Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 38, Number 29, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 December 1905 — The Message of the Bells [ARTICLE]

The Message of the Bells

UN clouds scudded gustily across Ijl the sky, hiding the peaceful face | lof the moon, whose radiance , j J touched the edges of her somber veil with a fringe of silver. The great gray tower lifted its head far aloft in the midnight stillness, and the wind moaned around its rough-hewn corners a requiem for the dying year. Within the tower sat the old bell-ringer, waiting for the stroke of twelve from the clock, and. as he waited, his thoughts drifted back to the years long buried in the dimness of the past—the years when his floating white hair had been crisp and black, when his long, slender fingers were strong and supple, and struck from the midnight chimes music of entrancing beauty. Oh. happy memory! Oh, long ago! It was <ou another night like that that Ruprecht was born; and the joy which bea med from the pnle young mother's face was reflected in his own, as he left her with her baby on her bosom and rushed to the bell-tower to make of his chimes a pean of praise to the Father who had filled his life with blessing. How they loved him —that baby—their only one —their all! How he and Elspeth had watched each new development —how proudly guided the first tottering step; how carefully repeated the first lisping word. The boy studied—improving every opportunity with untiring zeal, until at last the great organ in the Cathedral below thundered its glorious music responsive to the touch of the boyish fingers. People thronged to hear. Ruprecht's services were demanded elsewhere —brilliant prospects opened before him, and the inevitable separation drew near. New Year’s Eve! How many anniversaries this shadowy hour held! The boy bade them good-by while Elspeth clung to him ami sobbed, and her husband rushed away to tell the chimes his agony ns he had poured into them his joy. As he sat waiting, even as now, • step came up the stair, and some one entered the belfry chamber, and the voice lie loved said tenderly ".Mein Vater, let me play the chimes to-night. I will leave with them a message to comfort you when you are sad—a message for you r.nd the mother, too. When 1 hear it in the far-off land it will be my mother's voice that sings to me, and when you play it. mein vater. it will say to you, ‘Ruprecht loves me.’ Then you will pray ‘God watch over my boy nnd keep film safe for me,' nnd the All-Father will hear.” When Ruprecht struck the massive keys it was the simple old Floyd's hymn be played, but he lent his beautiful voice to the clangor of the bells and sang his mother's favorite words: Children of the Heavenly Klug As ye journey sweetly slug, t>tng your Saviour's worthy praise Glorious lu his works and ways. A moment Inter he was gone. The years had been ninny mid long since than, but no tidings ever came, nnd Elspeth's hair grew white before the look of expectancy in her dear eyes changed to the calmness of resignation. He was dead, of course. They had heard of the wrecked ship. They bail moved to a new home. They were only waiting now—he and Elspeth—for the summons which should call them to the happy reunion where there would be no sad good-bys and hearts forget how to ache. The first stroke of midnight sounded and an Instant later the bells pealed forth, while the old man sang with trembling Ups and voice that no one heard bet God —as he had sung every New Year since that one: , Children of the Heavenly King As ye Journey sweetly sing. Sing your Saviour's worthy praise Glorious In his works and ways. Then, as the last reluctant echo died

away, he stumbled down the narrow stairs toward home and Elspeth. Not far from the tower stood a mansion, where a great throng had assembled to watch the old year out and the new year in. Silken draperies rustled, jewels gleamed, music rippled on the perfumed air, and happy voices rang sweet and high. But every sound was silenced, and bright eyes grew dim in the flood of melody which suddenly poured about the gay . throng. They crowded toward the music room, trying to catch a glimpse of the player. Those who were near saw a, slender man, with fair curling hair brushed back from a brow as pure as a woman’s. Quietly he sat before the grand piano, glaying without the slightest effort such masterful music as had hushed the listeners to awe-struck silence. “W ho is he?” was the question passed from one to another. ♦ ‘Tie is a friend of father’s,” the h’ostess told them. “Father met him abroad some years ago, and by helping him in a search for some missing friends, won his heart. Father invited him here for the holidays this year, but he declined the invitation, then this evening suddenly and unexpectedly appeared. These great musicians are always eccentric, you know. I heard him tell father that this is an anniversary he does not like to spend alone. At eleven o’clock the hostess seated her guests in a circle, saying, “Now we will turn down the lights and tell ghost stories till midnight.” The young people fell in with the spirit of fun, and ghosts walked, hobgobblins shrieked nnd ghouls moaned, till the more timid begged for mercy. It was almost twelve o’clock when a new voice suddenly broke into a momentary pause. Everyone looked up to see the musician standing in the door. “My friends,” ho said, “my story is not of the spirits of the unseen world—it is of a lad who once, on a night like this, left home and friends and went out into the wide world, with Music as the priestess who presided at the altar, where burned the fires of his ambition.

Shipwreck, a weary sickness and deliverance, a miscarried letter returned to its writer long afterward —all these came to the lad, and when nt last, overcome by the deadly ‘helmweb, * he turned toward his home, he found It empty —the loved ones gone. The yearg, have passed and the lad is a man, but the father and the mother he has not found, nor does he expect to greet them again until the New. Year of heaven dawns for him, as he believes it has already dawned for them. So, when the midnight comes I play each New Year's Eve as I—as the lad played on that last night long ago—my message to my dear ones.” The clock on the mantel warned for twelve, and the musician turned to the piano and played again simply and lovingly I’leyel's hymn, singing as in the long ago the beautiful words his mother loved. As the last note died away in the quiet room the tower clock began to strike, but was drowned by the music of the chimes. A thrill ran through the hushed circle as they recognized the strain they had just heard, but th’e musician arose with a mighty cry. "Mein Vater!” and ran out into the night, guided by the music of the bells. When the old bell-ringer shut the door he could not see. for the tears that blinded him, the hurrying figure on the pavement. A moment later he was gathered close to the heart that yearned for him, and together, in the opening of the glad New Year, they went out from t!/ shadow of the old bell tower, home to Elspeth, whose mother-heart came near to bursting, with the joy of a son’s homecoming.—The Housekeeper.