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CHAPTER III.

PIETY AT HOME.

WE all readily recognise the music there is in the word home. It is sacred in our thoughts. The old house where we were born, the faces with which we first became familiar, the scenes which first attracted our attention, the incidents of our earliest remembrance, the sorrows and joys of childhood, and the deeper impressions of our youthful days, combine to give especial attractiveness to that one spot of earth -the only one on which we can ever look with the same intense feelings of interest.

Passing years do not diminish, but rather help to deepen this feeling. New joys and unexpected sorrows become associated in maturer life with the home of our childhood. Our life continues to be influenced by it, even though we have long left its peaceful shadeseven though the home itself, save in our fond and loving memories, has ceased to exist.

All our better literature breathes this spirit whenever it touches upon domestic life. Many of our poets, and among them the purest and best, have recorded, in words that will not die, this home feeling. It has given a chastened and hallowed tone to many a lofty strain. Milton, Cowper, Scott, Wordsworth, Hemans, and Montgomery, widely differing as they do in the character of their poetic genius, and in their range of thought, amply prove the true poet's appreciation of

home memories and home-life. Goldsmith's affectionate longing for the home of his youth as a retreat in age must have awakened a response in many a heart :

“ In all my wanderings round this world of care,
In all my griefs—and God has given my share,—
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown,
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down;
To husband out life's taper at the close,
And keep the flame from wasting by repose.

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And as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue
Pants to the place from whence at first he flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations past,
Here to return-and die at home at last."

By many a camp fire, amid the perils of war or the wilderness, have the strains of "Home, sweet home!" drawn tears from the eyes of otherwise hardened men. Sometimes the intense longing for home passes into a well-known form of disease. If the longing is not gratified, “melancholy, loss of sleep and appetite, and finally, perhaps, disease of the lungs, supervene." It is recorded that "once, when a Highland regiment was on foreign service, in a very healthy climate, many of the men fell sick without any apparent cause, till the hospital was filled with invalids. One beautiful evening, when the moon was gliding tranquilly through the heavens, a skilful surgeon who was attached to the regiment took a ramble through the barracks, where the piper was playing the favourite Scotch air,—

• Lochaber no more,

May be to return to Lochaber no more.'

The piper played in the most touching manner, and

when the doctor drew near to the room in the barracks where the soldiers were assembled, he observed that they were all listening to the strains of the piper with deep emotion. Some leaned against the wall, others lay along the ground; one of them was in tears, while another sobbed aloud, with his face hid in his hands. It immediately occurred to the doctor that it was the music which occasioned the sickness of the soldiers, by exciting painful recollections of their native land. He therefore sent for the piper on the following day, gave him a present that he might not name the circumstance, and directed him to play lively tunes in future, and on no account whatever to repeat the strains of Lochaber no more.' The piper played his merriest airs, the invalids grew better, and in a short time there was not a sick man in the whole regiment."

"There is a land, of every land the pride,

Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside;
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
And milder moons emparadise the night;
A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth,
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth.
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air;
In every clime the magnet of his soul,

Touch'd by remembrance, trembles to that pole :

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Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?
Art thou a man ?—a patriot ?—look around:
Oh, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy country, and that spot тHY HOME!"

MONTGOMERY.

Wordsworth has beautifully depicted the effect of home memories on the imagination in his description of the sailor, who,

Of tiresome indolence would often hang
Over the vessel's side, and gaze and gaze;

And while the broad green wave and sparkling foam
Flashed round him images and hues that wrought
In union with the employment of his heart,
He thus, by feverish passion overcome,
Even with the organs of his bodily eye,
Below him in the bosom of the deep,

Saw mountains, saw the forms of sheep that grazed
On verdant hills, with dwellings among trees,
And shepherds clad in the same country grey
Which he himself had worn."

How supremely important is it that this natural feeling—one of the deepest and the purest of our fallen nature_should be made subservient to the highest purposes of life; that memory should in after years associate scenes of piety with its earliest recollections; that the powerful influence which such associations must have on the modes of thought and habits of life should be on the side of virtue and holiness! The memories of home, even though that home may not have been sanctified by piety, often keep a place in the mind of the reckless and profligate, and form the one vulnerable point in a conscience otherwise hardened by sin. May we not hope for greater results when the affection and tenderness of home are made doubly endearing by the hopes and blessings of the gospel? The full effect of such memories, of such homes, eternity alone can disclose.

In order to accomplish these results, our homes must be thoroughly Christian. The relations and duties of home must all be regulated by that law of life which the gospel unfolds. Affection must be sanctified and heightened by a holy solicitude for the highest wellbeing of all who compose the family. The ordinary life of the home circle must be made, in its purity, simplicity, order, and all-pervading spirit of love, a religious life. This is the sacred responsibility of the heads of the family. To this all inferior interests must be subordinated. Their authority must be made to subserve this end. The most earnest prayer, the most persevering effort, the most vigilant watchfulness will be well repaid if this is attained.

The home-life of the late Dr. Waugh, in his early days, appears to have been of this kind. His father was a fariner, and, as was the custom in Scotland in the middle of the last century, the farm-servants formed a part of the household. "The connection between master and servant was of a patriarchal character. The masters extended a parental care over their servants, who cherished a filial affection for them in return. They sat, ate, and often worked together; and after the labours of the day were ended, assembled together around the blazing fire in the 'farmer's ha', conversing over the occurrences of the day. Not unfrequently religious subjects were introduced, and the lives of godly men, and of those who, in evil times, had battled or suffered for the right, were affectionately called to mind. But the religious order of the family was the distinguishing characteristic. In fact, a strict and regular observance of pious duties so generally