THE HOME FIRESIDE 



but for its promise of brighter days, of 

 free streams, green trees, and bird songs. 



Better, now, this genial glow that 

 warms one's marrow than the camp-fire 

 that smokes or roasts one's front while 

 his back freezes. With what perfect 

 contentment one mends his tackle and 

 cleans his gun for coming days of sport, 

 while the good wife reads racy records 

 of camp-life from Maine to California, 

 and he listens with attention half di- 

 verted by break or rust spot, or with 

 amused watching of the youngsters play- 

 ing at camping out. The callow campers 

 assail him with demands for stories, and 

 he goes over, for their and his own en- 

 joyment, old experiences in camp and 

 field, while the dogs dream by the fire 

 of sport past or to come, — for none but 

 dogs know whether dog's dreams run 

 backward or forward. 



Long-used rod and gun suggest many 

 a tale of past adventure as they bring to 

 mind recollections of days of sport such 

 as may never come again. The great 

 logs in the fireplace might tell, if their 

 flaming tongues were given speech, of 

 camps made long ago beneath their lusty 

 IS 



