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 mistaken, doctor. I cannot go to the root of the moral disease of Rehoboth. If it were drink, or profligacy, or greed, I might; but self-righteousness beat Jesus, and no wonder it beats me.' Taking Mr. Penrose by the arm, Dr. Hale said: 'You see that falling snow. Why does it disappear as soon as it touches earth?' 'Because the earth is higher in temperature than the snow, and therefore melts it,' replied the young man, wondering at the sudden change in the conversation. 'And if it keeps on falling for another hour, why will it cease to disappear? Why will it remain?' continued the doctor. 'Because its constant falling will so cool the earth that the earth will no longer melt it,' said Mr. Penrose, growing impatient with his examination in the rudiments of science. 'Well said, my friend. And therein lies a parable. You think your teaching falls to disappear. No; it falls to prepare. You must continue to let it fall, and finally it will remain, and lodge itself in the minds of your people. There, now, I have given you one of the treasures of the snow. But here's old Moses. Good-morning, Mr. Fletcher; busy as usual?' 'Yi, doctor, aw'm findin' these clamming fowk a bit o' brass.'