o founder in all Europe could equal him--no
chimes in all the world were so grand and sweet-sounding as his. At
last, he made a chime for a convent, which proved to be finer than any
he had cast before. He had spent years upon them; they were his great
work; he was very proud of them; he even seemed to have fallen in love
with them, for he could not live out of the sound of their melodious
ringing. So he purchased a little villa, in a lovely seaside nook,
beneath the lofty cliff on which the convent stood, and every night and
morning he had the happiness of hearing the solemn silver chiming of
his own dear bells, which, when sounding at that height, it almost
seemed to him God had taken and hung in the clouds, to call him and his
children to prayer and to heaven.

But after a few bright, peaceful years, there came a dark, troubled
time of war and pillage. The good Italian lost all in the terrible
struggle--home, family--even his beloved bells--for the convent on the
cliff was destroyed, and they were carried away to some distant land.
At last, he was released from a miserable dungeon, to find himself old,
infirm, poor, and alone in the wide world. Then a great longing came
to him, and grew and grew at his lonely heart, to hear his bells once
more before he should die. So he became a wanderer over Europe,
searching for them every where. He would be told of wonderful chimes
in this and that city, and go many weary leagues to hear them; but as
soon as they sounded on his ear, he would sadly shake his head, his
eyes would fill with tears, and he would turn to go on his way.

When, at length, he heard of the sweet bells of Limerick, he was very
old and feeble, but he set out at once on what he knew must be his last
pilgrimage. The vessel on which he sailed went up the Shannon, and
anchored opposite the city. The old Italian took a boat to go on
shore, at the close of a calm and beautiful day. He was very weak and
ill, and reclined in the stern of the boat, looking longingly toward
St. Mary's Cathedral. Suddenly, from the tall tower, rang softly out
the vesper chime. The Italian started up joyfully at the sound. Then
he crossed himself, looked upward, and murmured--"I thank thee, blessed
mother of Jesus! _I hear my bells at last!_" Then he sank back, and
closed his eyes and listened. The men rested on their oars, and all
was still, except that sweet, solemn ringing. The Italian seemed to
hear in his bells m