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WHAT

THE DAISY CHAIN.

a delightful time the summer is! The days are long, the sun bright,

and all the flowers are so beautiful. So thought Ruby and Mary, one bright summer afternoon, when they were in the garden with their mother. The grass was fresh and green, for there had been a shower the day before; the daisies were in full flower, and, holding their heads erect, seemed to rejoice with the rest of nature. A fine old chestnut tree, in the middle of the green, formed a pleasant shade, where the three sat and talked about the day's adventures at school.

'Let us make a daisy chain,' at last exclaimed Ruby; and she and her sister set to work pulling the biggest daisies, while their mother made the chain. Very happy they were, running here and there, and as soon as they had a lot, carrying them to the place where their mother was sitting. 'What a big one this is!' 'Did you ever see such a beauty? was heard every now and then, as they found a finer daisy than usual. When they had gathered enough, they again seated themselves under the tree to watch their mother, and let their heated faces cool. Bit by bit the chain grew. Daisy after daisy was added, and the shouts of delight grew louder and louder. At last one of the links broke, and the chain fell in two pieces. What a pity!' the children exclaimed; but the skilful hands of their mother soon mended the break.

'How clever you are,' said Ruby: 'I wish I could make chains like that.'

'So do I,' echoed Mary.

'Do you know,' said their mother, 'that both of you are making far more difficult chains than this one-chains that you have been working at for a long time, and may not finish for a great many years?'

'How can that be?' both the children asked.

"The chain of which I speak,' said their mother, is the chain of life. The links are of three kinds, thoughts, words, and deeds; and every day you are adding a great many of all three sorts. Now, you should be

But

very careful not to put in bad links. An angry word, an unkind action, or a wicked thought, are all bad links, and make the chain of life weak and imperfect. You saw how quickly the daisy chain fell to pieces, just because one small part was weak. I was able to take away the broken daisy, and make the chain as perfect as ever. The chain which you are making is very different. You cannot take out the weak links when once they are put in. A sinful thought cannot be recalled, nor a wicked action undone. Every link added to the chain must stand for ever. Can my little girls tell me who will examine the chain at last and see what links are good and what are bad?'

'God will,' answered Ruby.

Quite right,' said her mother: 'God is the Master, for whom we are all making the chain of life. The last link is added at death, and it will be a very sad thing if the links are nearly all bad.'

The children looked very serious; for they had never considered things in that light before.

'But,' asked Ruby, 'when we pray to God to pardon our sins, does that not take away the bad links?'

'No,' answered her mother; when God hears our prayer, He pardons us for making the bad links and helps us to make good ones, but the bad ones still remain in the chain of life. I hope both of you will try to make your chains good.'

'Oh yes,' they answered at once.

'And now I have used up all the daisies, and I hear papa's ring at the door, so we must go. in and have tea.'"

So they left their seat under the tree, and went into the house. The children did not forget the lesson of the daisy chain. When tempted to speak crossly to their companions, the thought would rise to their minds, 'That would be a bad link' and so they would not do it. Or when inclined to neglect their lessons and go out to play, they would remember that laziness is also a bad link, and so make up their minds to learn.

Will my readers do the same? They, too,

I DON'T know if any rich man with ever

so much money, felt more at a loss as to spending it, than little Tom did about laying out a penny which a kind friend had given him one sunny afternoon. It was not for want of good advice either, that he hesitated and changed his mind; for Mary, the eldest of the family, and Maggie, who was a year older than he was, were both very anxious to give the wisest counsel on the occasion.

They gazed eagerly in at the shop

windows, and considered all the tempting goods displayed there. It was the fair week, and there was no end of toys to be had for the buying-penny trumpets, lots of marbles all for a penny, jumping jacks, and balls of every kind. Then there was another way of laying out his 'capital,' as grown up people call it, that Tom thought he would like very much. There was a merry-go-round on the green, a ride of three times round for a penny; and as he had almost fixed his mind upon a picture

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book (it was a Jack the Giant-killer, with splendid pictures), one look towards the green, where the little boys and girls were sitting in state on the hobby horses, was enough to change his mind. There were stalls, too, with oranges and innumerable cakes of gingerbread, toffy in abundance, and ever so much white and coloured rock.

'There now, Tom,' said Mary, ‘you will get two of these big cakes for a penny; that would be so nice.' Gingerbread can be shared, thought Mary; and each of them might have a bit. It was long since they had had a treat; no kind father brought home 'goodies' to these children on a Saturday afternoon: the public house got the best part of the wages that should have gone to make a bright, happy home; and their kind mother lay on a poor bed with a rending cough, which she sometimes thought would not be long of putting an end to all her weary toil.

Just at this moment something made little Tom think of her lying all alone. She had told them to go and see the fair; Mary had done her best to make up the fire and tidy the room a little, and the poor woman pleased herself in the thought of the children's pleasure.

'Don't you hear, Tom?' said Maggie, 'there are beautiful cakes, spend your penny on them; what are you thinking about?'

'I know now what I'll do,' said the little fellow. Mother will get a bit of my penny, I heard her say she would so like an orange, only she had no money; now I have money.' And so the penny was spent; two delicious oranges were carried home. Tom gave one wistful look towards the merry-go-round, but did not in the least regret his choice; and when the mother shared, with her children, the gift of her little boy, the love that reigned in that humble home chased away its sorrow for a while.

Do you think it was a well spent penny? I do.

'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto

A DAY AT PORTSMOUTH.

NOT many little boys and girls who read

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were

this will have been to Portsmouth. Perhaps you have just seen the old church tower with the ship on the top, as you steamed away from Southsea pier on the way to the Isle of Wight. Next time you see that old church, you must look at some of the roofs surrounding it. On one of these you will read the words, Soldiers' Institute." Those great letters painted, that soldiers, coming back from abroad with their wives and little children, might see them, and know there was a comfortable house in Portsmouth ready to take them in. If you were on board one of the great troopships as she leaves Spithead and enters Portsmouth harbour, you would see the deck lined with red coats, all looking eagerly at the shores of old England, which they left perhaps ten or twelve years ago. They are no doubt thinking of the time they saw her last, and of the friends they parted from then.

I know one poor soldier's wife who waited eleven long years to see her husband again. She had never been to school, so she could not write a letter to him all that time. Once a letter arrived from him, and once his photograph came to keep him in her recollection; and she went on loving him, and thinking of him. One day a knock came to the door, and a tall soldier stood there asking for her. She cried, 'Oh, father, it's my Griffiths come back,' and she fainted away for joy. When she woke up, two hours afterwards, she found it was all quite true, and her husband had come safe home.

But some poor soldiers have been away so long, that there is no one waiting to welcome them back. Perhaps they have heard in India that the father is dead, and the old mother too; and as they stand on deck, and look at land getting nearer and nearer, their hearts are very sad, as they think of the many changes that have taken place since they left.

Now, you must come and take a look inside the Soldiers' Institute, and see that

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there is some one there thinking of those who are coming home to-day. It is halfpast six in the morning, and time to start for the dockyard, where the great white troopship is just arriving, and being moored. to the jetty. The fires must be lighted in the little coffee shed, and the water boiling, all ready to make hot coffee for the soldiers when they disembark. There are plenty of buns and gingerbreads to carry down; and one or two workers from the Institute are soon on their way, with a soldier to help them. The colder the morning, the better they know hot coffee will be appreciated. Not so very long ago, instead of the coffee shed in which they now take shelter, they set out with a horse and cart; and it was hard work to keep the coffee in its right place, as the cart jolted along the road; and when they reached the jetty, they had to wait in the wind and cold till the soldiers disembarked and crowded around. It was hard work to fill the cups fast enough then. The little children and their mothers were there too; and, fresh from the hot Indian days, they were glad of anything to help to keep them warm, as they shivered in the cold, wintry, morning air. But times are changed since then. Government has provided waiting rooms for the soldiers; and the Institute has its own little coffee shed, where the coffee can be boiled, and served out too.

This morning the young lady who has gone down to the dockyard, with her helpers, is soon busy getting ready hot water. There are three small American stoves in the shed, and a store of mugs and cups and saucers; while a large cupboard contains necessary cooking utensils, and books and papers for giving away. When the soldiers begin to land on the jetty, the coffee is taken out to them in cans; and those who carry it are soon full of work, filling the mugs and handing out buns. It is not given away. Soldiers are not beggars, they like to pay for what they receive, and one penny the cup is gladly given by them.

Nearly all these men have heard of Miss Robinson. Her name is spoken all

over India, and papers about the Institute are distributed amongst them, so that if any are staying in Portsmouth for a few nights with their wives and children, they may know where they can be lodged. Many families come to the house on the arrival of a troopship. The poor little children are so glad to sleep in a comfortable bed again; for it is needful to pack them very closely during the voyage, and if it is rough weather, they and their mothers have a hard time of it. There are often as many as 1500 men on board these great troopships, and it takes a long time for them to disembark, and carry all the luggage on shore; so that is is sometimes late in the afternoon when the young lady in the coffee shed has finished her work, and returns to the Institute with her helpers.

Many people from all parts of England come to the Soldiers' Institute to see for themselves what they have heard and read about; but what Miss Robinson wants most, is that some of them should come and stay there, and work with her. It is such a bright house to live in, and those who are there look always happy and busy. They often wish that other young ladies would come and join them. Some little girls who are too young to come, try to help the Institute in another way. They have collecting cards, and ask their friends to give them sixpence for it.

Some time ago one little girl sent £11. Children can do a great deal when they try. Have you ever read the fable of the tiny mouse that tried to help a great lion out of a net? He had been caught so fast, that the more he struggled he became the more entangled. The mouse, however, went on patiently gnawing away at one knot after another, and at last the lion could get up again, and shake himself quite free of the cords. No one knows how much they can do until they try.

'Little deeds of kindness,

Little words of love, Make our earth an Eden,

Like the heaven above.'