"What comes to me as a heavenly melody freighted full of beautiful
sentiment and holy rapture comes to them as an intolerable agony,
a-maddenin' discord, that threatens their sanity, that rouses 'em up
from their fitful sleep, that murders sleep--the bells to them seem
murderus, strikin' noisily with brazen hands, at their hearts.

[Illustration: "TOSSIN' ON BEDS OF NERVOUS SUFFERIN'."]

"To them tossin' on beds of nervous sufferin', who lay for hours fillin'
the stillness with horror, with dread of the bells, where fear and dread
of 'em exceed the agony of the clangor of the sound when it comes at
last. Long nights full of a wakeful horror and expectency, fur worse
than the realization of their imaginin's. To them the bells are a
instrument of torture jest as tuff to bear as any of the other old thumb
screws and racks that wrung and racked our old 4 fathers in the name of
Religion.

"I have to think of the great crowd of humanity huddled together right
under the loud clangor of the bells whose time of rest begins when the
sun comes up, who have toiled all night for our comfort and luxury. So
we can have our mornin' papers brought to us with our coffee. So we can
have the telegraphic messages, bringing us good news with our toast.
So's we can have some of our dear ones come to us from distant lands in
the morning. I must think of them who protect us through the night so we
can sleep in peace.

"Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of these, our helpers and
benafacters, work all night for our sakes, work and toil. The least we
can do for these is to help 'em to the great Restorer, sleep, all we
can.