I and My Chimney | Page 7

well deserves a respectful consideration. There it stands, solitary and
alone--not a council--of ten flues, but, like his sacred majesty of Russia, a unit of an
autocrat.
Even to me, its dimensions, at times, seem incredible. It does not look so big--no, not
even in the cellar. By the mere eye, its magnitude can be but imperfectly comprehended,
because only one side can be received at one time; and said side can only present twelve
feet, linear measure. But then, each other side also is twelve feet long; and the whole
obviously forms a square and twelve times twelve is one hundred and forty-four. And so,
an adequate conception of the magnitude of this chimney is only to be got at by a sort of
process in the higher mathematics by a method somewhat akin to those whereby the
surprising distances of fixed stars are computed.
It need hardly be said, that the walls of my house are entirely free from fireplaces. These
all congregate in the middle--in the one grand central chimney, upon all four sides of
which are hearths--two tiers of hearths--so that when, in the various chambers, my family
and guests are warming themselves of a cold winter's night, just before retiring, then,
though at the time they may not be thinking so, all their faces mutually look towards each
other, yea, all their feet point to one centre; and, when they go to sleep in their beds, they
all sleep round one warm chimney, like so many Iroquois Indians, in the woods, round
their one heap of embers. And just as the Indians' fire serves, not only to keep them
comfortable, but also to keep off wolves, and other savage monsters, so my chimney, by
its obvious smoke at top, keeps off prowling burglars from the towns--for what burglar or
murderer would dare break into an abode from whose chimney issues such a continual
smoke--betokening that if the inmates are not stirring, at least fires are, and in case of an
alarm, candles may readily be lighted, to say nothing of muskets.
But stately as is the chimney--yea, grand high altar as it is, right worthy for the
celebration of high mass before the Pope of Rome, and all his cardinals--yet what is there
perfect in this world? Caius Julius Caesar, had he not been so inordinately great, they say

that Brutus, Cassius, Antony, and the rest, had been greater. My chimney, were it not so
mighty in its magnitude, my chambers had been larger. How often has my wife ruefully
told me, that my chimney, like the English aristocracy, casts a contracting shade all round
it. She avers that endless domestic inconveniences arise--more particularly from the
chimney's stubborn central locality. The grand objection with her is, that it stands
midway in the place where a fine entrance-hall ought to be. In truth, there is no hall
whatever to the house--nothing but a sort of square landing-place, as you enter from the
wide front door. A roomy enough landing-place, I admit, but not attaining to the dignity
of a hall. Now, as the front door is precisely in the middle of the front of the house,
inwards it faces the chimney. In fact, the opposite wall of the landing-place is formed
solely by the chimney; and hence-owing to the gradual tapering of the chimney--is a little
less than twelve feet in width. Climbing the chimney in this part, is the principal
staircase--which, by three abrupt turns, and three minor landing-places, mounts to the
second floor, where, over the front door, runs a sort of narrow gallery, something less
than twelve feet long, leading to chambers on either hand. This gallery, of course, is
railed; and so, looking down upon the stairs, and all those landing-places together, with
the main one at bottom, resembles not a little a balcony for musicians, in some jolly old
abode, in times Elizabethan. Shall I tell a weakness? I cherish the cobwebs there, and
many a time arrest Biddy in the act of brushing them with her broom, and have many a
quarrel with my wife and daughters about it.
Now the ceiling, so to speak, of the place where you enter the house, that ceiling is, in
fact, the ceiling of the second floor, not the first. The two floors are made one here; so
that ascending this turning stairs, you seem going up into a kind of soaring tower, or
lighthouse. At the second landing, midway up the chimney, is a mysterious door, entering
to a mysterious closet; and here I keep mysterious cordials, of a choice, mysterious flavor,
made so by the constant nurturing and subtle ripening of the chimney's gentle heat,
distilled through that warm mass of masonry. Better for wines is it than voyages to the
Indias;