The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1886-12-25

uOn DC Irlgnbeneu. linen, quick as
thought, he wrapped the little one in the
blanket, and began to retrace his peril
GUS route. Quick, however, as he had |
been, the flames had gained ground, and |
scorched his feet as he stepped over the |
burning floor. He rushed to the window,
thinking that by means of ladder they
might escape that way; but pouring from
the windows below him was a sheet Of
flame. The burning staircase was the
only road. Tying his handkerchief round
his mouth and nose to keep out the suf-
locating smoke, he CROPPED his way to the
door. To his horror he heard a crash
one-half of the staircase had gone.
"a deadly terror seized upon him; the
last hope of escape was lost. The life
which few minutes before had seemed
burden too heavy to bear, suddenly grew
unutterably precious. His eyes were
blinded, his throat scorched by the thick
black smoke, and tongues of flame were
leaping up around him seeking to devour
him. With awful distinctness all the evil
of his life crowded into that one fearful
moment, shone out as clear as MONDAY
before his eyes. instruction wasted
good advice spurned, good resolutions
broken, rose up before him, and one and
all seemed to drag him down. The aw-
full horror lent him almost superhuman
strength. Threading his way through the
flames, which we're now rising all around
him, he crept down as far as he could
and then, grasping the broken hand rail,
swung himself over, and dropped as best
he might, depth of some fifteen feet
into the hall below. Fearfully burnt,
he had just strength-still holding his
burden iii his arms-to stagger into the
street, and fell senseless into the fremen's
arms.
"For many weeks he lowered between
life and death in the intensest physical
and mental agony. For the most part he
was delirious, and haunted by the men,
ory of that awful moment when, standing
on the brink of death, he had looked over
into the abyss of eternity. As he regained
his reason new terror came over him, the
dread of the consequences of his crime.
He never woke without fearing to find the
officers of justice at his bedside, waiting
to carry him before the judge. But this
last fear had lost its former horror; be-
ing, as it were, swallowed up in his over
whelming thankfulness of having been
saved from greater crime. On his bed
of pain he prayed as never before-pray-
and by the time he was able to set up
right, he was ready to endure without
hinching the pain and shame of his pun
| ishment. For some weeks the evil day
was delayed; but at last, as he was begin
ming to regain strength, a visitor was an
nounced and his employer entered the
room. With beating heart, but still
resigned, he felt that his hour was come,
and nerved himself to meet it. To his
surprise his employer made no allusion
to his misconduct, but kindly praised his
courage and his daring deed; and the
thought flashed across him that his folly
and sin we're still unknown, and if he did
but keep his own counsel, might so re-
main forever. The tempter whispered
BE silentp and for moment he was in
clined to yield; but his good angel tri-
umphed. With bowed head and down.
cast eyes he told the story of his sin, and
waited to hear his sentence from the man
he had wroDged. For few moments the
good old man God bless him D was silent,
and then he said, with tears in his eyes:
"'My lad, am glad that you have told
me this, very glad; although 1 knew it
before. You have committed great sin,
and have suffered heavy punishment,
You have been through fiery trial;
let your future life show that you have
been truly "purged in the fire." For your
offence against myself, God forbid that 1
should add to your punishment for
give you with all my heart, and you
need have no fear about coming back to
your old place in the Office, for no one
except myself will ever know a word of
the matter. One thing; however, you
must promise me-never to enter gam
bling house, or to stake money at play
again"
"'That 1 do, sir, upon my hon. he
began, and then stopped short as the
unfitness of the word from one in his
situation flashed cruelty upon him.
"'Nay, nay, lad,' said the old man, hold
ing out his hand, "don't take it back, that
is just the way in which 1 want your
promise. Upon your honor, mind. 1t is
little furnished now; let it be the labor
of your life to make and keep it bright"
"And, with Gods help, he did. He
rose from that bed where for so many
weeks lie had lain in peril of his life, an
altered man. His former friends wonder
ed at the change, and declared that he
had left his youth in the fire; but they
knew nothing of the fercer fire which
during those long weeks had ragged in his
bosom, and had scorched away the relish
for youthful follies. Having stood so
awfully near to death, he had learned to
value life, and to strive so to use life, that
death should be no longer terrible. And
so striving, God prospered him. The
father of the little girl he had saved was
a wealthy man, and with generous kind
ness helped him even against his will.