One day there was a traveller in the woods in California, in the dry
season, when the Trades were blowing strong. He had ridden a long way,
and he was tired and hungry, and dismounted from his horse to smoke a
pipe. But when he felt in his pocket he found but 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.