Port Tobacco times, and Charles County advertiser. (Port Tobacco, Md.) 1845-1898, 1848-06-29

OOp Cdine not.
"Ah !" groaned the old man, che has for
gotten mel These old limbs will have to
toller down the State House stairs, and climb
up again, and all on account of that child"
As the word was on his lips, a merry,
ringing laugh broke on the ear. There, a
mong the crowds on the pavement, stood
the blue-eyed boy, clapping his tiny hands,
while the breeze blowed his haxen hair all
about his face.
And then swelling his little chest, he
raised himself on tip-toe, and shouted a sim
gle word
"RtNGn'
Do you see that old mans eye fire? Do
you see that arm so suddenly barred to the
shoulder, do you see that withered hand,
grasping the iron tongue of the bell ? The
old man is yonng again his veins are filled
with new life Backward and forward, with
sturdy strokes, he swings the tongue. The
bell speaks out! The crowd in the street
hear it, and burst forth in one long shout!
Old Delaware hears it, and gives it back in
The hurrah of her thousand sailors. The
city hears it, and starts up from desk and
workbench, as though an earthquake had
spoken.
Yet still while the sweat pours from his
brow, that old bel-keeper hurls the iron
tongue, and -boom-boom-
the bell speaks to the city and the world.
There is terrible poetry in the sound Of
that Slate House bell at dead Of night, when
striking its sullen and solemn-ONE 1T
rouses crime from its task, mirth from its
wine-cup, murder from its knife, bribery
from its gold. There is terrible poetry
in that sound. 1t speaks to us like voice
from our you,h-like knell of Gods judg-
ment--like solemn yet kind remembran-
Ger of friends, now dead and gone.
There is terrible poetry in that sound al
dead of night: but there was day when
The echo of that bell awoke world, SUM
boring in tyranny and crime!
Yes,as the old man swung the iron tongue,
the bell spoke to all the world. That sound
crossed the A,antic-pierced the dungeons
of Europe-,he workshops of England
the vassal- fields of France.
Tha, echo spoke 10 the slave-bade him
look from his ,oil-and know himselfa man.
! s>a, echo startled the Kings upon their
crnmblmg thrones.
That echo was the knell of king-craft,
presl-crafI, and all other crafts born of the
darkness of ages, and baptised in seas OF
blood.
Yes, the voice of that little boy, who lift
ing himself on tip-toe. with his haxen hair
blowing in the breeze, shouted-" Ring!"-
had deep and awful meaning in its infant
tones
Why did that word g"-why did
that echo of the State House bell speak such
deep and awful meaning to the world p
What did that g!"-the echo of that
bell to do with the downfall OF the dishon-
est priest or traitor king?
Under that very bell, pealing out at noon
day, in all old hall, f(iy-six traders, farmers
and mechanics, had assembled to shake the
shackles Of the world.
Now let US look in upon this band of
plain men, met in such solemn council. 1t
is now half an hour previous TO the moment
when the bell-ringer responded to the shout
of the fair-haired boy.
This is an old hall. 1t is not so large as
many a monarch's ante-room you might
put hundred like it within the walls of ST..
Peters, and yet it is fine old hail. The
walls are concealed in dark oaken VAIN
soothing, and there along the Enclosed WIN
dows, the purple tapestry comes dropping
down.
The ornaments Of this hall?
Over the head of that noble browed man
John Hancock, who sits calm and serene
in Wonder chair-there is banner, the Ban
ner of the Stars Perched on that banner
sits the eagle with unfolded wings. Is it
not precocious bird !? Born only last year
on Bunker Hill, now it spreads its wings.
iull-grown, over whole Conlinent0
Look over the faces of these fftysix men.
and see every eye turned to that door,
There is silence in this hall-every voice is
hushed-eyery face is stamped with deep
and awful responsibility.
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, penning parchment, are about
TO appear.
The parchment, with the signatures OF
these men, written with the pen lying on
yonder table, will either make the world
free-or stretch these necks upon the gibbet.
yonder in Poler's-field, or nail these heads
to the door-po 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 toward John
Hancock S chair?
That tall man, with the sharp features.
the bold brow and sand-hued hair, holding
the PARCHMENT in his hand, is the Virginia
Farmer, Thomas Jefferson. The stout-buil'
man with resolute look and flashing eve
That is Boston man-one John Adams
And the calm-laced man, with hair dropping