El Paso daily herald. (El Paso, Tex.) 1881-1901, 1900-06-02

were complete. His work was done,
and now thousands would stand
speechless, struck dumb with the mag
nificent melody of his chimes-hiS
, bells. He with his own hands would
make such music with his bells that
wherever they were the whole world
would come to hear them. These were
the thoughts that filed the mind Of the
young musician-mechanic as he listen
ed to the reverberating melody of the
tone of the last bell. Then he fell back
in his chair and the color fed from his
face. The fever, which his untiring
energy had kept off for so long, seized
him at last.
The next morning neighbor passing
by the shop CHANGED to look in the win
dow and saw the form of the fever
stricken young man lying across his
workbench. He went inside, thinking
that he might be dead, and when he
found what his real trouble was lifted
Giuseppe to the cot he had used for
bed in the back of the shop. A ply
stefan was summoned, and an old wo-
man was sent to nurse him.
For five weeks Giuseppe tossed on
his cot raving about his bells-"his
glorious chimes"-'his children with
the heavenly voices
In order to go on with his work in
making his set of chimes Giuseppe had
been compelled to borrow. What little
his father had left behind him had
been exhausted before the end of the
first year. He had borrowed on the
strength of the generous sum that had
been promised him by the cathedral
which was to have his chimes. When
he fell sick and gave promise never to
, regain his health again, the bailiffs
came and took away his chimes to
satisfy his creditors.
But Giuseppe Giovanni did get well,
his health came back, and when he had
strength enough to get up from his
> couch he went to find his. children-hiS
! bells. His first thought was to hear
again their voices, to make them sing
such melodies as the world had never
heard, as no bells had ever sung. And
when he found that they were gone he
became stupid-he could not realize
, that they were gone. Who could have
come and taken away his bells, his
children, whose conception had taken
years-long years of unremitting toll?
He went to the physician who had
tended him during his fever and was
told that the bailiffs had come to his
shop and taken them for his creditors.
He went to the bailiffs and was told
that his chimes had been sold at pub
lie sale to the highest bidder, foreign
er whose name or country was not
known to them. He begged them on his
knees to give him some clew that might
lead him to the purchaser. They told
him gruff1y and unciyilly that it was
none of their concern who bought the
DI,i how
his creditors satisfied. There was q
little money over the claims against
him, he was told-a few lire-but he
flung the offered money in their faces
and left them, his heart broken and his
spirit gone.
That night he sat before his bench
in the little shop, his chin resting on
his breast, the picture of a despairing
and broken man. All night long he sat
thus, and when morning came he rouS-
ed himself and, raising his hands above
his head, said, God grant that some
where in this world of thine 1 may
again find my chimes-my bells-and,
if but once, only once, that 1 may hear
again their voiceS"'
The next morning the Genoan set
out with one purpose-to travel the
world, if need be, to search for his
chimes. Day after day, week after
week, month after month and year aft
er year he trudged along from town to
town, city to city, country to country,
vainly seeking his chimes. Part of the
time he spent in various cathedralS
and churches mending chimes and ring
ing them, to the delight of all who lis
( tened. Before he had even reached
middle age he was a bearded old man,
bowed and bent and travel worn; but,
like the Wandering Jew, he pursued
his weary way.
The broad waters of the Shannon
were colored a beautiful red by the
fading rays of the setting sun, which
was almost visibly dropping through
the trees to the west of the city of
Limerick, when an old man with head
and shoulders bent and leaning heavily
on stout staff came slowly along the
highway that led to a little ferry at the
river bank. His long beard was as
white as snow and hung nearly to his
waist. His face was swarthy like that
Of man constantly exposed to the
sun. When he spoke to the ferryman,
1T was in voice used to many tongues.
The boatman helped him from the
shore into his skiff and gave him his
coat for a cushion on the rough hewn
plank which answered for seat. The
old man raised his head feebly and
looked about him. Finally his eyes
fell on the spire of Hereford cathedral,
and there they rested, lighting up for
a few seconds With . gliGlmer of hope
The boatman pushed off from the
shore, and slowly and noislessly the
skif made its way across. No sound