Union and American. [volume] (Greeneville, Tenn.) 1875-1877, 1876-01-13

THE BELLS OF LImkhiCk
The old bells that hung in the
tower of the Limerick cathedral
were made by a young Italian
after many years OF patent toll.
lie wss proud of his work, and
when they were purchased by the
! PRIOR Of a neighboring convent
near the Lake of Como, the artist
invested the profits Of the sale in
a pretty villa on the margin Of
the lake, where he could hear their
AHgelus music waited from the
convent cliff across the waters at
morning. noon and night. Hero
he intended to pass his life; but
this happiness was denied him.
In one of those feudal broils
which, whether civil or foreign,
! are the undying worn in a fallen
/ land, he suffered the loss Of his
all; and when the storm passed he
found himself without home, fam
ily, friends and fortune. The con
vent bad been RACED to the ground,
and the chefs.d durre of his haDdi-
work, the tunetul chime whose
music had charmed his listening
ear for so many happy days of his
past life had been carried away to
a foreign laud. He became a
wanderer. His hair grew white
and his heart withered before he
again found a resting-place. In
all these years of his bitter desc
Jation the memory of the music of
! his lnlls never lett him; he heard
it in the forest and In the crowded
city, ON the sea end by the banks
of the quiet stream in the basin of
the hills; he heard it BY day; and
when night came, and troubled
sleep, it whispered to him sooth-
ingly of peace and happiness. One
day he met q Mariner from over
the sea-, who told him a story of a
wondrous chime Of bells he had
heard in Ireland. An intuition
told the arts that they were his
bells. He journeyed and voyaged
thither, sick and weary, and sailed
up the Shannon. The ship came
to anchor in the port near Linn
erick, and he took passage in Il
small boat for the purpose OF
reaching the city. Be ore him the
tall steeple of St. Mary's lifted its
turreted head above the mist and
smoke of the old town. He lean.
ed back YEARLY, yet with a happ,
light beaming from his eyes. The
angels were whispering to hin
that his bells were there. lie
prayed: "Oh, let them sound mt
a loving welcome. Just one nott
of greeting, D bells! and my plI
| gTImdHe 10 NVric'
1t was a beautiful evening. The
air was like that Of his own Italy
in the sweetest time Of the year
the death Of the spring. Thu
bosom Of the river was like
broad mirror, rejecting the patine'
of bright gold that hecked thu
blue sky, the towers, and th'
streets of the old town in its clea
depths. The lights of the cit,
danced upon the wavelets tina
rippled from the boat as she gllde'
along. Suddenly the stiffness wa
broken. From St, Mays towe
there came a shower of silve
sound, filling the air with music
The boatmen rested ON their oar
to listen. The old Italian crossed
his arms and fixed his streaming
eyes upon tie tower. The soun'
of his bells bore to his heart al
the sweet memories of his burieC
past: home, friends, kindred, all
At last he was happy--too happl
TO speak, too happy TO breathe
When the rowers sought to arous'
him, his face was upturned to thu
tower, but his eyes were closed
The poor stranger had breathe'
his last. His own chefS-d'duUr'
had rung his "passing-beIi."-E Emu
ly Y. Battey, in Harper's Mdgo
zine for January