sen business, familiarizing himself with titles, prices and editions, and forming the acquaintance of publishers and dealers at home and elsewhere. At the age of eighteen years, he had saved enough money to start a little book-store of his own, and the venture proved successful. By dint of hard work and economy, inspired by a determination to "rise higher," Mr. Childs, at the age of twenty-one, had accumulated sufficient capital to embark in the book-publishing business. The success of the house of Childs & Peterson may be directly attributed to the industry which had enabled its head to master the details of the business during his apprenticeship. In commercial life, capital is a very desirable adjunct, but it will not buy experience, nor will it always supply brains.

Mr. Childs retired from the book-publishing business in 1863, and the following year he purchased the newspaper known as the Public Ledger. This journal had been published since 1836 as a penny paper. It had been successful, but during the Civil War, owing to the greatly increased cost of paper, labor, etc., it ceased to be profitable, and, indeed, was run at a heavy loss. The The proprietors feared to increase the price to subscribers, thinking that this would result in a great loss of circulation. Mr. Childs took possession of the property December 3, 1864; and a few days later, with characteristic boldness and shrewdness, he doubled its price to two cents, and advanced the advertising rates to the war-time basis of a depreciated currency.

The immediate effect was a falling off in business, but the new proprietor soon won back his patrons, and the subsequent history of the Ledger is well known. It ranks to-day among the few really first-class daily newspapers of America, and owes its present greatness to a consistent policy of giving all the current news while excluding everything of a trashy character; no gossip, slang, or anything tending to corrupt the morals of its readers is ever seen in its columns. In this respect it puts to shame a certain class of journals which pander to a depraved taste, and are, fortunately, generally short-lived and of little influence. It has been said that the Ledger faithfully reflects the character of its proprietor, being clean in thought, wholesome in sentiment, strong in conviction, and earnest in standing boldly for the right. However this may be, its success and that of its owner may be traced directly to the habits of industry and application to the business in hand which marked the course

of the errand boy and clerk in the book-store. It is this point which I wish to impress upon young America; and the rule never fails.

It is worthy of note that Mr. Childs has never held a public office; has never posed as a statesman or a warrior; has never displayed special talent in any of the arts or sciences; in fact, has never been regarded as anything more or less than an honest, industrious, just, patriotic, philanthropic, kind-hearted, and hardheaded American business man. But he is known and respected the world over. His friends have been the greatest men of his day and generation, and among those who have enjoyed his intimate acquaintance may be named Generals Grant, Sherman, and Sheridan; the poets Longfellow, Lowell, Bryant, and Holmes; the Drexels; Dickens and Hawthorne ;-but the list embraces nearly all the greatest names of the past five decades, at home and abroad.

As a philanthropist, Mr. Childs displays rare judgment and great liberality. His public benefactions, though great and noteworthy, are perhaps less bounteous than his private charities. As an employer, he is most generous, and his characteristic generosity and fairness was well summed up by "one who knows," in these words: "If all employers were like Mr. Childs, there would be no labor question.'”

It is quite impossible, in this short sketch, to enter into details regarding Mr. Child's later career. The facts are familiar to all. The lesson of this busy life must be quite clear to every boy who reads these pages, and should be at once a warning and an inspiration-a warning against the treacherous quicksands of indolent ease and alluring dissipation, and an inspiration to cultivate the habit of putting heart and soul into one's chosen vocation. It proves that honor does not lie only in the direction of statecraft and the sword, nor in the realms of art and literature alone, but may be acquired, and with it wealth and power, by any American boy who starts in life with no capital save a clean heart, willing hands, and ambition enough to make the best possible use of the brains God has given him.

Enduring success and honored age await the youth who labors diligently, and who, with temperance and frugality, depends upon his own exertions for success. The element of luck plays roguish tricks sometimes; but he who idly waits for fortune will receive scant favor from the fickle jade.

menced in 1729 and completed in 1734, and was occupied by the Assembly for the first time in October, 1735. At this time, the surroundings were very crude, and huckleberry brush covered the lots adjoining. In 1739-40, two wings were added, one on either end, and connected by piazzas with the main or central structure. The entire cost of the edifice up to this point was

THE STATE HOUSE IN 1750. (From an old print.)

about $28,000. The accompanying sketch shows the State House as it appeared from 1740 to 1750. About the latter date, it was determined to erect a tower and belfry over the south end of the main hall; and this work was completed late in the year 1751, at which time (November 4, 1751) the steeple was raised, amidst general festivity and rejoicing.

Three days prior to this (November 1, 1751), a letter was addressed to Robert Charles, of London, ordering the bell. The letter was as follows:

RESPECTED FRIEND: The Assembly having ordered us (the Superintendents of the State House) to procure a bell from England, to be purchased for their use, we take the liberty to apply ourselves to thee to get us a good bell of about 2,000 pounds weight, the cost of which we may presume may amount to about one hundred pounds sterling, or perhaps with the charges, etc., more.

requirements of its purchasers, although the price was £198 instead of £100. But appearances are deceitful, for while being tested for sound, immediately after it was hung, a stroke of the clapper cracked the metal and rendered the bell useless. It was at first intended to send the bell back to England to be recast; but finally a firm of local founders, Messrs. Pass & Stow, were employed instead.

The bell was broken up and recast in March, 1753; and it is said that the Philadelphia firm turned out a better job, mechanically, than the original. Pass & Stow added a certain proportion of copper to the original alloy, and for this or some other reason, the tone of the new bell was not quite satisfactory. So a third cast was made, and this time with perfect success. The Liberty Bell, therefore, was subjected to three castings-one in England and two in Philadelphia.

The bell was placed in the steeple of the State House early in June, 1753, where it remained until September, 1777, as will be seen, and where it was located on that eventful day when its ringing voice proclaimed the freedom of the Colonies and sounded the death knell of royalty within our borders. Year by year the bell hung in its lofty, latticed home. The royal proclamations were heralded by its stroke; and thus its quivering sides, though bearing in bold characters the heaven-born message, "Proclaim liberty throughout the land," were made to promulgate the edicts of a harsh and grinding monarchy.

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Grim incongruity! Stupendous stultification! But the spirit of '76" was already beginning to affright the monarch on his throne.

The bell was used to mark the hour at which the courts convened; to call the members of the Assembly to their posts; and, later on, to summon the freemen of the city and county to such public meetings as their leaders might designate. In course of time, its voice was heard to herald gatherings not authorized nor recognized by the royal governor or his satellites; and when the infamous Stamp Act went into effect, the resentment of the people was heard in the tolling of the muffled bell in the State House tower, while down below, almost in the shadow of the building, the smoke of the burning stamp papers betrayed the spirit and temper of the populace, who swore undying opposition to the wrongs inflicted upon the Colonies.

On July 30, 1768, the brazen sentinel in the tower called together the "freemen of the city

December 27, 1773, saw the ship "Polly" going down the Delaware, her cargo of tea rejected by the indignant colonists, who, at the bell's summons, had "filled the State House and overflowed into the Square." The first of June following witnessed the flags at half-mast for the closing of the port of Boston, announced by the tolling of the muffled bell.

April 24, 1775, the tidings of Lexington reached the Quaker City, and on the following day, at the stroke of the bell, eight thousand people met beneath its sound and pledged themselves to defend with arms the sacred cause of liberty.

When, on the 10th of May, 1775, the bell sent forth its call for the assembling of Congress, two bodies met-one by authority of the king and the other by the will of the people. This was the last service rendered unto monarchy by the grand old bell, now silently resting on the very spot where these stirring events occurred. From

THE LIBERTY BELL AS SECURED IN ITS OLD WOODEN

FRAME.

that day forth, its measured strokes kept time with the heart-throbs of an awakened people whose souls cried out for "liberty or death."

July 4, 1776, the Declaration of Independence was adopted. Congress was assembled in the

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East Room of the State House-better known as Independence Hall." The debate had been in progress since June 7th, when Richard Henry Lee, of Virginia, rose in his place and offered his famous resolution, beginning: "Resolved, that these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States;" which resolution laid the foundation for the immortal Declaration of Independence.

In these days, it may seem strange that there should have been good American citizens opposed to the Declaration and in favor of perpetuating royal rule. I suppose that every schoolboy who reads this history will feel that the men who did not support John Hancock and his party must have been greater cowards than the average young American of this generation. But we must remember that the power of royalty was great; the executive offices were filled by emissaries of the king; his soldiers were present in some force, and nearly all the gold and silver money was in his possession. The Colonies were poor, scattered, and with little or no organization. Many good and patriotic men, like John and Samuel Adams, Dickinson, Gerry, and Morris, were restrained by the instructions of their constituents, and perhaps held back by the fear that a revolt against British rule would result only in increased slavery of the Colonies.

It was, indeed, a time that "tried men's souls." We of this generation can scarcely realize the perplexities which surrounded this Congress, or the unselfish patriotism and unparalleled boldness with which these men finally acted. But in the darkness the God of Nations guided them.

At the close of that eventful day, July 4, 1776, the die was cast. Love of liberty had triumphed over forebodings of disaster. The freemen of America had thrown off the hateful yoke of tyranny. No sooner was the deed accomplished than the unknown youth who, says a certain writer, awaited with trembling hope the signing, flew up the stairs with a joyful shout, "They've signed! RING! RING!" and the old bellringer,

with willing hands, grasped the rope and sent the first notes of American Freedom pealing through the drowsy summer air.

To us who live to-day, it seems impossible that this ringing birth-cry of a newborn nation could have carried terror and sorrow to the heart of any American. But many there were who heard these first notes of American liberty and then shrank away, muttering, "Trouble! more trouble! we shall all be undone now." These people-and they were not a few-had not the boldness to risk all on the altar of Right, nor could they foresee the triumph of that October night in 1781, when the watchman, passing by this same spot, shouted the welcome tidings: "Past twelve o'clock and CORNWALLIS IS TAKEN!"

By order of the Committee of Safety, the sheriff was instructed to read the Declaration of Independence, then duly signed by all, "at twelve o'clock noon on Monday, July 8th, at the State House." All constables and officers were commanded to be present. As the hour approached, the bell in the tower again sent out its stirring call and brazen defiance. The glowing words around its crown now trembled with the sound of freedom, and the glorious meaning of that inscription took on a new and perfect significance. The crowd assembled, led by all the officials and dignitaries, and followed by the populace, en masse.

Twelve o'clock. The bell ceased tolling. John Nixon, a patriot of the rugged and heroic type, read, in a voice that was heard far beyond the Square, the document that then became forevermore the common heritage of the nation. At its close, the people rent the air with three tremendous cheers; the bell above them opened up a pan of gladness and victory, while the chimes in St. Peter's and Christ Church swelled this grand prelude of an immortal national symphony.

From that moment to the present, the bell has been regarded as a symbol-an "outward and visible sign"-of American independence, a precious possession to be carefully guarded from harm or desecrating touch. When, therefore, the British army threatened Philadelphia, in 1777, the Executive Council ordered that the Liberty Bell, together with the chimes of Christ Church and St. Peter's, be removed to Allentown. This removal was made by wagons, under the care of a small band of devoted patriots, and the bell was kept safely in Zion Reformed Church until the evacuation of Philadelphia by

the British, in 1778, when it was returned to its home and duties. This visit, in 1777, was suitably commemorated on the 3d and 4th of last month by a second visit of the ancient bell to the city whose hospitality it enjoyed in the dark days, one hundred and sixteen years ago. It was a great day for Allentown, and that patriotic city was wrapped in our national colors from one end to the other. The bell was mounted on a car and drawn through the streets, past the site where it was safely hidden during its first visit. Contrast the squalid circumstances of the first pilgrimage with the pomp and state of the second, and you will learn what freedom and liberty have accomplished for this nation during the past century.

The surrender of Cornwallis was announced by the ringing of the bell at noon, October 24, 1781, amid the roar of cannon and the answering peals from the church towers.

The proclamation of peace was rung forth on April 16, 1783, and thenceforward the bell was used on only the most notable occasions: among others, the visit of Lafayette, on September 29, 1824; the fiftieth anniversary of American Independence, July 4, 1826, etc.

On the 6th of July, 1835, John Marshall, Chief-Justice of the United States and one of the very last prominent actors in the drama of the Revolution, died at Philadelphia; and two days later-July 8, 1835-while the remains of this honored and revered patriot were being borne through the streets of the city en route to their last resting-place in Virginia, the old bell sent forth its solemn, measured tones in mournful requiem for the departed jurist. In the midst of these solemnities, and as though in sorrow for the passing away of the last of its honored contemporaries, the grand old bell broke asunder and was thenceforth silent-silent as the tongues of the knightly heroes whose lives were so interwoven with its own existence. But its voiceless eloquence to-day, like the memory of the giants of its age, is still more potent to sway the hearts of men than are all the most brilliant efforts of modern oratory.

After the stormy period of the Revolution, the old bell rested in retirement, except when. upon special occasions as already noted, its deep tones were employed to voice the heart-beats of the people who loved it. For years it rested in a modern framework, which now forms one of the attractions in the Museum. It was also placed for a time in the East Room, and for many years on a pedestal having thirteen sides