ut, high up in the steeple! There the foul blast roars and whistles!
High up in the steeple, where it is free to come and go through many an
airy arch and loophole, and to twist and twine itself about the giddy
stair, and twirl the groaning weathercock, and make the very tower shake
and shiver!

High up in the steeple of an old church, far above the light and murmur
of the town and far below the flying clouds that shadow it, is the wild
and dreary place at night: and high up in the steeple of an old church,
dwelt the Chimes I tell of.

They were old Chimes, trust me. Centuries ago, these Bells had been
baptized by bishops: so many centuries ago, that the register of their
baptism was lost long, long before the memory of man, and no one knew
their names. They had had their Godfathers and Godmothers, these Bells
(for my part, by the way, I would rather incur the responsibility of
being Godfather to a Bell than a Boy), and had had their silver mugs, no
doubt, besides. But Time had mowed down their sponsors, and Henry the
Eighth had melted down their mugs; and they now hung, nameless and
mugless, in the church tower.

Not speechless, though. Far from it. They had clear, loud, lusty,
sounding voices, had these Bells; and far and wide they might be heard
upon the wind. Much too sturdy Chimes were they, to be dependent on the
pleasure of the wind, moreover; for, fighting gallantly against it when
it took an adverse whim, they would pour their cheerful notes into a
listening ear right royally; and bent on being heard, on stormy nights,
by some poor mother watching a sick child, or some lone wife whose
husband was at sea, they had been sometimes known to beat a blustering
Nor'Wester; ay, "all to fits," as Toby Veck said;--for though they chose
to call him Trotty Veck, his name was Toby, and nobody could make it
anything else either (except Tobias); he having been as lawfully
christened in his day as the bells had been in theirs, though with not
quite so much of solemnity or public rejoicing.

For my part, I confess myself of Toby Veck's belief, for I am sure he
had opportunities enough of forming a correct one. And whatever Toby
Veck said, I say. And I take my stand by Toby Veck, although he _did_
stand all day long (and weary work it was) just outside the church-door.
In fact he was a ticket-porter, Toby Veck, and waited there for jobs.

And a breezy, goose-skinned, blue-nosed, red-eyed, stony-toed,
tooth-chattering place