that shrouded it, as though defying its enemy. Even after the blaze had curled itself around the entire trunk, and run out to the extreme limits of the branches, it still retained its calm and dignified aspect —its head, and body, and arms reaching out into the night, all on fire, and yet scorning to show signs of pain. At length, however, the heat seemed to have reached its vitals, for it suddenly swung backward, as if in agony, while a shower of embers fell like sky rockets around the blazing outline, to its roots. Shorn of its glory, the flashing, trembling form stood thus awhile, crisping and writhing in the blaze, till weary with its long suffering, it threw itself with a sudden and hurried sweep, on the funeral pile around. From the noble pine to the bending sprout, the trees were aflame, while the crackling underbrush seemed a fiery net-work cast over the prostrate forms of the monarchs of the forest. When the fire caught a dry stub, it ran up the huge trunk like a serpent, and, coiling around the withered branches, shot out its fiery tongue as if in mad joy, over the raging element below; while ever and anon, came a crash that reverberated far away in the gorges-the crash of falling trees, at the overthrow of which there went

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up a cloud of sparks and cinders and ashes. Sweeping along on its terrible path, the tramp of that conflagration filled the air with an uproar like the bursting of billows on a rocky shore.

In one direction the forest made down into a valley through which coursed a rapid stream, on the farther side of which arose a mountain of rocks, almost naked from base to summit. Trees and shrubs, however, had grown in the interstices, but the drought had killed them all, and the white and withered stems could scarcely be distinguished from the bleached rocks against which they grew.

Along this valley the conflagration swept; and, skirting the bank of the stream with fearful velocity, and licking up everything to the water's brink; went for a while careering onward as if satisfied with the field before it. But suddenly there seemed to be a division of the forces-while one portion was content with a direct invasion, the other made a halt as if resolved on a more desperate attack. The white, dry mountain on the opposite side of the stream had attracted its attention; and clearing the channel with one bold bound, it began to scale the opposing cliffs. As the flames got amongst this vast collection of com

bustible matter, they raged with a strength and fury to which all their former madness seemed placidity. Have you ever in a still summer day heard the roar of a coming hurricane? if so, you have a faint conception of the terrific rushing sound of the fire as it wrapped those mountains. It was near midnight, and that rocky ridge became in the gloom a vast elevation of fire-laced with lines of fire of brighter hue, and shooting up jets of flame against the murky sky, as if resolved to assail the heavens also. As I stood gazing on this wild spectacle, and listening to its wilder uproar, suddenly a shrill and distant scream cleaved the flames, and was borne with startling clearness through the air. Some wild animal, probably a panther, had been roused from his sleep by the heat, but awoke only to find himself hemmed in on every side by a burning wall. Bounding madly from side to side, he had at last sprang into the fire, and that last cry was his death shriek.

This morning, a black and smouldering mass alone remains of last night's wild work. Trees half burnt in two, others broken off at the middle, and all smoking amidst the devastation, present a most for. lorn aspect in the bright morning air.

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The backwoodsman never sees a city on fire, but he beholds a far more imposing spectacle. Around the haunts of men the devouring element is everywhere met by resistance. Not only do solid walls obstruct its progress, but human effort fights it at every step, subduing its fury and lessening its force. But in the woods it has free scope-no arm arrests it—no confinement smothers its rage. Free as the forest it ranges, it puts forth all its energy, and is fanned into greater fury, by the wind, itself creates.

Thus, my friend, do scenes of beauty and terror succeed each other on the margin and in the heart of the wilderness. There is no monotony in nature and no lack of excitement.

Yours truly.

XXIX.

LUMBERMEN-A STUDENT AND HUNTER OUTWITTED BY A PROFESSOR-A PHILOSOPHICAL HUSBAND-A PROSPECTIVE WIDOW LOOKING OUT FOR HER OWN INTEREST.

SCHROON LAKE, August.

DEAR H:

AFTER the description I have given of the wilderness and its extent, I seem to hear you inquiring, "What do people live on there?" Well, not much of anything; yet money is made in this region—that is, out nearer the settlements. You have no conception of the quantity of lumber that is taken every winter from some part of this vast plateau to Albany. A thousand people will be in these woods, where, in the summer, there is not a living being. Speculators buy the land for the sake of the timber, and then in the winter carry in provisions, etc., for the lumbermen who are to cut it. Log huts are put up in the shel