The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1847-08-21
WooDsFIELD, oHIo SATURDAY, AUGUST gl 1871

task, mlrth from its wine cup, murder
from its knife, bribery from its gold.-
There is terrible poety in that sound
1t speaks too like voice from oul
youth--like a knell from Gods judg
ment-like solemn yet kind remem.
brancer of friends now dead and gone.
There is terrible poetry in that
sound at dead Of night, but there was a
day when the echo of that Bell awoke
a world, slumbering in tyranny and
crime!
Yes, as the old man swung the iron
Tongue the Bell spoke to all the world
That sound crossed the Atlantic-pierc.
ed the dungeons of Eurepe--the work
shops OF England--the vassal-fields Of
France.
The Echo spoke TO the slave-bade
him look from his toil--and know him.
self man. 0r
That Echo startled the Kings upon
their crumbling thrones.
That Echo was the knell of King.
craft, Priest-craft, and all other crafts
born Of the darkness of ages, and bap-
tised in seas of blood.
Yes, the voice OF that little boy who
lifting himself on tiptoe, with his flaxen
hair blowing in the breeze, shouted
"Ring !".---had deep and awful mean.
ing in its infant tones!
Why did that word "Ring !r'----why
did that Echo of the State House Bell
speak such deep and awful meaning to
the world? What had that word
"Ring "--.-the Echo Of that Bell to do
with the downfall of the Dishonest
Priest or Traitor King.
Under that very Bell, pealing out at
noon-day, in an old hall, fifty-six trad.
ers, farmers and mechanics, had assem-
bled 10 shake the shackles off the
world.
Now let US look in upon this band o.
plain men, met in solemn council. !,
is now half an hour previous to the mo-
ment when the Bell Ringer responded
to the shout of the fair haired boy.
This is an old hall. II is not so
large as many monarch's ante room;
you might put hundred like it within
the walls of st. Peters, and yet il is a
fine old hall. The walls are concealed
in dark oaken wainsco,ting, and there
along the unclosed windows, the pur-
pie tapistry comes dropping down.
The ornaments of this hall?
Over the head of that noble browed
man.--.John Hancock, who sits calm
and severe in yonder chair---.there is a
banner, the Banner Of the Stars. Perch
ed on that Banner sits the Eagle with
unfolded wing. (It is not a prococious
bird! Born only last year on Bunker
Hill, now it spreads its wings, full
grown, over whole Continent.)
LOOK over the faces of these fifty-six
men, and see every eye turned to that
door. There is silence in this hall;
every voice is hushed; every face is
stamped with deep and awful respon-
sibility.
Why turns every glance TO that
door, why is every face SO solemn, why
is it so terribly still!
The Committee of Three, who have
been out all night, planning a parch-
ment are about to appear.
That Parchment with the signatu-
res of these men, written with the pen
lying on yonder table, will either mark
the world free, or stretch these necks
upon the gibbet yonder in Potter's
field, or nail these heads to the door
posts OF this hall!
That was the time for solemn faces
and deep silence.
At last bark! The door opens--
the committee appear. Who are these
three men, who come walking on to-
ward John Hancock's chair.
That tall man, with the sharp fea-
lures, the bold brow and sand-hued hair,
holding the Parchment in his hand, is
the Virginia farmer Thomas Jefferson.
The stout5uilt man with resoluts look