The Yale expositor. (Yale, St. Clair County, Mich.) 1894-current, 1899-03-03

philanthropist, who at home act the
Nero with respect to their slippers
and their gown. Audubon, the great
ornithologist, with gun and pencil,
went through the forests of America
TO bring down and to sketch the beau
tiful birds, and after many years or
toll and exposure completed his man
uscript and put it in a trunk in Phil
adelphia, and went off for few days
of recreation and rest, and came back
and found that the rats had utterly
destroyed the manuscript; but without
any discomposure and without any
fret or bad temper he again picked up
his gun and pencil and visited again
all the great forests of America and
reproduced his immortal work. And
yet there are people with the ten
thousandth part of that loss who are
utterly irreconcilable; who, at the loss
of a pencil or an article OF raiment,
will blow as long and loud and sharp
as a northeast storm. Now, that man
who is affable in public and who Is
irritable in private is making fraud
ulent and overissue Of stock, and he
is as bad as q bank that might have
four or five hundred thousand dollars
of bills in circulation with no specie
in the vault. Let us learn TO show
piety at home. If We have ii not there,
we have it not anywhere. If we have
not genuine grace in the family cir
Gle, all our outward and public plausi-
bility merely springs from the fear
Of the world or from the Shiny, pu-
trid pool of our own seiGshness. l
tell you the home is n mighty test
of character. What you are az home
you are everywhere, whether you
demonstrate It or not.
Oh, make your home the brightest
place on earth If you would charm
your children to the high path OF vlr-
tue and rectitude and religion. Do
not always turn the blinds the wrong
way. Let the light. which puts gold
on the gentian, and spots the ponsy'
pour into your dwellings. DO not eX-
pect the little feet to keep step to q
dead march. Do not cover up your
walls with such pictures as VESTS
Death on a Pale Horse" or Tintoret-
tos Massacre of the Innocents.'
Rather cover them. If you have pic
lures, with The Hawking Party
and THE Mill by the Mountain
Stream" and The Fox Hunt" and the
Children Amid Flowers" and the
Harvest Scene" and The Saturday
Night Marketing" Get you no hint
of cheerfuness from grasshopper
leap and lambs frisk and quail's whis-
tie, and garrulous streamlet which,
from the rock at the mountain top
clear down to the meadow ferns un-
der the shadow Of the steep. comes
looking to sec where IL can find the
steepest place to leap off at. and talk
ing Just to hear itself talk? If all
the skies hurtled with tempest and
everlasting storm wandered over the
sea. and every mountain stream were
raving mad, frothing at the mouth
with mud foam, and there were moth
ing but simoons blowing among the
hills. and there were neither lark's
carol nor humming-bird' trill, nor
waterfalls dash, but only bears bark
and panther's scream and VOLTS howl,
then you might well gather into your
homes only the shadows. But when
God has strewn the earth and the
heavens with beauty and with glad
ness, let us take into our home circles
all innocent hilarity, all brightness
and good cheer. A dark home makes
bad boys ard bad girls in preparation
for bad men and bad women.
Again, home is a type of heaven. At
our best estate we arc only pilgrims
and strangers here. Heaven is our
home" Death will never knock at the
door OF that mansion and in all that
country there is not a single grave.
How glad parents are in the holidays
10 gather their children home again.
But | have noticed that there is al
most always a son or q daughter alb
sent-absent from home, perhaps abb
sent from the country perhaps absent
from the world. Oh, how glad our
Heavenly Father will be when he gets
all his children home with him in
heaven. And how delightful it will
be for brothers and sisters to meet
after long separation! Once they
parted at the door of the tomb; now
they meet ut the door of immortality.
Once they saw only through glass,
darkly;" now it is face to face, cor
ruption, interruption. mortality, i'm
mortality. Where are now all their
sins and sorrows and troubles? Over
whelmed in the Red Sea Of death, while
they pass through dry-shod. Gates Of
pearl, capstones of amethyst, thrones
of dominion do not stir my soul so
much as the thought of hone. Once
there, let earthly sorrows howl like
storms, and roll like seas. Home! Let
thrones rot and empires wither.
Home! Let the world die in earth
quake struggle and be buried amid
professions of planets and dirge of
spheres. Home Let everlasting
ages roll in irresistible sweep. Home!