equently on the top of a hill, where it shared without
deforming, the natural elevation of the earth. It was usually square,
but sheds and outbuildings lengthened its appearance and these latter
added a comfortable and homelike aspect and were a larger sort of window
through which the wayfarer seemed to behold the life of the family more
intimately. The pitch of the roof was flattened, the better to resist
wind and storm, and through it arose the chimney stack. On either side
of the front door were the parlor and living room; the former seldom
opened, and the latter rarely occupied until afternoon and evening. The
back door was the most in use at all times, and it was through it that
one came nearest to the hearts and homelife of the inmates. The kitchen
was where the meals were cooked and eaten, the Bible read at morning and
evening and pipes lighted by a live coal from the hearth. This live coal
was sometimes lost and the tinderbox missing; then the man of the family
would travel to the nearest house for a spark with which to kindle his
lost fire. The methods of carrying and keeping it alive were numerous
and ingenious; a warming pan or iron pot would answer, if the distance
was not too great. One of my forefathers awoke on a winter morning to
find the ashes in the fireplace cold, and the nearest neighbor eight
miles away. It was an impossible undertaking to keep a coal alive on a
walk of eight miles. Wrapping a piece of cotton cloth tightly about a
small stick he ignited one end at his neighbor's hearth, and like an
humble Prometheus carried the smouldering gift to his little world and
its belated breakfast.

The kitchen was the favorite gathering place of humble New England
families and it was there they were best seen and understood; there the
spinning wheel hummed while the pot was boiling or the bannock baking;
there stockings and boots were dried by the open fire and the latter
daily greased. With what pride did I see my first pair standing there
shining in their coat of pig's scrotum, this being thought invulnerable
to wet, especially snow water. Hardly could I go to bed for longing to
look at them and to try them on for I know not how many times. By the
wide hearth of stone or brick, one could whittle with impunity. Dirt is
not common dirt in front of an open fire. Charles Lamb's clean hearth or
that of the too fastidious modern house robs it of half its comfort and
attractiveness. A little matter out of place,