kindness and with patience, taught to say their prayers and tell the truth, have received all the aid that others can give them to make them men and women."
The boy seemed fast asleep.
THE FOREST FIRE.
IF any of my readers possess memories running back to 1825, they will remember that the summer of that year was unusually hot and dry in both hemispheres. This was especially true of America, where the year became remarkable for an extraordinary prevalence of epidemical disorders. During July and August nature languished, and disease ran riot through the land; while the extended drought rendered the woods as dry and combustible as tinder. As a natural consequence, there was an unusual number of fires, and thousands of acres were swept over by the flames with a fierceness equalled only by that seen upon the Western prairies, when the periodical conflagrations carry death and destruction over an area of thousands of acres.
Toward the close of the summer, it became known in the eastern part of the peninsula of Nova Scotia, that a fire was at work in the forests, which threatened the most direful consequences; and, a month or more later, the inhabitants of Newcastle were startled by a rumor that it was approaching the town. A day or two afterward, fitful flashes of flame were observed to shoot up from different parts of the wood, particularly from the north-west, at the rear of Newcastle, in the vicinity of Douglasstown and Moorfields, and along the banks of the Baritog. Soon after, the crackling of falling trees and shrivelled branches could be plainly heard, while an appalling sound, like the roar of the ocean, or more properly the continual booming discharge of ordnance, filled the air. The heat increased, until on the morning of October 7th it became so oppressive that many complained of its enervating effects.
At noon, a pale thin mist filtered up through the tree-tops, and settled like a cloud over the woods. This remained but a short time, when it gave way to an immense dark cloud, which, taking its place, wrapped the sky in a vast pall, giving it a strange and unearthly appearance.
This singular incubus retained its position until about the middle of the afternoon, when the heat in Newcastle became so great as seriously to alarm the inhabitants. The air was sultry, while not a breath moved it. The shrivelled leaves upon the shade trees were as still and motionless as if cast in bronze; and the red cross of King George, when flung to the breeze, lay limp and dead around the flag-staff, with no more agitation than the oaken support which held it aloft.
A stupefying lassitude seized upon the people, and many panted for breath, like the poor beasts that could not comprehend the cause of all their suffering. Everything was dull and lifeless, except the woods, and these trembled and pulsated like a volcano. They were continually shaken by the booming explosions, which succeeded each other with the rapidity of the shots of a
