two matches. He struck the first, and it would not light.

"Here is a pretty state of things!" said the traveller. "Dying for
a smoke; only one match left; and that certain to miss fire! Was
there ever a creature so unfortunate? And yet," thought the
traveller, "suppose I light this match, and smoke my pipe, and
shake out the dottle here in the grass - the grass might catch on
fire, for it is dry like tinder; and while I snatch out the flames
in front, they might evade and run behind me, and seize upon yon
bush of poison oak; before I could reach it, that would have blazed
up; over the bush I see a pine tree hung with moss; that too would
fly in fire upon the instant to its topmost bough; and the flame of
that long torch - how would the trade wind take and brandish that
through the inflammable forest! I hear this dell roar in a moment
with the joint voice of wind and fire, I see myself gallop for my
soul, and the flying conflagration chase and outflank me through
the hills; I see this pleasant forest burn for days, and the cattle
roasted, and the springs dried up, and the farmer ruined, and his
children cast upon the world. What a world hangs upon this
moment!"

With that he struck the match, and it missed fire.

"Thank God!" said the traveller, and put his pipe in his pocket.




IV. - THE SICK MAN AND THE FIREMAN.