The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1873-11-06
HEROES AT HOME.

HEROES Al HOME.
People who live on the outside of the
charmed circle of letters, but who be-
lieve that the mon and women that COM
pose it are of different mold from the
rest of mankind, and who long to be
permitted to penetrate the "rose hedge"
and learn the facts of the Armida's gar
den for themselves sometimes learn them
too clearly for their dreams to be ever
possible again. They have favorite
suthor-a poet, say, or novelist. If
poet, he is probably one whose songs
arc full of that delicious melancholy
SstReic poe tPfR bRghed dVBa9lE Being $40
ture walking in the moonlight among
the graves and watering their flowers
with his tears; if novelist, he is one
whose sprightly fancy makes the dull
world gay. A friend takes the worship
or to the shrine where the idol is to be
found in other words, they go to call
on him at his own house. The melan-
choly poet, "hidden in the light of
thought, is a rubicurd, rosy-gilled gen
tleman, brisk, middie-aged, comforta-
BILE, respectable, particular as to his
wines, a connoisseur as to the merits Of
the chief, bon UiU0nt of the Horatian
order, and, for talk, prone to personal
gossip and feeble humor. The lively
novelist, on the other hand, is taciturn
morose kind of person, afflicted with pc
rennial catarrh, ever ready with an un-
pleasant argument, given to start disa-
greeable topics of grave, not to say
depressing, nature, perhaps a rabid pol
itician, taking gloomy views about the
currency, and despondent about our
carrying trade. As for the women they
never do look the thing they are repu-
ted to be, save in fashions and some
times in beauty. A woman who goes to
public meetings and makes speeches on
all kinds OF subjects, tough as well as
doubtful, presents herself in society
with the look of an old maid and the
address of shy schoolgirl. A sour
kind OF essayist, who finds everything
wrong and nothing in it's place, has a
face like the full moon and looks as if
she fed on cream and butter. A novel
ist who sails very near the wind, and on
whom tho critics are very severe, by
principle is as quiet as a Quakeress
in her conversation and as demurs as O
nun in her bearing while writer of
religious tracts has gowns from Paris
and gives small suppers out of the pro-
ceeds. The public character and pri-
vate being OF almost every person in
the world differ widely from each 9TH
er; and the hero Of history, wEO is also
the here to his valet, is yet to be found.
Some people call this difference incon-
sistency, and some many-sideduess /; to
some il argues shallowness, veneer, I'M
reality, and is therefore unworthy of es-
TEEN; to others it is but the necessary
consequence of a complex human ma
ture, and sign that the mind needs the
rest Of alienation just as much as the
body. We cannot be always in the same
groove never changing our altitude or OBJ
iect. Is it in consistency or supplement
contradiction or compensation The
sterner moralists, and those whose
minds dwell on tares, say the former ;
those who look for wheat, even on the
stony ground and among thorns, assert
the latter. Anyhow, it is certain that
those who desire ideals, and who like
to worship heroes, would do well to
content themselves with alteration at Il
long range. Distance lends enchant-
ment, and ignorance is bliss in more
cases than one. HerOism at home is
something like humanity in Brobdignag
and the undress of the domestic hearth
is more favorable to personal comfort
than to public glory. To keep our
ideals intact, we ought to keep sIIp
unknown. Our goddess should, III aa
seen eating beefsteaks and SS~&
stout our poets are best in Jsysd'
social small talk does not
truths divine from their
sages and philanthr~''-