f hearty enthusiasm he flung up his cap and cheered like a
boy. So did the others, and as the fairy shout echoed through the
belfry a troop of shadowy figures, with faces lovely or grotesque,
tragical or gay, sailed by on the wings of the wintry wind and waved
their hands to the spirits of the bells.

As the excitement subsided and the spirits reseated themselves,
looking ten years younger for that burst, another spoke. A venerable
brother in a dingy mantle, with a tuneful voice, and eyes that seemed
to have grown sad with looking on much misery.

"He loves the poor, the man we've just hurrahed for, and he makes
others love and remember them, bless him!" said the spirit. "I hope
he'll touch the hearts of those who listen to him here and beguile
them to open their hands to my unhappy children over yonder. If I
could set some of the forlorn souls in my parish beside the happier
creatures who weep over imaginary woes as they are painted by his
eloquent lips, that brilliant scene would be better than any sermon.
Day and night I look down on lives as full of sin, self-sacrifice and
suffering as any in those famous books. Day and night I try to
comfort the poor by my cheery voice, and to make their wants known by
proclaiming them with all my might. But people seem to be so intent on
business, pleasure or home duties that they have no time to hear and
answer my appeal. There's a deal of charity in this good city, and
when the people do wake up they work with a will; but I can't help
thinking that if some of the money lavished on luxuries was spent on
necessaries for the poor, there would be fewer tragedies like that
which ended yesterday. It's a short story, easy to tell, though long
and hard to live; listen to it.

"Down yonder in the garret of one of the squalid houses at the foot of
my tower, a little girl has lived for a year, fighting silently and
single-handed a good fight against poverty and sin. I saw her when she
first came, a hopeful, cheerful, brave-hearted little soul, alone, yet
not afraid. She used to sit all day sewing at her window, and her lamp
burnt far into the night, for she was very poor, and all she earned
would barely give her food and shelter. I watched her feed the doves,
who seemed to be her only friends; she never forgot them, and daily
gave them the few crumbs that fell from her meagre table. But there
was no kind hand to feed and foster the little human dove, and so she
starved.

"For a while