Fireside Fancies 



the world is hung with black without, 

 and winds are high and searching. 



Byron says "'tis sweet to hear the 

 watch dog's honest bark bay deep- 

 mouthed welcome as we draw near 

 home," but if the day be cold and the 

 frosty air is nipping keenly at your ears 

 and finger tips, show me the blue smoke 

 rising freely from the chimney top. I 

 know what waits within, and when 

 the dressing-gown and slippers and the 

 rocker are in place the world may 

 hang; I care not. For are not my old 

 friends there upon the shelves, the old 

 gray cat with folded paws asleep there 

 by the fire, and Billy knitting? 



For me old friends, old books, old 

 vintages, if I may. And yet an old 

 friend may be found among people you 

 have but recently discovered. Real 

 friends are born, not made, and when 

 you meet you know without very 

 much ado that you were intended for 

 friends from the very beginning. You 

 have had similar thoughts, similar 

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