grew up in her breast for the broken wife, who was so prostrated by her great loss that for weeks her life was despaired of. Rosa Gladwin nursed her through it all, and, I suppose, must have discovered in her some good qualities which were hidden from ordinary onlookers, for when Mrs Hanford fairly recovered they did not separate. At first Rosa offered to provide for her by settling on her an annuity quite sufficient for her wants, but the proposal was never carried out. They went out to the Cape together, and no sisters could have been more firmly bound together in affection. Neither of them ever married again, but their lives have been spent in watching the development of Hanford’s son, who is no longer a lame boy, but a strong man, bidding fair to leave a big mark in the world’s history. The most singular thing in the case, however, is the fact that Janet Hanford left her drunkenness and debasement in the grave which swallowed her husband. Truly there is hope for all, even for the White Savage. THE BROKEN MISSIONARY. The place was called a church, but it was really little more than a mission-house thrown out and partly supported by a religious body in Edinburgh wishing to extend its connection. The town is a few miles from Edinburgh, and the building used for the church had at one time been used as a school, then as a slaughter-house for pigs, and at last, with a little painting and fitting up, as a church or meeting-house. It is not necessary to name the particular sect of which this small church was a part. All churches are formed of men and women, and with these there is always to be found some twist of character, which we, who are twisted in another direction, call an imperfection. Such men as the deacon in the following case may be found in almost any church—men of strong convictions and great pugnacity, who are such heroes for virtue that they never think it possible to fall on the other side.