lled his eyes with grateful tears, Joe
led off the cheer, which the children shrilly echoed, and I joined
heartily.

"I shall come for you in a few days; so cuddle the baby and make much
of the children before you part. It won't take you long to pack up,
will it?" I asked, as we subsided with a general laugh.

"I reckon not as I don't own any clothes but what I set in, except a
couple of old shirts and them socks. My hat's stoppin' up the winder,
and my old coat is my bed-cover. I'm awful shabby, ma'am, and that's
one reason I don't go out more. I can hobble some, but I ain't got
used to bein' a scarecrow yet," and Joe glanced from the hose without
heels that hung on the line to the ragged suit he wore, with a
resigned expression that made me long to rush out and buy up half the
contents of Oak Hall on the spot.

Curbing this wild impulse I presently departed with promises of speedy
transportation for Joe, and unlimited oranges to assuage the pangs of
parting for the young Flanagins, who escorted me to the door, while
Joe waved the baby like a triumphal banner till I got round the
corner.

There was such a beautiful absence of red tape about the new
institution that it only needed a word in the right ear to set things
going; and then, with a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all
together, Joe Collins was taken up and safely landed in the Home he so
much needed and so well deserved.

A happier man or a more grateful one it would be hard to find, and if
a visitor wants an enthusiastic guide about the place, Joe is the one
to take, for all is comfort, sunshine, and good-will to him; and
he unconsciously shows how great the need of this refuge is, as
he hobbles about on his lame feet, pointing out its beauties,
conveniences, and delights with his one arm, while his face shines,
and his voice quavers a little as he says gratefully,--

"The State don't forget us, you see, and this is a Home wuth havin'.
Long life to it!"

WHAT THE BELLS SAW AND SAID

[Written in 1867.]

"Bells ring others to church, but go not in themselves."

No one saw the spirits of the bells up there in the old steeple at
midnight on Christmas Eve. Six quaint figures, each wrapped in a
shadowy cloak and wearing a bell-shaped cap. All were gray-headed, for
they were among the oldest bell-spirits of the city, and "the light of
other days" shone in their thoughtful eyes. Silently they sat, looking
down on the snow-covered roofs glitt