The actual fire loss in the United States due to destruction of buildings and their contents amounted to $215,084,709 in 1907. This was $2.51 loss per capita. The per capita loss in the cities of the six leading European countries amounted to but 33 cents. Comparisons of the total cost of fires, which includes the items already stated, show that if buildings in the United States were as nearly fireproof as those in Europe, the annual fire cost would be $90,000,000 instead of $456,000,000. (Text.)—Pittsburg Leader.
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FIRE, HEAVENLY
It was the first engine on the new railroad running through the wilderness. At night, the puffing, snorting monster, belching forth fire and smoke, came dashing out of a dark forest with its one shining eye in front. As it fairly leapt along the track like a thing of life, green reptiles wriggled out of sight, vultures fled to the tree-tops, and wild beasts ran snarling into the jungle. The fire inside of the engine was what did it.
When the fire of inspiration gets inside of a man, how much he is like a steam-engine. He moves straight ahead, keeps on the right track, has his eye single to the forward line and his whole soul is full of light and heat. The creatures of darkness flee before him as he emerges into the light that shall never fade. (Text.)
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Fire Peril—See [Self-restraint].
First Aid—See [Knowledge Applied].
FIRST FRUITS
Have you been watching the buds open their eyes these spring days? They seem to have come out just to see what is going on in this wonderful world. Their number is increasing daily, but if you had put your ear close to the first and tiniest bud of spring, it would have whispered: “I am a hint of what all buds will be when waked out of their wintry sleep.” Will not the children sing for joy when the daisies come? Well, if you could somehow find the first daisy that peeps through the sod, it would say: “I am a sample of what the daisy harvest will be when Mother Summer has drest us all up in robes of gold.” On the brow of a certain hill, I once enjoyed more than a passing acquaintance with a June apple-tree. I used to watch for the coming of its fruit as they that watch for the morning. Now, there was a tradition that June apples were not good until they fell of their own accord. Sometimes, in spying out the land, I would find only one apple upon the ground. Of course, one apple to a growing boy is little more than a delusion and a snare, and it required more than Eve-like fortitude not to shake the tree. But after these many years, what I remember most of all is the taste of that one first apple. Precious in itself and very scarce, so it seemed to me, still it told of the good times coming when its luscious, juicy brothers would yield up their secrets, too.—F. F. Shannon.