Life and Literature Part 65

897

Filling a house with bargains is apt to keep a couple from owning the house in which they place them.

898

'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come.

--_Byron._

899

My house, my house, though thou art small, Thou art to me a palace.

900

TRUE NATURE OF HOME.

This is the true nature of home--it is the place of Peace; the shelter not only from all injury, but from all terror, doubt and division. In so far as it is not this, it is not home; so far as the anxieties of the outer life penetrate into it * * * it ceases to be home; it is then only a part of that outer world which you have roofed over and lighted fire in.

--_John Ruskin._

901

THE WANDERER'S RETURN.

He seeks the tranquil scenes of early days, Leaving the dazzling haunts of vain ambition; And now, he longs to meet a kindly gaze And hear a warm and cheering recognition.

How changed he seems! Though still in manhood's prime, Long hath he striven with care, want, and danger; Their iron grasp has wrought the work of Time, And all who view him, deem him as a stranger.

He meets with one who knew him when a boy: How oft, beneath yon trees, in summer weather, They sat, and pictured scenes of future joy, When they should tread the far-off world together!

They stand upon the old familiar spot: One feels long vanished memories steal o'er him; The other sees, yet recognizes not His blithe companion in the form before him.

Next comes a friend who in his wavering youth His footsteps had upheld with patient guiding; Wise in his counsel, steadfast in his truth, Prompt in his praise, and gracious in his chiding.

Hath he, indeed, discarded from his mind The object of his care and admonition?

He hath not--yet he casts no glance behind; The wanderer fails to make his recognition.

What, doth his image live indeed with none?

Have all expelled him from their recollection?

Lo! a sweet lady comes--the cherished one To whom he breathed his vows of young affection.

He views her--she has lost the airy grace And mantling bloom that won his boyish duty; And yet a winning charm pervades her face, In the calm radiance of its mellowed beauty.

Can she forget? Though others pa.s.s him by, Failing his former features to discover, Will not her faithful heart instruct her eye To recognize her dear, her long-lost lover?

Oh! in that grief-worn man, no trace remains Of the gay, gallant youth from whom she parted; A brief and careless glance alone she deigns To the poor sufferer, chilled and broken-hearted;

Who feels as though condemned to lead henceforth A strange, a sad, a separate existence, Gazing awhile on those he loves on earth, But to behold them fading in the distance.

Lo! a pale matron comes, with quiet pace, And aspect of subdued and gentle sadness;-- Fondly she clasps him in a warm embrace, And greets him with a burst of grateful gladness!

"Praise be to Heaven!" the weary wanderer cries, "All human love is not a mocking vision: Through every change, in every varied guise, The son still claims his mother's recognition!"

--_From the Danish, by Mrs. Abdy._

902

HOME.

Home's not merely four square walls, Though with pictures hung and gilded; Home is where affection calls, Filled with shrines the heart hath builded!

Home! go watch the faithful dove, Sailing 'neath the heaven above us; Home is where there's one to love!

Home is where there's one to love us!

Home's not merely roof and room, It needs something to endear it; Home is where the heart can bloom, Where there's some kind lip to cheer it!

What is home with none to meet, None to welcome, none to greet us?

Home is sweet,--and only sweet-- When there's one we love to meet us.

903

Beware of those who are homeless by choice! You have no hold on a human being whose affections are without a tap-root!

--_Southey._

904

I am as homeless as the wind that moans And wanders through the streets.

--_Longfellow._

905

GIVE GOOD MEASURE.

When I was a young man, there lived in our neighborhood one who was universally reported to be a very liberal man, and uncommonly upright in his dealings. When he had any of the produce of his farm to dispose of, he made it an invariable rule to give good measure, over good, rather more than could be required of him. One of his friends, observing him frequently doing so, questioned him why he did it, told him he gave too much, and said it would not be to his own advantage. Now mark the answer of this man. "G.o.d Almighty has permitted me but one journey through the world; and when gone I cannot return to rectify mistakes."

906

To be honest and faithful is to belong to the only aristocracy in the world--and the smallest.