wished that they should have nothing to complain
of when he was gone. This showed that
he thought his death was near; and he told
"Mother" so. He said he knew she would
grieve, and the more—not the less—because
he had been such a trouble to her. But she
must remember he would be much better off
—at least that was what he expected—though
she had done everything that mortal could do
to make him comfortable. He was evidently
anxious to speak privately to the visitors who
were still admitted, when he was sufficiently
at ease to see them. The poor neighbours
came on Sundays and in the evenings; and
the ladies at other times; and he had the
same thing to say to them all,—that he hoped
they would, if they cared for him, keep on the
watch to serve "Mother." For his sake, they
must never let her go without help, if she
needed it. If he should be where he could
know such things, he should be grateful for
every good act done to her.

By degrees, the broad, cheerful face became
ghastly; the curling brown hair was limp;
the veins were shrivelled on the forehead;
but the most noticeable thing of all was that
he would not let "Mother" leave him. He
clutched hold of her gown, and held it, even
in his snatches of sleep. His not perceiving
that she never slept, struck those who knew
him best as a sure sign that he was dying,
losing the sense of the lapse of time and
seasons, as dying persons often do. It
was sad work enough, until a kind lady, who
called, and saw at a glance how matters stood,
sent in an active, helpful woman, who took
charge of the house and the children, and
enabled "Mother" to tell Allan that she need
not now leave him, night or day. This went
on for four days, during which his hand
scarcely left hold of her dress. On the fifth
morning, he looked much as he had done
for some days; and "Mother" sat on the
edge of the bed, sewing. Happening to look
at the hand which had clutched her gown,
she saw that the fingers were relaxed.
Laying her hand on his, she found it growing
cold. His eyes were half-shut, and she could
not see that he breathed. He was indeed
gone.

Ewing and Jack made him a coffin, which
cost them three pounds, before they knew
whether the Railway Company would repay
them. The Company paid two pounds ten
shillings some time after he was laid in the
ground. "Mother" paid all the rest of the
funeral expenses out of her own earnings.
Mr. Franklin ordered a headstone for the
grave, on which the story of poor Allan's
trials is told briefly—principally by the significant
method of dates. In doing this, Mr.
Franklin was not unmindful of Allan's latest
requests; of the test which he proposed of
the regard of neighbours for him. Through
the clergyman's exertions, "Mother" is now
in the place for which she was destined by
nature, and prepared by lifelong habit. She
is Matron of an Institution for Sick Seamen,
where she will continue to be "Mother" to
a succession of sufferers, to the end of her.
days. Mr. Franklin is of opinion that she
did much more for Allan than provide him
with the air and cleanliness that visitors
admired so much; that she saved his intellect,
and rescued his very heart from perishing.
It is a great thing for the Sick Seamen
to have "Mother" to watch over them, and
minister to them, mind and body.

A CHAPTER OF MODELS.

I HAVE just returned from a visit to the
Zucht-Haus in the Au, the Model Prison of
Bavaria. As yet I feel my curiosity any
thing but satisfied. I must obtain some official
"Reports" regarding this wonderful prison,
that I may understand the working of the
system and facts connected with it, more
thoroughly than I could from conversation
with the gentleman who went through the
wards with us, intelligent and most obliging
though he was. I send you now, therefore,
for the present a sketch of a visit, a mere
glance, as it were, at the exterior of the
system.

The prison is a large building situated in
the Au Suburb not far from the lovely Au
Church. It has outwardly no appearance of
being a prison; has windows of various
picturesque forms, gazing in great abundance
out of its yellow and white-washed walls. It
is a cheerful looking place in fact, and if it
stood among trees would look very like a
château. But on entering the vaulted and
white-washed hall, with long vistas of white-
washed passages leading from it, with a
soldier standing at the door, and here and
there other soldiers in the distance, something
of a prison-feeling sank upon me.

Having been politely received in his little
bureau by the Director of the Prison, an
extraordinary man, from all accounts, and
famed throughout Europe for his management
of this prison, and for various works which he
has written on prison discipline, we were conducted
through the establishment by a grave,
intelligent little man, the Haus-Meister. All
the people we met in the passages, whether
prisoners or not, had an intense gravity impressed
on their countenances.

The first room we entered was filled with
men employed in spinning. This is the first
employment given to the prisoners on their
entrance, and when their capability for learning
has been ascertained during this spinning-
period, it is decided to what trade they
shall be henceforth devoted. A long row of
men of all ages, in coarse, grey jackets and
trousers, some with chains round their waists,
which were attached to their ankles, sate all
down the middle of the room, busily spinning
from their tall distaffs. Along the bare walls
were rows of wholesome-looking beds, with
coarse but white sheets neatly turned over