Bellows Falls times. [volume] (Bellows Falls, Vt.) 1856-1965, 1868-01-03
The Old Home.

of life, We cannot but pity the man who
can approach the home of his childhood
without an emotion of love. With what
mingled feelings of grief and of gladncss
do we behold that Mecca Of the heart,
"whther our thoughts return. where'er We roam"
the one place on earth rendered sacred
by SO many endearing memories. Hith-
er We come, when our hearts are light
and full of laughter, to recall the merry
scenes Of youth. We think Of the gay
gatherings, the sleigh-rides, the moon
light excursions which we then enjoyed,
and of the happy faces by which we were
then surrounded. Each familiar form
rises before us, its features faithfully
daguerreotyped upon thesensitive brain;
and the friends of our younger days seem
to sit once more beside us, eager to join
again in scenes of merriment.
Hither, too, we come when our hearts
are sad and bruised by many sorrow,
when it seems to us that the light of our
life has gone out and no ray of hope
pierces the clouds which lower above us.
Mournful memories rise around us, not to
sadden, but to bring us comfort, for these
memories seem filled with life and feel
ing, and, like fellow sufferers, to sympa-
thize with our misfortunes.
How different the memories which the
sight of that old home causes to spring
up in our hearts? ? Here is a poor tempest
tossed wanderer, who has never known
home since his boyish feet crossed that
loved threshold for the last time. His
emotions are all of sadness. The joys of
home are all past joys for him; and in
his heart is an.unsatisfied thirst and ever
gnawing hungera after the pleasures which
grow only around the altar of home.
Perhaps he has lost his loved ones, and,
homeless and friendless, wanders an out
cast upon the face of the earth. Even
the sacred sorrows of home can never be
of comfort to him. He cannot say, with
his heart overfowing with mournful
love:-"I love this room, for here my
honored father took me upon his knee
aad taught me to love the truth" "Pll
protect that tree; for, though decayed
and barren, my father planted it, and
often when q child l feasted upon the
fruit fresh from its branches" 'I can
never enter that chamber without feeling
that my heart is impressed with holy awe !;
for there my angel mother used to pray" y
Poor man! yours are the saddest memo
ries.
| Here is another, with smiling wife and
merry children by his side, but can he
ever forget the spot where he sported in
innocent childhood? Never, If the heart
of true man beats warm within his bo-
som. He loves to linger where sacred
memories come thick and fast around
him, telling again the halfforgotten story
Of his happiest days. There is the house,
where was once for him that "world OF
love at home" There his father, on his
dying bed, gave him his parting blessing
There his mother knelt beside him and
prayed that her son might live good
and useful man. Every object recall:
acts and thoughts and dreams of youth
There is the barn where he loved to tum
| bic in the well filed NOV; to the left il
| the meadow where he often sported amit
the new-mown hay; there is the majestic
old maple with its wide-spreading branch
| es, beneath whose shade he built many
an air-castle whose fabrics faded with hi
dreams.
But the most bitter memories are o
life's vicissitudes, of the friends who hav,
departed, the time which has foreve
passed away.
With all the mingled memories of joy
and sorrows, we shall ever love to visi
the sacred home of our childhood. 1t
loss leaves void in our hearts.
20 ye who daily the sill.
Step lightly, for love it still:
And when you crowd those old barn caves,
| Think then what countless harvest sheavcs
Have passed within that scented door
To gladden. eyes that are no more"
l-Rural Neao Yorker
A GOLDEN THoUGIIT.-We know no
the author of the following, but it is on