The bitter cups of Death are mixed,
And we must drink and drink again.
R. H. Stoddard.
V.
DAISY SNARLE.
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 sea-shore.