the Spanish echoes. Kings and crowns, even countries, have passed
into history's shadowy night since it first rang out. The cunning
artificer, D. Monterei, piously inscribed it with the name of
"San Franisco." Mingled gold and silver alone were melted for its
making. Its sacred use saved the precious treasure many times from
robbers. Six hundred and fifty years that mellow voice has warned
the faithful to prayer. Pride and treasure of the Franciscans, it
followed the "conquistadores" to Mexico. It rang its peal solemnly
at San Diego, when, on July 1, 1769, the cross of the blessed Redeemer
was raised. The shores of California were claimed for God by the
apostolic representative, sainted Friar Junipero Serra. In that
year two babes were born far over the wild Atlantic, one destined
to wrap the world in flame, and the other to break down the mightiest
modern empire of the sword. It was the natal year of Napoleon
Bonaparte, the child imperially crowned by nature, and that iron
chief, Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington.

The old bell sounded its first call to the faithful on San Francisco
Bay, in 1776. It was but a few months after the American colonists
gave to wondering humanity their impassioned plea for a world's
liberty--the immortal Declaration of the Fourth of July.

No merrier peal ever sounded from its vibrant throat than the rich
notes following Miguel Peralta and his lovely Rose of Alameda.

Revelry reigns at the Presidio; Commandante Peralta's quarters are
open. Music and brightest eyes mark the closing of this day. In
late watches the sentinels remember the feast as they pace their
rounds, for none are forgotten in largesse.