Home! Sweet Home!!

Colonist, Volume II, Issue 192, 23 August 1859, Page 3

Home! Sweet Home!!

This exclamation frequently falls from the lips of the saint and the sinner;, the philosopher and 'the fool, the grave and the gay. The very sound, of the words, stirs up in the mind of the listener a host of cherished associations, many of which* though pleasant, are often tinged with melaneholjv There, far away from the land of o.urnatmtyy surrounded by strange scenes and strange faces, the thought of home often rises on the soul like a polar star. It is whilst we aro'wandering on the .burning shores of India, or traversing the Karoos of1. Africa, or roaming through the mighty forests and huge savannahs of the new world, or rocking on the billows of the uneziding deep, that the (hpught of home exerts its full power over the soul. Then memory; opens her magic storehouse' arid displays in ' panoramic array, the incidents of the .past. Under such circumstances, we aye apt to think ot. the beautiful cottage where we first saw the light, of the woodbine and jessamine and roses that clustered round its walls, of the verdant wood that crowned the sumtnitof the; neighboring hill; of the distant range pf-mqunfahis over the golden tops of which the early mom peeped in all the freshness of .its beauty; of the lake where in childhood we bathed and fished aud swam; of the companions of our, sports., in holiday; times, and above all, of the." dear friends wo have left behind, and whose pleasant faces* we probably shall never see again. When in iv distant land the thought of home stirs up these and a multitnde of other remembrances, and, at the same time, as if by magic, opens all the foun* tains of emotion. The young sea-boy, rocked to sleep on the bosom of the uneasy surge, -dreams of home, and revels in the midst of scenes that are far away. Freed by slumber from tbe cold realism of life, he beholds in vision the frieh>U of. bi3 youth, the companions of his Sj-oVt; and, t miy In', the still more venerated authors of his being. Now he wanders with fairy feet by crystal .stream and silvery lake, and anon he frolics ia the arms of h'u dear old mother, ami knows not that it is merely a drenm. Poor boy ! The ship shall yet reach port, and thou shalt see that in reality which! Thou now behoMest ia vision. For every virtuous mind home hath a multitude of attractions. It is there we pass our most pie* s isit hours, ami there we meet ihose eyes that beam on us with love, and hear those voices that breathe words of kinduess in our ears. lie it ever ro ivnnely, there's no \>hce liks home.