Of course before long our friend changed his quarters; and, in his new and elegant home, right above the bed Marguerite hung the crucifix which Mother Catherine had given her; then she and her betrothed went to the Convent of Mercy to visit the good nun, who wept glad tears when she heard their story. “Well, I lean upon her as much as she leans upon me; we love and help each other in all things,” spoke Abel. “And always, always will,” continued Marguerite. “God bless you, my children!” said Mother Catherine. A fortnight later the happy couple were married; after which they sailed on their wedding tour across the sea to Normandy. And one day, as they were leaving the beautiful church of Saint-Ouen, whither they had gone to give thanks to God for their great happiness, Marguerite spoke and said: “I once thought there was no country in all the world like France; but now, my dear husband, I love America more.” “And I,” returned Abel, “love France as much as I do America; for, although I believe good wives may be found everywhere, it was this sunny land which gave me my pretty Marguerite.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ THE BELLS. I stand by Giotto’s gleaming tower, In gloom of the cathedral’s wing, And hear, in the soft sunset hour, The bells to benediction ring. That Duomo boasts: “Stone upon stone, Eternally I rise and rise; So, pace by pace, zone over zone, I am uprounded to the skies.” But simpler effort, as direct As that of palm or pine, impels This wonder of the architect To strike heaven’s blue with clash of bells. Etrurian Athens! long ago Thy sister of the Violet Crown, In colonnades like carven snow— All crumbled now, and bare, and brown With ashes of dead sunshine—sate Among her gods, and had no voice Potential as their high estate To summon to the sacrifice. Worth even the Phidian Jove sublime, Chryselephantine, and all else Of the lost forms of olden time, Fair Florence! are thy living bells. O bells! O bells! when angels sang, Surely—though no Evangelist Has told—a silvery peal first rang, And Christian chimes came in with Christ. For bells! O bells! not brazen horn, Nor sistrum, sackbut, cymbals, gong, Harsh dissonance of creeds forlorn, But your sweet tongues to Him belong. Crowning with music as ye swing This lily in stone, this lamp of grace, Wherever Christ the Lord is King, Ye have commission and a place.