o her. On
her right hand the two girls sat; on her left, the boy. A goodly
table, a goodly fire, and a goodly company,--what more could the Angel
of Christmas ask to see?

Thus were they seated, ready to begin the repast; but the plates
remained untouched, and the happy noises which had to that moment
filled the cabin ceased; for the Angel of Silence, with noiseless
step, had suddenly entered the room. There's a silence of grief,
there's a silence of hatred, there's a silence of dread; of these, men
may speak, and these they can describe. But the silence of our
happiness, who can describe that? When the heart is full, when the
long longing is suddenly met, when love gives to love abundantly, when
the soul lacketh nothing and is content,--then language is useless,
and the Angel of Silence becomes our only adequate interpreter. A
humble table, surely, and humble folk around it; but not in the houses
of the rich or the palaces of kings does gratitude find her only home,
but in more lowly abodes and with lowly folk--ay, and often at the
scant table, too,--she sitteth a perpetual guest. Was it memory? Did
the Trapper at that brief moment visit his absent friend? Did Wild
Bill recall his wayward past? Were the thoughts of the woman busy with
sweet scenes of earlier days? And did memory, by thus reminding them
of the absent and the past, of the sweet things that had been and
were, stir within their hearts thoughts of Him from whom all gifts
descend, and of His blessed Son, in whose honor the day was named?

O Memory! thou tuneful bell that ringeth on forever, friend at our
feasts, and friend, too, let us call thee, at our burial, what music
can equal thine? For in thy mystic globe all tunes abide,--the
birthday note for kings, the marriage peal, the funeral knell, the
gleeful jingle of merry mirth, and those sweet chimes that float our
thoughts, like fragrant ships upon a fragrant sea, toward heaven,--all
are thine! Ring on, thou tuneful bell; ring on, while these glad ears
may drink thy melody; and when thy chimes are heard by me no more,
ring loud and clear above my grave that peal which echoes to the
heavens, and tells the world of immortality, that they who come to
mourn may check their tears and say, "_Why do we weep? He liveth
still!_"

"The Lord be praised fur His goodness!" said the Trapper, whose
thoughts unconsciously broke into speech. "The Lord be praised fur His
goodness, and make us grateful fur His past marc