als, not even the blacksmith's, that can compare
with the blazing fire of wood. The wood fire is primeval. Centuries
before coals were dreamed of, our rude forefathers were cooking their
meat and gaining warmth from burning logs.

Coal is modern, decadent. Look at this passage concerning fuel from an
old Irish poem:--"O man," begins the lay, "that for Fergus of the
feasts does kindle fire, whether afloat or ashore never burn the king
of woods.... The pliant woodbine, if thou burn, wailings for
misfortunes will abound; dire extremity at weapons' points or drowning
in great waves will come after thee. Burn not the precious apple
tree." The minstrel goes on to name wood after wood that may or may
not be burned. This is the crowning passage:--"Fiercest heat-giver of
all timber is green oak, from him none may escape unhurt; by
partiality for him the head is set on aching, and by his acrid embers
the eye is made sore. Alder, very battle-witch of all woods, tree that
is hottest in the fight--undoubtedly burn at thy discretion both the
alder and the white thorn. Holly, burn it green; holly, burn it dry;
of all trees whatsoever the critically best is holly." Could anyone
write with this enthusiasm and poetic feeling about Derby Brights and
Silkstone--even the best Silkstone and the best Derby Brights?

The care of a wood fire is, in itself, daily work for a man; for far
more so than with coal is progress continuous. Something is always
taking place and demanding vigilance--hence the superiority of a wood
fire as a beguiling influence. The bellows must always be near at
hand, the tongs not out of reach; both of them more sensible
implements than those that usually appertain to coals. The tongs have
no pretensions to brightness and gentility; the bellows, quite apart
from their function in life, are a thing of beauty; the fire-dogs, on
whose backs the logs repose, are fine upstanding fellows; and the
bricks on which the fire is laid have warmth and simplicity and a
hospitable air to which decorative tiles can never attain. Again,
there is about the logs something cleanly, in charming contrast to the
dirt of coal. The wood hails from the neighbouring coppice. You have
watched it grow; your interest in it is personal, and its interest in
you is personal. It is as keen to warm you as you are to be warmed.
Now there is nothing so impersonal as a piece of coal. Moreover, this
wood was cut down and brought to the door by some good-humo