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ST. ER L E.
We sail the sea of life; a calm one finds,
No. 3, Snow Lane. It was certainly not a cheerful abode, and especially on a dull, damp winter's day. The window of its front parlour faced a dingy, painfully tidy street with even rows of doors painted a blackish brown, excessively polished footscrapers, and depressing looking windows, which in early spring glowed resplendently with boxes of gorgeous yellow crocuses, and many coloured hyacinths in many coloured glasses.
It was a very dreary day with just a glimpse of heavy, leaden sky visible between the long vista of houses, and the rain falling in a small, unsatisfactory drizzle. Within the parlour shabby yet clean furniture met the eye, also a brilliant papering upon the walls covered with pale green mountains, cascades of exceedingly blue water, impossible palm trees, and bright crimson birds of Paradise poised in various graceful attitudes. The walls were furthermore adorned with six prints in black wooden frames, depicting