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 these hollow logs on the hearth after the household has gone to bed, for they burn pertinaciously in consequence of their chimney-like character, and my husband once found the kitchen quite lighted up in the middle of the night by the flames that were bursting from each end of one of them, on which, before retiring to rest, I had poured a quantity of water, and thus left it, as I supposed, in a state incapable of mischief. Our house was thatched with the rushes of the Xanthorrhœa, or blackboy, which are so inflammable, owing to the resin which they contain, that the greatest precautions against any risk of fire must be taken in all cases where they are thus used, especially during the great heat of the summer. Roofs of this resinous description will burn with extreme rapidity, and in the event of a fire breaking out beneath them, it is useless to attempt to save anything but life. The frequent sweeping of all chimneys is therefore absolutely requisite, and in consequence of our having not only neglected this precaution, but also piled up an unusually large fire on one chilly evening, we were suddenly roused from our books by a loud roaring noise, of which it was impossible to mistake the meaning. My husband ran out of doors to ascertain the extent of the danger, and finding that the whole garden was visible by the light of the flames from the chimney-top, he at once concluded that our house was doomed. His alarm was but of a few seconds' duration—a column of steam, producing instantaneously a most consolatory darkness, rose upwards from the chimney, and, amazed no less than relieved, he re-entered the sitting-room to find the fire out, and the hearth flooded. The truth was that I, not