IN THE FIRELIGHT 225 



who arrange for their wood as they do for 

 their groceries, by telephone know little 

 of the real joys of a fire. It is laid by a serv 

 ant, unintelligently laid, and upon such 

 masses of newspaper and split kindling that it 

 has no choice but to burn. The match is 

 struck, the newspapers flare up, and soon there 

 is a big, meaningless blaze. Handfuls of 

 wood just wood, any kind of wood are 

 thrown on from time to time, and perhaps a 

 log or two any log, taken at random from 

 the woodbox. Truly, this is merest savagery, 

 untrained, undiscriminating; it is the Bush 

 man s meal compared to the Frenchman s 

 dinner. Not thus are real hearth fires laid. 

 Not thus are they enjoyed. You should plan 

 a fire as you do a dinner party, and your 

 wood, like your people, should be selected and 

 arranged with due regard to age, tempera 

 ment, and individual eccentricity. A fire thus 

 skillfully planned, with some good talkers 

 among the logs, may be as well worth listen 

 ing to as the conversation about your table 

 perhaps better. 



To get the full flavor of a fire you must 

 know your wood I had almost said, you 



