the poor. The ties that bind the wealthy and proud to home may be forged
on earth, but those which link the poor man to his humble hearth are of
the true metal, and bear the stamp of heaven. These affections and loves
constitute the poetry of human life, and so far as our present existence
is concerned, with all the domestic relations, are worth more than all
other social ties. They give the first throb to the heart, and unseal
the deep fountains of its love. Homes are not made up of material
things. It is not a fine house, rich furniture, a luxurious table, a
flowery garden, and a superb carriage, that make a home. Vastly superior
to this is a true home. Our ideal homes should be heart-homes, in which
virtue lives and love-flowers bloom and peace-offerings are daily
brought to its altars. It is made radiant within with every social
virtue, and beautiful without by those simple adornments with which
nature is every-where so prolific. The children born in such homes will
leave them with regret, and come back to them in after life as pilgrims
to a holy shrine. The towns on whose hills and in whose vales such homes
are found will live forever in the hearts of its grateful children.
How easy it is to invest homes with true elegance, which resides not
with the upholsterer or draper! It exists in the spirit presiding over
the apartments of the dwelling. Contentment must be always most
graceful; it sheds serenity over the scenes of its abode; it transforms
a waste into a garden. The house lighted by those imitations of a nobler
and brighter life may be wanting much which the discontented may desire,
but to its inhabitants it will be a palace far outvying the Oriental in
beauty.
There is music in the word Home. To the old it brings a bewitching
strain from the harp of memory, to the middle-aged it brings up happy
thoughts, while to the young it is a reminder of all that is near and
dear to them. Our hearts turn with unchangeable love and longing to the
dear old home which sheltered us in childhood. Kind friends may beckon
us to newer scenes, and loving hearts may bind us fast to other pleasant
homes; but we love to return to the home of our childhood. It may be old
and rickety to the eyes of strangers; the windows may have been broken
and patched long ago, and the floor worn through; but it is still the
old home from out of which we looked at life with hearts full of hope,
building castles which faded long ago. Here we watched life come and go;
here we folded still, cold hands over hearts as still, that once beat
full of love for us.
Even as the sunbeam is composed of millions of minute rays, the
home-life must be constituted of little tendernesses, kind looks, sweet
laughter, gentle words, loving counsels. It must not be like the torch
blaze of natural excitement, which is easily quenched, but like the
serene, chastened light, which burns as safely in the dry east wind as
in the stillest atmosphere. Let each bear the other's burden the while;
let each cultivate the mutual confidence which is a gift capable of
increase and improvement, and soon it will be found that kindness will
spring up on every side, displacing unsuitability, want of mutual
knowledge, even as we have seen sweet violets and primroses dispelling
the gloom of the gray sea-rocks.
The sweetest type of heaven is home. Nay, heaven itself is the home for
whose acquisition we are to strive most strongly. Home in one form or
another is the great object of life. It stands at the end of every day's
labor, and beckons us to its bosom; and life would be cheerless and
meaningless did we not discern across the river that divides it from the
life beyond glimpses of the pleasant mansions prepared for us. Yes,
heaven is the home towards which those who have lived aright direct
their steps when wearied by the toils of life. There the members of the
homes on earth, separated here, will meet again, to part no more.
[Illustration: HOME CIRCLE.]
[Illustration]
The home circle may be, ought to be, the most delightful place on earth,
the center of the purest affections and most desirable associations, as
well as of the most attractive and exalted beauties to be found this
side of paradise. Nothing can excel in beauty and sublimity the
quietude, peace, harmony, affection, and happiness of a well-ordered
family, where virtue is nurtured and every good principle fostered and
sustained.
The home circle is the nursery of affection. It is the Eden of young
attachments, and here should be planted and tended all the germs of
love, every seed that shall ever sprout in the heart; and how carefully
should they be tended! how guarded against the frosts of jealousy,
anger, envy, pride, vanity, and ambition! how rooted in the best soil of
the heart, and nourished and cultivated by the soul's best husbandry!
Here is the heart's garden. Its sunshine and flowers are here. All its
beautiful, all its lovely things are here. And here should be expended
care, toil, effort, patience, and whatever may be necessary to make them
still more lovely. It is around the memories of the home circle that
cluster the happiest and sometimes the saddest of the recollections of
youth. There is the thought of brother and sister, perhaps now gone
forever; of childish sorrow and grief; of the mother's prayer and the
father's blessing. Do you wonder that these memories, both bitter and
sweet, linger in the chambers of the mind long after those of the busy
years of maturity have faded away before the approach of age? With what
assiduity ought all who have arrived at the years of maturity strive to
make their homes pleasant—and especially is this true of parents—so
that its members when they go from thence will carry with them thoughts
that through all the weary years that are before them will afford a
pleasant retreat for them when well-nigh wearied with the care which
comes with increasing years.
We can not honor with too deep a reverence the home affections; we can
not cultivate them with too great a care; we can not cherish them with
too much solicitude. There is the center of our present happiness, the
springs of our deepest and strongest tides of joy. When the home
affections are duly cultivated all others follow or grow out of them as
a natural consequence. If any would have fervent and noble affections,
such as give power and glory to the human heart, such as sanctify the
soul and make it supremely beautiful, such as an angel might covet
without shame, let him cultivate all the feelings that originate, as
from a radiant point, in the home circle.
The true flower of home love requires for its development the aid of
every member of the home circle. The tears of sympathy as well as the
sunshine of domestic affection bring it to its glorious maturity.
Ofttimes there are families the members of which are, without doubt,
dear to each other. If sickness or sudden trouble fall on one all are
afflicted, and make haste to help and sympathize and comfort. But in
their daily life and ordinary intercourse there is not only no
expression of affection, none of the pleasant and fond behavior that
has, perhaps, little dignity, but which more than makes up for that in
its sweetness, but there is an absolute hardness of language and actions
which is shocking to every sensitive and tender feeling. Between father
and mother, brother and sister, ofttimes pass rough and hasty words, and
sometimes angry words, even more frequently than words of endearment. To
judge from their actions they do not appear to love each other, nor does
it seem to have occurred to them that it is their duty, as it should be
their best pleasure, to do and say all that they possibly can for each
other's good and happiness.
It is in the home circle where we form many, if not the most, of our
habits, both of action and speech. These habits we carry into the world.
They cling to us. The vulgarities which we use at home we shall use
abroad—the coarse sayings, the low jest, the vulgar speeches, the
grammatical blunders. All the lingual imperfections which go to form a
part of our home conversation will enter into our conversation at all
times and in all places. The home circle should be held too sacred to be
polluted with the vulgarities of languages, which could have originated
nowhere but in low and groveling minds. It should be dedicated to love
and truth, to all that is tender in feeling and noble and pure in
thought, to holiest communion of soul with soul. In order that such a
communion may be enjoyed it is requisite that language should there
perform its most sacred office, even the office of transmitting
unimpared the most tender and sacred affections that glow in the human
heart.
If the dialects of angels could be used on earth its fittest place would
be the home circle. The language of home should be such as would not
stain the purest lips nor fall harshly on the most refined ear. It
should abound in words of wisdom which are at once the glory of youth
and the honor of age.
The home circle, what tender associations does it recall! How deeply
interwoven are its golden filaments with all the fiber of our
affectionate natures, forming the glittering of the heart's golden life!
Here are father, mother, child, brother, sister, companions, all the
heart loves, all that makes earth lovely, all that enriches the mind
with faith and the soul with hope. What language is most fitting for
home use, to bear the messages of home feeling, to be freighted with the
diamond treasure of home hearts? Should it be any other than the most
refined and pure? any other than that breathing the sacred charity of
affection?
Home is the great seeding-place of every affection that ever grows in
the heart. Hence all should tend well to it, watch, prune, and cultivate
with all prudence and wisdom, with all fervency of spirit. Let the music
of the heart swell its notes here in one perpetual anthem of good will.
Let praise and prayer and fervent good wishes and words and works hallow
its sacred shrine. Let offices of love go round like smiles at a feast
of joy. Let the whole soul devote its energies to making happy its home,
and its rewards will be great.
If there be any tie formed in life which ought to be securely guarded
from any thing which can put it in peril it is that which unites the
members of a family. If there be a spot upon earth from which discord
and strife should be banished it is the fireside. There center the
fondest hopes and the most tender affections.
The great lever by which the heart is moved is love; it is the basis of
all true excellence, of all excellent thought. How pleasing the
spectacle of that home circle which is governed by the spirit of love!
Each one strives to avoid giving offense, and is studiously considerate
of the others' happiness. Sweet, loving dispositions are cultivated by
all, and each tries to surpass the other in his efforts for the common
harmony. Each heart glows with love, and the benediction of heavenly
peace seems to abide upon that dwelling with such power that no storm of
passion is able to rise.
There is no pleasanter sight than that of a family of young folks who
are quick to perform little acts of attention towards their elders. The
placing of the big arm-chair for the mother, or kindly errands done for
father, and scores of little deeds, show the tender sympathy of gentle,
loving hearts. Parents should show their appreciation of these kindly
acts. If they do not indicate that they are appreciated the habit is
soon dropped.
Little children are imitative creatures, and quickly catch the spirit
surrounding them. So, if the father shows kindly attention to the
mother, bright eyes will see the act, and quick minds will make a note
of it. By example much more than by precept can children be taught to
speak kindly to each other, to acknowledge favors, to be gentle and
unselfish, to be thoughtful and considerate of the comfort of the
family.
The boys, with inward pride of the father's courteous demeanor, will be
chivalrous and helpful to their sisters; and the girls, imitating the
mother, will be patient and gentle, even when brothers are noisy and
heedless.
In the homes where true courtesy prevails it seems to meet you on the
threshold. You feel the kindly welcome on entering. No angry voices are
heard up stairs, no sullen children are sent from the room, no
peremptory orders are given to cover the delinquencies of housekeeping
or servants. A delightful atmosphere pervades the house, unmistakable,
yet indescribable. Such a house, filled by the spirit of love, is a home
indeed, to all who enter within its consecrated walls.
Members of the home circle lose nothing by mutual politeness; on the
contrary, by maintaining not only its forms, but by inward cultivation
of its spirit, they become contributors to that domestic feeling which
is in itself a foretaste of heaven. The good-night and the good-morning
salutation, though they may seem but trifles, have a sweet and softening
influence on all its members. The little kiss and artless good-night of
the smaller ones, as they retire to rest, have in them a heavenly
melody.
Children are the pride and ornament of the family circle. They create
sport and amusement and dissipate all sense of loneliness from the
household. When intelligent and well trained they afford a spectacle
which even indifferent persons contemplate with satisfaction and
delight. Still these pleasurable emotions are not unalloyed with
solicitude. It is an agreeable but changeable picture of human
happiness. Time in advancing carries them forward, and erelong they will
feel like exclaiming, with the older and more sad and serious ones
around them, that their youth exists only in remembrance.
There is probably not an unpolluted man or woman living who does not
feel that the sweetest consolations and best rewards of life are found
in the loves and delights of home. There are very few who do not feel
themselves indebted to the influence that clustered around their cradles
for whatever good there may be in their character and condition. The
influence preceding from the home circle is either a blessing or a
curse, either for good or for evil. It can not be neutral. In either
case it is mighty, commencing with our birth, going with us through
life, clinging to us in death, and reaching into the eternal world. It
is that unitive power which arises out of the manifold relations and
associations of domestic life. The specific influence of husband and
wife, of parent and child, of brother and sister, of teacher and pupil,
united and harmoniously blended, constitute the home influence. From
this we may infer the character of home influence. It is great, silent,
irresistible, and permanent. Like the calm, deep stream, it moves on in
silent but overwhelming power. It strikes root deep into the human
heart, and spreads its branches wide over our whole being. Like the lily
that braves the tempest, and the "Alpine flower that leans its cheek on
the bosom of eternal snow," it is exerted amid the wildest scenes of
life, and breathes a softening spell in our bosom, even when a heartless
world is freezing up the fountains of our sympathy and love. It is
governing, restraining, attracting, and traditional. It holds the empire
of the heart and rules the life. It restrains the wayward passions of
the child and checks the man in his mad career of ruin.
But all pictures of earthly happiness are transient in duration. Where
can you find an unbroken home circle? The time must soon come, if it has
not already, when you must part from those who have surrounded the same
parental board, who mingled with you in the gay-hearted joys of
childhood and the opening promise of youth. New cares will attend you in
new situations, and the relations you form and the business you pursue
may call you far from the "play-place" of your youth. In the unseen
future your brothers and sisters may be sundered from you, your lives
may be spent apart, and in death you may be divided; and of you it may
be said:
"They grew in beauty side by side,
They filled one home with glee;
Their graves are severed far and wide,
By mount and stream and sea."
[Illustration]
[Illustration: FATHER AND MOTHER.]
[Illustration]
How can children repay parents for their watchings, anxieties, labors,
toils, trials, patience, and love? Think of the utter helplessness of
the long years of infancy, of the entire dependence of succeeding
childhood, of the necessities and wants of youth, of the burning
solicitude of parents, and their deep and inexhaustible love; think of
the long years of unwearied toil, of their deep and soul-felt devotion
to the interests of their offspring, of the majesty and matchless power
of their unselfish affections—and then say whether it is possible for
youth to repay too much love and gratitude for all this bestowal of
parental anxiety.
Oh, what thankfulness should fill every child's heart! What a glorious
return of love! Every day should they give them some token of love.
Every hour should their own hearts glow with gratitude and holy respect
for those who have given them being, and loved them so fervently and
long. Nothing will so warm and quicken all the affections of the
parent's heart as such respect. Who feels like trusting an ungrateful
child? Who can believe that his affection for any object can be firm and
pure? The child who has loved long and well his parents has thoroughly
electrified his affections, has surcharged them with the sweet spirit of
an affectionate tenderness, which will pervade his entire heart, and
will make him better and purer forever. The affections of such a child
are to be trusted. As well may one doubt an angel as such a one.
There is always a liability, where sons and daughters have gone from the
home of their childhood, and have formed homes of their own, gradually
to lose the old attachments and cease to pay those attentions to parents
which were so easy and natural in the olden time. New associations, new
thoughts, new cares, all come in, filling the mind and heart, and, if
special pains be not taken, they thrust out the old love. _This ought
never to be._ Children should remember that the change is in them, and
not with those they left behind. They have every thing that is new, much
that is attractive in the present and bright in the future; but the
parents' hearts cling to the past, and have most in memory. When
children go away, they know not, and never will know until they
experience it themselves, what it cost to give them up, nor what a
vacancy they left behind.
The parents have not, if the children have, any new loves to take the
place of the old. Do not, then, heartlessly deprive them of what you
still can give of attention and love. If you live in the same place, let
your step be—if possible, daily—a familiar one in the old home. Even
when many miles away, make it your business to go to your parents. In
this matter do not regard time or expense. They are well spent; and some
day when the word reaches you, flashed over the wires, that your father
or mother is gone, you will not regret then the many hours of travel
spent in going to them while they were yet alive.
Keep up your intercourse with your parents. Do not deem it sufficient to
write only when something important is to be told. Do not believe that
to them "no news is good news." If it be but a few lines, write them.
Write, if it be only to say, "I am well;" if it be only to send the
salutation which says they are "dear," or the farewell which tells them
that you are "affectionate" still. These little messages will be like
caskets of jewels, and the tear that falls fondly over them will be
treasures for you. Let every child, having any pretense to heart, or
manliness, or piety, and who is so fortunate as to have a father or
mother living, consider it a sacred duty to consult, at any reasonable
personal sacrifice, the known wishes of such a parent until that parent
is no more; and, our word for it, the recollections of the same through
the after pilgrimage of life will sweeten every sorrow, will brighten
every gladness, will sparkle every tear-drop with a joy ineffable.
There is no period of life when our parents do not claim our attention,
love, and warmest affections. From youth to manhood, from middle age to
riper years, if our honored parents survive, it should be our constant
study how we can best promote their welfare and happiness, and smooth
the pillow of their declining years.
Nothing better recommends an individual than his attentions to his
parents. There are some children whose highest ambition seems to be the
promotion of their parents' interest. They watch over them with
unwearied care, supply all their wants, and by their devotion and
kindness remove all care and sorrow from their hearts. On the contrary,
there are others who seem never to bestow a thought upon their parents,
and to care but little whether they are comfortably situated or not. By
their conduct they increase their cares, embitter their lives, and bring
their gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. Selfishness has steeled their
hearts to the whispers of affection, and avarice denies to their parents
those favors which would materially assist them in the down-hill of
life.
Others, too, by a course of profligacy and vice, have drained to the
very dregs their parents' cup of happiness, and made them anxious for
death to release them from their sufferings. How bitter must be the doom
of those children who have thus embittered the lives of their best
earthly friends!
There can be no happier reflection than that derived from the thought of
having contributed to the comfort and happiness of our parents. When
called away from our presence, which sooner or later must happen, the
thought will be sweet that our efforts and our care smoothed their
declining years, so that they departed in comfort and peace. If we were
otherwise, and we denied them what their circumstances and necessities
required, and our hearts did not become like the nether millstone, our
remorse must prove a thorn in our flesh, piercing us sharply, and
filling our days with regret.
There is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to her son that
transcends all other affections of the heart. It is neither to be
chilled by selfishness, weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by
ingratitude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his convenience; she
will surrender every pleasure to his enjoyment; she will glory in his
fame, and exult in his prosperity. If misfortune overtake him, he will
be the dearer to her from misfortune; and if disgrace settles upon his
name, she will still love and cherish him in spite of his disgrace. If
all the world besides cast him off, she will be all the world to him.
A father may turn his back on his child, brothers and sisters may become
inveterate enemies, husbands may desert their wives, wives their
husbands; but a mother's love endures through all. In good repute, in
bad repute, in the face of the world's condemnation, a mother still
lives on and still hopes that her child may turn from his evil ways and
repent; still she remembers his infant smile that ever filled her bosom
with rapture, the merry laugh, the joyful shout of his childhood, the
opening promise of his youth; and thinking of these, she never can be
brought to think him all unworthy.
Young man, speak kindly to your mother, and ever courteously and
tenderly of her. But a little while and you shall see her no more
forever. Her eye is dim, her form bent, and her shadow falls grave-ward.
Others may love you when she has passed away—a kind-hearted sister,
perhaps, or she whom of all the world you chose for a partner—she may
love you warmly, passionately; children may love you fondly; but never
again, never, while time is yours, shall the love of woman be to you as
that of your old, trembling mother has been. Alas! how little do we
appreciate a mother's tenderness while living! How heedless are we in
youth of all her anxious tenderness! But when she is dead and gone, when
the cares and coldness of the world come withering to our hearts, when
we experience how hard it is to find true sympathy, how few love us for
ourselves, how few will befriend us in misfortune, then it is that we
think of the mother we have lost.
The loss of a parent is always felt. Even though age and infirmities may
have incapacitated them from taking an active part in the cares of the
family, still they are rallying points around which affection and
obedience, and a thousand tender endeavors to please, concentrate. They
are like the lonely star before us: neither its heat nor light are any
thing to us in themselves, yet the shepherd would feel his heart sad if
he missed it when he lifts his eye to the brow of the mountains over
which it rises when the sun descends.