In early days a dense forest clothed this spot, and savage brutes ruled unrestrained. But some forty years ago the irascible agent--fire--resolved to show his power, which he did like an unchained demon. He sent his red flames from tree to tree, consuming big and small, save some stubborn giants, which remained black skeletons in melancholy loneliness. Bears, cougars, wild-cats, and other inhabitants of the forest picked up their feet and with lightning speed sought the mountains for refuge. [Illustration: PIONEERS AMONG WILD BEASTS.] The once rich sylva, where evergreen and foliage were wont to join in sweet choruses, was now a charcoal desert with a few angry monsters frowning in the air, squealing and cracking to the breath of every breeze. Years elapsed, the sun sent down his gentle beams, the clouds unlocked their opulent stores, and the parched earth drank her fill, and gave birth to shoots that blossomed into a carpet of green. Ah, all a change! the chilly appearance of yesterday is today sunshine. A fresh sylva, besprinkled with flowers, smiles to our joy, and birds wheel on happy wings, pouring their hearts into dulcet music, and loving zephyrs come to woo the tender growth. In 1877 Arn Olson, a native of Norway, made a perambulation of the country lying east of Stanwood with the object in view of finding a suitable bit of ground for a home, arriving where Cedarhome now smiles he resolved to pitch his permanent lot among the green bushes. Almost simultaneously, Martin Larsen, a Norwegian by birth, braved the interior, remained one year, then located on the Stanwood flat, three miles north of the city. It was not until the following year that Cedarhome commenced to echo the presence of white men. Before only a faint sound now and then rose to indicate human existence. Among the first who anchored their fortunes at this place was John Anderson, who left Sweden in 1869 for Chicago, but was soon seized with a whim to see and try other climes. Both South and West were fields of attraction, and to satisfy his romantic nature he took in the whole country. In 1876 he stood in the city of Seattle gazing with wonder at the novelties about him. A reconnoissance of Salmon Bay hit his liking, but shortly after settled on 160 acres of land at Cedarhome, then called Burn. Mr. John Anderson may be rightly termed the father of Cedarhome, and yet, though his flowing beard has silvered to a halo of snow, he contributes the fall of his life to daily duties. August Anderson has passed through experiences not dissimilar to those of John Anderson. He, too, was born in Sweden, came to America in his prime of life, and in 1879 cast his lot in the forest. He has shared the ups-and-downs of frontier struggles, always a faithful supporter of the Methodist church.