The south-western. [volume] (Shreveport, La.) 1852-1870, 1855-07-04
Seventy-Six.

1t is cloudless summer day. Ydt a clear
blue sky arches and smiles above quaint edi-
fee, rising among giant trees, in the centre of
a wide city. The edifce is built of red brick
with heavy window frames and massy hall
door. The wide spreading dome of St. Peters,
the SNOWY rsllars of the Parthenon, the gloomy
glory of Westminster Abbey-none ef these
nor anything like are here, to elevate this edi-
fee of plain red brick, into gorgeous monu
ment of architecture.
Plain red brick the walls, the windows partly
framed in stone, such is the state house of
Philadelphia, in this year of our Lord 1776.
Around this edifce stately trees arise. Yon-
der toward the dark walls of Walnut street
goal, spreads pleasant lawn, enclosed by
plain board fence Above our head these
trees lock their massy limbs and spread their
leafv canopy.
There are walks here, too, not fashioned as
squares and circles, but spreading in careless
negligence along the lawn. Benches too, rude
benches, on which repose the forms of old men
with grey hairs, and women with babes in their
arms.
This is beautiful day, and this is pleasant
lawn, but why do those clusters of citizens
with anxious faces gather around the state house
walls? There is the merchant in his velvet
garb and ruf1ed shirts, there the mechanic
with apron on his breast and tools in his hands,
there the bearded sailor, and the dark-robed
ministerial grouped together.
Why this anxiety on every face? This gath
ering in little groups all over the lawn?
Yet hold moment! In yonder wooden stee-
/ pie, which crowns the red brick state house,
stands an old man with white hair and sun
burnt face. Heis clad in humble attire, yet his
eye CLEANS, as it is fixed upon the ponderous
outline of the bell, suspended in the steeple
there. The old man tries to read the inscrp-
ton on that bell, but cannot. Out upon the
waves-fas away in the forest thus has life been
passed. He is no scholar, he scarcely can spell
one of those strange words carved on the sur
face of that bell
By his side, gazing in bis face-that sun
burnt face-ln wonder, stands tlaxen- haired
boy, with laughing eyes of summer blue.
Come here, my boy, you are a rich mans
child. You can read. Spell me those words,
and III bless ye, my good child!''
And the child raised itself on tiptoe and
pressed its tiny hands against the bell, and
read, in lsping tones, these memorable words
"Proclaim liberty to all the land, and all the
inhabitants thereof"
The old man ponders for moment on those
strange words, then gathering the boy IN his
arms, he speaks:
"Look here my child! Wilt do the old mar
kindness? Then haste you down stairs, anc
wait in the hall, by the big door, until mar
shall give you message for me. When he
gives you the word, then run out yonder, IN the
street, and shout it out tome. Doyou mnd?'
1t needed no second command. The boy
with blue eyes and faxen hair sprang from the
old bel-keeper's arms, and threaded his way
down the dark stairs.
The old bell-keeper was alone. Many min
utes passed. Leaning over the railing OF tn
steepIe, his face toward Chestnut street, b.
looked anxiously for that fair haired boy Mo
ments passed, yet still he came not.
"Ahn' groaned the old man, 'he has for
gotten me! These old limbs will have to totte
down the state house steps and climb up agar
and all on account of that child"
As the words were on his lips a merry ring
ing laugh broke on his ear. There, among tn
crowds on the pavement stood the blue-eye'
boy, clapping his tiny hands while the brecz
blowed his faxen hair all about his face.
And them swelling his little chest, he ralse
himself on tip-toe, and shouted single word
"Ring!'
Do YOU see that old man'seye fire? D
you see that arm so suddenly barred to hi
Shoulder? Do you see that withered han
: crasping the iron tongue of the bell? The oil
man is young again, his veins filled with ne'
life. Backward and forward, with sturd
4. strokes, be swings the tongue. The bell speak
out Old Delaware hears it, and gives 1t bac
in the hurrah Of her thousand sailors. In
city hears it, and starts up from desk and WORK
bench, 'as though an earthquake had spoken.
=, Yet, still, while the sweat pours from hi
brow, that old bell-keeper hurls the iron tongue
and still boom boom boom the be
: speaks to the city and the world.
S There is a terrible poetry in the sound
that state house bell at dead of night, whe
, striking its sullen and solemn-one! 1t rouse
0 crime from its task, mirth from its wine-cuE
murder from its knife, bribery from its golC
There is a terrible poetry in that sound.
E speaks to us like voice from our youth-lk
a knell from Gods judgnent-llke a solem
}ct hlllu lCultlIDIdlCcl u iiANhN' AAN' 49,
and gone.
There is a terrible poetry in that sound
dead of night, but there was day when tn
n echo of that bell awoke world slumberlng
), tyranny and crime.
Yes as the old man swung the iron tongue
: the bell spoke to the world. That soun
!, crossed the Atlantic-pierced the dungeons
England-the vassal fields of France.
The echo spoke to the slave-bade him 100
from his toll, and know himself man:
That echo startled the kings upon their crun
bling thrones.
That echo was the kne1l of king craft Pr1es
, craft and all other crafts born OF the darkneS
of ages, and baptised in seas OF blood. ,.,.
- Yes, the voice of that little boy, who, l'ttln
himself on tip-toe, with his haxen hair blown
in the breeze, shouted-'rlng!'-had dee
and awful meaning in its infant tones!
Why did that word ''ringE' why did tn
echo of the state house bell, speak such dee
an awful meaning to the world? What had thf
word ''rngr the echo Of that bell, to do wit
the downfall of the disbonorable priest or ira
tor king.
Under the very bell pealing out atnoonday
in an old hall fftv-six traders, farmers an