In the Church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, the new fire kindled and
blessed by the patriarch, is cast down from the height of the dome.

In Florence, anciently, it was much the same. The archbishop struck the
Easter fire, and it was then distributed among the people; but there were
inconveniences, unseemly scuffles, accidents even, and the dove was devised
as a means of conveying the Easter fire outside the Duomo, and kindling
a great bonfire, whereat the people might light their torches without
desecrating the sacred building by scrambling and fighting therein for
the hallowed flame. At this bonfire all could obtain the fire without
inconvenience. By degrees the bonfire lost its significance, so did
the dove, and fables were invented to explain the custom. The bonfire,
moreover, degenerated into an exhibition of fireworks at mid-day.

One morning my Jew friend insisted on my reading a letter he had just
received from his daughter, aged fourteen. He was proud of the daughter,
and highly pleased with the letter.

It began thus: "Cher papa--nous sommes sauves. That picture of a Genoese
lady you bought for 200 francs, and doubted if you would be able to get rid
of, I sold before we left home for Provence to an American, as a genuine
Queen Elizabeth for 1,000 francs." Then followed three closely-written
pages of record of business transactions, all showing a balance to the
good, all showing a profit nowhere under thirty per cent. Finally, the
letter concluded: "Mamma's back is better. Louis and I went on Sunday
to see a farm. A cow, a stable, an old peasantess saying her rosary, a
daughter knitting--all real, not waxwork. Votre fille tres devouee, LEAH."

"That is a girl to be proud of," said my acquaintance. "And only fourteen!
But hein! here is another letter I have received, and it is awkward." He