e quite a story, and many
stories might be made by others, so we will leave them to relate their
own. We have told the first; and our last word is, don't wish for a
"bachelor's nightcap."

THE OLD CHURCH BELL

(WRITTEN FOR THE SCHILLER ALBUM)

In the country of Wurtemburg, in Germany, where the acacias grow
by the public road, where the apple-trees and the pear-trees in autumn
bend to the earth with the weight of the precious fruit, lies the
little town of Marbach. As is often the case with many of these towns,
it is charmingly situated on the banks of the river Neckar, which
rushes rapidly by, passing villages, old knights' castles, and green
vineyards, till its waters mingle with those of the stately Rhine.
It was late in the autumn; the vine-leaves still hung upon the
branches of the vines, but they were already tinted with red and gold;
heavy showers fell on the surrounding country, and the cold autumn
wind blew sharp and strong. It was not at all pleasant weather for the
poor. The days grew shorter and more gloomy, and, dark as it was out
of doors in the open air, it was still darker within the small,
old-fashioned houses of the village. The gable end of one of these
houses faced the street, and with its small, narrow windows, presented
a very mean appearance. The family who dwelt in it were also very poor
and humble, but they treasured the fear of God in their innermost
hearts. And now He was about to send them a child. It was the hour
of the mother's sorrow, when there pealed forth from the church
tower the sound of festive bells. In that solemn hour the sweet and
joyous chiming filled the hearts of those in the humble dwelling
with thankfulness and trust; and when, amidst these joyous sounds, a
little son was born to them, the words of prayer and praise arose from
their overflowing hearts, and their happiness seemed to ring out
over town and country in the liquid tones of the church bells'
chime. The little one, with its bright eyes and golden hair, had
been welcomed joyously on that dark November day. Its parents kissed
it lovingly, and the father wrote these words in the Bible, "On the
tenth of November, 1759, God sent us a son." And a short time after,
when the child had been baptized, the names he had received were
added, "John Christopher Frederick."

And what became of the little lad?--the poor boy of the humble
town of Marbach? Ah, indeed, there was no one who thought or supposed,
not even the