Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Church bells in large towns, where one section of the community are night workers and seek their rest in the day-time, are by no means invested with sentiment. We have in our mind a church which is set in a dense population of railwaymen, engine drivers, stokers, guards, porters, &c. It possesses a particularly noisy peal of bells. They begin their brazen tintinnabulations at breakfast time, and ring on, at intervals, until past the supper hour. Sometimes the sound is a dismal monotone, as if the bellman had no heart for his work. At other times a number of stark mad Quasimodos seem to be pulling at the ropes to frighten the gilded cock on the vane into flapping flight. Sunday only brings an increase of the din, distracting all thought, destroying all conversation, defying all study, turning the blessed sense of hearing into a [p 132] curse, and making you envy the deaf. It is well known that upon many persons in health the clangour of bells has a very depressing effect; but at night, when narcotics are given and the sick are wearied out, it is very easy to imagine how irritating these bells must be both to the invalids and their attendants. One is inclined to exclaim with the Frenchman—
Disturbers of the human race,
Whose charms are always ringing,