IN the country of Wurtemburg， in Germany，where the acacias grow by the public road， wherethe apple-trees and the pear-trees in autumn bendto the earth with the weight of the precious fruit，lies the little town of Marbach. As is often the casewith many of these towns， it is charmingly situatedon the banks of the river Neckar， which rushesrapidly by， passing villages， old knights' castles， and GREen vineyards， till its waters minglewith those of the stately Rhine. It was late in the autumn; the vine-leaves still hung upon thebranches of the vines， but they were already tinted with red and gold; heavy showers fell onthe surrounding country， and the cold autumn wind blew sharp and strong. It was not at allpleasant weather for the poor. The days grew shorter and more gloomy， and， dark as it wasout of doors in the open air， it was still darker within the small， old-fashioned houses of thevillage. The gable end of one of these houses faced the street， and with its small， narrowwindows， presented a very mean appearance. The family who dwelt in it were also very poorand humble， but they treasured the fear of God in their innermost hearts. And now He wasabout to send them a child. It was the hour of the mother's sorrow， when there pealed forthfrom the church tower the sound of festive bells. In that solemn hour the sweet and joyouschiming filled the hearts of those in the humble dwelling with thankfulness and trust; andwhen， amidst these joyous sounds， a little son was born to them， the words of prayer andpraise arose from their overflowing hearts， and their happiness seemed to ring out over townand country in the liquid tones of the church bells' chime. The little one， with its bright eyesand golden hair， had been welcomed joyously on that dark November day. Its parents kissed itlovingly， and the father wrote these words in the Bible， “On the tenth of November， 1759，God sent us a son.” And a short time after， when the child had been baptized， the names hehad received were added， “John Christopher Frederick.”
And what became of the little lad?—the poor boy of the humble town of Marbach? Ah，indeed， there was no one who thought or supposed， not even the old church bell which hadbeen the first to sound and chime for him， that he would be the first to sing the beautiful songof “The Bell.” The boy GREw apace， and the world advanced with him.
While he was yet a child， his parents removed from Marbach， and went to reside inanother town; but their dearest friends remained behind at Marbach， and thereforesometimes the mother and her son would start on a fine day to pay a visit to the little town.The boy was at this time about six years old， and already knew a GREat many stories out ofthe Bible， and several religious psalms. While seated in the evening on his little cane-chair， hehad often heard his father read from Gellert's fables， and sometimes from Klopstock's grandpoem， “The Messiah.” He and his sister， two years older than himself， had often weptscalding tears over the story of Him who suffered death on the cross for us all.
On his first visit to Marbach， the town appeared to have changed but very little， and itwas not far enough away to be forgotten. The house， with its pointed gable， narrowwindows， overhanging walls and stories， projecting one beyond another， looked just thesame as in former times. But in the churchyard there were several new graves; and therealso， in the grass， close by the wall， stood the old church bell! It had been taken downfrom its high position， in consequence of a crack in the metal which prevented it from everchiming again， and a new bell now occupied its place. The mother and son were walking in thechurchyard when they discovered the old bell， and they stood still to look at it. Then themother reminded her little boy of what a useful bell this had been for many hundred years. Ithad chimed for weddings and for christenings; it had tolled for funerals， and to give the alarmin case of fire. With every event in the life of man the bell had made its voice heard. His motheralso told him how the chiming of that old bell had once filled her heart with joy andconfidence， and that in the midst of the sweet tones her child had been given to her. And theboy gazed on the large， old bell with the deepest interest. He bowed his head over it andkissed it， old， thrown away， and cracked as it was， and standing there amidst the grassand nettles. The boy never forgot what his mother told him， and the tones of the old bellreverberated in his heart till he reached manhood. In such sweet remembrance was the old bellcherished by the boy， who GREw up in poverty to be tall and slender， with a freckledcomplexion and hair almost red; but his eyes were clear and blue as the deep sea， and whatwas his career to be? His career was to be good， and his future life enviable. We find himtaking high honors at the military school in the division commanded by the member of a familyhigh in position， and this was an honor， that is to say， good luck. He wore gaiters， stiffcollars， and powdered hair， and by this he was recognized; and， indeed， he might beknown by the word of command—“March! halt! front!”
the old church bell had long been quite forgotten， and no one imagined it would ever againbe sent to the melting furnace to make it as it was before. No one could possibly have foretoldthis. Equally impossible would it have been to believe that the tones of the old bell still echoedin the heart of the boy from Marbach; or that one day they would ring out loud enough andstrong enough to be heard all over the world. They had already been heard in the narrow spacebehind the school-wall， even above the deafening sounds of “March! halt! front!” Theyhad chimed so loudly in the heart of the youngster， that he had sung them to hiscompanions， and their tones resounded to the very borders of the country. He was not a freescholar in the military school， neither was he provided with clothes or food. But he had hisnumber， and his own peg; for everything here was ordered like clockwork， which we all knowis of the GREatest utility—people get on so much better together when their position and dutiesare understood. It is by pressure that a jewel is stamped. The pressure of regularity anddiscipline here stamped the jewel， which in the future the world so well knew.