Time indeed cures all things, notwithstanding that the mills of the gods grind slowly. Of Dr. Lapham’s spoilsman successor as chief geologist of Wisconsin, it may still be said, as at the time of his appointment, that his reputation as a scientist yet remains to be made. Governor Taylor, who made the removal, sleeps in silent Forest Hill within sight of the capitol where formerly he ruled a state; while in the holy of holies of the beautiful new state capitol, the governor’s reception chamber, in the midst of famous soldiers, explorers, and legislators, an eminent artist has chosen to depict the application of scientific knowledge to the benefit of mankind in the person of Doctor Lapham seated at his desk, before him an open manuscript, and on the wall nearby, supported by two children typifying the winds, his map of the United States, showing the first storm traced across the country. More recently still, prompted by the urging of citizens of the locality, the federal government has given to the highest eminence in Waukesha County, overlooking the beautiful lake region which Dr. Lapham so loved in life, the name of Lapham Peak. Time is slowly proving his worth. More fitting memorials than these he could not have asked. A FOREST FIRE IN NORTHERN WISCONSIN BY JOHN L. BRACKLIN[1] I had been running a steamboat on Lake Chetak and Birch Lake in Sawyer County, Wisconsin, during the summer of 1898 and had finished my work September 25. I arrived in Rice Lake with the expectation of having a couple of weeks’ rest before again taking up my duties as foreman of one of Knapp, Stout, and Company’s logging camps for the winter. I had been in town one day, about long enough to get cleaned up, when I went down to the company’s office to draw some money. While I was in the general office some one said: “Your father wants to see you in his office.” I walked into his office and sat down. He had a map showing camp locations and other data spread out on the desk before him, which he studied for a few moments and then turned to me, saying: “John, how soon can you get ready to go to the woods?” This, as you know, could have but one answer, and that was, “Now!” “All right,” he said, “I am somewhat alarmed about this long-continued dry spell and fires might spring up at any moment, and none of the camps or dams in your locality have any fire protection, such as back-firing and water-barrels at hand. Therefore I wish you would pick up a few men and whatever you might need and get up to your camp, make your headquarters there, and look after the camps in that vicinity, namely: Mulvaney’s, Aronson’s, Knutson’s, Max Down’s, Thompson’s, and the old Ahern Camp on Sucker Creek.”