"Bells ring others to church, but go not in themselves."No one saw the spirits of the bells up there in the old steeple atmidnight on Christmas Eve. Six quaint figures, each wrapped in ashadowy cloak and wearing a bell-shaped cap. All were gray-headed, forthey were among the oldest bell-spirits of the city, and "the light ofother days" shone in their thoughtful eyes. Silently they sat, lookingdown on the snow-covered roofs glittering in the moonlight, and thequiet streets deserted by all but the watchmen on their chilly rounds,and such poor souls as wandered shelterless in the winter night.Presently one of the spirits said, in a tone, which, low as it was,filled the belfry with reverberating echoes,--"Well, brothers, are your reports ready of the year that now liesdying?"All bowed their heads, and one of the oldest answered in a sonorousvoice:--"My report isn't all I could wish. You know I look down on thecommercial part of our city and have fine opportunities for seeingwhat goes on there. It's my business to watch the business men, andupon my word I'm heartily ashamed of them sometimes. During the warthey did nobly, giving their time and money, their sons and selves tothe good cause, and I was proud of them. But now too many of them havefallen back into the old ways, and their motto seems to be, 'Every onefor himself, and the devil take the hindmost.' Cheating, lying andstealing are hard words, and I don't mean to apply them to all whoswarm about below there like ants on an ant-hill--they have othernames for these things, but I'm old-fashioned and use plain words.There's a deal too much dishonesty in the world, and business seems tohave become a game of hazard in which luck, not labor, wins the prize.When I was young, men were years making moderate fortunes, and weresatisfied with them. They built them on sure foundations, knew how toenjoy them while they lived, and to leave a good name behind them whenthey died."Now it's anything for money; health, happiness, honor, life itself,are flung down on that great gaming-table, and they forget everythingelse in the excitement of success or the desperation of defeat. Nobodyseems satisfied either, for those who win have little time or tasteto enjoy their prosperity, and those who lose have little courage orpatience to support them in adversity. They don't even fail as theyused to. In my day when a merchant found himself embarrassed he didn'truin others in order to save himself, but honestly confessed thetruth, gave up everything, and began again. But now-a-days after allmanner of dishonorable shifts there comes a grand crash; many suffer,but by some hocus-pocus the merchant saves enough to retire upon andlive comfortably here or abroad. It's very evident that honor andhonesty don't mean now what they used to mean in the days of old May,Higginson and Lawrence."They preach below here, and very well too sometimes, for I oftenslide down the rope to peep and listen during service. But, bless you!they don't seem to lay either sermon, psalm or prayer to heart, forwhile the minister is doing his best, the congregation, tired withthe breathless hurry of the week, sleep peacefully, calculate theirchances for the morrow, or wonder which of their neighbors will loseor win in the great game. Don't tell me! I've seen them do it, and ifI dared I'd have startled every soul of them with a rousing peal. Ah,they don't dream whose eye is on them, they never guess what secretsthe telegraph wires tell as the messages fly by, and little knowwhat a report I give to the winds of heaven as I ring out above themmorning, noon, and night." And the old spirit shook his head till thetassel on his cap jangled like a little bell."There are some, however, whom I love and honor," he said, in abenignant tone, "who honestly earn their bread, who deserve all thesuccess that comes to them, and always keep a warm corner in theirnoble hearts for those less blest than they. These are the men whoserve the city in times of peace, save it in times of war, deserve thehighest honors in its gift, and leave behind them a record that keepstheir memories green. For such an one we lately tolled a knell, mybrothers; and as our united voices pealed over the city, in allgrateful hearts, sweeter and more solemn than any chime, rung thewords that made him so beloved,--"'Treat our dead boys tenderly, and send them home to me.'"He ceased, and all the spirits reverently uncovered their gray headsas a strain of music floated up from the sleeping city and died amongthe stars."Like yours, my report is not satisfactory in all respects," began thesecond spirit, who wore a very pointed cap and a finely ornamentedcloak. But, though his dress was fresh and youthful, his face wasold, and he had nodded several times during his brother's speech."My greatest affliction during the past year has been the terribleextravagance which prevails. My post, as you know, is at the court endof the city, and I see all the fashionable vices and follies. It isa marvel to me how so many of these immortal creatures, with suchopportunities for usefulness, self-improvement and genuine happinesscan be content to go round and round in one narrow circle ofunprofitable and unsatisfactory pursuits. I do my best to warn them;Sunday after Sunday I chime in their ears the beautiful old hymnsthat sweetly chide or cheer the hearts that truly listen and believe;Sunday after Sunday I look down on them as they pass in, hoping to seethat my words have not fallen upon deaf ears; and Sunday after Sundaythey listen to words that should teach them much, yet seem to go bythem like the wind. They are told to love their neighbor, yet too manyhate him because he possesses more of this world's goods or honorsthan they: they are told that a rich man cannot enter the kingdom ofheaven, yet they go on laying up perishable wealth, and though oftenwarned that moth and rust will corrupt, they fail to believe it tillthe worm that destroys enters and mars their own chapel of ease. Beinga spirit, I see below external splendor and find much poverty of heartand soul under the velvet and the ermine which should cover rich androyal natures. Our city saints walk abroad in threadbare suits, andunder quiet bonnets shine the eyes that make sunshine in the shadyplaces. Often as I watch the glittering procession passing to and frobelow me. I wonder if, with all our progress, there is to-day as muchreal piety as in the times when our fathers, poorly clad, with weaponin one hand and Bible in the other, came weary distances to worship inthe wilderness with fervent faith unquenched by danger, suffering andsolitude."Yet in spite of my fault-finding I love my children, as I callthem, for all are not butterflies. Many find wealth no temptation toforgetfulness of duty or hardness of heart. Many give freely of theirabundance, pity the poor, comfort the afflicted, and make our cityloved and honored in other lands as in our own. They have their cares,losses, and heartaches as well as the poor; it isn't all sunshine withthem, and they learn, poor souls, that "'Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.'"But I've hopes of them, and lately they have had a teacher so genial,so gifted, so well-beloved that all who listen to him must be betterfor the lessons of charity, good-will and cheerfulness which he bringshome to them by the magic of tears and smiles. We know him, we lovehim, we always remember him as the year comes round, and the blithestsong our brazen tongues utter is a Christmas carol to the Father of'The Chimes!'"As the spirit spoke his voice grew cheery, his old face shone, and ina burst of hearty enthusiasm he flung up his cap and cheered like aboy. So did the others, and as the fairy shout echoed through thebelfry a troop of shadowy figures, with faces lovely or grotesque,tragical or gay, sailed by on the wings of the wintry wind and wavedtheir hands to the spirits of the bells.As the excitement subsided and the spirits reseated themselves,looking ten years younger for that burst, another spoke. A venerablebrother in a dingy mantle, with a tuneful voice, and eyes that seemedto have grown sad with looking on much misery."He loves the poor, the man we've just hurrahed for, and he makesothers love and remember them, bless him!" said the spirit. "I hopehe'll touch the hearts of those who listen to him here and beguilethem to open their hands to my unhappy children over yonder. If Icould set some of the forlorn souls in my parish beside the happiercreatures who weep over imaginary woes as they are painted by hiseloquent lips, that brilliant scene would be better than any sermon.Day and night I look down on lives as full of sin, self-sacrifice andsuffering as any in those famous books. Day and night I try tocomfort the poor by my cheery voice, and to make their wants known byproclaiming them with all my might. But people seem to be so intent onbusiness, pleasure or home duties that they have no time to hear andanswer my appeal. There's a deal of charity in this good city, andwhen the people do wake up they work with a will; but I can't helpthinking that if some of the money lavished on luxuries was spent onnecessaries for the poor, there would be fewer tragedies like thatwhich ended yesterday. It's a short story, easy to tell, though longand hard to live; listen to it."Down yonder in the garret of one of the squalid houses at the foot ofmy tower, a little girl has lived for a year, fighting silently andsingle-handed a good fight against poverty and sin. I saw her when shefirst came, a hopeful, cheerful, brave-hearted little soul, alone, yetnot afraid. She used to sit all day sewing at her window, and her lampburnt far into the night, for she was very poor, and all she earnedwould barely give her food and shelter. I watched her feed the doves,who seemed to be her only friends; she never forgot them, and dailygave them the few crumbs that fell from her meagre table. But therewas no kind hand to feed and foster the little human dove, and so shestarved."For a while she worked bravely, but the poor three dollars a weekwould not clothe and feed and warm her, though the things her busyfingers made sold for enough to keep her comfortably if she hadreceived it. I saw the pretty color fade from her cheeks; her eyesgrew hollow, her voice lost its cheery ring, her step its elasticity,and her face began to wear the haggard, anxious look that made itsyouth doubly pathetic. Her poor little gowns grew shabby, her shawl sothin she shivered when the pitiless wind smote her, and her feet werealmost bare. Rain and snow beat on the patient little figure goingto and fro, each morning with hope and courage faintly shining, eachevening with the shadow of despair gathering darker round her. It wasa hard time for all, desperately hard for her, and in her poverty, sinand pleasure tempted her. She resisted, but as another bitter wintercame she feared that in her misery she might yield, for body and soulwere weakened now by the long struggle. She knew not where to turnfor help; there seemed to be no place for her at any safe and happyfireside; life's hard aspect daunted her, and she turned to death,saying confidingly, 'Take me while I'm innocent and not afraid to go.'"I saw it all! I saw how she sold everything that would bring moneyand paid her little debts to the utmost penny; how she set her poorroom in order for the last time; how she tenderly bade the dovesgood-by, and lay down on her bed to die. At nine o'clock last night asmy bell rang over the city, I tried to tell what was going on in thegarret where the light was dying out so fast. I cried to them with allmy strength.--"'Kind souls, below there! a fellow-creature is perishing for lackof charity! Oh, help her before it is too late! Mothers, with littledaughters on your knees, stretch out your hands and take her in! Happywomen, in the safe shelter of home, think of her desolation! Rich men,who grind the faces of the poor, remember that this soul will one daybe required of you! Dear Lord, let not this little sparrow fall tothe ground! Help, Christian men and women, in the name of Him whosebirthday blessed the world!'"Ah me! I rang, and clashed, and cried in vain. The passers-by onlysaid, as they hurried home, laden with Christmas cheer: 'The old bellis merry to-night, as it should be at this blithe season, bless it!'"As the clocks struck ten, the poor child lay down, saying, as shedrank the last bitter draught life could give her, 'It's very cold,but soon I shall not feel it;' and with her quiet eyes fixed on thecross that glimmered in the moonlight above me, she lay waiting forthe sleep that needs no lullaby."As the clock struck eleven, pain and poverty for her were over. Itwas bitter cold, but she no longer felt it. She lay serenely sleeping,with tired heart and hands, at rest forever. As the clocks strucktwelve, the dear Lord remembered her, and with fatherly hand led herinto the home where there is room for all. To-day I rung her knell,and though my heart was heavy, yet my soul was glad; for in spite ofall her human woe and weakness, I am sure that little girl will keep ajoyful Christmas up in heaven."In the silence which the spirits for a moment kept, a breath of softerair than any from the snowy world below swept through the steeple andseemed to whisper, "Yes!""Avast there! fond as I am of salt water, I don't like this kind,"cried the breezy voice of the fourth spirit, who had a tiny shipinstead of a tassel on his cap, and who wiped his wet eyes with thesleeve of his rough blue cloak. "It won't take me long to spin myyarn; for things are pretty taut and ship-shape aboard our craft.Captain Taylor is an experienced sailor, and has brought many a shipsafely into port in spite of wind and tide, and the devil's ownwhirlpools and hurricanes. If you want to see earnestness come aboardsome Sunday when the Captain's on the quarter-deck, and take anobservation. No danger of falling asleep there, no more than there isup aloft, 'when the stormy winds do blow.' Consciences get raked foreand aft, sins are blown clean out of the water, false colors arehauled down and true ones run up to the masthead, and many an immortalsoul is warned to steer off in time from the pirates, rocks andquicksands of temptation. He's a regular revolving light, is theCaptain,--a beacon always burning and saying plainly, 'Here arelife-boats, ready to put off in all weathers and bring the shipwreckedinto quiet waters.' He comes but seldom now, being laid up in the homedock, tranquilly waiting till his turn comes to go out with the tideand safely ride at anchor in the great harbor of the Lord. Our crewvaries a good deal. Some of 'em have rather rough voyages, and comeinto port pretty well battered; land-sharks fall foul of a good many,and do a deal of damage; but most of 'em carry brave and tender heartsunder the blue jackets, for their rough nurse, the sea, manages tokeep something of the child alive in the grayest old tar that makesthe world his picture-book. We try to supply 'em with life-preserverswhile at sea, and make 'em feel sure of a hearty welcome when ashore,and I believe the year '67 will sail away into eternity with asatisfactory cargo. Brother North-End made me pipe my eye; so I'llmake him laugh to pay for it, by telling a clerical joke I heard theother day. Bellows didn't make it, though he might have done so, ashe's a connection of ours, and knows how to use his tongue as wellas any of us. Speaking of the bells of a certain town, a reverendgentleman affirmed that each bell uttered an appropriate remark soplainly, that the words were audible to all. The Baptist bell cried,briskly, 'Come up and be dipped! come up and be dipped!' TheEpiscopal bell slowly said, 'Apos-tol-ic suc-cess-ion! apos-tol-icsuc-cess-ion!' The Orthodox bell solemnly pronounced, 'Eternaldamnation! eternal damnation!' and the Methodist shouted, invitingly,'Room for all! room for all!'"As the spirit imitated the various calls, as only a jovial bell-spritecould, the others gave him a chime of laughter, and vowed they wouldeach adopt some tuneful summons, which should reach human ears anddraw human feet more willingly to church."Faith, brother, you've kept your word and got the laugh out of us,"cried a stout, sleek spirit, with a kindly face, and a row of littlesaints round his cap and a rosary at his side. "It's very well we aredoing this year; the cathedral is full, the flock increasing, and thetrue faith holding its own entirely. Ye may shake your heads if youwill and fear there'll be trouble, but I doubt it. We've warm heartsof our own, and the best of us don't forget that when we werestarving, America--the saints bless the jewel!--sent us bread; when wewere dying for lack of work, America opened her arms and took us in,and now helps us to build churches, homes and schools by giving us ashare of the riches all men work for and win. It's a generous nationye are, and a brave one, and we showed our gratitude by fighting forye in the day of trouble and giving ye our Phil, and many anotherbroth of a boy. The land is wide enough for us both, and while we workand fight and grow together, each may learn something from the other.I'm free to confess that your religion looks a bit cold and hard tome, even here in the good city where each man may ride his own hobbyto death, and hoot at his neighbors as much as he will. You seem tokeep your piety shut up all the week in your bare, white churches, andonly let it out on Sundays, just a trifle musty with disuse. You setyour rich, warm and soft to the fore, and leave the poor shivering atthe door. You give your people bare walls to look upon, common-placemusic to listen to, dull sermons to put them asleep, and then wonderwhy they stay away, or take no interest when they come."We leave our doors open day and night; our lamps are always burning,and we may come into our Father's house at any hour. We let rich andpoor kneel together, all being equal there. With us abroad you'll seeprince and peasant side by side, school-boy and bishop, market-womanand noble lady, saint and sinner, praying to the Holy Mary, whosemotherly arms are open to high and low. We make our churches invitingwith immortal music, pictures by the world's great masters, and ritesthat are splendid symbols of the faith we hold. Call it mummery ifye like, but let me ask you why so many of your sheep stray into ourfold? It's because they miss the warmth, the hearty, the maternaltenderness which all souls love and long for, and fail to find in yourstern. Puritanical belief. By Saint Peter! I've seen many a lukewarmworshipper, who for years has nodded in your cushioned pews, wake andglow with something akin to genuine piety while kneeling on the stonepavement of one of our cathedrals, with Raphael's angels before hiseyes, with strains of magnificent music in his ears, and all abouthim, in shapes of power or beauty, the saints and martyrs who havesaved the world, and whose presence inspires him to follow theirdivine example. It's not complaining of ye I am, but just reminding yethat men are but children after all, and need more tempting to virtuethan they do to vice, which last comes easy to 'em since the Fall. Doyour best in your own ways to get the poor souls into bliss, and goodluck to ye. But remember, there's room in the Holy Mother Church forall, and when your own priests send ye to the divil, come straight tous and we'll take ye in.""A truly Catholic welcome, bull and all," said the sixth spirit, who,in spite of his old-fashioned garments, had a youthful face, earnest,fearless eyes, and an energetic voice that woke the echoes with itsvigorous tones. "I've a hopeful report, brothers, for the reforms ofthe day are wheeling into rank and marching on. The war isn't over norrebeldom conquered yet, but the Old Guard has been 'up and at 'em'through the year. There has been some hard fighting, rivers of inkhave flowed, and the Washington dawdlers have signalized themselves bya 'masterly inactivity.' The political campaign has been an anxiousone; some of the leaders have deserted; some been mustered out; somehave fallen gallantly, and as yet have received no monuments. But atthe Grand Review the Cross of the Legion of Honor will surely shine onmany a brave breast that won no decoration but its virtue here; forthe world's fanatics make heaven's heroes, poets say."The flock of Nightingales that flew South during the 'winter of ourdiscontent' are all at home again, some here and some in Heaven. Butthe music of their womanly heroism still lingers in the nation'smemory, and makes a tender minor-chord in the battle-hymn of freedom."The reform in literature isn't as vigorous as I could wish; but asharp attack of mental and moral dyspepsia will soon teach ourpeople that French confectionery and the bad pastry of Wood, Bracdon,Yates & Co. is not the best diet for the rising generation."Speaking of the rising generation reminds me of the schools. They aredoing well; they always are, and we are justly proud of them.There may be a slight tendency toward placing too much valueupon book-learning; too little upon home culture. Our girls areacknowledged to be uncommonly pretty, witty and wise, but some ofus wish they had more health and less excitement, more domesticaccomplishments and fewer ologies and isms, and were contented withsimple pleasures and the old-fashioned virtues, and not quite so fondof the fast, frivolous life that makes them old so soon. I am fondof our girls and boys. I love to ring for their christenings andmarriages, to toll proudly for the brave lads in blue, and tenderlyfor the innocent creatures whose seats are empty under my old roof.I want to see them anxious to make Young America a model of virtue,strength and beauty, and I believe they will in time."There have been some important revivals in religion; for the worldwon't stand still, and we must keep pace or be left behind tofossilize. A free nation must have a religion broad enough to embraceall mankind, deep enough to fathom and fill the human soul, highenough to reach the source of all love and wisdom, and pure enough tosatisfy the wisest and the best. Alarm bells have been rung, anathemaspronounced, and Christians, forgetful of their creed, have abusedone another heartily. But the truth always triumphs in the end, andwhoever sincerely believes, works and waits for it, by whatevername he calls it, will surely find his own faith blessed to him inproportion to his charity for the faith of others."But look!--the first red streaks of dawn are in the East. Our vigilis over, and we must fly home to welcome in the holidays. Before wepart, join with me, brothers, in resolving that through the comingyear we will with all our hearts and tongues,--"'Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring out the false, ring in the true;
Ring in the valiant man and free,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.'"
Then hand in hand the spirits of the bells floated away, singing inthe hush of dawn the sweet song the stars sung over Bethlehem,--"Peaceon earth, good will to men."
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