Wetherell. Her health has been poor for a good many year. She has bad
neuralgy spells."

"Come, Darby, get up! you are slower than a growth of white oaks."

After several vigorous jerks, Darby started off at a long, swinging
gait, and we soon reached home.

Only once more did I watch the sun go down behind the western hills,
lighting them up with a flood of crimson light; while a tender, subdued
gleam rested for a moment on the eastern summits, like the gentle kiss a
mother gives her babe, when she slips him off her arm to have his nap.

* * * * *




THE BELLS OF BETHLEHEM.

[On hearing them in the hill country of New Hampshire, September, 1880.]

"The far-off sound of holy bells."

How the sweet chimes this Sunday morn,
'Mid autumn's requiem,
Across the mountain valleys borne,--
The bells of Bethlehem!
"Come join with us," they seem to say,
"And celebrate this hallowed day!"