68 AROUND AN OLD HOMESTEAD. 



stinct cropping out in us, you know; and our greatest 

 regret was that we were always unable to kindle a blaze 

 by twirling one stick against another, which would thus 

 have obviated entirely the obnoxious necessity of 

 matches. But then, anyway, savages did not need a 

 fire so much as we. 



But to return to our own hearth. Here centered 

 the life of grandfather's family. Around it they lived, 

 and here the boys and girls were brought up. It was 

 the home fire. Consequently, to one who has lived in 

 such an atmosphere, and especially to one whose whole 

 early life was surrounded with the influences of the 

 wood fire on the hearth, and whose memories are all 

 of that, nothing stands for the real meaning of home 

 and family quite so well as does the old-time open wood 

 fireplace. Nothing can take its place — no coal grate, 

 or stove, or registers, or steam heaters — nothing has 

 the same pioneer-like atmosphere. 



Yes, my heart lies back among the old quail traps 

 and rabbit twitch-ups. I love the simple ways of the 

 open wood fire of long ago. All the conventional, 

 modernized life is gone as I sit before it, all gone away 

 into the smoke of the chimney. But it comes back 

 again, and will not leave me ; and the glow of the back- 

 log dies away with my thoughts, just as the older life 

 is passing, never to be produced or lived again — ^nay, 

 has almost vanished now even from our memories. 



The backlog topples over. Thut ! A spark or two 

 ascend the chimney. There is a last pale flicker. The 

 old fire is out. . . . Let us bank it up for the night. 



