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HAY-RICK BURNING.

wasted as though it were of no account, scattered to the winds as we scatter chaff. But such was Bobtail, and such was his life, and no one in Braintree ever thought he was the man capable of doing something noble and brave; yet the opportunity came, and he seized it. I'll tell you what it was he did.

"Down the Coggershall road were a number of almshouses for the use of poor widows, and many with whom life had gone roughly, and who in their old age were left alone and destitute, found there a comfortable asylum in which to spend their days until they left for the quiet and rest of the grave.

"About the time of which I speak, there had been a great number of fires round about our town, and also in different parts of the country. Farmer after farmer in the night awoke startled to find his stacks on fire, and stables and barns in flames. There was much distress throughout the land, and some people appeared to think that the best way to remedy this was to burn all the corn and destroy all the property they could. This being the state of things, it was no unusual circumstance to be aroused by the intelligence that So-and-so's place was on fire.

"I had gone one evening to church with my mother-she always took me, dear soul, although I fear I was a sad boy-and tried as well as I could to listen and understand the service; but the minister appeared to me to be very long, for the shadows of twilight were stealing in at the windows and door,

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darkening the church, so that his form was scarcely discernible in the dusky light.

"Suddenly, some one thrust their head in at the door, shouting

"Fire! Fire!'

"Immediately afterwards another voice was heard, exclaiming, The Widows' Almshouses are on fire!'

"You may conceive how startling was the news, how instantly the quiet church was in a state of confusion, people getting up and hastily leaving, the pew doors shutting with a bang, and women whispering to each other. The minister stopped short in his discourse, saying 'In God's name go, my good people, and give what help you can;' and hastily pulling off his gown, he descended the pulpit stairs, and hurrying from the church, was soon actively engaged at the scene of disaster.

"Leaving with the rest of the people, I and my mother sped quickly along High Street, Bank Street, and, turning down by the White Hart Inn-in which direction all Braintree seemed streaming-speedily found ourselves gazing at the scene of conflagration.

"It was a terrible sight to witness; the timber, of which the houses were chiefly composed, was old and dry, while the thatch was like so much tinder, so that the flames curled and twisted themselves, and ran along the roofs like fiery-tongued serpents. Now the faces of the surrounding crowd were brilliantly illumined as the flames and sparks shot upwards; then

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POOR BETSY PINFOLD.

again they were obscured and blackened, as the wind drove great clouds of smoke in their direction. Dusky forms could be seen darting in and out of the doomed houses, pieces of furniture were strewn all over the road, the clang, clang, of the engines was heard, and the hissing of the water as it fell on the flames; the people shouted, and above all might be heard the occasional cry or lamentation of some of the poor widows as they were hurried from their burning homes.

"Presently the engines ceased pumping, no more forms were seen to enter the houses; the flames had acquired the mastery, it was useless labour to throw more water on them, and dangerous to enter a house, for rafters, chimneys, and many pieces of burning thatch were constantly falling. The crowd became silent, waiting for the end.

"Suddenly a shrill, piercing scream was heard, evidently proceeding from one of the fated houses. An expression of horror mantled over the faces, and looked out from the eyes of the crowd as they shone in the lurid glare; while the conviction flashed like lightning into each mind that some poor, feeble woman had been overlooked in the hurry, and was now apparently doomed to a most frightful death.

"Who is it?' 'Who can it be?' passed quickly from mouth to mouth. No one seemed able to answer, until a solitary voice was heard to exclaim, 'It's bedridden Betsey Pinfold. How could she be

AN EXCITING SCENE.

135

saved? Who would venture into such a mass of burning flames? It seemed certain death to at

tempt it.

"Will no one try to reach the poor creature?' This was the minister who spoke.

"For a moment or two all were silent; then a voice was heard to exclaim, 'Here, I will!

"Who is it? Every neck was stretched to catch a glimpse of the brave volunteer.

666 Why, it's Bobtail!'

"Bravo! Bravo! Bobtail!' "Bobtail's the man!'

"Now, then, a ladder,' cried Bobtail. A ladder! Yes, a score if you want them, Bobtail, brave old Bobtail! One was soon procured from Butcher's, the baker, and planted against the wall of the fast burning house, from the upper window of which clouds of smoke issued, and fierce jets of flame. Up the ladder sprang Bobtail, amid the encouraging 'bravos!' of the crowd, his shaggy hair stirred by the hot breath of the flames. The ladder was a little too short! Would he be able to reach the window-sill? Yes, see, there he hangs! He draws himself up. Now his knees

are on the sill. He jumps in. A cloud of smoke and sparks hide him from sight.

All eyes

"A breathless silence seizes the crowd. are anxiously fixed upon the window through which Bobtail vanished. Will he be successful? Will he be in time? How long he seems. Ah! there he is,

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SAFE AT LAST!

brave Bobtail. How black his face! How singed his hair! He has again disappeared! It was only for a breath of fresh air he came. He is absent longer this time. It seems hours. Has the smoke overpowered him? Is he dying, a martyr to his bravery? No, thank God, no. See, there he is again, and carrying something in his arms too! Can it be old Betsey? Why, it looks nothing but a bundle tied up in a blanket. How madly the crowd cheers! It must be Betsey. Brave old Bobtail ! Yes, that's right; lower her down quickly, Bobtail, eager hands are held up from below to receive her, and the flames are roaring fiercely round, at your back, and in your hair. Safe at last, poor old Betty, more frightened than hurt.

you!

"Now then, Bobtail, or the roof will be in upon Poor fellow! He gasps for breath. How slowly he mounts on to the sill-the flames lick his face while his feet are feeling for the ladder. Ah! now he gains it, and speedily sliding down to the ground, falls back faint and unconscious. Not a moment too soon, for as eager hands bear him, amid deafening cheers, to a place of safety, the walls fall crashing to the ground, and in a little while nothing but a heap of blackened and smouldering ruins remained of the homes of sixteen poor women.

"Never was a fellow so fêted and feasted as was Bobtail after rescuing the poor widow. He might have done nothing else but eat and drink from morn