Allegories of Life

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Allegories of Life

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Allegories of Life, by Mrs. J. S. Adams This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Allegories of Life
Author: Mrs. J. S. Adams
Release Date: May 24, 2005 [EBook #15895]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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Allegories of Life
BY MRS. J. S. ADAMS
1872

CONTENTS.
I. THE BELLS
II. THE HEIGHT
III. THE PILGRIM
IV. FAITH
V. HOPE
VI. JOY AND SORROW
VII. UPWARD
VIII. THE OAK
IX. TRUTH AND ERROR
X. THE TREE
XI. THE TWO WAYS
XII. THE URNS
XIII. SELF-EXERTION
XIV. THE VINES
XV. IN THE WORLD
XVI. FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY
XVII. GOING FORTH
XVIII. THE FEAST
XIX. THE LESSON OF THE STONE
XX. THE SEEDS
XXI. ONLY GOLD
XXII. THE SACRIFICE
XXIII. STRANGERS

I.
THE BELLS.
In the steeple of an old church was a beautiful chime of bells, which for many years had rung out joyous peals at the touch of the sexton's hand upon the rope.
"I'll make the air full of music to-morrow," said the white-haired man, as he lay down to his slumbers. "To-morrow is Christmas, and the people shall be glad and gay. Ah, yes! right merry will be the chimes I shall ring them." Soon sleep gathered him in a close embrace, and visions of the morrow's joy flitted over his brain.
At midnight some dark clouds swept over the tower, while darker shadows of discontent fell on the peaceful chime.
Hark! what was that? A low, discordant sound was heard among the bells.
"Here we have been ringing for seven long years," murmured the highest bell in the chime.
"Well, what of it? That's what we are placed here for," said a voice from one of the deeper-toned bells.
"But I have rung long enough. Besides, I am weary of always singing one tone," answered the high bell, in a clear, sharp voice.
"Together we make sweetest harmony," returned the bell next the complainer.
"I well know that, but I am tired of my one tone, while you can bear monotony. For my part, I do not mean to answer to the call of the rope to-morrow."
"What! not ring on Christmas Day!" exclaimed all the bells together.
"No, I don't. You may exclaim as much as you please; but, if you had common sympathy, you would see in a moment how weary I am of singing this one high tone."
"But we all have to give our notes," responded a low, sweet-voiced bell.
"That's just what I mean to change. We are all weary of our notes, and need change."
"But we should have to be recast," said the low-toned bell, sadly.
"Most certainly we should. I should like the fun of that. Now how many of you will be silent in the morning when the old sexton comes to ring us?"
"I will," answered the lowest-toned bell, boldly.
"If part of us are silent and refuse to ring, of what use will the rest be?" said one who had remained quiet until then. "For a chime all of us are needed," she added, sadly.
"That's just the point," remarked the leader. "If all will be still, none will be blamed: the people will think we are worn out and need making over. So we shall be taken down from this tower where we have been so long, and stand a chance of seeing something of the world. For my part, I am tired to death of being up here, and seeing nothing but this quiet valley."
A murmur ran from one to another, till all agreed to be silent on the morrow, though many of the chime would have preferred to ring as usual.
The man who had presented the bells to the church returned at midnight, after a long journey to his native valley, bringing with him a friend, almost solely to hear the beautiful chime on the morrow.
As he passed the church, on his way home, the murmuring of the bells was just ceasing. "The wind moves them--the beautiful bells," he said. "But to-morrow you shall hear how sweet they will sing," he added, casting a loving glance up to the tower where hung the bells.
A few miles from the valley, close to the roadside, stood a cottage inhabited by a man and wife whose only child was fast fading from the world.
"Raise me up a little, mother," said the dying boy, "so I can hear the Christmas chime. It will be the last time I shall hear them here, mother. Is it almost morning?"
The pale mother wiped the death-dew from his brow and kissed him, saying, "Yes, dear, it's almost morning. The bells will chime soon as the first ray comes over the hills."
Patiently the child sat,