ound
the traces of the flames to disappear much sooner than we had supposed
possible. The next season the smaller plants were all replaced by
others; many of the younger trees seemed to revive, and a stranger
passing over the ground to-day would scarcely believe that fire had
been feeding on those woods for a fortnight only a few seasons back.
A group of tall, blasted hemlocks, on the verge of the wood, is the
striking monument of the event. The evergreens generally suffer more
than other trees, and for some cause or other the fire continued busy
at that point for several days. We repeatedly passed along the highway
at the time, with the flames at work on either side. Of course, there
was no danger, but it looked oddly to be quietly driving along through
the fire. The crackling of the flames was heard in the village, and
the smell of smoke was occasionally quite unpleasant.

A timely rain generally puts a stop to the mischief; but parties of
men are also sent out into the woods to "fight the fire." They tread
out the flames among the dry leaves by trampling them down, and they
rake away the combustible materials, to confine the enemy to its
old grounds, when it soon exhausts itself. The flames spread more
frequently along the earth, than from tree to tree.

* * * * *

[FROM HOUSEHOLD WORDS.]

FLOWERS.

Dear friend, love well the flowers! Flowers are the sign
Of Earth's all gentle love, her grace, her youth,
Her endless, matchless, tender gratitude.
When the Sun smiles on thee--why thou art glad:
But when the Earth he smileth, _She_ bursts forth
In beauty like a bride, and gives him back,
In sweet repayment for his warm bright love,
A world of flowers. You may see them born,
On any day in April, moist or dry,
As bright as are the Heavens that look on them:
Some sown like stars upon the greensward; some
As yellow as the sunrise; others red
As day is when he sets; reflecting thus,
In pretty moods, the bounties of the sky.

And now, of all fair flowers, which lovest thou best?
The Rose? She is a queen more wonderful
Than any who have bloomed on Orient thrones:
Sabaean Empress! in her breast, though small,
Beauty and infinite sweetness sweetly dwell,
Inextricable. Or dost dare prefer
The Woodbine, for her fragrant summer breath?
Or Primrose, who doth haunt the hours of Spring,
A wood-nymph brightening places lone and green?
Or Cowsl