The Ottawa free trader. [volume] (Ottawa, Ill.) 1843-1916, 1876-02-05

The old bells that hung In the tower Of the
Limerick Cathedral were made by young
Italian after many years of patient toll. He
was proud of his work, and when they were
purchased by the prior OF Il ncighboring con-
vent near the Lake of Como, the artist in.
vested the profits of the sale IN pretty villa
an the margin of the lake, where he could
hear their .tHgelus music waited from the
convent cliff across the waters at morning,
noon, and night. Here he intended to pass
his life; but this happiness was denied him.
la one of those teudal brois which, whether
civil or foreign, are the undyin worm in q
fallen land, he suffered the loss of his all (;
and when the storm passed he found himself
without home, family, friends, or fortune.
The convent had been RACED to the ground,
and the ..chetS n Gurre Of his handiWork, the
tunetul chime whose music had charmed his
listening ear for 50 many happy days OF his
past life, had been carried away to foreign
land. He became wandercr. His hair
grew white and his heart withered before he
again found resting place. In all these
years OF bitter desOation the memory OF the
music of his bells never left him he neard
it in the forest ana in the crowded city, on
the sea, and by the banks of the quiet stream
in the basin OF the hills; he heard 1t by day,
and when night came, the troubled sleep,
1t whispered to him soothingly Of peace and
happiness. One day he met mariner from
over the sea, who told him a story of won
drous chime of bells he had heard in Ireland.
An intuition told the artist that they were
his bells He jOurneyed and vOyaged thith-
er, sick and weary, and sailed ND the Shan
non. The ship came to anchor in port near
Limerick, and he took passage in small
boat for the purpose of reaching the city.
Before MIN the tall steeple of ST. Mary's
lifted its turieted head above the mist and
smoke of the old town. He leaned back
WEAKLY, yet with a happy light beaming
from his eyes. The angels were whispering
to him that the bells were there. He prayed ::
"Oh let them sound me loving welcome.
Just one note of greeting, ., bells! and my
pilgrimsge is done:' 1t was a beautiful eve
ming. The air was like that Of his own Italy
in the sweetest time of the year, the death of
the Spring The bosom of the river WAS like
u broad mirror, rejecting the patines OF
bright gold that fecked the blue sky, the
towers, and the streets of the old town in It's
clear deposits. The lights OF the city danced
upon the wavclets that rpplcd from the boat
as she glded along. Suddenly the stiffness
was broken From st. Mays there came a
shower of silver sound, filing the air with
music The boatmen rested on their oars 10
listen The old Italian crossed his arms and
fixed his streaming eyes upon the tower
The sound OF his bells bore to his heart all
the sweet memories Of his buried past; home
friends, kindred, all At last he was hap.
py-too happy to speak, too happy to
breathe. When the rowers sought to arouse
him, his face was upturned to the tower, but
his eyes were closed The poor stranger had
breathed his last His own chTfs-d cure had
rung his passing beil."-H0rpcr's Magazine.