The nave of the old Oratory had been converted into a room, ninety-nine feet long, with couches and tables running down both sides, a billiard-table in the centre, writing materials in abundance, and pictures on the walls. At one end of the room stood a pianoforte, couches, and easy-chairs, and a door opened into a garden facing the sea. Over the door were arranged several flags, and above these, in large letters, the appropriate words, "In the name of the Lord will we set up our banners." At the other end was a temperance refreshment bar. On a verandah facing the sea men could repose on easy-chairs and smoke their pipes or cigars, while contemplating the peculiarities of an Eastern climate. It was here that our friend Sergeant Hardy was enjoying that blessed state of convalescence which may be described as gazing straight forward and thinking of nothing! Of course there were all the other appliances of a well-equipped Institute--such as sleeping-cabins, manager's room, Bible-class room, lavatory, and all the rest of it, while a handsome new stone building close beside it contained sitting-rooms, bed-rooms, club-room for officers, kitchens, and, by no means least, though last, a large lecture-hall. But to these and many other things we must not devote too much space, for old friends in new aspects claim our attention. Only, in passing from such details, it may not be out of place to say that it has been remarked that the sight of Miss Robinson's buildings, steadily rising from the midst of acres of ruins, while men's minds were agitated by the bombardment and its results, produced a sense of security which had a most beneficial and quietening effect on the town! Indeed, one officer of high rank went so far as to say that the Institute scheme had given the inhabitants more confidence in the intentions of England than anything yet done or promised by Government! In a rocking-chair beside the sergeant reclined a shadow in loose-- remarkably loose--fitting soldier's costume. "What a blessed place to sit in and rest after the toils and sufferings of war," said Hardy, to the shadow, "and how thankful I am to God for bringing me here!" "It's a hivenly place intirely," responded the shadow, "an' 'tis mesilf as is thankful too--what's left o' me anyhow, an' that's not much. Sure I've had some quare thoughts in me mind since I come here. Wan o' them was--what is the smallest amount o' skin an' bone that's capable of howldin' a thankful spirit?" "I never studied algebra, Flynn, so it's of no use puttin' the question to me," said Hardy; "besides, I'm not well enough yet to tackle difficult questions, but I'm real glad to see you, my boy, though there _is_ so little of you to see." "That's it, sarjint; that's just where it lies," returned Flynn, in a slow, weak voice. "I've bin occupied wi' that question too--namely, how thin may a man git widout losin' the power to howld up his clo'es?"