Today I will be continuing "What the Bells Saw and Said," by Louisa May Alcott. Get part one HERE.
What the Bells Saw and Said
by Louisa May Alcott
"They preach below here, and very well, too sometimes, for I often slide down the rope to peep and listen during service. But bless you! they don't seem to lay sermon, psalm, or prayer to heart, for while the minister is doing his best, the congregation, tired with the breathless hurry of the week, sleep peacefully, calculate their chances for the morrow, or wonder which of their neighbors will win or lose in the great game. Don't tell me! I've seen them do it, and if I dared I'd have startled every soul of them with a rousing peal. Ah, they don't dream whose eye is on them, they never guess what secrets the telegraph wires tell us as the messages fly by, and little know what a report I give to the winds of heaven as I ring out above them morning, noon, and night." And the old spirit shook his head till the taste on his cap jangled like a little bell.
"There are some, however, whom I love and honor," he said, in a benignant tone, "who honestly earn their bread, who deserve all the success that comes to them, and always keep a warm corner in their noble hearts for those less blest than they. These are the men that serve the city in times of peace, save it in times of war, deserve the highest honors in its gifts, and leave behind them a record that keeps their memories green. For such a one we lately tolled a knell, my brothers; and as our united voices pealed over the city, in all grateful hearts, sweeter and ore solemn than any chime, rung the words that made him so beloved,--
"'Treat our dead boys tenderly, and send them home to me.'"
He ceased, and all the spirits reverently uncovered their grey heads as a strain of music floated up from the sleeping city, and died among the stars.
"Like yours, my report is not satisfactory in all respects," began the second spirit, who wore a very pointed cap, and a finely ornamented cloak. But, though his dress was fresh and youthful, his face was old, and he had nodded several times during his brother's speech. "My greatest affliction during the last year has been the terrible extravagance which prevails. My post is, as you know, at the court end of the city, and I see all the fashionable vices and follies. It is a marvel to me how so many of these immortal creatures, with such opportunities for usefulness, self-improvement, and genuine happiness can be content to go round and round in one narrow circle of unprofitable and unsatisfactory pursuits. I do my best to warn them; Sunday after Sunday I chime in their ears the beautiful old hymns that sweetly chide or cheer hearts that truly believe; Sunday after Sunday I look down on them as they pass in, hoping to see that my words have not fallen upon deaf ears, and Sunday after Sunday they listen to words that should teach them much, but seem to go by the like the wind. They are told to love their neighbor, yet too many hate him because he possesses more of this worlds goods or honor than they: they are told that no rich man may enter the kingdom of Heaven, yet they go about laying up perishable wealth, and though often warned that moth and rust will corrupt, they fail to believe it till the worm that destroys enters and mars their own chapel of ease. Being a spirit, I see below external splendor, and find much poverty of heart and soul under the velvet and ermine which should cover rich and royal natures. Our city saints walk abroad in threadbare suits and under quiet sonnets shine the eyes that make sunshine in shady places. Often as I watch the glittering procession passing to fro below me, I wonder if, with all our progress, there is today as much real piety as in the times when our fathers, poorly clad, with weapon in one hand, and Bible in the other, came weary distances to worship in the wilderness with fervent faith unquenched by danger, suffering, or solitude.
"Yet in spite of my fault finding, I love my children, as I call them, for all are not butterflies. Many find wealth no temptation to forgetfulness of duty or hardness of heart. Many freely give of their abundance, pity the poor, comfort the afflicted, and make our city loved and honored in other lands as in our own. They have their cares, worries, and heartaches as well as the poor, it isn't all sunshine with them, and they learn, poor souls that
"'Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.'
"But I've hopes of them, and lately they've had a teacher so genial, so gifted, so well-beloved, that all who listen to him must be better for the lessons of charity, good-will, and cheerfulness which he brings home to them by the magic of tears and smiles. We know him, we love him, we always remember him as the year comes 'round, and the blithest song our brazen tongues can utter is a Christmas carol to the Father of "'The Chimes!'"
As the spirit spoke, his voice grew cheery, his old face shone, and in a burst of hearty enthusiasm, he flung up his cap and cheered like a boy. So did the others, and as the fairy shout echoed through the belfry, a group of shadowy figures with faces lovely or grotesque, tragical or gay, sailed by on the wings of the wintry wind, and waved their hands to the spirits of the bells.
End of Part Two
Be sure to come back tomorrow for Part Three!
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