The weekly Minnesotian. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1852-1858, 1855-02-17

brown weatherboards or the old 'hearth.stone !:
will he despise the fireplace, the old chimney
corner where his forefathers sat the uncarpet
ed floors, the old kitchen chairs. and a thpns.
and other old thingaf Will he look on them
asrude and uncouth reminders of other DAYS ?
Nay they would be dearer to him than the
apple of his eye aye, dearer to him than all
the world beside. Why so? Because all these
taken together. are his home-the scot where
he was born"
How fondly. how Isoothingly come around
him memories of by-gone days. How we'll he
remembers all his youthful duties and sports.
In imagination he sees everything as it was,
and lives his life over again. The old house
relic of the storms of hundred winters, with
all Its surroundings, rises to his view. How
familiar is everything about tall just as he
left it. There is the Identical spot on the door,
stone where he used to crack butter-nuts, and
here is the same old foot-scraper, that scraped
his boysh boots. There in the corner is the
same nail where his hand-sled used to be so Sc
curely tied during the winter nights, while he
was within, popping corn, and playing "odd or
even." In front of the door, where the "great
drift" used to be, he again shovels a path to
the road. and another down to the spring.
Again he experiences the untold delights of a
three days snow storm, when focks and herds
and even buildings, are completely buried
What glorious sport is the digging out"
He dwells on the outward aspect of things a
while, then. in Imagination, he sits in the old
sittingroom, among those that composed the
family circle when he last was there-brothers
sisters, parents and grandparents. Again he
feels the peace and happiness of other days
stealing over him, as he mingles with those
that once loved him. Thoughts of his long,
joyless wanderings are all forgotten, and he
scf I,o x,o
joys of a winter evening. All are busy and all
are happy.
The old patriarch sits by the fresde, gle
rious old man. his snowy locks glittering in the
ruddy glow of the freight, while his aged and
loving companion is reading to him the Word
of God the old Bible that has been their chart
through the long, tempestuous voyage of life.
Mark the glow of bright assurance that lights
up their cOuntenances as they read the words
of the Holy One. There sits the father, read
ing the newspaper perfectly distracted while
the mother plies her busy needle. And mark
her occasional affectionate glances over the
group of little ones. that are SO busy around
the room, some reading or studying, others quiz
city singing and 'playing puzzle" or " cats
CRADLE" The old dog lies on the hearth. chas-
ing the squirrels in dream land, and the old cat
sits meekly purring near by.
What a picture Of quiet peace is this. what a
picture of patriarchal content and happiness.
The hours pass quickly away the old clock
tells the hour of nine. All pause. The father
reads chapter from the Word of God. He
reads of the Saviour, of his meek and lowly
walk among the sons of men. of his mercy and
divine compassion how He died that the world
might find life, and how He rose from the dead
and now stitch on the right hand of Power.
He reads that "the just shall live by faith"
and that life is a warfare. and he that overcom-
eth shall sit down with Him in His kingdom,
and reign with Him forever Then follows the
prayer of the strong hearted Christian. Ming
ling with the response from each heart bowed
around the altar, it rises like cloud of in
cense, up before the throne. an acceptable Of
fering to the Father. Then they all go to rest
Peace is with them. and they sweetly sleep un-
der the wings of their Divine Protector.
AS the wanderer muses. on these scenes of his
childhood home how his soul yearns for partic.
ipatiOn in them again. They are the burden of
his thoughts and dreams. But musng will not
bring them back-they are gone forever.
Some of that happy group are 'low in the
ground'-the turf grows green over them !;
others are scattered the wide world over. His
childhood's home is gone-gone forever. He
left it hourishing like green bay tree :" he
returned-the old house, the casket was there,
but the jerel was gone.
~ y
tits the richest of thy bles sings. Esteem it
thus, and bend in gratitude to the Giver Look
not to find the joys of home amid riches, world
ly pomp and splendor, amid the giddy whirl of
fashionable folly, where all is false and hollow
as whited sepulchre. and stripped OF its gaudy
exterior, as lOathsome. But, far away from
strife, turmoil and distracting worldlness find
we homes, where the truest and purest joys are
found.
Would you have home, happy one-one
in which to find happiness; where you can
drink the sweet waters of content from their
very fountain? Then seek that One who will
walk lite's pilgrimage with you, through storm
and through sunshine through pleasant places
and through the region of sorrow. Go forth
together, trusting in God, and all will be we'll
Gather around you all that can make your
chosen spot the brightest and best of earth
You have but one home on earth let it be pre-
cious in your eyes. Let not strife or discord
enter there, but let love and peace dwell there
in. Let the morning and evening prayer as.
cend from your altar. in gratitude to the Giver
of every good and perfect gilt and home will
be to you type of that home above, in which
are many mansions
sWhere joys celestial thrill
Where bliss each heart shall fill;
And fears of parting chill
Never-nO neyerp,