so hallowed by tender memories and associations all through the past."

"Don't you 'spoze, Deacon Garven," sez I, "that I know every single
emotion them bells can bring to anybody, and felt all those memorys and
associations. I'll bet, or I wouldn't be afraid to bet, if I believed in
bettin', that there hain't a single emotion in the hull line of emotions
that the sound of them bells can wake up, but what I have felt, and felt
'em deep too, jest as deep as anybody ever did, and jest es many of 'em.
But it is better for me to do without a upliftin', soarin' sort of a
feelin' ruther than have other people suffer agony."

"Agony!" sez he, "talk about their causin' agony, when there hain't a
more heavenly sound on earth."

[Illustration: "A-LEANIN' OVER THE FRONT GATE ON A STILL SPRING
MORNIN'."]

"So it has been to me," sez I candidly. "To me they have always sounded
beautiful, heavenly. Why," sez I, a-lookin' kinder fur off, beyond
Deacon Garven, and all other troubles, as thoughts of beauty and
insperation come to me borne out of the past into my very soul, by the
tender memories of the bells--thoughts of the great host of believers
who had gathered together at the sound of the bells--the great army of
the Redeemed--

'Some of the host have crossed the flood, and some
are crossin' now,'

thinks I a-lookin' way off in a almost rapped way. And then I sez to
Deacon Garven in a low soft voice, lower and more softer fur, than I had