Aunt Debby Brill.
Beneath the dark waves where the dead go down, There are gulfs of night more deep; But little they care, whom the waves once drown, How far from the litght they sleep.

And dark though Sorrow's fearful billows be, They have caverns darker still. O God! that Sorrow's waves were like the sea, Whose topmost waters kill. -Anonymous.


It was nearly noon when Harry awoke. The awakening came slowly and with pain. In all his previous experiences he had had no hint even of such mental and bodily exhaustion as now oppressed him. Every muscle and tendon was aching a bitter complaint against the strain it had been subjected to the day before. Dull, pulseless pain smoldered in some; in others it was the keen throb of the toothache. Continued lying in one position was unendurable; changing it, a thrill of anguish; and the new posture as intolerable as the first. His brain galled and twinged as did his body. To think was as acute pain as to use his sinews. Yet he could not help thinking any more than he could help turning in the bed, though to turn was torture.