his sons own the carpenter's shop, and do all the odd jobs of the village; Mrs. Price has the reputation of possessing a very sharp tongue, which perhaps accounts for the fact that her husband is always known as "poor old John."

Ben Thomas, the blacksmith, is "mighty powerful" in his speech, and at election time comes out as an ardent Radical. He has a seat on the Parish Council, and used to sing in the church choir, till, not approving of the innovations introduced by a musical curate, he transferred his allegiance to the chapel; his son Joe is of a less fiery character, quite the most popular young fellow in the village,

round to the rhythm of the seasons, and in the face of wind and weather, sunshine and storm. How to relieve the monotony of this life, and so make it more attractive to those of the coming generation, who will not face the old humdrum existence, is one of the most vital problems of the present.

"God's finger touched but gently when he made our England," says Mrs. Browning, so rounded are the contours of hill and vale. A visitor from the New World is especially struck with the noble park-like scenery which spreads on every side. A recent American traveller thus describes his impressions of this old historic

where he is a leading light in the Cricket Club, and on the Institute committee, and "Old Ben" is secretly very proud of him, though he bullies him consistently and keeps his nose to the grindstone.

Figures such as these stand out, but there are many others of whom I might write-simple, hard-working men and women whose pleasures are few, whose outlook is strictly bounded, and yet who plod away, amazingly contented with their lots. There is not much room for adventure or romance in village life; the more eager spirits break away to find or lose their souls in great cities, and for those who stay behind there is just the daily

land, with its stately parks and mansions, its quaint farmsteads and granges, the red-tiled or strawthatched cottages, the ivy-grown churches, the fields cultivated like a garden, the hawthorn hedges just as we see them all in Birket Foster's pic

tures:

Wordsworth, standing on Westminster Bridge in the early dawn, wrote his exquisite sonnet beginning, "Earth has not any thing to show more fair," and the words echoed in my mind all the two hundred miles between Liverpool and London. Scenery wilder, grander, more impressive is to be found in many lands; but search the

66 YONDER IVY-MANTLED TOWER."

wide world over, and you will see nothing to equal the rich beauty of an English rural landscape. With us it is common for large farms to be cared for under the disadvantage of small incomes; here immense wealth has been lavished on small areas, giving a result that is a perpetual feast to the eye. Land is incalculably more precious than in the New World, yet clumps of noble trees have been left standing here and there in the fields, as well as in the picturesque hedgerows, serving as divisions between them.

The superlative finish evidenced on every hand made it seem incredible that the whole stretch of rolling country, as far as the eye could reach, had not been laid out as a great park by some wonderful landscape gardener. There stood the gray stone church, ancient and hoary, and smothered in ivy, and a rectory a fitting match for it in each particular, and between them the "country churchyard," bearing every mark of the one which inspired Gray's Gray's immortal "Elegy." Through clustering foliage showed

tantalizing glimpses of one of "the stately homes of England," and at a respectful distance below rested the irregular street of tiny thatched cottages, and the quaint old inn with the swinging sign-" The Dun Cow," "The Angel," "The Dumb Bell," or some other title equally appropriate. Lastly, half a mile or so from the village, lay the homestead of the tenant farmer, the dusky purplish-red of the walls, and the lighter hue of the tiled roof, contrasting beautifully with the deep, rich green of the surrounding fields, which enviable tint, by the way, is due to the moisture of the muchabused English climate.

The number of very pretty little country homes, quite remote from any other habitation, was especially noticeable, and memory will always retain. a strong impression of such an one, a model of quiet beauty. The picturesque, many-gabled old house, its latticed windows framed in ivy, and its porch covered in honeysuckle, was embowered in an old-fashioned garden, round which ran a hedge, its original prim lines well-nigh obliterated by the rich broidery of pink blossoms which a tangle of briar roses

life in Bulgaria have their eloquent story to tell. As soon as she entered the country, she showed unmistakably her interest in the life and character of the people, and made them feel in every way possible that she did not intend to remain a stranger among them. She opened her elegant home to the Prince, the statesmen, and the women prominent in society, and included them all in her generous hospitality.

Although much beloved and admired by those in the higher walks of life, she finds the greatest delight in relieving the needy, rescuing those that are ready to perish, and in comforting and uplifting the oppressed and down-trodden. The Bulgarian people quickly recognized Mrs. Bakhmiteff's magnanimity of soul. As she was visiting the Alexander Hospital at Sofia, one day, by invitation, she was shocked at the condition of some of its wards. Inquiry revealed that this was due mainly to insufficient. funds. Laying the matter to heart, she turned to Russia for help in securing competent nurses from the Red Cross.. Seven nurses were speedily sent by the Dowager Em

press and the Czarina; five of these entered the hospital wards, and the remaining two served as instructors of young Bulgarian women, who took the course in nursing. More than thirty graduates are already blessing the hospitals and homes of the land with their services, while three have recently been sent to the Far East, with two surgeons and all the equipments for a camp-hospital, for the relief of the Russian wounded.

Mrs. Bakhmiteff's visit to the Alexander Hospital not only revealed the need of better care of the patients, but also the fact that there was no children's ward, no special beds nor clothes for the little sufferers. To supply this lamentable lack, she promptly suggested a ladies' sewing society, to meet the needs of the neglected children, at least as far as their clothes were concerned. The ladies willingly met her suggestion. They quickly organized themselves as a society for hospital aid, with forty members, wives of the most prominent men of Sofia. Their second meeting was held at the residence of the first lady-in-waiting at the court, Mrs. Petroff Chomakoff, and the third, at