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(A Fact from Persian Domestic History.) rv l.n.r.u: j:. num. I'oor, but well -burn, a viM and handsome man, ! M as the young ;mik r.i-goi i.-i:iikiii; Wortliv of fortune, siiire. in happy hour. By one bold sUokc, lie won both peace and power. Hewed a nolilr ladv rich 1 grant. And wondrous fair but a great termagant; bo merrv prophecier- all mouths did till Of Sadilc bowing to his rich wife's will. Hut he had other thoughts: so whpn he made Jlis lirst salaam in the latticed shade, The rich zenana of his willful ifc. He knew thai visit must decide his life. The dame was haughty, but with pin-rings sweet Her favorite eat came the new lord to meet; One glance at madame's face the swift blade t-ped, And the poor favorite lay without her head. Wineil with his silken scarf his bloody palm; I Smiled sweet, and raid, "Jlysoul! 1 hate a eat." And Sadik Keg was master after that. In Sadik's household maids did never vex ; I Mis wife became the meekest of her sex; , And his friend Jlerdek, rich, and henpecked through, i Came for borne private lessons what to do. j The storv of the cat kind Sadik told : i (Iiut, had he known, the tale was somewhat old, For the gossip in the J Yraian harems (lew, j And every woman Sadik's method knew.) 2dedek was charmed, his wife a pet cat kept, Which he'd behead that night, before he slept ; i ilad with the rare receipt the day he spent , I And then towards home his doubtful footsteps j t bent. j Ills wife Willi taunting-i met him : what of thai?, j He fierc'elv drew his &word and killed her cat. f 1 Then through the harem, clamorous, crying Hew, And 'fore he knew, his wife had struck him too. ; Mv precious cat !" she cried, and " O, you fool ! j You went loo late to Satlik I'.egV line school; j You should you paltry wretch! you should, r ! sav ! Have killed the cat upon the wedding day !" ; Christian 1'iiion. I MY LILY-0F-TI1E. VALLEY. Peep !'' Tr was :t cheery, almost child ish voice. wt U known ami loved by me : ami yet 1 started in half afl'righr, so deep Wttsiny reverie, Heveries. in the ni'ijority of cases, probably, have love for thin in spiring god : Imt this was an exceptional one, else I had swrHy been prepared for any such .-urprise as "this, from the very priestess iurself of love. Not that .-he acknowledged it. or I either, for that matter. P.ut we were both lini'e, and love is inlinite. " Yon lit.le pns !-' L exclaimed. " how you frightened me !" " Do l look so like a fright, then, in my masquerading?" " Of course not. You are always charm ing. rut your voice ' " Was har-h and " " How dexterously you do fish for com pliments this afternoon! You know your voice is soft and musical, lor 1 have told vou o several times ; and " -Ha, ha. ha! Goon." It was thar very sweetness and soft ness that startled me, being so antipodal to my tlioughtsjust then." "There!" a -widen seriousness settling over her manner. " That convinces me that you are not obeying your doctor. You "must have been" thinking of those dread! ui column1: of ligures, and of ' puts,' and 'calls' and short-,' and such ridicu lous nonsense. Don't you remember you told me you shouldn't think of any k calls,' but calling the eows. nor any 'shorts' but those they have for their supper, to make them give you an extra quality of milk for your bieakf.ist, so you can go back to the city in the fall vigorous for business, and fresh for the smiles of your sweetheart." Quite a Ions speech, upon mv word ! And it is not a month yet since I supposed you never indulged in any thing beyond iionosyllables. and scattered ones at that." "Thank you for nothing. But how do vou like my costume?" "'Charming. Who assisted you ?" " I made the things, ( Jousin Maggie help ed arrange them, and Mr. Fred Marston acted as critic, to see whether I was pre sentable." " And nronoMnced you au fait ?" -Yes, if looks would do so. But he was so busy sketching that he would hardly say a word." " Puss," I said, after a moment's delib eration, and wondering whether I really had the courage, "do you really remem ber all 1 told you, in my gossiping way, the day after Fred and L arrived, about the doctor's instructions how I was never to think of business or cares of any kind, but onl3r amusement, and any nonsense that came uppermost?" " Yes perfectly." "Who'd have thought I would go so contrary thereto? first, to come up to this quiet place, where both amusement and nonsense would seem to be sacrilegi ous; and " "Secondly." looking as prim and digni fied as so slight and sweet a body could. " Yes. secondly, by falling in love with 3'ou." 1 spoke deliberately, and with an effort ; and the last word had not died from my Hps before I knew that my premonitions of dangerous ground were not uninspired. A pink glow suffused her face for an in stant, and then laded into a whiteness that was not so deathly as it was transpar ent. It added to my pain as well as to a vague delight 1 felt in the picture she made in her inasquerading dress. To speak of this mimic masquerade, and the picture it formed, it will be necessary to go back a few days, on which occasion I sat in the little pinched-up parlor of the old-fashioned farm-house that formed my retreat from the city's hum and business for a few weeks in the summer. On the wall opposite where I sat hung an old family portrait, so old, indeed, that the daughter of mv hostess was not exactly certain as to who she was, or of what gen eration she had formed a part ot the hie. The student of fashion's caprices could probably have ascertained by research; but it really made no great difference. The salient part of the portrait was a large Elizabethan ruff, not so stiff and ungainly as are generally represented in portraits, but seeming Quite graceful and nrettv. and, indeed, as though forming part of the personality of the personage, who was . young, less than twenty, apparently, skin white and delicate, almost devoid of color, eyes of a doiee far niente feeling, and lips whose just perceptible pout was in fine Keeping witn tne round, cheery face. "Miss Perry," I said, "the portrait yonder is enough like you to pass lor your own, it you stiouiu only tell people you syere masquerading, now like a My-of the-valley it looks, with the round, deli cate face, and the delicately penciled ruff! ' - What an idea! "' said Miss Ferry, the daughter of my hostess. " And yet, since you suggest it',1 can trace quite a resem blance." T remember hearing papa say once that she was quite a belle in her day, and there was something of a romance connected with her." It was in a dress preci-oly like this in all its details in which Miss Ferry was array ed when she peered over the ro-e-bu-h on the afternoon in which my story opens, and greeted me with her innocent " Feep ! So," she faintly articulated, "your amusement' and nonsense' for this summer are falling in love with an unso phisticated country-girl! Quite delight ful!"' "Miss Ferry!" I exclaimed, in blank amazement, " you wrong me by your mis applied iron'. My words were not trilling ones, as you seem to think. I was. too abrupt and precipitate. L am but a tyro in wooing." 1 put my arm around her slender waist as 1 spoke the last words, and she sulfercd It to remain there an instant, and then withdrew shrinkingly. giving me a half startled, half-shy look as she glided out of the room a look that haunted me for months afterward. I saw her no more that afternoon, and the next morning Fred and I were oil on a fronting expedition before she was astir. At supper she was absent, and her mother volunteered the information that .she had gone to visit her eousins over the moun tains. " It's in the j'ining county, some twenty miles oil'," .-he said! " One of the bovs was over this way on some Imsine-s or other, and she appeared kind o' moping, and when he .-poke on't I jest bundled her oil' quick. It'll do her good. She's a gal like all others." "Twenty miles!" I repeated. "She'll probably, then, be gone some live or six days." " Five or six weeks, more like," was the reply. " I toid her she'd have to stay, most likely, till we -ent for her. and that wouldn't be till alter harvesting was all over. The men and horses is mighty busy during the hot weather." " I say. Fred," I said that evening as we sat oil the piazza smoking our cigars. -I've been thinking that I'll go bade to the city to-morrow or next day. To tell the truth, it's getting a little dull and mo notonous, and " " Dull and monotonous ! What has got into you? Why, it's only a day or two since you were "going to stay a month yet. You're ju-t the queerest chap" " I've been told that olten enough to know it by heart, Fred. I think f shall go up by to-morrow night's train, unless vou shall go too if I wait over a few days." " Not I . I shall stay another fortnight, at anv rate." " All right. It is settled, then. "Walk up to the station with me, and you can send my trunk along someday when the wagon is going up." " The next evening we arrived at the little rise in sight of the station some time before the train was due, and we sat down on a rude stone-wall overlooking the vallev. " By-the-way," said Fred, suddenly. " t didn't show you this, I believe. She looked so charming I couldn't help ic." And he opened his portfolio, which he invariably had with him, and showed me a sketch he had made of Miss Perry the day she Avas masquerading, which had thus far proved so disastrous to me. Ir was a nersonified lilv-of-the-valley, with the delicate features of her whose name of Margaret somehow grated on my ear. and, as "Miss Perry" was too formal, I had taken to calling her "Puss." "I say, Fred, I want this," I said. " Nonsense ! You'd better let me keep this and you take the original." "A wise man is content with what he can get." 1 responded biiclly, as I put it in my sachel. Fred gave me a curious look, which 1 did not interpret till later in the season, and made no objection to my appropriating his sketch. The sun was sinking behind the moun tain, the valley we had just left having been for some time in deep shadow. " Whereare your canvas and colors?" I presently asked. "'1 here's an effect of chiaroscuro that would draw praise from the most conservative critic." Fred needed no second hint; and as he painted away, I observed the beautiful ef fect, and made occasional jerky remarks on a variety of subjects, presently saying : "How a'propos that masquerading wig was ! She is, indeed, a lily-of-the-valley, both lily and valley being in their respect ive, ways charming in a superlative sense." The whistle sounded ju3t then, and I started in haste for the train, leaving Fred busy on his picture hardly looking up when he said good-by,and prophesied my return in a few days. Several times, after my return to the city, I came near doing so, wondering if it were not cowaruiy m me 10 su-ikc my colors at such a moment, and if "Puss" did not expect me to come over the moun tain to see her. Nearly two months had elapsed, and I had heard no word from Fred. I was on the point of putting a change of linen in a sachel, and taking a two-days' run in search of him, and " to see if Miss Perry had returned, when 1 received a letter, which, to say the least, indefinitely post poned the matter. I give only those parts my readers will be interested in : "JIyDeak Boy: Congratulate me that is, with an if. She won't name the day, nor positively promise that she ever will; but it is so well settled in my own mind, that I shall order the suit as soon as I arrive in town, which will be some day next week if I can tear myself away so soon. " How did I do it? Blest if I know I I never dreamed of such a thing till you dropped that remark you did when I gave yeu the sketch of the lady in her masquer ade dress, that 'a wise man is content with what he can get,' which flashed through my brain the intelligence that jTou had been rejected, or were satisfied you would be. Why, I never could conceive, for I always supposed you to be the favored one, but 1 didn't puzzle over the conun drum very long. From that moment I gave myself up to the task of winning her, and went at it rough-and-tumble. I never 1 went into any thing before so recklessly, because never before had I been so seri ously in earnest. "hut you don't can- for details. If 'none but the brave de-crvc the fair.' I have at least earned the trophy I shall henceforth wear so proudly on my breast." IJcfoie Fied returned from thecnimtry, I was on the Atlantic. I had again be haved in a cowardly manner, and de-erted my colors when a vigorous movement on my own part, instead of resulting so, would have had a decided contrary result. But I was both blind and stupid. I could neither See nor understand what had taken place, nor how it all tended to my advantage did i but follow it up. That knowledge did not come to me till many months afterward. On the water, and pressed to the brim with work, 1 had supposed I should forget the little country girl, and return heart whole from the European trip I had been commissioned to take by the house in which I was engaged ; but every day only added to the mt( uity of my .-uH'cring. and finally the longing 1 f- lt must forever be unrealized became so much apart of my existence that even simPrht began to take its hues from the half ripened orange. lint the exigencies ot the busine.-s I was transacting demanded my continued tay, and levied such a tax on m mental capa cities that I soon began to look on my trouble as annoying, but not -erious. and as though a callus had gro". n over it. and no pain would result from :t unless a vio lent strain were brought to bear upon if. Then disaster came and the house sud denly tailed, leaving me adrift : and I was offered au adva: tageous position in a for eign Itouse, a member f which, 1 was courteously informed, had' "observed the masterly manner in which I had managed the affairs of the branch which had been entrusted to me." So, of course, it trausphvo that I did not. return to my native land that autumn, nor the next, nor in fact, if was three years from the time 1 left for Europe before I returned. I landed in the niiiUUe of Au gust. Iast summer, and at once began to hunt up old cronies, by aid of memory and directories. !ut I had no lip'k. Fied I could get no track of. only thai he had just returned from a European trip ; but where he might be at that particular time was uncertain. All for whom I e tredin the city were out of town for the warm weather, or else where I could not readily find them, and I began to think I had been a fool to come across the water at so tin propitious a time. My own immediate family I found, on inquiry, were stopping for a few weeks at a remote place, twenty miles or more beyond the little valley where Fred and 1 had summered three years bufore, and toward that point 1 turned my lace. dust before sun-et the train made a halt at tiie little village overlooking the vallev where I had met lny fate, and where the last time I had seen Fred he was engaged in mtikir.g a sketch of the valley, hardly taking his eye from the canvas to bid me his cheery good-bye. For some reason the train was delayed a few moments, and. as I gazed over the valley, the old feeling of three years belore was 'instantly surging and swaying in my brea-t ; and before the train was again in motion I stood upon the rude country-station platform, unable to resi.-t the force impelling me there, thinking 1 could pursue my journey next day as well as this. After the train had departed, and I ob served the curious country eyes scanning my singular movements, I suddenly real ized my awkward position, and wondered what to do. Mechanically 1 strolled to ward the spot Fred Lad chosen for his vantage-ground to view the valley. Little change was visible. The sunset colors were less vivid, and consequently the shadow over the valley was less somber a much more plea-ing picture: and yet I could not help fieling that the somber shadow was over my heart instead. I aimle.;sly followed the winding road into the valley, descending at every sf. p farther and father into the shadow: yet my soul into its own shadow plunged mbre recklessly still, the gloom surtound ing it seeming almost sullen in its in tensity. Suddenly it grew lighler. What did it presage? A large cumulus of cloud had drifted into the range of the sun's rays, and caught the splendor, sending them down to the earth in a glow of reflection. ' If my own soul could drift into such a volume of light !" I thought, bitterly, and walked slowly onward. What marvelous shapes the clouds fake at times! This one, and smaller ones drifting with and counter to it, suddenly took the shape of a huge anchor, seeming to me, in my shortened vision, a gleam of mighty irony glowing with a false glim mer. So intent was my gaze bent heaven ward that I did not observe a figure im mediately in front of me, emerging from the valley. It was a female figure, and I hastily stepped on one side to allow her to pass, hardly withdrawing my gaze from the heavens The moment she had passed, in obedience to a .Midden impulse, I turned my head, to see hers also turned to ob serve me. The light from the cloud of hope shone full in her face, and I started at the recognition. Was my soul, then, drifting as yonder cloud had done? Was this thrill that bathed it in pathos the light, indeed, that warms and glorifies all it shines on or wtis it but mocking irony. "Miss Perry!" I exclaimed, " this is a rare pleasure." She advanced in the same shy manner as of old, and held out her hand in the old coy style. " Was it you, then, I was to meet at the station?" she asked. " Were you expecting some one?"' I asked, a little bewildered. "No yes," was the hesitating reply. " I suppose, if I tell you, you will laugh at me. I was sitting in the parlor a short time ago, looking now and then at the old picture you were pleased to take so much notice of in those other years the picture has been very dear to me latterl," she parenthetically added, with a just percep tible tremor in her voice " when sudden ly I was impressed with the idea that I was to meet some one at the station. The notion occurred to me at once as so ri diculous, that I laughed outright. But it wouldn't be laughed down, and finally 1 started, and here I am." I then told her how I had just returned from Europe, and was on my way to find my mother and sister, when I was almost impelled from the cars. "And you were going right by without stopping to see ua ?" I hesitated, not knowing the nature of the ground I was standing on, and not caring to make a misstep. " Fred and 1 would both have been so disappointed if you had." " Ah ! is. Fred here?" T asked, making an effort to appear at ease, though suc ci eding badly, 1 am alraid. "Why, ot course. He is here all the! time, now, except lor a few months in the winter." j My heart leaped into my throat in very j agony, and for a moment I dared not j trust myself to speak. We had in the I meantime been walking slowly down into j the valley, and suddenly a door of a house elo-e by the wayside swung open, and a , flood of light rested upon my companion, i Ah, the caprices of fashion! How its! edicts drift ajound in circles, and turn up j unexpectedly! Of course the rulf was not so pi-ononce, nor the rolling folds to j the dress, gathering in a ma-- back of the neck, so angular and so still as repre- i seutcd in the Elizabethan portrait: but j there she was in the dres, with nionilica- j tions, in which she had made the final as- ! sault upon my heart, and won it "un knowingly, heedlessly," I said to myself. ; "Didn't you know of Fred's mar-j riage?" she asked, after the awkward pau-e in which my mint: iiad been so busy. " I " Not to a certainty. I conjectured as j much. You are very happy, 1 seppose." " Yes. as the world goes. Fred is the j dearest and best fellow in the world. How long since you have seen him? It is along j time, isn't "it?" ' "Three yi ars. He was seated where I met you. jusf now. the night of my return i home, anil after you went over the mouu- , tains so much alter the French-leave man- ner." " Oil, I was such a silly chit then." j "And think you have grown wiser i now:'" " Maybe not, nor happier: this world, is for "growth, not happ'mcs, after alt. , Growth is the object, happiness the nsuit; j not the reverse, as people generally .sup- j po-e." j "And Fred has grown in art as well as ! in a domestic way?" "Oh, yes. He is quite the rage in cer- I tain ciielt s. Iiut you know ali about that, ! probably?" " No. I have been ?o immersed in bu-i-ness in Europe that I have absolutely not heard of or from him since let me see: no no. not since he wrote, ju-t alter my re turn from here, to tell mc of his engage ment with you." " His engagement with me!" draw ing a sharp breath at the enunciation of evi ry word. " He was never engaged to me. Did he write you that?" " He implied as much. If I remember rightly, however, there was a chance for a contrary result." He fancied at one time he was in love with me. and I don't know but considered himself engaged, but if only lasted a few weeks. He went to Europe, tie said, to die of a broken heart: bur, came back last fill, and nianied my cousin, and " " And you are not married r" I did not hear her reply, only saw her shake her iiead in the rapidly gathering dii-k, and clasped, my arm around Ik r -1 had done three summer." before. But she did not withdraw from my embrace this tune, in ever so gentle a manner: and when I asked her if she would be my lily-of-the-valley. the answer she gave shone over my soul as the departing sunlight had over the anchor-shaped 'cloud, and the relleeted radiance illuminated my whole being. Applcton's Journal. ags." .hist as the rays of the rising sun gilded thi! rosy morn, and the lark bru-hed the dew from his brown feathers and thrilled a joyous lay, the voice ro.-e from the walk and penetrated the ears of every sleeper for a block around. It was not a voice er ing " Excelsior !" or a voice raised in adi.'laiion of the beauties ofajoyou morn ing. It was a plaintive voice, awl theie was a quaver to it as it called out : "K-ags!" When the gi eat bell struck rhe hour of noon, and the busy streets were deserted by all save a slowly meandering police man or two, and occasional lad hurrying along with a dinner-pail in his hand, a plaintive voice sounded along the streets and echoed and reverberated in the stair ways. It was not the voice of a good man, admonishing the people to turn from the error of their ways. It was not the chant of the auctioneer, giving " third and last call," nor was it "the monotonous, mu-ical slang of the man who sells a set of gold jewelry for the paltry sum of twenty-live ceiit. It was a voice cn ing : " H-ags !" When the golden sun dipped behind the horizon, :md the evening shadows chased each other across his face and wavered and quivered above Time's grave, there came riding on the quiet evening air a long drawn wail. It. was not the cry of a child in pain. It was not the sad sob of a loving wife as she bent over the cold and lifele-s form of a kind husband. It rose with the shadows, sounding through halls and crept into chambers It was that same cry, that same " K-ags!" Detroit Free Press. Why the Young Men Loved to Kiss Her. A young lady of about 1G summers call ed for a glass of soda-water. Whim asked what syrup she preferred she glanced her loveJv eyes over the various names which appeared on the faucets of the fountain. She read over the names of strawberry, cream, lemon, etc., until she reached nec tarine. "Nectarine!" exclaimed the beauty. "What is that? What does it taste like?" The soda man looked meekly at her, and charmingly replied that it tasted as sweet as a young lady's lips. "Then 1 will take a glass, sir, with that sirup," said the charming creature. He immediately pre pared ii glass of the delightful mixture and handed it over to the young lady, who raised it to her lips, which bewitchingly parted to receive the contents. She sip pingly quaffed the cooling beverage.Jand, handing back the glass, she innocently re marked that now she knew why the young gentlemen found so much pleasure in kissing her so often. In Florence there are about one hun dred and sixty painters, of whom only three are Americans, the majority being Italians. Among the ninety sculptors of that city, however, there are ten or a dozen Americans. A DKEADFUL DISASTER. :uriihi of the TYciicIi Catholic Church, in Ilolyoke. Mass. (Jreat L.os of .Life A Scene of Cnnui-iillcd Horror. Srr.ixGFiKM), Mass , May 27 One of the most terrible disasters in thehi-tory of Massachusetts occurred to-night in the burning of the French Catholic Ohureii. at South Ilolyoke, during the evening service, involving the death of sixtv-six men, women and children. The exercise had nearly closed, and a vi sper service was being sung, when the. draperies on the altar CAW.IIT l'tl'.K FWM A CANDI.K, and the walls being low and the names streaming up. the building was set on fire. The audience numbered about seven hundred. The people m the body of the church escaped, but on the sfairway lead ing from the gallery, human beings" were densely7 packed and struggling to reach the floor. As the flames ru-hed toward them, many leaped, to the iloor beneath and were trampled to death. The gallery -kirttd both .-ides of the building with only one way out lrom the front. The scene was fearful while it lasted, tor the whole was over in twenty minutes. Besides .SIXTY-SIX DEAD there are enough fatally wounded to run the total loss ot life up to seventy-live. The Prie-t's house, which joins the church on the rear, was al.-o burned. fl'ktiiki: ii:Ticri.Ai:s. Theixerci-es had nearly closed when the flames from the caudle caught the drapery around the statue of the Virgin .Mary, streamed up and caught the build ing immediately. A panic ensued and the people ru-hed for the doors. There wa but one entrance to the gallery and that from the front. On the stairway leading from the gallery the peply wcrepaekul in a solid mass, struggling to clear them selves a- the flames rushed in that direc tion, and this soon became blocked, ren dmng exir impossible. Many pnnpid over the sides of the gallery on the crowd beneath and were tramp'.i d on and killed. The piiest's n sidence joined the church on tle rear, and many scaped through au entrance leading to th hotj-e back of the altar. Th" pi list's exertion-to keep order were fruitless. The screams of the living and the moans ot th dying made deafening tumult above the order.- of the pastor, who worked most heroically, and was personally instrumental in saving many lives. One family of four were in the church, and wi re all killed. Many were pulled out by the arm ami feet. 6 badly burned that they livid but a ftw hours, the lle.-h pun ling olf on being touched. Some were taken out with scarcely any flesh remaining on their bones. The Si-ters of Mercy from the convent wi re soon on hand ear ing for the wounded and holding services over the dying. Father Dufre.-ne also held services. His mother was among those terribly burned. Father Dufresue lo-t al most every thing in hi- lesrdince. Hie large wooden tenement bh.ck of Joseph Pivu. near the church, was thrown open for the reception of the dead and wound ed, and several deaths occurred in the building during the niiihr. Several were aiso taken to the New York Mills boarding-house, and physicians g:-.ve tl. wound ed the best of medical care. Those who were too badly burned to recover were put under the i fleets of mornhine and pai-ed away without a struggle. While the exercises were being held over the dy ing the most intense quiet prevailed, and the rough laborers knelt on the floor with uncovered heads : but abou: the morgue and on the streets the wailing of the multi tude was pitiful. Several members of one of the hose com panies were playing ball near the church when the fue broke out. and the relief steamer was out for practice, so that the fire department was promptly on the spot. TIIH SCKXKS AT Till: POOKS were described as terrible. Tney were blocked with struggling people- seeking exit outside. The people clean if the way several time-, but ad often it would be blocked up again. The windows were broken open and several escaped in that wav. .'he last to get out of the church was said to be a man with his wife and little girl. The father took up his daughter and rushed witn her to a place of safely. Louis Eon gloss, of the Iliverside Mills, went in to lender assistance, when a little girl came tumbling down before the door under the feet ot the throng. Though he burned his hands badly in doing it. lie was able to pull her out, but the little girl was badly injured. A young woman bear out one of the window frames and jumped to the ground safely. An old woman of sixty went to the same opening and hesitating to jump she was pulled inside by the hair by a brutal fellow. He jumped 'clear and she fell and was seriou-ly injured. Of a family of live, four got out alive, one little girl of twelve b- ing burned. She was tearfully sought by her little brother and at last di-envered'dead. John Lynch, a mason, finding the people pressed in at the bottom ot the church door, pulled many down who were on top, thus sav ing a dozen live-:. Constable Casey described the scene as he saw it with a glass from the top of the Hutcluns' House block. The whole affair was over in fifteen minutes. He could plainly see through the blazing rafters and frame the poor people running about. Long black spots could be seen in the flames, and half a minute later these spots went out in a brilliant light, which was succeeded by a dark flame. Louis Koberts, who, w iii his four children, was in the church, saved his three daughters by forc ing them out of the door, but his boy, a bright lad of 11, perished in the flames. Many people were badly injured by jump ing from the gallery windows. Annie Hibber and a child six years of age es caped from the building after their cloth ing had become ignited, and many per sons had their limbs broken in attempting to escape. The simple faith of a Virginia Christian is aided by his faith in man. He was asked if he thought StonewaH Jackson was in heaven. " Wal," said the old gen tleman, " I reckon he is, if he started for tnat place.- lie always manageu round in time." to get At a spelling match at Candia, N. II., early in May, Mrs. Ezekiel Lane, more than SO years old, spelled down the class and received the prize ottered by ex-Uov. Smith.