CHAPTER II.

THE YOUNG MAN AT HOME.

O WORD in our language is so fraught with grateful and enduring reminiscences, as the word Home. It touches chords which vibrate to the last pulse of our lives; it weaves a spell over every scene and every experience; and paints on the chambers of our imagination, pictures that neither time nor change can efface; and throughout every period of life that one spot comes back, to heighten each new pleasure, to soothe our anxieties, and to diffuse a serenity, as we taste each bitter cup. That dear mother, how she still smiles upon us, and utters those sweet tones in our world-tired ear. That vene

rated father, again he leads us by the wayside, and guides and guards our early days. Brothers and sisters, they come back, as on the Sabbath we trod, with punctual step, the churchward path; as we sat round the paternal board, or gathered at nightfall to repeat the well-known Scripture passages and sing our familiar hymns. Amid misfortune and calamity, there is a sun that never sets. Let all other springs of happiness

fail us, there are living waters. Over the chills of a cold world we feel that ever fresh and warm breath; and no neglect, disappointments, or alienations can obliterate the memory of its fadeless joys.

Home is, moreover, a Christian word; heathen lands know not the blessings it encircles; and in vain does the missionary think to plant the gospel firmly where domestic virtue is an unknown thing.

As regards the interest which the members of a family have in the characters of each other, this spot is of paramount concern. Whatever relations we sus

tain among a circle of kindred, there is an indivisible bond of sympathy between them and ourselves. We are daily exerting over them, or receiving from them, an influence in this respect, for good or for evil, of illimitable extent. Their honour, and their peace and happiness, are bound up in our particular dispositions and in our deportment, not only toward them personally, but everywhere, in all situations, and on all occasions. Hence the qualities and the conduct of a young man affect the reputation and the entire prosperity, inward and outward, of his kindred and home.

God has implanted in us a regard for human estimation, which, when rightly directed and duly restrained, is a laudable motive of action. But without virtue we cannot secure the approbation of others. It is real worth alone to which the world at large, and on the whole, accord this meed. And as with individuals, so with families, they have always a character and reputation at stake. And so inseparably are all that compose the same household united in this respect,

that while the excellence of one member rebounds to the praise of all, the vices of one bring discredit, and sometimes disgrace, on the whole.

Nothing is more common than, when a son has committed some flagrant offence, to infer, before our acquaintance with his connections, that they must be somewhat like himself. His parents, it is forthwith argued, must have set him a pernicious example; or at least they must have been grossly neglectful of his moral education. And his brothers also, the circumstances of the case being wholly unknown, are brought into suspicion by his misdemeanour. As we look at the young transgressor, we naturally conclude, since he is fresh from his home, he now bears the impress there given him. I do not say that such opinions always prove correct. We ought, undoubtedly, to know the whole case before passing this grave censure. But so the world in general does not; and every young man must take the world as it is, not as it ought to be. If he consent to fall into vicious courses, he must do it, knowing that it will cast a blot on the scene of his birth. He thus not only sacrifices his own good name, but, step by step, he degrades his family also. think too well of our youth to believe that they can deliberately do this. Let any one, however strong his propensities to evil, and however tempted by corrupt companions, see distinctly, that if he yields he will not only go down to ruin and woe himself, but carry with him, to a fearful extent, the kind and the pure, those nearest and dearest to him on earth, and he will stay his hand. In the dignity of a disinterested virtue,

I

he will say to the tempter, "How can I do this wickedness against the honour, and to the disgrace of that spot, which not only conscience and principle, but every affection of nature, bids me hold sacred?"

The welfare of man, in all respects, is intimately involved in his domestic connections. In the family alone can there be that intercourse of heart with heart, which falls like refreshing dew on the soul that is withered and parched by the heats of business and the intense selfishness of the world. Domestic privacy is not only essential to happiness, but, under God, it is the very nerve of one's efficiency and power. It gives the rest necessary to the active operations of judgment and discrimination. It keeps enclosed those wellsprings of the heart, whose flow is essential to float on the determinations of the head.

The family is a divine institution; and, by the very act of establishing it, Providence has distinctly taught that he who fulfils its demands with fidelity shall enjoy a high measure of all that is most desirable elsewhere, on earth; and, if faithful to God, no secondary station in the kingdom of heaven. The prevalence of a pure worship is connected with the success of this institution. And morality, and the order and wellbeing of the whole civil community, depend closely on the general extension of the fireside virtues.

To this quarter we must look for the chief element of national prosperity. "What France most needs," said the Emperor Bonaparte, "is mothers ;" and that is her need still: for the very word home has not its corresponding term in the French language. Old and

New England, on the other hand, owes her early and her latter glory to the Christian family.

To illustrate our subject let us look at some of the special relations of home. The filial bond touches sentiments deeper and more enduring than any other upon earth. It connects us with the guardians of our infancy, the guides of our childhood, and the monitors of our youth. How many sleepless hours, and with what unequalled anxieties did the mother that bore us watch over our endearing weakness! Before we could conceive the strength of her love, or imagine her unwearied care and her measureless sacrifices for our sake, what a debt did we already owe her! She first taught us of that Being from whose hand we came, and to her sweet voice we responded in our first reverential address to Him. The good mother watches the waking intellect of her children, and their moral culture more and more absorbs her mind. When a son leaves home to pursue his studies, or seek an avocation, her benedictions go with him; and her supplication is, that amid all perils and temptations he may be saved. Should he yield to vice, he is still her son; he may forget her, but she will not, she cannot forget him. How can that dear boy, of whom she hoped so much, sit in the seat of the scorner, and be given over to profaneness and profligacy? If, for any cause, he

departs from the path of purity, the aspiration of her secret heart continually is, "Oh, that, with the prodigal's steps, he would return to the ways of honour and virtue." Monica, the mother of St Augustine, "could not believe," she said, "that the son of so