I.

THE BELLS.


In the steeple of an old church was a beautiful chime of bells, which
for many years had rung out joyous peals at the touch of the sexton's
hand upon the rope.

"I'll make the air full of music to-morrow," said the white-haired man,
as he lay down to his slumbers. "To-morrow is Christmas, and the people
shall be glad and gay. Ah, yes! right merry will be the chimes I shall
ring them." Soon sleep gathered him in a close embrace, and visions of
the morrow's joy flitted over his brain.

At midnight some dark clouds swept over the tower, while darker shadows
of discontent fell on the peaceful chime.

Hark! what was that? A low, discordant sound was heard among the bells.

"Here we have been ringing for seven long years," murmured the highest
bell in the chime.

"Well, what of it? That's what we are placed here for," said a voice
from one of the deeper-toned bells.

"But I have rung long enough. Besides, I am weary of always singing
one tone," answered the high bell, in a clear, sharp voice.