clamor of voices within betokened that their occupants too had smelt the smoke and were seized with sudden dread. Doors were flung open; the white, anxious faces of frightened women, followed by wondering little children, peered out. There was a rush of feet in the hall below and quavering voices screamed “fire! fire!” By this time (a very brief interval only had passed) Moses Levinsky had located the direction whence the smoke proceeded. It came from the sixth story, and was already quite dense at the head of the stairs. As he gazed, Levinsky thought he could hear children’s voices, faintly crying, as if half stifled. What should he do? For a moment he thought he would rush downstairs to the street and start the fire-alarm at the next corner. But he realized instantly that quicker action was necessary in this case, that human lives, children’s lives probably, were in imminent danger, and that he must do something himself to rescue them, leaving to others the task of notifying the fire department. With a few swift bounds he was at the next landing, clearing three steps at every leap. The fire was evidently in the apartments on the left side of the hall, where lived the Shapiros with their three children, for dense smoke was pouring from their rear door and children’s voices were heard from within, feebly wailing. The rooms on the other side of the hall, occupied by the Arnowitzs, a young married couple, were still and evidently empty. With one rush Levinsky was at the door through whose interstices the smoke proceeded and endeavored to open it. It was closed and resisted his efforts. He kicked at it frantically. It did not yield. In the meanwhile the smoke was pouring forth in denser clouds, paining his eyes and his lungs, and the children’s voices were growing fainter and feebler. With mad frenzy Moses Levinsky threw his body against the door; it shook and quivered but did not yield. Again he tried to kick it in, striking his right foot in his thin boot against the door with all his strength, and with utter disregard for the pain and possible injury to himself. In vain. The door was strong and firmly locked, while Levinsky was but an indifferent specimen of muscular development (his athletics had all been of the intellectual variety), and all his efforts to break it down were of no avail. Several precious minutes had now passed and Levinsky was almost in despair. He was hesitating what to do, and half inclined to rush downstairs in quest of additional help when his eyes, aimlessly wandering about the hall, chanced to light in the opposite corner, and lo and behold! there stood an axe. It was the axe with which Shapiro was accustomed to chop wood in the yard. Usually he kept it in his rooms, but that morning had left it, by a providential chance, in the hall. Instantly Moses Levinsky seized it. A few vigorous blows, launched with all his strength against the door, brought it down and he rushed into the smoke-filled room.