The Times

Open Fireplaces.

How much romance hovers around the name, "open fireplaces" In these days of steam pipes, hot air registers, coal stoves and other modern ways of heating houses, how nice it seems to hear somebody tell about the time when our grandfathers used to sit around the fireplace.

One side of the room was barely sufficient to accommodate a fireplace in style. They were caverns constructed of brick and stone, and it required a small fortune to buy wood enough to run one. I have seen more than one of them and enjoyed all its beauties, and know whereof I speak, for there are five of them in my home.

It required labor as well as skill and judgment to build a fire, and when company came and it had to be made in the spare room, it was as grave an affair as it would be now to build a factory and get the machinery running. Getting in the back log was a big thing, as it generally took the grandfather, one or two boys and the hired man to do it, while grandmother stood by and gave a few general orders, such as: "Mind and not break that casing!" "Don't let it slip and roll on little Tommy!" "Hold on, Grandpa, you'll fetch it next time!"

When the log was placed, the andiron set against it was propped back by smaller sticks of wood, then the coals were stirred up, the forestick put on and a basket of chips thrown over the structure, a few pine knots tucked underneath and the old fashioned bellows wielded by the lusty arm was applied, and after a great sputtering and smoking, the flames leaped up and disappeared out of sight in the whirl of smoke and sparks up the chimney. Then the women folks swept up the hearth, put the tongs and holders in their place, and the fire was built.