The Literary echo, and Pawcatuck advertiser. [volume] (Westerly, R.I.) 1851-1854, 1852-01-15

mothers smile was fist seen, a mothers
voice first heard And how many treas
ured "reminiscences - impressions upon
tablet that time never will
associated with home, that
home where the first aspirations after the
noble in the present life, and the bliss of
a Life Eternal, were nurtured into endur-
ing existence, by some spirit, that ere this
may have passed to another sphere! And
how much of all that makes life endurable,
that makes life happy in the experience of
our more mature years, is derived fiom
this very source--wife and children, the
sun and stars, in the bright armament of
home, more than all else assimilates earth
to heaven, and makes the otherwise desc
late and waste places of time bloom like
paradise. And what more comforting to
the aged wandcrer, worn out with lifa's
than to sweet ly repose himself,
rounded by the lo"cd and the loving, in
the q altitude of domestic retirement. till
death shall summon him to other and diff
fercnt scenes.
But, young man, busy in the pursuit of
pleasure, only intent on your own individ-
ual gratifcation--hove you a hcme' Do
you remember when the brightest spot on
earth was by your own fireside' Do you
remember when no smile was like that of
your mother's' Do you remember your
own happy hearts echoes, responsive to
the tender, soothing tones? Do you re-
member the evening p aver that you used
to ep at while knselng by her side; And
were not these the brightest, purest, hap
piest, ,hours in your life' Was not your home
then paradise, and your existence one
scene ofenjoyment' Have
you forgotten your mothers tears when,
for the fist time, you came home with the
signs of intoxication about you' Have
you forgotten her impoI Itunities and your
promises to reform; Her hairs are be-
ginning to be gray now. Her eyes have
wept full many bitter tears. Your in
temperance, debauchery, and late hours,
,iave almost broken her heart You have
made your home--thc home of YOUR
mothcr-a place of despaiy-a place of
anguish. You are immolating upon the
altar Of your lnsts, and wicked passions
the led friend! of your cally years. What
will be ycur DOOM
But, friend in the prime of life, who is
that by your side with such a mournful
sadness upon her countenance-wi,hs such
a settled melancholy upon her once beau
tiful face ; Her eyes have not lost their
brightness-her hair is as dark now, and
falls IS luxulanty over her finely formed
brow, as ever-her form is as elegant as
when she first tripped, in all life's joyous
ness, by your side, but the roc has faded
on her cheek-faded too soon. Can it be
tii'lC IL tFCI DCcI1 WcC Win tcarS Her
step is little faltering now can it be
that she is weighed down with heavy
heart She gazes at you as you walk
together, but your features relax none of
their sternuess, and misty sensation comes
over her eyes; she would speak, but her
voice falters-she wonders if you are so
changed. You go home-to that place Of.
happiness. The fire is kindled, and you
draw the sofa near it; you are sitting side
by side-yon gazing at the Pickering fame
and your aeife gazing at You. Once,
you would have been too happy, from your
proximity, to speak once every nerve
quivcred with ccstacy when you was by
her side !; once the pressure of her hand
would thrill every sense; once your home
was heaven. The fire burns as brightly
now as ever-the furniture in your parlor
is the samc-you are sitting Oh the same
n 4