fire in the bush, fifty are killed by falling timber in the course of tree-felling. Sheep have occasionally to be left to their fate, and are roasted, or escape with wool half-burnt. Wild pigs save themselves; but many native birds perish with their trees, and the trout in the smaller streams die in hundreds. Many stories are told of these bush fires, and of the perils, panics, or displays of courage they have occasioned. Let me repeat one. In a certain “bush township,” or small settlement in the forest, lived a clergyman, who, in addition to working hard among the settlers in a parish half as large as an English county, was a reader of books. He was, I think, a bachelor, and I can well believe that his books were to him something not far removed from wife and children. The life of a parson in the bush certainly deserves some consolations in addition to those of religion. Well, a certain devastating fire took a turn towards the township in which a wooden roof sheltered our parson and his beloved volumes. Some householders were able to drive off with their goods; others stood their ground. The minister, after some reflection, carried his books out of doors, took a spade and began to dig a hole in the earth, meaning to bury them therein. Just as the interment was beginning, a neighbour rode up with the news that the house of a widow woman, not far away, had caught fire and that friends were trying to extinguish the burning or at least save her goods. Whether the book-lover gave “a splendid groan” I do not know; but leaving his treasures, off he ran, and was soon among the busiest of the little salvage corps, hauling and shouldering like a man. When all was done that could be done he hastened back, blackened and perspiring, to his own dwelling. Alas! the fire had outflanked him. Sparks and burning flakes had dropped upon his books and the little collection was a blazing pile. I have forgotten the parson’s name and do not know what became of him. But if any man deserved, in later life, a fine library at the hands of the Fates, he did. I hope that he has one, and that it includes a copy of Mr. Blades’s entertaining treatise on the _Enemies of Books_. With what gusto he must read chapter i., the title of which is “Fire.” [Illustration: ON THE UPPER WANGANUI]