in all
their mad mirth, as though they were to be the cause of no sorrow, no
pain, no death. Hal's courage was soon excited; he leaped upon the
burning rafters, rescuing goods from destruction, telling where a stream
was needed; but suddenly he became paralyzed--he heard a voice which had
often rung in his ear amid like scenes, a greater genius than his own
was at work. He learned that he was innocent, even indirectly, of the
stranger's death. Joy thrilled through every vein, he could have faced
any peril, however great. Regardless of the angry blaze, he made his way
through fire and smoke to the stranger's side. The fireman paused in his
labor a moment, grasped Hal's hand, and with a smile, in which mingled a
dash of triumph, said:

"You see I am safe."

"Do you forgive my rudeness?" asked Hal.

"Entirely!" was the ready response, and they went to work again.

In a few minutes Hal was separated from his friend--for he felt that he
was his friend, and could have worked at his side until his last
strength was expended. Retiring from the burning building to gather new
vigor for the conflict, a sight glared before his eyes as he gazed
backward for a moment, which froze his blood and made him groan with
horror. The rear wall of the building, at a moment when no one expected
it, with a crash, an eloquent yell of terror, fell, How many brave men
were buried beneath the ruins, none could say. Hal saw the stranger
falling with the timbers and the mass of brick he strained his gaze to
mark where he should rest, but lost sight of him beneath the piled-up
beams and stones.

"A brave heart has perished!" cried Hal, thinking of but one of the many
who had fallen sacrifices to their noble heroism. All night long the
saddened, horrified firemen worked in subduing the flames and
extricating the bruised bodies of the victims. Some still breathed,
others were but slightly injured, but many more were drawn forth whose
lips were still in death, their brave arms nerveless, and their hearts
pulseless forever. O, it was a night of agony, of terror and dismay! The
fireman's risk of life is not poetry, nor a romance of zeal, or picture
wrought by the imagination. It is an earnest, solemn, terrible thing, as
they could witness who stood around those blackened corses on that
midnight of woe.

Hal searched with undiminished care for the noble stranger, until his
worn energies required repose. In vain did he gaze upon the recovered
bodies