The soldiers are called the brethren.

They have each a dark broad-cloth gown, with a bright silver badge-The bear and ragged staff,' which they must wear whenever they walk abroad.

6

Along the front of the Master's house are the words, Honour all men; love the brotherhood; fear God; honour the king.' There is a garden belonging to the hospital, and a small chapel, with a pretty stained-glass east window. Prayer-books in good large print are provided for the brethren, with their names in gilt letters on the cover; and here they meet daily for morning and evening prayers, unless there is service at St. Mary's Church, when they are expected to go and worship God there. M. H. F. DONNE.

The Mud-Lark.

Tat home there is nothing to eat,

10 earn a bit bread we must try,

So Jerry, my brother, and I,
We wander about on the street.

But Jerry is younger than me,
And oh, he has got such a cough!
I told it to father, but he

Just ordered us both to be off!'

When mother is sober she's kind;
I've seen her give Jerry a kiss;

But both of them drink themselves blind,
So what can we work at but this?

Mud-larking 's not work I would choose;
I'm vexed about Jerry, you see:
If only he'd victuals and shoes,
"Twould not so much matter for me.

D. B. M'KEAN.

A Link Unbroken.

"UMPHREY GREY and his wife Rachel were poor people,

the hills. A pretty spot you would have called it; and pretty it was, no doubt; for the hills which rose behind the cottage and on either side of it were clothed in soft green, brightened in spring and summer time with golden gorse; while between the hills ran a pleasant river, and on each side of the river lay fields, rich in changeful colours, sometimes yellow with buttercups, sometimes purple with blue-bells, sometimes crimson with clover; while far down the valley westward you might catch a glimpse of a streak of sea, which, with the sky that appeared to bound it, was often lighted up at sunset with a wonderful glory.

Then, also, the cottage itself was pretty, with its porch and its diamond-paned windows, and its brown thatch and broad eaves; and the woman who was always in and about the cottage you would, I almost think, have called pretty also. Folk said she had been very pretty years ago, though it could not have been many years, for she was not yet by any means old: but trouble, they said, had spoiled her beauty. Well, she was pale, certainly, and her cheeks were rather hollow, and there were lines across her forehead-lines of care; but she had soft, beautiful eyes-full of sorrow, however, full of sorrow; very sorrowful indeed they were whenever they turned towards that streak of distant sea. Sometimes for the cottage faced the west-she would sit at her

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door at work on summer evenings, when her husband had not yet come home, and every now and then she would stop and look seaward, and sigh, or perhaps tears would come; and presently she would lay down her work and cry as if her heart were breaking. But when her husband came home she would say nothing about it—no need, for he could see it well enough; and though he was but a rough man he had a gentle heart, and his wife's sorrow grieved him greatly.

Sometimes he thought it was not good for her to be so much alone, with the sea and the sunset before her, for he knew why the sight of them made her sad; and he talked of going to live in the village, which lay a mile or two further up the valley, where she would have neighbours to cheer her, and where-though this he did not say-she would not be able to look out upon the sad, sad sea.

But Rachel would not hear of this. She loved that little home, she said; she never could leave it; she would grow cheerful again byand-by. No, she felt she could not leave that little home among the hills; and that sad, sad sea.

When his wife spoke thus, Humphrey fancied himself cruel for proposing a thing which so distressed her, and he would give up his plan instantly, resolving never to suggest it again: but again and again he, did suggest it, and again and again Rachel pleaded; therefore again and again it was given up, and they remained in the little cottage amongst the hills.

One day Humphrey brought his wife a present which pleased her greatly. It was a lovely plant in full blossom, from some grand house which had gardens and conservatories, and where the head gardener was his old friend.

Rachel set the flower in her window and tended it carefully: watered it, loosened the earth about it, counted every bud, rejoiced over every blossom; and sometimes the tending it diverted her from gazing out across the sea.

But by-and-by the flower showed signs of fading, and Rachel began to grieve over it. She feared it might die, she said; and she gave it more care than ever; but it was of no use, do what she would it was plain that the plant was beginning to fade. Then she asked her

husband to consider with her what was best to be done.

He, kind man, one evening after a hard day's work, instead of coming home to rest, walked miles over the hills, and seeking out his friend the gardener, asked him what to do for the flower.

'It is all right,' said the gardener; it is sure to fade; it is its nature but you must give it me for the winter, and it shall be carefully nursed and tended. When spring comes it shall blossom again in your window fairer than ever.'

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Somehow Rachel did not like to give it up; but she did give it up, and when she had done so she took to looking out seaward again, just as often and just as sadly as before.

I may as well tell you here what it was that made her so sad.

Humphrey and Rachel had had one son, an only child, and he had gone to sea, and the ship had been wrecked, and only a few were saved to tell the tale, and their boy was not one. A story quickly told; but oh! a story which was repeating itself for ever in that poor mother's heart.

To have lost him out of her life; not to hear from him, not to write to him, not to have any little thing to do for him, not to be counting the days to his return! it left a dreadful blank in her heart, even though she was what people call a religious woman; one who trusted in God, read her Bible, and went to church; even though she believed in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.

'I believe in that, of course,' she said one day to some one who was trying to comfort her. I believe in that; but it is now, the present time, that is so hard to bear, while I am cut off from my boy.'

And you had only to look at her face to see that she found it indeed, as she said, hard to bear.

One evening her husband came home much later than usual, and, taking his seat by the fireside, he said, 'I'm tired, wife; where do you think I've been?' Then he told her that he had been all across the hills to ask how it fared with the plant she treasured. It was thriving beautifully, so he had learned; as when spring-time came they would see for themselves.

Rachel smiled. She thought it very good of her husband to have taken all that trouble after his hard day, so she tried to brighten up to please him; and by-and-by-being, as I said, a religious woman -she fetched her Bible and read aloud a chapter, which her husband liked her every evening to do.

The next day when Humphrey came home his wife met him with a brighter look than he had seen upon her face for a very long time; and there was a cheerfulness about her which was now quite new. The good man wondered, but said nothing: he was so well pleased with the change that he would not risk a word which might mar it; but when tea was over, and he sat resting on one side of the fire, while his wife with the candle drawn close to her mended a stocking, the wife remarked, Humphrey, I have been thinking. I was very sorry when my plant began to fade.'

'I knew that,' replied Humphrey, his honest face brightening. I knew that; and that was why I walked out over the hills to ask after it for you.'

'Yes,' said Rachel; and you brought me back word that it was