The Fireside
In Southern Europe they have no household fires; but when there is snow on the mountains, or ice in the wind, they get a chafing-dish, and comfort their toes with glowing ch&rcoal. And in Russia and the north, so fiercely blows the winter-blast, that they are fain to defend themselves from behind an intrenchment of flues, and stoves, and fire-clay furnaces. And it is only our own happy clime, so crisp in the morning, and so mild at the winter-noon, which rejoices in that glorious institution, the open hearth and blazing ingle.
As to the fuel or the style of the fireplace, we have no sectarian feeling. The old English method is to adjust in a vast chimney a log of pine, with a few supporting fagots; and as the flame leaps, and roars, and crackles on a clear night in some nft
THE UNEXPECTED GREETING lofty banquet-hall, it makes a right baronial blaze. In as far as it needs no grate, this plan is rather economical; but as it also needs a grand mansion, with turrets on the top and an ancient forest round it, the saving is somewhat counterbalanced. And a good fire may be made by flanking a few peats with a lump of coke or anthracite; and if it be Wales or the Highlands, and if there be rime on the ground and frozen rooks on the tree, the blue smoke is beautiful, and the turfy odor delicious. But for us in London, where peats are as dear as penny loaves, it is a great satisfaction to know that they yield a profusion of dust. It was a “bonny” fire to which King James treated his wealthy subject, George Heriot; and still “bonnier,” in the eyes of a needy prince, was the fire with which the goldsmith repaid his hospitality, next morning, when he fed the flame, not with billets of cedar, but with the king’s “promises to pay.” And very beautiful is the mountain of blazing splints, with a torch of candle-I5d THE HAPPY HOME.
coal ill the front of them, — like the mirrored sun in a golden temple of Peru — such as may be seen in Lanarkshire or Durham, or some other igneous paradise, flinging through all the recesses of a mighty farm-kitchen its wealth of revealing flame. But bonfires like these are beyond the reach of authors and readers on the banks of the Thames; and therefore we set down a recipe which our wife acquired from our younger brother, and which we have often found very seductive about ten o’clock at night: —
“Take three or four frasments of wallsend; lay them together; and when thoroughly lighted, take the tongs, and place tenderly over them all the large cinders from under the grate; and then over the cinders, and layer by layer, shovel every particle of ashes, as carefully as if it were diamond dust; and in half an hour the skilful concrete will be one huge and ardent ruby. Then talk, read, or darn stockings; and wonder which is happiest, you or the queen.” Besides greatly lightening the dustman’s labors next morning, this device will be found a great saving of fuel.
And as for the fireplace, please yourselves. We have never seen any which we liked so well as the Carron grate in our own nursery, some ages agone. On either panel a cast-metal shepherd played on a cast-metal pipe; and on the shining hob there often simmered a few prunes or a honey posset, which a kind-hearied aunt had provided for our frequent colds; and in some retreat below it a mouse had found a cozy hermitage, and every time that they stirred the fire the mouse came out, and then ran back again as soon as the pother was over. We often wonder what has become of the grate and the mouse: we know too well what has become of the nursery.
But, after all, the charm of an English hearth is neither polished bars nor blazing brands, but the true and loving faces which it shines upon. Its charm is the conjugal affection, the parental hope, the filial piety, the neighborly good-will, which cluster round it and form the fireside.
Judging, however, by hints which we have occasionally received — chiefly from our lady readers — there is room for improvement in many of the “Homes of England.” We will, not betake ourselves to the indolent subterfuge of saying that there are faults on either side; but shall let our fair correspondents speak for themselves, and shall then offer a few suggestions for the good of our readers in general.
“TO MR. HAPPY HOME.
*’ Sir: If you wish your paper to be of any use, you must come nearer the point. Hitherto I consider it a perfect failure, and without it improves very much I shall give up taking it in. I wish you would speak to my husband. Tell him that a woman can not always be cleaning of a house, if,
03 soon as the mop is out of her hand, a eat boor comes tramping up stairs, with all Holborn sticking to his heels. Tell him that it is time for him to be doing something better for his family. I have heard of bricklayers who became master-builders in no time; and I certainly did not expect that my husband should be wearing a leather apron up to this precious time of day. And if he does not wish me to become a perfect fright, tell him to get me a new bonnet.
“I am, yours, &c.,
“Catharina Crumpet Cayenne.”
“Sir, my husband Is a bruit, he keps a keb. he takes car to feed his horse, and to get a good diner for himself, but he leaves me Without enuf to by a morsle. now, sir, i takes verry bad with this, for i been a Cook and always yused to my wittleskumfortabal Before i marry this Great bear. “Betsey Capers.”
“Sir: Five years ago I was one of the happiest women in England, for I was then united to one who loved me, and of whose affection I was proud. And though I know that I was very imperfect, yet, for Rohert’s sake, I was constantly striving to improve. It was all my pleasure to hear St. Pancras strike six, for then I knew that a few minutes would bring him home, and the room would be tidy, and the kettle would be singing, and something would be ready for Robert to look at, or something that needed /lis help before it could be finished. And he was always so handy: in those evening hours he made the cradle for our little boy, and a green-painted Venetian to keep out the sun at our southern window. And many a beautiful book have we gone through, reading it aloud by turns. But, for a good while past, a change has come over my dear husband. He has not taken to drinking, or anything really bad; but he has got so fond of politics. He is a fine scholar and an orator; and at first I was vain to think that the club could not do without him. But I must now confess, sir, ihat it takes up all his thoughts. He has not the same spirit for his work, and I have very litde of his company. Last night he came in for his tea in a sad hurry, and swallowed it without speaking a word, for he was engaged to one of these meetings. And I fear that I looked cross, for, as he put on his hat, he spoke to me in a way that my Robert never spoke to me before. Tell him, dear sir, that I was not sulking: I was thinking of our happy evenings, and how he might now be giving a lesson to our lltUe George. And tell him, that if he will only give his wife some of those sweet hours he did not use to grudge, she will strive to deserve them better. I am not clever enough to understand, as he does, the affairs of the nadon, but I quite agree with him in wishing all to be free and happy.
“Excuse me for not giving my name; but allow me to subscribe myself, yours respectfully, “A Keeper at Home-”
It is the difficult task of the workman’s wife to make the fireside an attractive and improving place — a place round which husbands and sons will be glad to gather when the work of the day is done. And in attempting this, you may possibly find assistance in the following hints: —
1. Be t’uhj. — Some wives, who are sufficiently indnstiious, have no talent for neatness. They are constantly scrubbing and scouring, and they keep chairs and tables marching and counter-marclihig from one apartment to another; but, except the turmoil at the time, and the humid exhalations afterward, there are no products of their ill-directed energy; in a day or two, all is the same dirt and disorder as ever. Others, you do not know when their house-cleaning is done, for you never find them worried and in dishabille; but, somehow, their furniture always finds its proper place; their hearth is always bright, and a limpid daylight always looks in at their unsullied window.
Few things are more apt to send a man to the playhouse or tavern, than a filthy or uproarious fireside. When he comes home in the evening, and finds his apartment a chaos of frowzy garments, and broken dishes, and potato parings, and squaHing children; or a laundry steaming with wet linen, and fragrant with soap-suds, he is very apt to light his pipe and sally forth in search of a more cheerful scene. And, therefore, every wTjman who would save her husband from the gin-shop and bad company, should contrive to get all her bustle and rough work completed betimes, and have a trim and smilino; chamber awaitinrr his return.*
2. Be thrifty. — The picture of an industrious and fru2:al housewife was sketched
* There are now wash-houses provided in many places, where, for a payment of twopence or threepence, an active woman may do all the washing of an ordinary family in a few hours. Hot water, drying apparatus, smoothing irons, and a mangle are provided; and besides all the economy of time and money, the linen is dried without being soiled, and your own abode is saved the horrors of the weekly ablution.
by an inspired pencil long ago, and many a Scotch and Ensflish matron miirht be quoted who has gone far to repeat the original. “Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She seeketh wool and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands. She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms. She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff. She is not afraid of the snow for her household; for all her household are doubly clothed. Her husband is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders of the land. She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tonirue is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain; but a woman that feareth the Lord she shall be praised.”*
A man may work ever so hard; but, if his wife be not a good manager, no money will preserve his children from rags, nor his abode from wretchedness. And if, after all his earnings, he comes home to a joyless lodging; if, before he can obtain his supper, he has to go in search of his gossiping helpmeet, and by the way picks from the gutter his tattered son and heir; if he finds that his wife is too fine a lady to handle the broom or the needle; if he is ashamed when a neighbor drops in, or if, for want of a timely stitch, he himself can scarcely venture out, he is sure to grow abject or broken-hearted. He perceives that it is of little moment whether, at the end of the week, he brings home half-a-sovereign or half-acrown, and sees no use in procuring gay dresses and bright ribands, which only render more grotesque the scare-crows around him. On the other hand, he must * Proverbs xxxi.
be a ineiin-spirited mortal who can see the wife of his youth toiling and striving to secure resjiectability and comfort fur himself and his household, without straininf his every nerve to help her. A savage maybe content to hnsk in the sunshine, and look on while the mother of his children is catching fish or planting yams; but in England we trust there are few of these lazy churls. And we have known of instances not a few where a man has been reclaimed from idle or self-indulgent habits by the influence of a judicious and warm-hearted wife. The following is an instance, which we the more gladly give, because it occurred in the sister isle: —
“One day,” says Mrs. Hall,” we entered a cottage in the suburbs of Cork: a young woman was knitting stockings at the door. It was as neat and comfortable as any in the most prosperous districts of England. We tell her brief story in her own words, as nearly as we can recall them:
*” My husband is a wheelwright, and always earns his guinea a week; he was a good workman, but the love of drink was so strong in him, and it wasn’t often he brought me more than five shillings out of his one pound on a Saturday night, and it broke my heart to see the children too ragged to send to school, to say nothing of the starved look they had, out of the little I could give them. Well, God be praised, he took the pledge, and the next Sunday he laid twenty-one shillings upon the chair you sit upon! Oh, didn’t I give thanks upon my bended knees that night!
“* Still I was fearful it would not last, and I spent no more than the five shillings I used to, saying to myself, May be the money will be more wanted than it is now! Well, the next week he brought me the same, and the next, and the next, until eight weeks had passed; and, glory to God, there was no change for the bad in my husband! and all the while he never asked me why there was nothing better for him out of his earnings. So I felt there was no fear for him, and the ninth week, when lie came home to me, I had this table and these six chairs, one for myself, four for the children, and one for him; and I was dressed in a new gown, and the children all had new clothes and shoes and stockings, and upon his chair I pnt a bran new suit, and upon his plate, I put the bill and receipt for them all, just the eight sixteen shillings, the cost that I’d saved out of his waQ:es, not knowing what might happen, and that always went for drink. And he cried, good lady and gentleman, he cried like a baby, but ’twas with thanks to God; and now where’s a healthier man than my husband in the whole county of Cork, or a happier wife than myself, or decenter or better fed children than my own V”
3. Kcej) a good temper. — Nothing can be more vexatious than a smoky fireside. A cold wind is sifting through the passage, and a handful of moist brushwood is sputtering under the coals, and just when you hope that it is about to kindle, a black tornado comes whirling down the vent, and, as sooty flakes and Egyptian darkness fill the air, eyes water, nostrils tingle, the baby screams, grandmother coughs, the sash flies open, Boreas enters, and the cat disgusted leaves the room. And like that smoking chimney is the house whose presiding genius is swift to wrath, or sullen. Jaded with work, or harassed by the day’s cross accidents; often drenched in the rain, or draggled by the world’s rough usage, the man of toil wends homeward. “Ha, ha!” he says, “I shall soon be warm: I shall see the fire.” But, alas! the fuel is green, and the chimney does not draw. Displeased by some untoward incident, or in a fretful humor, his yoke-fellow receives him with reproaches, or a frown, or treats him to long and troublous stories; and instead of the bright solace and glowing comfort, on which he vainly counted, he watches the smouldering wrath and its swelling puffs, till, in despair, he flings down the bellows, and rushes into the smokeless tempest out of doors.
No doubt a wife has many things to vex her. Your work is hard. Your cares are many. You have a host of things to manage; things so minute that you are not thanked if they all go right, but at the same time so weighty that you are exceedingly upbraided if the least of them goes wrong. And when your foot is on the cradle, and the saucepan is boiling over, and the last torn garment engages either hand, a hungry boy or an impatient husband rushes in shouting for his dinner and a dozen other things directly. xlnd in the midst of all that worry, nothing is so natural as to fume and scold and lose your temper; but in the midst of all that worry, nothing were so noble as to remain serene, and self-possessed, and cheerful. And if you seek help from God, he will enable you to possess your soul in patience. He can give you peace and sprightliness, and make you the ventilator of the smoky chamber. Amid surrounding tumult, he can supply you with soft words and gentle looks, and, like the bird of fable, make your very presence the antidote of storms. He can give you that cheerful countenance which doeth good like a medicine — a medicine which, if it does the patient good, does still more good to those by whom it is administered.
4. Cultivate personal piety. — It is a great matter for a wife and a mother to be intelligent and well-informed; for without this she can not exert a lasting ascendency over her children, nor be the fit associate of a thoughtful and strong-minded husband. But more important than a cultivated understanding is a sanctified heart. Of all possessions the most permanent, it is of all influences the most powerful; for even those who hate it most bitterly are constrained to yield it a constant though reluctant homage. Does any matter cause you grief? Like Hannah, that “woman of a sorrowful spirit,” lay it before the Lord, and your countenance will be no more sad. Does any course of conduct perplex you?” In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct thy
Steps.” Is any undertaking completed, and can you personally do no more in order to promote it? “Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established.” Do you wish to be blameless in your personal demeanor and thorough in domestic duties? Take for your guide the Word of God; and “when thou goest it shall lead thee; when thou sleepest it shall keep thee; and when thou awakest it shall talk with thee.” Are you anxious to prepossess in favor of piety the mind of your partner? Then “be in subjection to your own husband; that if any obey not the Word, they also may without the Word be won by the conversation of the wives; while they behold your chaste conversation coupled with fear (that is, your modest and respectful demeanor). And let your adorning be, not that outward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel; but let it be the ornament of a meek and cpiiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price.”
Of all your d uties the most arduous is the right training of your offspring. It is a duty which mainly devolves on you. Of all others, a mother is most constantly with her children, and of all influences her teaching, her example, and her prayers, are the likeliest to decide their future character.
Last summer a famous German writer died. His young days were the winter of his life; for, when a few weeks old he had lost his mother, and in all his rude tossings from place to place he had fallen in with no kind welcomes nor any gentle words. But somehow he contrived to o;et to colle2:e, and was cramming his mind with such dry learning as colleges can give, when one stormy night in the Christmas recess, he stopped at a country inn. “As I entered the parlor darkened by the evening twilight, I was suddenly wrapped in an unexpected embrace, while amid showers of tears and kisses I heard these words, ‘Oh! my child — ray dear child!’ Though I knew that this greeting was not for me, yet the motherly pressure seemed to me the herald of better days, the beautiful welcome to a new and better world, and a sweet trembling passed over me. As soon as lighted candles came in, the illusion vanished. The modest hostess started from me in some consternation; then looking at me with smiling embarrassment, she told me that my height exactly corresponded to that of her son, whom she expected home that night from a distant school. As he did not arrive that night she tended and served me with a loving cordiality, as if to make amends to herself for the disappointment of his absence. The dainties which she had prepared for him she bestowed on me, and next morning she packed up a supply of provisions, procured me a place in the diligence, wrapped me up carefully against frost and rain, and refusing to impoverish my scanty purse by taking any payment, dismissed me with tender admonitions and motherly farewells. Yet all this kindness was bestowed, not on me, but on the image of her absent son! Such is a mother’s heart! I can not describe the feelings with which I left the village. My whole being was in a strange delicious confusion.” And in point of fact that motherly embrace had opened in the bosom of the orphan boy the fountain ofpleasantfanciesand noble feelings which have rendered Henry Zchokke the most popular story-writer, and one of the truest patriots, in all his fatherland. It was the only night when he had ever known a home, and from that brief hour he carried enough away to give a friendly aspect to mankind, and a joyful purpose to his future life.
And, like the kind hostess, your own heart is full of motherly affection. Let it freely forth. Let your children feel how fondly you yearn toward them, and what a delight it is to you to see and make them happy. This affection is a logic which the dullest can understand, and it will insure the swiftest compliance with your wishes. 15
This cord of love is of all chains the longest lasting; the most vicious can not break it, and even when you yourself are mouldering in the clay it will moor the wayward spirit to your memory, and keep it from much sin. Therefore, see to it — not only that you love them, but that you make them conscious of your lovingness.
And then, by the attraction of your own tenderness, seek to draw them into the love of God. If your own be the right religion, the living God will be your chiefest joy. You will look up to him as your father and friend, and will desire to move through your dwellinn and travel throuf];h the world in the light of his constant complacency. And if you have got this length — if through the great Atonement you have got into the peace of God — there will be Bible lessons in all you do, and a living gospel in your gentle looks. Your children will perceive that to love God is the true way to be happy, and whatever else it may accomplish, they will learn to associate the religion of Jesus with a dear parent’s shining face and blameless walk.
But, after all, if you wish to exert a hallowing influence on your children now, and if you would see them give themselves to God in the dew of their youth, you must abound in prayer as your surest and most unfailing resource. We speak of adamant and other substances as hard to fuse: we forget that the hardest of all is human will. To bring the will of your little child to the bending or melting point, needs a softening power none other than the grace of God. We speak of locks which are hard to open; we forget that the most intricate of all is the heart of man. It has wards and windings into which even a mother’s love can not insinuate, and of which God’s spirit only knows the way. And wherefore is it that God has given you this vehement solicitude for your children’s souls, while at the same time he shows you that you can not there introduce the truths which you love, nor there enshrine the Saviour whom you yourself adore? Wherefore, but to shut you up in lowly dependence and earnest expectancy to Him who hath the key of David, and who, when his set time comes, will open the door and take conclusive possession? And surely, among all the supplications which reach the mercy-seat, there is none more welcome than the cry of a believing parent for her darling child. Surely, there is none which the great High Priest will present with a more gracious alacrity, or the God and Father of our Lord Jesus hear with a more divine benignity. And of all the petitions filed in the court of heaven, there is surely none less likely to be forgotten, nor one which, should you meanwhile quit this praying-ground, you may leave more confidently to the care and love of your Advocate within the vail. But by far the happiest home is that whose heads, like Zacharias and Elisabeth, are of one mind, and who walk in the statutes and ordinances of God together. In that case, you will be able to take counsel together, and aid one another in the anxious business of teaching and training your children. Your prayers on their behalf will ascend in concert. The example of the one will not neutralize the instructions of the other; and whichsoever is first summoned away will have the comfort of knowing that the work will not stop when their teacher dies.
Having, therefore, said so much to wives and mothers, we may perhaps be allowed, ere closing this number, to offer a (ew friendly hints to fathers and husbands. But what better hints can we tender than the plain directions given in the Bible long ago?
That Bible bids married people be mutually respectful. It requires the wife to “reverence her husband,” and the husband is enjoined to “give honor to the wife.” One day, when Oberlin was eighty years of age, in climbing a mountain he was obliged to lean on his son-in-law, while his wife, less infirm, walked behind by herself. But, meeting some of his parishioners, the good pastor felt so awkward at this apparent lack of gallantry, that he stopped to explain the reason. Was it not a fine feature in the old worthy’s character, and would it not be well for the world if it contained more of this Christian chivalry? Would it not be well if it contained more of those hallowed unions, where people see to the last with the same admiring and affectionate eyes with which they first learned to love one another? And would there not be more of these unions if people learned to love one another “in the Lord” — if the attachment which originated in good sense, and congenial taste, and moral worth, were perpetuated in Christian principle? Piety softens the feelings and refines the sentiments. It renders its possessor “courteous and kindly afFectioned.” And of that courtesy and kind affection, who is the rightful object, if it be not his nearest earthly friend V
On a Saturday night you may have noticed a firm-built fellow stalking along, with his pipe in his cheek and his hands in his pockets, while a forlorn creature limped after him, shifting from one tired arm to another the laden market-basket. And in choosing a companion for life, you were sorry that the lazy rascal had not thought of a donkey. But you spent the next hour with a shopmate in his own abode; and whether it were to display the meekness of his wan and timid consort, or to give you an august idea of himself as a lord of creation, you can not tell; but he always spoke to her with such fierce contempt and vengeful bitterness, that you felt, Happy cobbler’s lapstone! Happy torn slipper, adorning but not confining that cobbler’s fantastic toe! Happy target on which the steam-gun flattens fifty balls per minute! Happy anvil on which Vulcan repaired old thunderbolts! Happy all the things which people thump and thwack and tread upon! Happier than helpless woman with feelings thus downtrampled! Happier than the wife whose weary lot it is to be the anvil of an angry temper, the target of a fiery tongue! Yea, happier she who, like Indian squaw, lugs at her master’s heels the heavy load, herself the truck and dray — the porter and parcel-van!
It filled you with burning indignation; and we esteem you none the less for that manly shame. It assures us that, in your own dwelling, we shall not find you the cold-hearted or coarse-minded despot; and it tells us that you are blessed with a partner whom you are proud “to have and to hold, to love and to cherish.” “Oh, well is thee, and happy shalt thou be.” Happy are you to retain the refinement and elevation of character, and the youthfulness of affection, which make the husband still the lover; and happy are you to have a wife so true, and wise, and self-denied, that to care for her comfort and share her society are still as delightful as when first she gave you her troth.
And yet, dear sirs, how hard it is to reach the Bible standard of conjugal devotedness! So lofty is that standard, that it seems fitter for a pulpit text than for quotation in this familiar paper. “Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the church, and gave himself for it, that he might sanctify it, and present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy and without blemish.” Think of this. The Saviour loved the church in order to make it holy. His love was not only self-sacrificing, but it was hallowing. Its tendency and effect were to make its objects better. And those who are joined in your sacred relation are to take this divine example as the model of their love. You must seek the improvement of one another. The consciousness of sins and defects in his disciples did not cool toward them the Saviour’s affection. It only excited his tender sagacity and faithful skill to attempt their removal; and by gracious methods, one by one, he cured their infirmities. There was no arrogance in his tone, no disdain in his spirit; no haste nor vexation in his manner; but so mollifying was his gentleness, and so mild was his sanctity, that when he healed the fiiult he did Jiot hurt the feelings. And had we something of his high purpose, there would be little danger of affection decaying. There would be no risk of fault-finding, and no temptation to connive at sin. Reproofs would not break the head; and there would be no longer need that love should be blind.
And let us hope that you will contribute a father’s authority to a mother’s tenderness in the effort to bring up a devout and pious family. We trust that there is no need to inscribe the deprecating sentence on your door.* We trust that yours is a family which calls upon God’s name. Teach your children to be loving and generous to one another, and promptly obedient to their
Alluding to the words chalked on the doors of infected houses during the j)laguc of London, Philip Henry used to say, “If the worship of God he not in the house, write, ‘Lord, have mercy upon us!’ on the door.”
mother and you. Seek to fill their minds with veneration of God, and with early abhorrence of sin. See to it that your own conduct be obviously ruled by Bible maxims, and let your appeal be direct and frequent “to the law and to the testimony.” Sustain no frivolous excuse for absence at the hour of prayer, and try by all means to endear the sanctuary. Like the good citizen, sung by transatlantic bard :* —
“His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate’er he can. And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
“He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys; He hears the parson pray and preach;
He hears his daughter’s voice
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.”
Which leads us to notice, lastly, that p.othing makes the fireside so cheerful as a * Longfellow’s “Village Blacksmith.”
blessed hope beyond it. Even when you sit most lovingly there — though the daily task is completely done, and the infant in the cradle is fast asleep — though this is Saturday night, and to-morrow is the day of rest — though the embers are bright, and from its fat and poppling fountain in yon coal the jet of iras flames up like a silver cimiter; and though within your little chamber all is peace, and warmth, and snug repose — the roaring gusts and rattling drops remind you that it still is winter in the world. And when that withered leaf tapped and fluttered on the window, mother, why was it that your cheek grew pale, and something glistened in your eye? You thought it perhaps might come from the churchyard sycamore, and it sounded like a messenger from little Helen’s grave. It said, “Father and mother, think of me.” Yes, dreary were the homes of earth were it not for the home in Heaven. But see to it that yourselves be the Saviour’s followers, and then to you he says, “Let not your heart be troubled! In my Father’s house are many mansions: I go to prepare a place for you.” And when you come to love that Saviour rightly, you will love one another better, more truly, and more tenderly. And, trusting to meet again in that world where they neither marry nor are given in marriage, a purifying hope and a lofty affection will hallow your union on earth. And, if not inscribed above your mantel-shelf, there will at least be written in your deepest self the motto, sent to his bride by that illustrious scholar, Bengel: —
“Jesus in heaven;
Jesus in the heart;
Heaven in the heart;
The heart in heaven.”