[Written in 1867.]
"Bells ring others to church, but go not in themselves."
No one saw the spirits of the bells up there in the old steeple at
midnight on Christmas Eve. Six quaint figures, each wrapped in a
shadowy cloak and wearing a bell-shaped cap. All were gray-headed, for
they were among the oldest bell-spirits of the city, and "the light of
other days" shone in their thoughtful eyes. Silently they sat, looking
down on the snow-covered roofs glittering in the moonlight, and the
quiet 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 lies
dying?"
All bowed their heads, and one of the oldest answered in a sonorous
voice:--
"My report isn't all I could wish. You know I look down on the
commercial part of our city and have fine opportunities for seeing
what goes on there. It's my business to watch the business men, and
upon my word I'm heartily ashamed of them sometimes. During the war
they did nobly, giving their time and money, their sons and selves to
the good cause, and I was proud of them. But now too many of them have
fallen back into the old ways, and their motto seems to be, 'Every one
for himself, and the devil take the hindmost.' Cheating, lying and
stealing are hard words, and I don't mean to apply them to _all_ who
swarm about below there like ants on an ant-hill--_they_ have other
names 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 to
have become a game of hazard in which luck, not labor, wins the prize.
When I was young, men were years making moderate fortunes, and were
satisfied with them. They built them on sure foundations, knew how to
enjoy them while they lived, and to leave a good name behind them when
they died.
"Now it's anything for money; health, happiness, honor, life itself,
are flung down on that great gaming-table, and they forget everything
else in the excitement of success or the desperation of defeat. Nobody
seems satisfied either, for those who win have little time or taste
to enjoy their prosperity, and those who lose have little courage or
patience to support them in adversity. They don't even fail as they
used to. In my day when a merchant found himself embarrassed he didn't
ruin others in order to save himself, but honestly confessed the
truth, gave up everything, and began again. But now-a-days after all
manner of dishonorable shifts there comes a grand crash; many suffer,
but by some hocus-pocus the merchant saves enough to retire upon and
live comfortably here or abroad. It's very evident that honor and
honesty 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 often
slide 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, for
while the minister is doing his best, the congregation, tired with
the breathless hurry of the week, sleep peacefully, calculate their
chances for the morrow, or wonder which of their neighbors will lose
or win in the great game. Don't tell me! I've seen them do it, and if
I 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 secrets
the telegraph wires tell as the messages fly by, and little know
what a report I give to the winds of heaven as I ring out above them
morning, noon, and night." And the old spirit shook his head till the
tassel on his cap jangled like a little bell.
"There are some, however, whom I love and honor," he said, in a
benignant tone, "who honestly earn their bread, who deserve all the
success that comes to them, and always keep a warm corner in their
noble hearts for those less blest than they. These are the men who
serve the city in times of peace, save it in times of war, deserve the
highest honors in its gift, and leave behind them a record that keeps
their memories green. For such an one we lately tolled a knell, my
brothers; and as our united voices pealed over the city, in all
grateful hearts, sweeter and more solemn than any chime, rung the
words 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 heads
as a strain of music floated up from the sleeping city and died among
the stars.
"Like yours, my report is not satisfactory in all respects," began the
second spirit, who wore a very pointed cap and a finely ornamented
cloak. But, though his dress was fresh and youthful, his face was
old, and he had nodded several times during his brother's speech.
"My greatest affliction during the past year has been the terrible
extravagance which prevails. My post, as you know, is at the court end
of the city, and I see all the fashionable vices and follies. It is
a marvel to me how so many of these immortal creatures, with such
opportunities for usefulness, self-improvement and genuine happiness
can be content to go round and round in one narrow circle of
unprofitable and unsatisfactory pursuits. I do my best to warn them;
Sunday after Sunday I chime in their ears the beautiful old hymns
that 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 see
that my words have not fallen upon deaf ears; and Sunday after Sunday
they listen to words that should teach them much, yet seem to go by
them like the wind. They are told to love their neighbor, yet too many
hate him because he possesses more of this world's goods or honors
than they: they are told that a rich man cannot enter the kingdom of
heaven, yet they go on laying up perishable wealth, and though often
warned that moth and rust will corrupt, they fail to believe it till
the worm that destroys enters and mars their own chapel of ease. Being
a spirit, I see below external splendor and find much poverty of heart
and soul under the velvet and the ermine which should cover rich and
royal natures. Our city saints walk abroad in threadbare suits, and
under quiet bonnets shine the eyes that make sunshine in the shady
places. Often as I watch the glittering procession passing to and fro
below me. I wonder if, with all our progress, there is to-day as much
real piety as in the times when our fathers, poorly clad, with weapon
in one hand and Bible in the other, came weary distances to worship in
the wilderness with fervent faith unquenched by danger, suffering and
solitude.
"Yet in spite of my fault-finding I love my children, as I call
them, for all are not butterflies. Many find wealth no temptation to
forgetfulness of duty or hardness of heart. Many give freely of their
abundance, pity the poor, comfort the afflicted, and make our city
loved 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 with
them, 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 better
for the lessons of charity, good-will and cheerfulness which he brings
home to them by the magic of tears and smiles. We know him, we love
him, we always remember him as the year comes round, and the blithest
song 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 in
a burst of hearty enthusiasm he flung up his cap and cheered like a
boy. So did the others, and as the fairy shout echoed through the
belfry a troop of shadowy figures, with faces lovely or grotesque,
tragical or gay, sailed by on the wings of the wintry wind and waved
their 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 venerable
brother in a dingy mantle, with a tuneful voice, and eyes that seemed
to have grown sad with looking on much misery.
"He loves the poor, the man we've just hurrahed for, and he makes
others love and remember them, bless him!" said the spirit. "I hope
he'll touch the hearts of those who listen to him here and beguile
them to open their hands to my unhappy children over yonder. If I
could set some of the forlorn souls in my parish beside the happier
creatures who weep over imaginary woes as they are painted by his
eloquent lips, that brilliant scene would be better than any sermon.
Day and night I look down on lives as full of sin, self-sacrifice and
suffering as any in those famous books. Day and night I try to
comfort the poor by my cheery voice, and to make their wants known by
proclaiming them with all my might. But people seem to be so intent on
business, pleasure or home duties that they have no time to hear and
answer my appeal. There's a deal of charity in this good city, and
when the people do wake up they work with a will; but I can't help
thinking that if some of the money lavished on luxuries was spent on
necessaries for the poor, there would be fewer tragedies like that
which ended yesterday. It's a short story, easy to tell, though long
and hard to live; listen to it.
"Down yonder in the garret of one of the squalid houses at the foot of
my tower, a little girl has lived for a year, fighting silently and
single-handed a good fight against poverty and sin. I saw her when she
first came, a hopeful, cheerful, brave-hearted little soul, alone, yet
not afraid. She used to sit all day sewing at her window, and her lamp
burnt far into the night, for she was very poor, and all she earned
would barely give her food and shelter. I watched her feed the doves,
who seemed to be her only friends; she never forgot them, and daily
gave them the few crumbs that fell from her meagre table. But there
was no kind hand to feed and foster the little human dove, and so she
starved.
"For a while she worked bravely, but the poor three dollars a week
would not clothe and feed and warm her, though the things her busy
fingers made sold for enough to keep her comfortably if she had
received it. I saw the pretty color fade from her cheeks; her eyes
grew hollow, her voice lost its cheery ring, her step its elasticity,
and her face began to wear the haggard, anxious look that made its
youth doubly pathetic. Her poor little gowns grew shabby, her shawl so
thin she shivered when the pitiless wind smote her, and her feet were
almost bare. Rain and snow beat on the patient little figure going
to and fro, each morning with hope and courage faintly shining, each
evening with the shadow of despair gathering darker round her. It was
a hard time for all, desperately hard for her, and in her poverty, sin
and pleasure tempted her. She resisted, but as another bitter winter
came she feared that in her misery she might yield, for body and soul
were weakened now by the long struggle. She knew not where to turn
for help; there seemed to be no place for her at any safe and happy
fireside; 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 money
and paid her little debts to the utmost penny; how she set her poor
room in order for the last time; how she tenderly bade the doves
good-by, and lay down on her bed to die. At nine o'clock last night as
my bell rang over the city, I tried to tell what was going on in the
garret where the light was dying out so fast. I cried to them with all
my strength.--
"'Kind souls, below there! a fellow-creature is perishing for lack
of charity! Oh, help her before it is too late! Mothers, with little
daughters on your knees, stretch out your hands and take her in! Happy
women, 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 day
be required of you! Dear Lord, let not this little sparrow fall to
the ground! Help, Christian men and women, in the name of Him whose
birthday blessed the world!'
"Ah me! I rang, and clashed, and cried in vain. The passers-by only
said, as they hurried home, laden with Christmas cheer: 'The old bell
is 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 she
drank 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 the
cross that glimmered in the moonlight above me, she lay waiting for
the sleep that needs no lullaby.
"As the clock struck eleven, pain and poverty for her were over. It
was bitter cold, but she no longer felt it. She lay serenely sleeping,
with tired heart and hands, at rest forever. As the clocks struck
twelve, the dear Lord remembered her, and with fatherly hand led her
into 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 of
all her human woe and weakness, I am sure that little girl will keep a
joyful Christmas up in heaven."
In the silence which the spirits for a moment kept, a breath of softer
air than any from the snowy world below swept through the steeple and
seemed 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 ship
instead of a tassel on his cap, and who wiped his wet eyes with the
sleeve of his rough blue cloak. "It won't take me long to spin my
yarn; for things are pretty taut and ship-shape aboard our craft.
Captain Taylor is an experienced sailor, and has brought many a ship
safely into port in spite of wind and tide, and the devil's own
whirlpools and hurricanes. If you want to see earnestness come aboard
some Sunday when the Captain's on the quarter-deck, and take an
observation. No danger of falling asleep there, no more than there is
up aloft, 'when the stormy winds do blow.' Consciences get raked fore
and aft, sins are blown clean out of the water, false colors are
hauled down and true ones run up to the masthead, and many an immortal
soul is warned to steer off in time from the pirates, rocks and
quicksands of temptation. He's a regular revolving light, is the
Captain,--a beacon always burning and saying plainly, 'Here are
life-boats, ready to put off in all weathers and bring the shipwrecked
into quiet waters.' He comes but seldom now, being laid up in the home
dock, tranquilly waiting till his turn comes to go out with the tide
and safely ride at anchor in the great harbor of the Lord. Our crew
varies a good deal. Some of 'em have rather rough voyages, and come
into 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 hearts
under the blue jackets, for their rough nurse, the sea, manages to
keep something of the child alive in the grayest old tar that makes
the world his picture-book. We try to supply 'em with life-preservers
while 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 a
satisfactory cargo. Brother North-End made me pipe my eye; so I'll
make him laugh to pay for it, by telling a clerical joke I heard the
other day. Bellows didn't make it, though he might have done so, as
he's a connection of ours, and knows how to use his tongue as well
as any of us. Speaking of the bells of a certain town, a reverend
gentleman affirmed that each bell uttered an appropriate remark so
plainly, that the words were audible to all. The Baptist bell cried,
briskly, 'Come up and be dipped! come up and be dipped!' The
Episcopal bell slowly said, 'Apos-tol-ic suc-cess-ion! apos-tol-ic
suc-cess-ion!' The Orthodox bell solemnly pronounced, 'Eternal
damnation! 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-sprite
could, the others gave him a chime of laughter, and vowed they would
each adopt some tuneful summons, which should reach human ears and
draw 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 little
saints round his cap and a rosary at his side. "It's very well we are
doing this year; the cathedral is full, the flock increasing, and the
true faith holding its own entirely. Ye may shake your heads if you
will and fear there'll be trouble, but I doubt it. We've warm hearts
of our own, and the best of us don't forget that when we were
starving, America--the saints bless the jewel!--sent us bread; when we
were 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 a
share of the riches all men work for and win. It's a generous nation
ye are, and a brave one, and we showed our gratitude by fighting for
ye in the day of trouble and giving ye our Phil, and many another
broth of a boy. The land is wide enough for us both, and while we work
and 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 to
me, even here in the good city where each man may ride his own hobby
to death, and hoot at his neighbors as much as he will. You seem to
keep your piety shut up all the week in your bare, white churches, and
only let it out on Sundays, just a trifle musty with disuse. You set
your rich, warm and soft to the fore, and leave the poor shivering at
the door. You give your people bare walls to look upon, common-place
music to listen to, dull sermons to put them asleep, and then wonder
why 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 and
poor kneel together, all being equal there. With us abroad you'll see
prince and peasant side by side, school-boy and bishop, market-woman
and noble lady, saint and sinner, praying to the Holy Mary, whose
motherly arms are open to high and low. We make our churches inviting
with immortal music, pictures by the world's great masters, and rites
that are splendid symbols of the faith we hold. Call it mummery if
ye like, but let me ask you why so many of your sheep stray into our
fold? It's because they miss the warmth, the hearty, the maternal
tenderness which all souls love and long for, and fail to find in your
stern. Puritanical belief. By Saint Peter! I've seen many a lukewarm
worshipper, who for years has nodded in your cushioned pews, wake and
glow with something akin to genuine piety while kneeling on the stone
pavement of one of our cathedrals, with Raphael's angels before his
eyes, with strains of magnificent music in his ears, and all about
him, in shapes of power or beauty, the saints and martyrs who have
saved the world, and whose presence inspires him to follow their
divine example. It's not complaining of ye I am, but just reminding ye
that men are but children after all, and need more tempting to virtue
than they do to vice, which last comes easy to 'em since the Fall. Do
your best in your own ways to get the poor souls into bliss, and good
luck to ye. But remember, there's room in the Holy Mother Church for
all, and when your own priests send ye to the divil, come straight to
us 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 its
vigorous tones. "I've a hopeful report, brothers, for the reforms of
the day are wheeling into rank and marching on. The war isn't over nor
rebeldom conquered yet, but the Old Guard has been 'up and at 'em'
through the year. There has been some hard fighting, rivers of ink
have flowed, and the Washington dawdlers have signalized themselves by
a 'masterly inactivity.' The political campaign has been an anxious
one; some of the leaders have deserted; some been mustered out; some
have fallen gallantly, and as yet have received no monuments. But at
the Grand Review the Cross of the Legion of Honor will surely shine on
many a brave breast that won no decoration but its virtue here; for
the world's fanatics make heaven's heroes, poets say.
"The flock of Nightingales that flew South during the 'winter of our
discontent' are all at home again, some here and some in Heaven. But
the music of their womanly heroism still lingers in the nation's
memory, 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 a
sharp attack of mental and moral dyspepsia will soon teach _our_
people 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 are
doing well; they always are, and we are justly proud of them.
There may be a slight tendency toward placing too much value
upon book-learning; too little upon home culture. Our girls are
acknowledged to be uncommonly pretty, witty and wise, but some of
us wish they had more health and less excitement, more domestic
accomplishments and fewer ologies and isms, and were contented with
simple pleasures and the old-fashioned virtues, and not quite so fond
of the fast, frivolous life that makes them old so soon. I am fond
of our girls and boys. I love to ring for their christenings and
marriages, to toll proudly for the brave lads in blue, and tenderly
for 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 world
won't stand still, and we must keep pace or be left behind to
fossilize. A free nation must have a religion broad enough to embrace
all mankind, deep enough to fathom and fill the human soul, high
enough to reach the source of all love and wisdom, and pure enough to
satisfy the wisest and the best. Alarm bells have been rung, anathemas
pronounced, and Christians, forgetful of their creed, have abused
one another heartily. But the truth always triumphs in the end, and
whoever sincerely believes, works and waits for it, by whatever
name he calls it, will surely find his own faith blessed to him in
proportion to his charity for the faith of others.
"But look!--the first red streaks of dawn are in the East. Our vigil
is over, and we must fly home to welcome in the holidays. Before we
part, join with me, brothers, in resolving that through the coming
year 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 in
the hush of dawn the sweet song the stars sung over Bethlehem,--"Peace
on earth, good will to men."