sky, and
withered leaves beat piteously at the cottage windows they once
shadowed with their greenery, or lie limp and clayey on the
roadside and the path. Then, in the silent night, there falls the
first rime, and in the morning is seen the hoary covering that
tells of the year's ageing and declining days. At the corner of
the village street the hoarse cough is heard, and around the
hearth the children gather closely, no longer sporting amid the
flowers, or peopling the cloughs with fairy homes. A dispiriting
hand tones down the great orchestra of Nature, and all her music
is set to a minor key, her 'Jubilate' becoming a threnody--a great
preludious sob.

It was in autumn hours such as these--and only too well known in
Rehoboth--that old Mr. Morell used to discourse on the fading
leaf, and tell of a harvest past and a summer ended, and bid his
flock so number their days that they might apply their hearts unto
wisdom. It was now, too, that the dark procession used to creep
more frequently up the winding path to the Rehoboth grave-yard,
and the heavy soil open oftener beneath old Joseph's spade, and
the voice of the minister in deeper and more measured tones repeat
the words, 'We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain
we can carry nothing out.' It was now also that the feeble and the
aged shunned the darkening shadows of the streets, and crept and
cowered over the kindling hearth in the sheltered home. In
Rehoboth October and November were ever drear; and now that the
old Bridge Factory was in ruins, and work scarce and food scant,
the minds of the people were overcast with what threatened to be
the winter of a discontent.

On an afternoon in mid-November, Mr. Penrose forsook his study for
what he hoped might be an exhilarating walk across the gloomy
moors. The snow--the first snow--was beginning to descend, gently
and lazily, in pure, feathery flakes, remaining on earth for a
moment, and then merging its crystals into the moisture that lay
along the village street.

Turning a corner, he met Dr. Hale, who, after a hearty greeting,
said:

'What is this I hear about your resignation, Mr. Penrose?'

'I don't know what you've heard, doctor, but I am resigning.'

'Nonsense! Running away from ignorance, eh? What would you say if
I ran away from disease?'

'Canst thou minister to a mind diseased?' was Mr. Penrose's sharp
retort.

'No, I cannot. But you can, and it's your duty to do so.'

'You're mista