e, now in ruins. One room sufficed, on
the second floor. A happier pair could not be found in the halls of
affluence. The first day they said: 'We will build an altar here.' Around
it they daily knelt. In 1812, the husband tore himself away from his
weeping bride, to drive the British foe from our soil. From that day to
this, his heart was aglow with the fire of Christian patriotism. Children
were born to them, and children's children. By industry, thrift and piety,
they acquired a competent fortune, meanwhile giving much to Christ and His
kingdom. Their children, too, they gave to Him. The first room continued a
sacred 'upper room.' There were portraits, books and family keepsakes of
fifty years' gathering. Mementos of sorrow and joy were treasured up
therein. Some years ago, the once happy bride, then an aged matron, died.
Her death was like the falling of a great shadow on a sun-lit home. By
this time the silvery locks of age adorned the brow of the bridegroom.
Sorrow had made his home doubly sacred; trials riveted his heart to it.
Still he prayed and read his old family Bible in the room where first he
built the altar. With what a cheerful, buoyant spirit he bore the burdens
of age! Under this room was a store, with a considerable quantity of
powder. The fire is already hissing around the kegs. Still he lingers in
his dear chamber, as if preferring death there to safety elsewhere. The
violence of friendship forces him away just before the fatal explosion.
Every domestic memorial, which piety and affection have gathered for more
than half a century, are in the ashes. Two cases these, out of three
hundred. Thousands of domestic and social ties bind the members of
communities and of families together. To tear up and sunder all in a few
hours, and cut hundreds of hearts loose from the moorings of past
generations--who can fathom such a sorrow!

"The Rev. P. S. Davis, who lately entered upon the pastorate of the First
Reformed Church, sustained a serious loss. A great portion of the clothing
of his family and his manuscripts, the literary fruits of an earnest,
laborious ministry, were consumed. Dr. Schneck vainly contended with the
flames. His cozy, substantial house, with all that it contained--the
costly relics borne home from two European tours, his valuable library,
all his manuscripts, precious domestic keepsakes and furniture--all are a
heap of undistinguishable ruins. To begin the world anew at his time of
life, pr