20 Musings by Camp- Fire and Wayside 



like her human counterpart at Newport or Saratoga, 

 seek to monopolize everything. She leaves all her 

 possessions to you for the most delightful months 

 of the year, August, September, and October. 



"Charlie's" ax is ringing, and down comes a 

 hemlock. What's that for? Your bed, of course. 

 The tent is spread. The corner selected for sleep- 

 ing is piled with hemlock twigs, and a sweeter bed, 

 or one more springy, is not to be had for love or 

 money. First a rubber blanket, then a sheet, 

 and then a woolen blanket, and sleep needs no 

 wooing. 



Everything here that is found is in unbounded 

 opulence. Amid thousands of square miles of vir- 

 gin forests, and with good axes in hand, why should 

 we not have imperial camp-fires? The knack of the 

 axman, when acquired in boyhood, is never lost. 

 The blow that will go deepest and throw out the 

 encumbering chip is an achievement of high art. 

 And such fires as rewarded a half-hour's labor! 

 The logs, cut from twelve to fifteen feet long, and 

 piled high, have the promise and potency of three 

 splendid fires, one, and the first, from the middle 

 portion, and one more to be taken as required from 

 each end. Three cords of good wood for an even- 

 ing is no waste, and the air is cold enough to make 

 the heat as agreeable as the flame is inspiring. 

 While no desolation is so sad as a fire-swept forest 

 or city, yet the destructive agent is the source and 

 the revealer of all material beauty and glory. 



