A BURNING PRAIRIE.

THE wind, which was from the west, had been all day driving towards us clouds of smoke, which slowly floated before the breeze, or were more rapidly dispersed before a stronger gust. It was evident that, as far as we could see from north to south, the prairie was in flames, and that the fire was being driven rapidly by the increasing wind over the high grass towards the east. Under these circumstances it was necessary to be exceedingly careful in our choice of a camping place for the night, and we thought we might count on being tolerably safe if we pitched our tents between two ravines not far from one another. These ravines were broad and deep, and their precipitous walls, down which poured several streams of water, were destitute of any vegetation that could offer nourishment to the flames; so that the westerly one might fairly be considered as a natural limit to the advance of the fiery tide.

Our cattle were driven down into the one lying eastward, to withdraw them from the sight of the fire, and obviate the danger of the panic, terror, and wild flight called a stampedo; and when they were safely disposed of, the greater part of our company betook themselves to the other side in order to watch the fire from the edge of the ravine, and extinguish in time any sparks that might be driven that way. Although these fires in the prairies frequently arise from accident, or the carelessness of travelling or hunting Indians, it sometimes happens that they are intentionally kindled by the inhabitants of the steppes, who burn great tracts of the plains to favor the growth of young vigorous grass. From among the singed stubble, fine blades shoot up in a few days, and the whole surface is soon clothed again in bright green, and has the appearance of a well-cultivated cornfield where the young corn is just springing up; and then the Indians proceed thither with their herds of cattle, after they have first kindled a fire in another district.

It is, nevertheless, a matter of no infrequent occurrence

that one of these intentionally-kindled fires proves the destruction both of the cattle and of the Indians themselves; for though any one can light the fire, at almost any part of the waving grassy plain, it is often beyond any human power to control it after it is lit, particularly when a storm-wind arises to drive it over the boundless surface.

As we sat thus at the edge of the ravine calmly watching the whirling clouds of smoke, and the flames that were now just visible in the distance, or observing the movements of the terrified animals that were hurrying through the high grass and seeking shelter in the ravine, we were suddenly startled by a cry of fire from the camp.

The effect of such a cry upon minds already excited by the scene we had been witnessing may be imagined, for every one knew that the lives of all of us were imperilled by such an accident. We all rushed down to the camp, where, through the carelessness of the cooks, the nearest grass had been set on fire, and, under the influence of the violent wind, the flames were spreading terrifically. Fortunately, the accident had happened on the east side of the tents and waggons, so that the chief danger was blown away by the wind, while on the other side the prairie fire counteracted the current of air, and approached the camp but slowly. Our whole company now formed a close rank, and following the rapidly spreading fire, stifled the flames by a brisk application of blankets, sacks, and articles of wearing apparel; and with considerable exertion the danger was at last overcome. Only a spark was to be seen here and there, whilst on the other side of the ravine the conflagration raged unchecked.

The flames had now advanced in a diagonal line to the western edge of the ravine, but the space was too wide for them to cross; the flying sparks went out when they had reached not more than half way, and we were now able to give our undisturbed attention to the majestic phenomenon before us, and watch the fire as it moved across the plain;

first, while yet afar off, withering up the tracts of juicy grass before it, and then, at a touch, converting them into ashes.

The night as it came on showed us a sublime picture— a picture that cannot be adequately described by pen or pencil. The vivid color of the flames made the sky appear of the most intense black, while the flames themselves shed a glowing red illumination on the grey clouds of smoke that were rolling away, and changing their hue every moment, as the fire was driven before stronger gusts of wind, or nourished by more or less luxuriant vegetation.

A peculiar disquieting sort of sound accompanies these prairie burnings; it is not thundering or rushing, or roaring, but something like the distant hollow trembling of the ground when thousands of buffaloes are tearing and trampling over it with their heavy hoofs. It sounded threateningly to us in the camp, and it was with a thrilling kind of admiration we contemplated this awe-inspiring spectacle.

The hunter, accustomed to be on his guard against all chances, when he sees the black clouds of smoke rolling over his head as harbingers of the fiery tide, composedly kindles a new fire in the high grass before him, and having cleared of all combustible matter a spot large enough to ensure his safety, looks calmly from it on the otherwise threatening danger passing harmlessly by. But woe to him who is caught unprepared by a prairie fire, for he will in vain try to save himself by the swiftness of his horse. The tall grass whose ears lash his shoulders, entangle the hoofs of the animal as he flies on his rapid course, and horse and rider become the prey of their terrible enemy.

The red natives of the steppe, who are ready to meet with haughty defiance enemies the most superior in strength, tremble at the thought of the swiftly-advancing fire, and the proudest warrior among them will droop his decorated head when you speak of it and whisper, "Do not awaken the anger of the Great Spirit." Mollhausen.

CANAL TRAVELLING IN AMERICA.

THERE was much in the canal mode of travelling which I heartily enjoyed at the time, and look back upon with great pleasure. Even the running up, bare-necked, at five o'clock in the morning, from the tainted cabin to the dirty deck; scooping up the icy water, plunging one's head into it, and drawing it out all fresh and glowing with the cold, was a good thing. The fast, brisk walk upon the towingpath between that time and breakfast, when every vein and artery seemed to tingle with health; the exquisite beauty of the opening day, when light came gleaming off from every thing; the lazy motion of the boat, when one lay idly on the deck, looking through, rather than at, the deep blue sky; the gliding on, at night, so noiselessly, past frowning hills, sullen with dark trees, and sometimes angry in one red burning spot high up, where unseen men lay crouching round a fire; the shining out of the bright stars, undisturbed by noise of wheels, or steam, or any other sound than the liquid rippling of the water as the boat went on all these were pure delights.

Then, there were new settlements, and detached logcabins and frame-houses, full of interest for strangers from an old country: cabins, with simple ovens outside, made of clay; and lodgings for the pigs, nearly as good as many of the human quarters; broken windows, patched with wornout hats, old clothes, old boards, fragments of blankets and paper; and home-made dressers standing in the open air without the door, whereon was ranged the household store, not hard to count, of earthen jars and pots. The eye was pained to see the stumps of great trees thickly strewn in every field of wheat, and seldom lost sight of the eternal swamp and dull morass, with hundreds of rotten trunks and twisted branches steeped in its unwholesome water.

It was quite sad and oppressive to come upon great

tracts where settlers had been burning down the trees, and where their wounded bodies lay about, like those of murdered creatures, while here and there some charred and blackened giant reared aloft two withered arms, and seemed to call down curses on his foes. Sometimes at night, the way wound through some lonely gorge, like a mountain pass in Scotland, shining and coldly glittering in the light of the moon, and so closed in by high, steep hills all round, that there seemed to be no egress save through the narrower path by which we had come, until one rugged hill-side seemed to open, and, shutting out the moonlight as we passed into its gloomy throat, wrapped our new course in shade and darkness. Dickens.

ERIE CANAL.

THE Erie canal is cut a hundred or two miles through the heart of the primeval wilderness of America, and our boat glided through it silently and swiftly never sailed a lost cloud through the abyss of space on a course more apparently new and untrodden. The luxuriant soil had sent up a rank grass that covered the horse-path like velvet; the Erie water was clear as a brook in the winding canal; the old shafts of the gigantic forest spurred into the sky by thousands, and the yet unscared eagle swung off from the dead branch of the pine, and skimmed the treetops for another perch, as if he had grown to believe that gliding spectre a harmless phenomenon of nature. The horses drew steadily and softly at the end of the long line; the steersman stood motionless at the tiller; and I lay on a heap of baggage in the prow, attentive to the slightest breathing of nature.

The gold of the sunset had glided up the dark pine tops and disappeared, like a ring taken slowly from an Ethiop's