THE HAPPY HOME.

VI.

THE FIRESIDE.

IN Southern Europe they have no household fires: but when there is snow on the mountains or ice in the wind they get a chafing-dish, and comfort their toes with glowing charcoal. And in Russia and the north, so fiercely blows the winter-blast, that they are fain to defend themselves from behind an entrenchment of flues, and stoves, and fire-clay furnaces. And it is only our own happy clime, so crisp in the morning, and so mild at the winter-noon, which rejoices in that glorious institution-the open hearth and blazing ingle.

As to the fuel or the style of the fire-place, we havo no sectarian feeling. The old English method is to adjust in a vast chimney a log of pine, with a few supporting fagots; and as the flame leaps, and roars, and crackles on a clear night in some lofty banquet-hall, it makes a right baronial blaze. In as far as it needs

no grate, this plan is rather economical; but as it also needs a grand mansion, with turrets on the top, and an ancient forest round it, the saving is somewhat counterbalanced. And a good fire may be made by flanking a few peats with a lump of coke or anthracite; and if it be Wales or the Highlands, and if there be rime on the ground and frozen rooks on the tree, the blue smoke is beautiful and the turfy odour delicious. But for us in London, where peats are dear as penny loaves, it is a great satisfaction to know that they yield a profusion of dust. It was a "bonny" fire to which King James treated his wealthy subject, George Heriot; and still "bonnier," in the eyes of a needy prince, was the fire with which the goldsmith repaid his hospitality, next morning, when he fed the flame, not with billets of cedar, but with the King's " Promises to Pay." And very beautiful is the mountain of blazing splints, with a torch of candle-coal in the front of them-like the mirrored sun in a golden temple of Peru,-such as may be seen in Lanarkshire or Durham, or some other igneous paradise, flinging through all the recesses of a mighty farm-kitchen its wealth of revealing flame. But bonfires like these are beyond the reach of authors and readers on the banks of the Thames; and therefore we set down a recipe which our wife acquired from our younger brother, and which we have often found very seductive about ten o'clock at night:

"Take three or four fragments of Wallsend. Lay them together, and when thoroughly lighted, take the tongs and place tenderly over them all the large cinders from under the grate. And then over the

cinders, and layer by layer, shovel every particle of ashes, as carefully as if it were diamond dust; and in half an hour the skilful concrete will be one huge and ardent ruby. Then talk, read, or darn stockings; and wonder which is happiest, you or the queen." Besides greatly lightening the dustman's labours next morning, this device will be found a great saving of fuel.

And as for the fire-place, please yourselves. We have never seen any which we liked so well as the Carron grate in our own nursery, some ages agone. On either panel a cast-metal shepherd played on a cast-metal pipe; and on the shining hob there often simmered a few prunes or a honey-posset, which a kind-hearted aunt had provided for our frequent colds; and in some retreat below it a mouse had found a cozy hermitage, and every time that they stirred the fire the mouse came out, and then ran back again as soon as the pother was over. We often wonder what has become of the grate and the mouse: we know too well what has become of the nursery.

But, after all, the charm of an English hearth is neither polished bars nor blazing brands, but the true and loving faces which it shines upon. Its charm is the conjugal affection, the parental hope, the filial piety, the neighbourly good-will which cluster round it and form THE FIRESIDE.

Judging, however, by hints which we have occasionally received-chiefly from our lady readers-there is room for improvement in many of the "Homes of England." We will not betake ourselves to the indolent subterfuge of saying that there are faults on

either side; but shall let our fair correspondents speak for themselves, and shall then offer a few suggestions for the good of our readers in general.

"To Mr. Happy Home.

"SIR,-If you wish your paper to be of any use, you must come nearer the point. Hitherto I consider it a perfect failure, and without it improves very much I shall give up taking it in. I wish you would speak to my husband. Tell him that a woman cannot always be cleaning of a house, if, as soon as the mop is out of her hand, a great boor comes tramping up-stairs, with all Holborn sticking to his heels. Tell him that it is time for him to be doing something better for his family. I have heard of bricklayers who became master-builders in no time; and I certainly did not expect that my husband should be wearing a leatherapron up to this precious time of day. And if he does not wish me to become a perfect fright, tell him to get me a new bonnet.-I am, yours, &c.,

"CATHARINA CRUMPET CAYENNE."

"SIR,-my husband Is a bruit. he keps a keb. he takes car to feed his horse, and to get a good diner for himself, but he leaves me Without enuf to by a morsle. Now, sir, i takes verry bad with this, for i been a Cook and always yused to my wittles kumfortabal Before i marry this Great bear.

"BETSY CAPERS."

"SIR,-Five years ago I was one of the happiest women in England, for I was then united to one who

loved me, and of whose affection I was proud. And though I know that I was very imperfect, yet, for Robert's sake, I was constantly striving to improve. It was all my pleasure to hear St. Pancras strike six, for then I knew that a few minutes would bring him home, and the room would be tidy, and the kettle would be singing, and something would be ready for Robert to look at, or something that needed his help before it could be finished. And he was always so handy. in those evening hours he made the cradle for our little boy, and a green-painted Venetian to keep out the sun at our southern window. And many a beautiful book have we gone through, reading it aloud by turns. But for a good while past a change has come over my dear husband. He has not taken to drinking, or anything really bad; but he has got so fond of politics. He is a fine scholar and an orator; and at first I was vain to think that the club could not do without him. But I must now confess, sir, that it takes all his thoughts. He has not the same spirit for his work, and I have very little of his company. Last night he came in for his tea in a sad hurry, and swallowed it without speaking a word; for he was engaged to one of these meetings. And I fear that I looked cross, for, as he put on his hat, he spoke to me in a way that my Robert never spoke to me before. Tell him, dear sir, that I was not sulking; I was thinking of our happy evenings, and how he might now be giving a lesson to our little George. And tell him that if he will only give his wife some of those sweet hours he did not use to grudge, she will strive

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