DEAD TREES LOVE THE FIRE. 151 



I recall the fact that during those three months 

 I was never better in health, that I never took 

 greater pleasure in my books and papers, that I 

 never looked upon life with more satisfaction. 

 And this accidental taste of country life at a 

 profit of a dollar or two a day, a small sum as 

 compared to my city earnings, had great in- 

 fluence in my determination to cut loose from 

 the city for a large part of the year. 



To come back to the Great South Bay, it was 

 as smooth as a mill-pond, as we made sail for 

 our headland, looming up cool and shady to 

 the eastward. The water was so clear beneath 

 us that each patch of oysters could be dis- 

 tinguished on the bottom. Our friend M., 

 whom we had along with us, and to whom I 

 sang the praises of a pine-knot fire, suggested 

 that if every one took to wood fires and burned 

 up a dozen cords of wood in the winter, as 

 we did, wood would become exorbitantly dear, 

 and none but millionaires would be able to 

 afford it. It is said that it takes the wood of 

 five square miles every year to furnish matches 

 for the world, the daily consumption in this 

 country reaching ten matches per head for 



