34 Musings by Camp- Fire and Wayside 



camp-fire, which, shining in a forest, is always highly 

 picturesque. It gives different spectacular results 

 with different qualities of fuel. If the wood be 

 new, partly seasoned, and sound, the flame is of pink 

 and white, with shadings of purple, red, and of other 

 colors, and rises vigorously, while the brands crum- 

 ble in large, solid coals of luminous gold. I am 

 inclined to think that the attractiveness of gold is 

 due to the inherited memory of the camp-fire. 



Should there be an admixture of dozed, damp, 

 slow-burning, and partly decayed wood, then we 

 have a display of everything possible to grotesque 

 fancy. It yields black as a background, and upon 

 this, partly obscured by black smoke whirling in 

 little eddies, we have a veritable inferno, filled with 

 every imaginable and unimaginable demon and 

 monster. 



I had seen the shapes which dwell and writhe 

 and gleam and wink their fiery eyes in a camp-fire 

 of dozed wood somewhere sculptured in stone — was 

 familiar with their forms and countenances — where 

 was it? Ah! I remember: masks and gargoyles in 

 the architecture of the old cathedrals — those of 

 York Minster I remember most clearly. They 

 poke their reptilian heads out from the angles of 

 the towers, show their heavy faces and grinning 

 teeth in the relievo friezes. Those which had been 

 exposed to three centuries of rain, sunshine, and 

 wind had been partly decerebralized — the tops of 

 their heads had been worn off, which made them 



