"Who hears in us, the Chimes, one note bespeaking disregard, or stern regard, of any hope, or joy, or sorrow, of the many-sorrowed throng; who hears us make response to any creed that gauges human passions and affections, as it gauges the amount of miserable food on which humanity may pine and wither, does us wrong." "What would the contemners of the people's claims, the deriders of the people's miseries, make of _that_, I wonder?" meditated _Toby_. "Who hears us echo the dull vermin of the earth, the Putters Down of crushed and broken natures, formed to be raised up higher than such maggots of the time can crawl or can conceive, does us wrong." "Pity the shriekers for unlimited Suppression can't hear _this_!" cogitated _Toby_. * * * * * _Bow-wow-wow!_ Again it was the voice of _Toby_. This time it did mean warning, if not reproof. Not anger exactly; anger alone is scarce suited to the Christmas season. The Bell-ringers were going it. With plenty of energy, unquestionably, but with scarcely as much discretion as might be desired. A rather mixed lot. Each one individually an excellent hand at the rope, no doubt. Evergreen WILL, of the leonine front, and flying silvery whisps of hair! Black-a-vised BOB, of the broad shoulders and resolute tug. Stolid, but sturdy HARTY, of the firmly-planted feet and granite grip! Fiery though mild-featured JOACHIM; sombre, smug-faced, but enthusiastic JOHN! Last, though perhaps hardly least (in his own estimation, at all events), rattling RANDOLPH, light-weight, none too firm of footing, but full of dash, and game to attempt a triple bob-major all by himself. "_Pull_ away, BOB," cried impetuous WILL, eagerly. "Steady, WILL!" exclaimed Black-a-vised BOB, sardonically. "Keep time, for goodness sake, JOHN," said accurate JOACHIM. "Want your bell to be heard above all the rest!" murmured sombre JOHN. "Are you trying to hang yourself, or pull the belfry down, RANDOLPH," muttered stolid HARTY, beneath his moustache. "Oh, confound it; I could lick the lot of you!" shouted little RANDOLPH, tugging tremendously at his rope, and fairly carried off his feet by the recoil. "_Bow-wow-wow!_" barked _Toby_. "Right, my dog!" said his Master. "Good Bell-ringing, my boys, requires combination and subordination, unity of purpose as well as union of powers. A bull-like power of pull is not enough, or, by Jove! you'd all be crack campanologists. Come, Gentlemen, a Christmas Carillon at least should not be all cacaphonous crash and clatter. All together, my lads, _for once_; or, rather, keep time, and touch, and tune, with due regard to the perfection of the peal and the credit of the glorious old Chimes!" * * * * * IN THEIR CRACKERS. _The Czar._--A brand-new map of the Balkan States with Prince BISMARCK'S best compliments. _The Emperor of Austria._--A satisfactory explanation of recent Russian Military movements, with the CZAR'S kindest regards.