those very words? I could not comprehend them then, but I can now.
Oh, how delightful it is to have the prospect of some change before
us!" Thus the old bell chatted to the journey's end, while the other
bells had but little to say.

Three days later they were at the end of their long ride, and placed,
one by one, in a fiery furnace. Instead of murmurs now, their groans
filled the air.

"Oh, for one moment's rest from the heat and the hammer! Oh, that we
were all at the sweet vale of St. Auburn!" said the leader of all their
sorrow.

"How sweetly would we sing!" echoed all.

"It's a terrible thing to be recast!" sighed the deepest-toned bell;
and he quivered with fear as they placed him in the furnace.

At last, after much suffering, they were pronounced perfect, and repacked
for their return.

The same tone was given to each, but the quality was finer, softer, and
richer than before. The workmen knew not why--none but the suffering
bells, and the master hand who put them into the furnace of affliction.

They were all hung once more in the tower--wiser and better bells.
Never again was heard a murmur of discontent from either because but
one tone was its mission. In the moonlight they talk among themselves,
of their sad but needful experience, and of the lesson which it taught
them,--as we hope it has our reader,--that each must be faithful to the
quality or tone which the Master has given us, and which is needful to
the rich and full harmonies of life.

II.

THE HEIGHT.

There was once an aged man who lived upon an exceeding high mountain for
many years; but, as his strength began to decline, he found the ascent so
tedious for his feeble steps that he went into the valley to live.

It was very hard for him to give up the view from its lofty height of
the sun which sank so peacefully to rest. Long before the sleepers in
the valley awoke, he was watching the golden orb as it broke through the
mists and flung its beauties over the hills.

"This must be my last day upon the mountain top," he said. "The little
strength which is left me I must devote to the culture of fruit and
flowers in the valley, and no longer spend it in climbing up and down
these hills, whose tops rest their peaks in the fleecy clouds. I have
enjoyed many years of repose and grandeur, and must devote the remainder
of my life to helping the people in the valley."

At sunset the old man descended, with staff in hand, and went slow