The American patriot., 1855-01-10
The Light 1t Henae.

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The heart that answers not gushingly to the
following description Of an Eden-Home, must be
depraved indeed
Where congenial creations meet here in . true
and holy relation, the children thus born are the
coverings Of Eden; as John Neal has said, the
brood over the rooftree. Earliest in the morning
Hesperus beams in golden light through the lat.
tice, and aslant his rays, glide down thA fingers Of
angels each sliding with lute-like melody to bless
the morning dream. More gladsOme and more
powerful angels use the sharp, warm rays Of the
sun, courser-fke, and they enter in and move here
and there with great Joy, making glad every
into happiness, so that the discords 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 crevice in the cornice,
and adown the garden-walk they march In bright
battalions. They stir at the curtain, they press
the bud and it blooms, they kiss the fountain and
harp and it gives out orc note SO heavenly sweet
that YOU turn round and look and wonder whence
it came 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 an
gels who come to the household, just as they 60
to any heaven where love lS
All! the garments wax not old there-the moth
and rust Of discomfort mar no line of beauty there
birds and blossoms cluster thcre-white doves
COO from the eave-tops, and the trees lean away
from the roof lest their great branches shut out
the Sunshine and the blue sky and the loving stars
that brood over it. Fair children creep to the
threshold; creeping children look out wonder i,
yet gladsome as if they looked first out into the
great world from the heaven of home-they shrink
inward again. but at length they bound over the
door-sill away, leaving the sunlight upon the
door, and stealing inward to where lies the Bible
upon the table, and q mothers pure brow lifted
in prayer. a
Onward, onward, casting but few and transient
glances backward, they 60; 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 deF 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 gilded glass; but look down into
the clear fountain which gave back thy face in
childhood Art thou an angel Of light, causing
sunshine over the sill? or Of darkness, brooding
like raven wing over the family altar?
In contrast to the above, the following s. Ozark
! at Home" is set-for hatred has its home Also
Hero it is:
The morning-star sends down his angels into
the abode, but it is already filed Discord is
knOtting the cruel nerve, and making deep the
harsh wrinkle. Wiry, mischief-lov spirits
prompt the blow-loving hand, and whisper and
gibbcr malicious envious and jealous dreams into
the sleeping ear The sun glides jubilant into the
window but he is repelled by damp, noisome
images lurking within. 'Snake-ke creatures keep
ward and watch. Moles, and bats, and moths,
and reptiles silently destroy. Black vines darken
the lattice. The raven and the night-owl have
usurped the roof Obscure rappings and myste-
rious movements fill the space more with terror
than with awe. The child in the cradle cries
sharply, for his holy guardian contends with q
black spirit which would force him away. Chill.
dren 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 en-
counter the worst. They look backward, but
there is no sunshine on the sill, no brooding love
angel there. Sickness comes, and the cold charity
of the stranger is welcome. 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 mis-
erable man, and there are no memories of holy
wisdom to say "remember;" no prayer rising like
q 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.
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