Let me introduce you to an Aldershot Sunday. The camp is all astir at an
early hour. Musters of men here and there on the regimental parade
grounds, the stately march to church, the regimental band at the head.
The short, bright, cheery service. The rattle and clatter of side-arms
as the men stand or sit. The rapid exit after the Benediction has been
pronounced and the National Anthem sung. The 'fall in' outside. The
ringing word of command, and the march back to barracks, amid the
admiring gaze of the civilians.

All this can be sketched in a few sentences; but we want to give our
readers more than a mere introduction--a speaking acquaintance. We want
them to get to know our friend Thomas Atkins before they see him out on
the veldt, or amid the heat of battle. And to know him as _we_ know him
they must get a little closer than a mere church parade; they must watch
us at our work for him, they must realize some of our difficulties, and
be sharers in some of our joys.

Let us then get nearer to him, and in order to this, attempt to get into
the heart of an Aldershot Sunday. And as the most conspicuous and
handsome pile of buildings in Aldershot is the Grosvenor Road Wesleyan
Church and Soldiers' Home, and it happens to be the one with which we
are best acquainted, we will follow the workers in their Sunday's work.


=The Prison Service.=

And first of all let us visit the Military Prison. There are not so many
prisoners as usual just now, and those who are there are terribly
anxious to have their terms of imprisonment shortened, in order that
they may get to the front--not that prisoners are ever wishful to drag