If we engage into a large acquaintance and
various familiarities, we set open our gates to the invaders of most of
our time; we expose our life to an ague of frigid impertinences which
would make a wise man tremble to think of."
What makes the remembrance of the old Home so happy? Was it not because
there the storms of life were turned away from us by those who bore the
blasts to keep us in our innocence? And now that future which then was
on our horizon has neared us and is our zenith, the centre of our
heavens. About us are
PRATTLING LITTLE ONES
who in the far-off years will clothe this house about with that holy
mantle which will give it the right to that same grand title, Home. Can
we not, in thinking of the good old Home, stand a little nearer to the
blast and warm some tiny heart a little more? Does the merry laugh sing
out as it did in our own youth? Then this is indeed a Home, growing each
day more sacred in the mind of those fledglings who will so soon fly
from the nest to beat a fluttering and a weary way through the tempests
that will encompass them. A Christmas-tree, a picnic, a May-day
festival, make trouble for limbs already weary with labor, but
IT IS THE WEARINESS AND THE SELF-SACRIFICE
as well as the mirth and the innocence which have girt this great word
round about with its bright girdle of true glory.
Pages:
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50