LECEMBEB. 307 



speaks volumes. Yet who could throw away his great- 

 grandmother's parlor chairs ? 



But it is winter now, and the hearth is not vacant. 

 About it, in proper place, are the andirons, shovel, tongs, 

 bellows, face-screens, and, never to be ignored, quaint 

 silhouettes above the taU wooden mantel with its narrow 

 shelf. Add to these a generous supply of hickory blazing 

 on the hearth, and he who could not be happy when 

 a winter storm rages deserves discomfort to his dying 

 day. 



The dignified pillars of the bright brass andirons 

 stand to-night like sentinels between me and the fire, and 

 I would that they were able to cope with those who will 

 raid upon the heaped up hickory in spite of every form of 

 protest. 



Neither shovel nor tongs are essential to the main- 

 tenance of a wood fire, although the latter are con- 

 venient ; but I have been tempted to spoil the hearth's 

 appearance and remove them, because of the meddlesome 

 disposition of every adult visitor. I have yet to see the 

 man who was content to let an open fire remain as he 

 finds it. It seems to matter not how cold he may be, he 

 must rearrange the sticks, before spreading his hands to 

 receive the wholesome heat of hickory coals. 



I am told that Ben South, keeper of the cross-roads 

 tavern, a century ago, determined that his bar-room fire 

 should remain unmolested for at least one day, and to effect 

 this he removed every bit of fire-side furniture. He was 

 unsuccessful. Every customer asked for the tongs before 

 asking for his toddy, and nine in ten kicked the logs — 

 the tenth burned his fingers, shaking the andirons, and 

 threatened to withdraw his custom. " Such a fii'e as that 

 was too unsociable for him," was his remark. Ben gave 

 up, and so do I. I know what is coming when my city 

 friends drop in. The smile, the rubbing of the hands. 



