Thibodaux minerva. [volume] (Thibodaux, La.) 18??-1858, 1854-12-23
Light at Home.

The heart that answers not gushingly to the fol.
lowing description of an Eden-home, must be de
PRAYED indeed:
Where congenial creations meet here in a true
holy relation, the children thus born are the flower
lngs OF Eden; as John Neal has said, "the cryp-
togamia of the skies" Lovingly the heavens brood
over the roof-tree. Earliest in the morning, Hes
perus beams in golden light through the lattice,
and aslant his rays glide down the fingers of angels,
each sliding with lute-like melody to bless the
morning dream More gladstone and more power
full angels use the sharp, warm rays of the sun,
curser-ke, and they enter in and move here and
there with great joy, making glad everything
within the precincts, magnetizing all within into
happiness, so that the dscords and turmoils of the
world without are forgotten Or unknown.
All day they come and go-they move in what
men call sunshine athwart the carpet, they dance
like golden ball through a crevice in the cornce,
and adown the garden walk they march in bright
battalons They stir at the curtain, they press the
bud and it blooms they kiss the fountain and it is
a rainbow, they even touch the strings of the harp
and it gives out one note so heavenly sweet that
you turn round, and look and wonder whence it
canle then the pendants of the chandelier click,
and the birds give out melody, and the baby smiles
in its cradle, all because of the loving angels who
come to the household, just as they 60 to any
heaven where love is
All! the garments wax not old there-the moth
and rust of discomfort mar no lire Of beauty there
birds and blossoms cluster taere-white doves
coo from the eave-tops and the trees lean away
from the roof lest their great braces shut out the
sunshine and the blue sky, and Ae loving stars that
brood overt. Fair children creep to the threshold
creeping children look out wondering, vet gladstone
as if they looked first out into te great world from
the heaven of home-they shrink inward again. but
at length they bound over the iocr-still away eav-
ing the sunlight upon the door, and stealing in
ward to where lies the Bible upou the table, and a
mothers pure brow lifted in prayer.
Onward, onward, casting but few and transient
glances backward, they go; but at length sickness
comes, and they long for the dear old home; sor-
row comes, and they see the sunshine streaming as
Of old through the open door, and falling upon the
sacred word. But the mother is an angel now, and
they long to return to the dear old, good home.
Then passion, and change, and tumult, shake the
man NIGHTLY and he rests not day nor night till he,
too sets up the altar of home, and calls the angels
to enter the tabernacle he has built. Woman, thou
art the angel of home. Go, look not into thy
glided glass, but look down into the clear bright
fountain which gave back thy face in childhood
Art thou an angel of light, causing sunshine over
the sill? or of darkness broodng like raven wing
over the family ALTAR"
In contrast to the above, the following Ozark at
Home" is set-for hatred has its home also Here
it is:
"The morning-star sends down his angels into
the abode, but it is already filled. Discord is
kno.ting the cruel nerve, and making deep the
harsh wrinkle. Why, mschiefloving spirits prompt
the blow-loving hand and whisper and gibber
malicious, envous and Jealous dreams into the
sleeping ear. The sun gides jubilant into the win
lurking within Snake-ike creatures keep ward
tiles silently destroy. Park vines darken the lat
tee The raven and the night-owl have usurped
the roof Obscure rappings and mysterious move
ments fill the space more with terror than with
awe. The child in the cradle cries sharply, for his
holy guardian contends with black spirit which
would force him away. Children creep to the
threshold, and look out into the great unknown
world, but it looks less terrible than home, and
they creep forth, willing to encounter the worst.
They look backward but there is no sunshine on
the sill, no broodng love-angel there. Sickness
comes and the cold charity Of the stranger is well
come. Sorrow comes, and the silver cord which
binds together the great human family, draws him
into the circle, and owns him brother. Passion
and crime pluck at the miserable man, and there
are no memories of holy wisdom to say 'rcmem-
ber;' no prayer rising like cool incense between
the scorched heat and heaven, and he battles the
world alone, weak and unaided, for home was no
home for the spirit. Woman, look to it. This is
thy work-this blood is upon thy skirts"