The Manitowoc tribune. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1866-1878, 1876-11-23
HOME.


word home. The Esquimau in his snow
house, the African in his hut beneath the
burning sun, the Indian in his wigwam
amidst the forest, the dweller on the
mountain-top, the rich man in his palace,
the intelligent or ignorant, the lowliest
of all, have implanted in their breast a
love of home. That one word brings up
recollections that nothing can obliterate.
1t matters not what station in life per-
son may be called out to fiji, he will
ever think of home. Who is there that
can ever forget the time when father or
mother would take us at early morn and
at close of day and teach us to lisp
prayer to heaven? Who forgets good
night kiss when fond parent would take
us on the knee and instil into our young
minds the principles of virtue and re-
lgion, and invoking Il blessing on our
head, hush us to sweet repose And
when Frustrated with sickness, with
what care we would be watched over,
how carefully they would smooth our
fevered brow, and soothe our troubled
spirit, and supply our every want ! How
many hours of watchful care till we were
once more restored to health, and with
what Joy they would then pour upon us
their endearing caressesi Who but calls
to mind, when with those they hold most
dear, they climbed their native hills or
41,o
by the babbling brook, or standing on
the beach watching the tidal wave as it
dashed the silvery spray at our feet i
And then our school days, with our in
nocent games upon the school house
green All and of how many of our
dear scaool-mates who have gone before
us to that bourne from which no traveller
returns, and of the many friendships
then formed that have lasted through
life How few of us then thought of
the trials and Affections we would have
to encounter, and of the many heart
aches we would feel in being absent from
home How well we remember the
pleasant evenings we spent with the old
folks at home, or walking the green fields
with her who has been our partner thro'
the joys and sorrows of life? and how
we led her to the altar of God, and be-
fore the minister of heaven pledged our
mutual VOWS and then when heaven
blessed our married life with our little
offspring, how we loved, fondled and
cherished it, and taught its infant lips
to praise its God
The recollections of home will cling to
us through life, it matters not what sta
ton in life we may fill We may climb
to the highest pinnacle OF fame OF sink
to the lowest depths of misery and deg
relation, the thoughts of home will still
cling to us.
Let me here recite an instance of how
thoughts of home will cling to us In
deepest poverty. 1t is abridged from
the Rochester Democrat : A poor man
confined in the cell of police station,
was heard playing on a mouth organ,
and playing, as it was said of a great
a.
The notes were burdened with melan-
choly. They struck the heavy stone
walls and rolled along the cold flag stones
III dreary sort of way-hoating in and
out of the dark cells and through the
prison halls, they seemed to gather
mournfulnessandm melancholy from every
bar of iron and place of stone they
touched. There was a heart-opening
plaintiveness in his tones that could not
be denied. He was playing ''Home,
Sweet Home" He seemed to feel it, to
send out every note from some sacred
recess of his heart to have studied and
repeated every sentiment Of the grand
old creation until it became part and
parcel of his nature. He had lived away
out West, beyond the Mississippi. He
left his fathers house and went down
the Father of Waters and then out on
the broad ocean. Years had gone since
then. He had traversed the streets of
Jerusalem, and walked over the ground
that Christ had trod had heard the
voices of the Muezzin in Constantinople,
and seen the follower of the Prophet
kneel in st. Sophia had seen the Won
ders of the East, and felt the cold winds
of the North +; all had taught him the
truth of Paine's words '.There is no
place like Home" He wanted to 90
back there just once more. There was
father and mother, brother and sisters
when he left. He did not know whether
they were there now or not He was
penniless and friendless. Sickness had
laid her hand upon him. He would go
back, though. The lakes would soon
open, or he could walk it if it was neces-
sary. He turned and laid down on the
hard iroE bed, and again the music float
ed with its sad, sad mournfulness.-
Hundreds OF miles from home, penniless,
friendless and forlorn, toiling towards
that western home. The piece he PLAYED
so often steamed to be written on his
heart.
The beautiful idea of home, the abode
of earthly bliss, the nursery of virtue,
the fountain of love Here patriotism
finds its sanctuary, its true abode, its
strong fortress. The comfort, the beau
ty, the attractiveness of the home, its
privacy and all its sanctities are to be
studied and cherished, as embracing all
of human good-whether public or pri
vate. The green yard, the neat cottage,
the magnificent elm-the growth Of CEN
turtles, the beautiful evergreens, the