The day in which it was finally packed was a jubilee. The cousins were all invited to Aunt Cornelia’s to supper, and packed the box in the large dining-room after supper, with a little of Aunt Cornelia’s and Uncle Roger’s help. “I don’t know as I ever had so much fun in my life,” said Holly, looking up from the driving of the last nail to make the remark. “It is better than Christmas a dozen times; in fact it is a Christmas extension.” “And won’t it be fun to hear from Teddy?” said Hortense. But as for us, we cannot expect to hear from Teddy until January. PANSY. [Illustration: THE BELLS SWING AND RING.] VOICES OF THE BELLS. IN yonder tower high hangs the brazen bell, Tolling, tolling; Upon the frosty air its echoes heave and swell, Tolling, tolling: The bell has a tongue that is easily heard; When it is swung many hearts may be stirred, Though its tale it tells with never a word— Tolling, tolling. It swings and dings in the morning air, Ringing, ringing! Tells of the birth of a baby fair, Ringing, ringing! Tells the glad news so that all may know; Those in the village asleep below, Those on the streets moving to and fro— Ringing, ringing! Aloft it swings in the schoolhouse tower, Dinging, dinging; With brazen tongue it proclaims the hour, Dinging, dinging: Calls to the work of storing the mind With useful knowledge of every kind, Urging the laggards left far behind, Dinging, dinging. Gently it swings in the steeple high, Pealing, pealing; The steeple that points to the upper sky, Pealing, pealing: Calling to worship on hallowed day, Calling the faithful to come and pray, Even to those who are far away— Pealing, pealing. Again it calls in a joyful tone, Ringing, ringing! Hinting that man should not walk alone, Ringing, ringing! And so they throng with the bridal pair, And the glad bells sound on the clear sweet air, For the bells all ring for the belle so fair— Ringing, ringing! Ah, me! but that tongue will swing again, Tolling, tolling; Swing again with a solemn strain, Tolling, tolling: It will tell how some one beloved has died, How the cold dark earth has claimed his bride; And ’twill seem in its strains as though it sighed— Tolling, tolling. But the bells above may swing and ring, Swinging, ringing, In the temple towers of the Lord the King, Swinging, ringing; And the bells below, with the bells up there, May sound their joys for this Child and Heir, Who is called to heaven its joys to share— Swinging, ringing. G. R. A.