London. But before going with them to the
trains, I must remark upon what seemed to me
the most wonderful part of the whole proceedings.
This was the comparative freshness, and
the unvarying good temper of every volunteer
—at least, of every one that I came across.
There was hardly a man present who had not
been up and dressed shortly after three A.M.,
and some even previous to that hour. They
had walked through dark streets to join their
respective corps, and had marched through
London to the different railway stations with
the cold north wind. Many had to wait on
the platforms for an hour or more until their
turn to depart came. Then three hours or
so of railway, and since that seven hours
continually on the tramp. They were white
with dust as to their hair and clothes, and
black as to their faces and hands with the
cartridges they had been handling all day. And
yet with all this—to say nothing of the want of
regular meals, which no Englishmen, as a rule,
can approve of—I did not hear a single
attempt at grumbling, nor anything but the most
good-tempered remarks and jokes on all sides.
Throughout the long day only four men applied
to the medical officers—two had suffered from
slight accidents, and two from illness. If
there is not the making of a fine army in men
like these, where are we to look for efficient
soldiers? I have seen three times that number
of soldiers fall out from an ordinary battalion
drill in an English garrison; and it should be
remembered that on Easter Monday there were,
besides the regular troops present, twenty-seven
thousand, and more, volunteers.

I confess that I came back from Portsmouth
with altered feelings about the volunteer force.
All professions, and all professional men, have
their prejudices. Mine, as a military man, were
that the volunteer movement was very pretty
soldiering in play; but beyond this I would
not allow that it could be of any use, save,
perhaps, to keep young men out of mischief by
inducing them to go to drill and perfect
themselves in shooting. But I now believe that the
defence of the country could be entrusted to
this force, and that if we only made the
most of the men, and officered them a little
better, we might, in a very great measure, do
away with our standing army. As a French
gentleman, who was present at the review,
remarked to me, "the very name of this citizen
army shows what a wonderful force it is. To
think that nearly thirty thousand men would, of
their own free will, go through a day's fatigue
like this without the slightest personal advantage
to be gained, and that peers, wealthy
commoners, members of parliament, professional
men, merchants, shopkeepers, artisans,
and even labouring men join heart and hand in
a voluntary movement of this kind, shows more
than volumes could do the great strength of
this nation. It is only in Britain, in the British
colonies, or in the United States of America
that such a sight could be possible. Nowhere
else would even the meaning of the word volunteer
be fully understood." And I must say that I
quite agree with the moral which my French
friend drew from the Easter Monday display at
Portsmouth.

SISTER ANNE.

IN FOUR, CHAPTERS. CHAPTER I.

IT is well for me that when I settled down
here a lonely old maid I gave up the world, and
such praise or blame as attaches to actions of
which the motives lie hidden and buried far
beyond its ken. It is well for me, but it is a
good that has its drawbacks, and my heart
ached last night when Mrs. Bugden left me.

I sat by the open window looking out on the
grey coast that wound away through the blue
evening mists, and at the dark sea breaking on
the shingle with a broad white edge of foam.
I watched the stars coming out in the sky with
a timid glittering light, and as the breeze passed
over my little garden and brought me the
fragrance of the flowers which are now my great
delight, I thought: "Have I deserved this?
Have I deserved, because, for reasons which
my judge in Heaven alone must know, I have
severed myself from the society that was most
dear to my heart, have I deserved to be thought
heartless?" Quick and sure came an avenging
"No!" But who heard, who will ever
hear it? Not poor Mrs. Bugden, nor that
world of which she so zealously made herself
the echo. Then it is well for me, as I
said, that I gave up the world and its praise
and blame when I chose this for my last
resting place.

I must not complain; my home though
lonely is very pleasant. My cottage is small,
but then I have few visitors and no friends to
come and share it, so there is no need for more
room. If the furniture is plain, dark and
brown, it is such as I like. And then I have
books, and goodly company for winter. Noble
poets, wise philosophers, and pleasant garrulous
novelists, dealers in wonderful or simple tales,
who can still lure me from myself and charm
my old heart—old I call it, though my hair is
black as when I was twenty; but it is not
always by years that one must reckon a lonely
woman's age. When I am tired of reading I
turn to music; there, too, I deal with wonderful
minds, souls great and tender, whose
converse is very sweet. And then have I not my
garden, my flowers, my exotics, and my ferns?
For the climate is so mild that almost all the
year round I can take pleasure in surveying
or adorning the little world that calls me
queen.

I came back here three years ago, and I have
not forgotten how sad and lonely I felt when I
entered this place. Here, then, I was to live and
die. This little cottage, not half so large as the
tombs the old Romans reared on the Appian
way, was to be my last abode upon earth. The
choice was mine and could be rescinded, but I
knew it would not be—I knew it was final;