Sunday Morning-Harvey Snarle and Mortimer-A Tale of Sorrow-The Snow-child-Mortimer takes Daisy's hand -Snarle's death. Six months previous to the commencement of the last chapter, Mr. Harvey Snarle lay dying, slowly, in a front room of the little house in Marion street. It was Sunday morning. The church bells were ringing-speaking with musical lips to "ye goode folk," and chiming a sermon to the pomp and pride of the city. As Mortimer sat by the window, the houses opposite. melted before his vision; and again he saw the old homestead buried in a world of leaves-heard the lapping of the sea, and a pleasant chime of bells from the humble church at Ivytown. And more beautiful than all, was a child with clouds of golden hair, wandering up and down the seashore. "Mortimer ?" said the sick man. Then the dream melted, and the common-looking brick buildings came back again. "The doctor thought I could not live ?" said the man, inquiringly. "He thought there was little hope," replied Mortimer. "But doctors are not fortune-tellers," he added, cheerfully. "I feel that he is right-little hope. Where is Daisy ?" "She has lain down for a moment. Shall I call her ?" "Wearied! Poor angel; she watched me last night. I did not sleep much. I closed my eyes, and she smiled to think that I was slumbering quietly. No; do not call her." After a pause, the sick man said: "Wet my lips, I have something to tell you." Mortimer moistened his feverish lips, and sat on the bed-side. "It comes over me," said the consumptive. "What? That pain?" No; my life. There is something drearier than death in the world." "Sometimes life," thought Mortimer, half aloud The sick man looked at him. "I thought it. Life is a bitter gift sometimes. An ambition or a passion possess us, flatters and mocks Death is not so dreary a thing as life then." us. 66 "He felt that." "Who ?" "The devil." "His mind is wandering," murmured Mortimerwandering." "It isn't," said Snarle, slowly. "A passion, a love, made Flint's life bitter." anything but gold?" We are cousins. We sharing our boyish confiding friendship We lived together. "Flint! Did he ever love "Yes; but it was long ago! were schoolmates and friends, sports and troubles with that which leaves us in our teens. I can see the old white frame house at Hampton Falls!" and the man passed his emaciated hand over his eyes, as if to wipe out some unpleasant picture. "A niece of my father's came to spend a winter with us. Young men's thoughts run to love. I could but love her, she was so beautiful and good; and while she did a thousand kind things to win my affection, she took a strange aversion to my cousin Flint, who grew rude and impetuous. We were married. But long before that, Flint packed up his little trunk, and, without a word of farewell, left us one night for a neighboring city. Years went by, and from time to time tidings reached us of his prosperity and growing wealth. We were proud of his industry, and thought of him kindly. We, too, were prospering. But the tide of our fortune changed. My father's affairs and mine became complicated. He died, and the farm was sold. One day I stood at Flint's office door, and asked for employment. Evil day! better for me if I had toiled in the fields from morning till night, wringing a reluctant livelihood from the earth, which is even more human than Flint. Wet my lips, boy, and come near to me, that I may tell you how I became his slave; softly, so the air may not hear me." Mortimer drew nearer to him. "It was a hard winter for the poor. My darling wife was suffering from the mere want of proper medicines and food. I asked Flint for a little more He We had ⚫ than the pitiable salary which he allowed me. smiled, and said that I was extravagant. not clothes enough to shield us from the cold! I told him that my wife was sick; and he replied, bitterly, 'poor men should not have wives.' Wet my lips again. Can you love me, boy, after what I shall tell you? I forged a check for a trivial |