Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1871-12-22

suits. He would establish a grand model
estate near his father, whore, by his scien-
tific farming, by his active, yet refined and
scholarly life, he would with personal in
fluence, with money, with pen and voice,
build the young manhood OF growing
Empire State. 1t was while celebrating his
plans, and...learning men and their works
in Europe, that he met Lizzie Heron. She
willingly welded herself TO his work.
While the bridal journey was unfinished
the message of haste called them home,
but death came all too quickly, and the
young wife found herself alone with her
husband in his grief and loss. Father and
mother had slipped from the places that
would know them no more. Soon, with
the future all before him, the cherished
dreams began TO take the form OF realities.
When eight years have gone by, eight
busy, fruitful years, his work begins to
speak for ITSELF New as his place is, he
has drawn to himself much of the best and
highest of our civilization. Everywhere
| within wide radius walter Fay is n mama
known and honored. AS a severe agricul-
tural student and thinker, bringing to the
great natural processes the research of
trained mind, he stands almost alone as a
man, eager to advance the best interests of
humanity, he is in the :Nremost rank of the
noble men of the West.
'Tis 1871, the memorable morning of Oc-
tober 9th. On this awful morning the roads
for miles are streaming with homeless and
despairing sufferers. The first fugitives
which reach the Fay estate are met by the
master himself and brought by him TO his
wife. First there was woman half-clad,
pallid, and silent, but with that in her eyes
which speaks of tragedy unfinished. Two
cinging children share her silent distress.
BY gentle questioning some details are
gained of the increasing confagration.
Iwould paint to you if ! had the power,
that matron, Lizzie Heron Fay as she sits,
her own babe displaced, and her grand
arms filed with the scorched and tremb-
ling child of the wanderer. She is a noble
picture, with her classic, majestic form,
and her face lovely still, but mellowed and
en- riched by years wise and gracious as
well as beautiful woman. A swift mutu-
al impulse tells both husband and wife that
he cannot longer linger away from the scene
of suffering she lifts her hands to his
shoulders, her lips to his with gesture,
simple and noble as that of a goddess one
look into each others eyes, and he is gone.
He nears the city. The smoke and smell
of fire have long ago made his horse use
less. With bride thrown upon its neck he
has sent it toward home, and he goes sing
ly into the wild confuson-the heat, the
desolation, the ruin of the doomed city,
He stands for moment by the blackened
trunk of charred tree, and looks up and
around. A prayer for his wife and chill
dien ascends from his heart, oppressed by
the wretchedness before him. He is a true
Angl o-Saxon, tall, fair, we'll bearded, a
strong face, with heavy brows, and thought
full lines. Then the whole energy of the
man goes into his work. Wherever a
quick eve, a shout of command, a stout
| heart and strong arms can help any wretch
Y ed in that devoted city, they are never idle.
7 The long day wears on till dusk. AT last
the mans strong muscles are overstrained
and he begins to feel the prostration which
follows excessive tension, and thinks, with
a sick hopelessness that he must abandon
| the suffering, and go back to his beautiful
home. Just then the terrible scream of a
woman's voice, in all the horrors of DEATH
| bursts out. The multitude answers with a
| groan that seems almost n curse. The hor-
ror-stricken man sees, on high roof, with
four stories of blazing wood below it, wo-
man with child held aloft in her arms
| calling upon God and man for help. Awe
struck, but demoralzed by hours of hide
Gus sights and sounds, the crowd only
surges back and on. This man, thorot. gh-
fy trained in mind and muscle, sees at once
at one long look the only means of escape.
| 1t is by the roof, six feet lower, with four
feet of space between-a leap for life-and
he knows but too well that this woman,
wild with terror, will not see or heed it.
A tree, still only scorched, stood close by
this doomed house. A tree that waved and
rusted and sheltered little birds but last
night. AS quick as thought he climbs to
the lower branches. The gazers blindly
cheer, all ignorant of his plan for help
but, one man, laborer, cries in hoarse
voice, "Walter Fay, for Gods sake, come
| down." Two minutes more he is clinging
to smoking window-sill ten seconds, he
is on the roof. A few inspiring words to
the desperate woman, he takes her child
firmly in his left arm, with the right grasps
her hand, run-a leap-they are safe! A
mighty roar from the crowd below, men
ru sh to the end of the short row of houses
in less time than it takes to write it they
have her. sobbing and half fainting upon
| I,,tt tl,a l. .,l-n
breath for moment filings one thankful
glance up to the hell he has escaped. Good
God What is that? Crouching amid the
smoke, close by the skyllght, there is
wrthing form-a child. He glances
around him with bloodshot eyes, tears off u
piece of wooden cornice, makes a bridge
by which he climbs back the roof is now
hvery hot, and it seems to tremble under his
feet it is little girl, dumb with fright.
She lifts two large appealing eyes and q
tender mouth. He lifts her slowly, delib-
efatey kisses her dry lips, then with one
mighty effort throws her far from him, up
on the safe way to earth. He knows it is
his last strength, his limbs are trembling
now, the man is growing blind, but no cow
ardly sinking, for Lizzies sake. He nerves
himself once more; there are only two
walls Of fire and a black abyss between
he leaps-those walls were shroud and pail
the fire streamed up in lurid glory; he lay
dead below. Gertrude, whom shall we say
Lizzie married2 Farmer-gentleman-
man-hero-sain Berkshire Courier.
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The New York Times says: "Mr. Ed
| minds did n sensible thing on the openint