw it would encounter invincible selfishness, or invincible self-denial," and I don't know which is the worst!" said Dr. Lavendar, snorting. As they passed through Upper Chester, in the pleasant afternoon light, he was deeply discouraged. "I can't see any way out of it," he thought; "that boy Andrew can't leave his mother-I admit that; and he hasn't money enough to hire somebody to look after her; I admit that. He ought to take her, body and bones, and make her go and live with the Smiths-but how they would quarrel -those two women! Then there's Sally's side: Mrs. Smith would threaten to die if Sally left her, and Sally hasn't the cour age, poor girl, to say Very well, ma'am,' and go, and discover that her mother

I would live to be as old as Methuselah! The only thing I can do is to make an appeal to Mrs. Steele, though it will do about as much good as talking to a stone! Andrew has spoiled her. Well, well; children are responsible for their parents to the Lord; but I suppose that never struck St. Paul!" The long shadows stretched across the new-mown fields where the hay-cocks had been piled up for the night; the air was sweet, and there were bird-calls all about them; the setting sun struck suddenly on the windows of Mrs. Steele's little house, and Dr. Lavendar frowned again, and said to himself: "Yes; I'll give that woman a piece of my mind; I wish I'd done it ten years ago! It's probably too late now, but it will be a relief to me, anyhow."

It was too late. When Van Horn came out to help the old clergyman.down from his perch on the box-seat as the stage drew up at the tavern door, there was an important look on his face. "Glad you're back, sir," he said. "Well, things has happened since you went away. Mrs. Steele passed away, sir, last night."

Dr. Lavendar, clambering stiffly down over the wheel, paused midway; then he stood staring at the landlord; then sat down on one of the big splint chairs on the porch. "The sword of the Lord, and of Gideon!" he said.

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Van Horn sighed respectfully at this religious exclamation, and said: Yes indeed, sir; we all go. It was a fit."

As for Dr. Lavendar, he went home and told his Mary to give him his supper as quickly as possible.

"I am going back to Upper Chester," he said; "Mrs. Steele is dead."

Mary protested shrilly. "You'll wear yourself out- you just home from a journey! She's gone; there isn't nothing you can do-"

"Isn't there?" said Dr. Lavendar, chuckling. "Give me my supper!"

So he went, jogging along in the summer dusk in his old sulky. The house was dark and silent when he reached it at ten o'clock; but as he came up the path he heard some low voices on the porch, and then Andrew rose in the shadows under the Virginia-creeper that hung thick about the pillars and over the lintel, and came and met him. "This is very kind of you, Dr. Lavendar," he said, in that subdued way which means the house of death. "Sally's here," he added.

"I supposed so," the old man said, and took Sally's hand in silence.

"It was very sudden," Andrew said; and then they all sat down, and Andrew told the story. "It was very sudden,' he said again, sighing, when he had given the last detail.

"Yes," said Dr. Lavendar; "yes."

Then they were silent.

"She is better off, Andrew," Sally said, gently. "It is a blessed thing for herisn't it, Dr. Lavendar?"

"Oh, yes, yes," Andrew said. And Dr. Lavendar nodded.

“Well, Sally," he said; "well, Andrew-" Then he paused. "My dear friends, I have come here to-night not only to comfort a house of mourning, but to say to you, as your friend and minister, that I hope you will let me marry you at once."

"Oh-Dr. Lavendar," Sally said, shrinking-"we must not speak of that now."

"Sarah, there is no impropriety in speaking of the enduring affection which has existed between you and Andrew. In this house, where death has come, I say to you, let there be no more of this misguided delay wrought harm, Sarah." Andrew suddenly stood up and put his hand out to his old friend, "God bless you, sir!" he said.

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a delay that has

"The funeral is to be to-morrow," said Dr. Lavendar; very well. On Monday morning, Sarah, at nine o'clock, I will call at your house and perform the marriage ceremony."

་

"Oh, Andrew-" Sally said, faintly. As for Andrew, he burst out passionately: All these years! all these years! Oh, Sally, how long it has been! I meant, sir, of course, to tell Sally it must be soon; only with mother upstairs, now-it didn't seem right to speak of it. But it is right. Sally, not another day's delay! I will come and live at your house, dear; but not another day's delay!"

When Dr. Lavendar went home that night, his old face was twinkling with pleasure; he sung softly scraps of hymns, or talked to his little blind horse; and once he said to himself, chuckling, “If I'd followed my impulse, I'd have married them then and there, and made no bones of it!"

However, when people have waited so many years, Monday is not very far off.

IN

N two previous articles I have endeavored to bring before my readers the nature of the life led by the British officer in time of peace; in this paper it will be my task to set forth the mode of life, amusements, etc., of the men of the rank and file, and of their wives and families. Perhaps the best way to begin will be to imagine ourselves arriving at a military station as the bugles ring forth reveille at the hour of half past five in the morning. As we reach the barracks gate they have just been opened for the day, the last notes of the bugle blown by the sleepy-looking bugler of the barrack guard echoing shrilly from the walls of the gloomy buildings surrounding the expanse of drill - ground. The sentry is pacing briskly to and fro on his limited beat, and the soldiers of the guard, having just been inspected by their commander, are stamping about under the veranda to keep themselves warm, while one of their number is endeavoring to blow up a fire in the dusty grate in order to heat some coffee or cocoa for his comrades. No notice is taken of us as we pass through, the garment of invisibility being sufficient passport, so we direct our steps unchallenged to a door in the gloomy buildings above-mentioned, in order to have a look at a barrackroom before it has been tidied up for inspection. On the door of the room we enter we notice a card setting forth that the room is occupied by men of "G" or Captain Jones's company, and that the non-commissioned officer in charge is a Corporal Woods. Above the door is a legend to the effect that the room has accommodation for sixteen men, and that it is entitled to so many units of coal weekly, but the latter announcement only refers to the allowance which can be drawn in the winter months. There is a good deal of noise in the room as we enter; a gentleman, presumably Corporal Woods, though his rank is not to be guessed at from his light attire, is energetically endeavoring to rouse the sleepier members of his squad, some of

whom are already sitting blinking on the edges of their iron bed-cots. Two or three men, who are for fatigue, are struggling into their clothing as rapidly as possible, another man is throwing open the windows, while a couple of older soldiers, who appear to be chartered libertines, are calmly lying in their beds, puffing with a great air of complacency and enjoyment at their freshly lighted pipes, occasionally making sarcastic remarks at the expense of some of the sleepier recruits.

It is now nearly six o'clock, and as breakfast will not be ready till eight, we shall have time to take a turn round the barracks and see what is going on outside. Under the clock we see assembling a party of men carrying large flat tin dishes, while other men run hurriedly to join them, swinging their dishes in one hand and buttoning up their coats with the other as they run. This is the early ration party. The party being complete, an unintelligible bark from the sergeant sets them in motion, and with great clattering of tins and scuffling of feet they wheel round a corner in the direction of the ration-stand. In hot summer weather meat will not keep for long, so it is issued on the same day as it is to be cooked, and the men we have just seen parading have gone to draw the allowance for their messes. Government gives each man three-quarters of a pound of meat daily, weighed with bone, and one pound of bread, in addition to which it has this year been decided to credit each man with threepence a day to pay for his groceries, vegetables, etc., for which a stoppage has hitherto been made. When breakfast-time comes we shall see what sort of a meal the soldier gets for his threepence. As we stroll across the square we meet a straggling contingent in exceedingly disreputable fatigue dress, who are making a great show of energy in sweeping up the straws and papers and other flotsam and jetsam ornamenting the gutter. A recruit, who has escaped the eye of the corporal in charge,

is assiduously practising with his broom. the "present" from the "shoulder," probably his chief stumbling-block on parade, a critical comrade sitting on a wheelbarrow exhorting him to "cut away his 'ands more smarter"; a manoeuvre which leads to the dropping of the broom with a clatter, and the inter

an interminable time. However, when they pull up the men do not appear to be much winded, owing, probably, to the fact that they are working in the now usual summer kit of shirt sleeves, and also to being regularly drilled in running. The parade is dismissed at a quarter to eight, and the square is hardly clear of

men before the bugler on duty emerges from the guard-room and wakens the echoes with the ever - welcome "cook-house" bugle, which is the signal for the orderlies of squads to hasten to the cook-houses to draw the tea and anything else that may have been cooked for their breakfasts. It is quite time that we returned to our barrack-room: as we enter we notice a marked change for the better both in the atmosphere, which had been decidedly close before, and in the general appearance, the mattresses being now neatly rolled, the bedding, brown blankets on top, secured by a strap, and the bed-cots folded up; while the table is covered with delf plates and basins, and the men, now properly dressed and fresh from their visit to the "ablution-rooms," are waiting anxiously for their morning meal. They are not kept waiting long; scarcely have we entered than the orderly-man clatters in at the door with a steaming can of tea, from which he rapidly fills the basins, the milk and sugar having been already added before the tea left the cookhouse. No allowance is made in barracks for men of fastidious tastes; if a man prefers his tea unsweetened, he can go elsewhere; the taste of the majority is alone consulted. The tea having been served out, the orderly-man now proceeds to divide the bread into chunks, one for each man, and announces that the "extra" that morning is butter; this announcement is a welcome one, and the butter being produced in its wrapper of blue canteen paper, is speedily divided into equal portions, one for each member of the mess. Should any comrade be so unfortunate as to be languishing in the guard room, awaiting disposal by the

ruption of the practice by the sudden awakening of the corporal to the dereliction of duty going on in his command. Certainly these gentlemen appear to take life easily, and we are rather astonished to hear that they are "defaulters," or men undergoing punishment, who, for their sins, are being employed on "pioneer fatigue." Now the morning parade is falling in, and we can profitably pass the time till eight o'clock in watching the manoeuvres, which terminate by the whole strength on parade running round the barrack square or what seems to us