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the more perfectly a man fulfills all his domestic duties, the more perfectly, in that very act, has he discharged his duty to the whole; for the whole is made up of parts, and its health depends entirely upon the health of the various parts. There are, of course, general as well as specific duties; but the more conscientious a man is in the discharge of specific duties, the more ready will he be to perform those that are general; and we believe that the converse of this will be found equally true, and that those who have least regard for home-who have, indeed, no home, no domestic circle-are the worst citizens. This they may not be apparently; they may not break the laws, nor do anything to call down upon them censure from the community, and yet, in the secret and almost unconscious dissemination of demoralizing principles, may be doing a work far more destructive of the public good than if they had committed a robbery.

We always feel pain when we hear a young man speak lightly of home, and talk carelessly, or it may be with sportive ridicule, of the "old man," and the "old woman," as if they were of but little consequence. We mark it as a bad indication, and feel that the feet of that young man are treading upon dangerous ground. His home education may not have been of the best kind, nor may home influences have reached his higher and better feelings; but he is at least old enough now to understand the causes, and to seek rather to bring into his home all that it needs to render it more attractive, than to estrange himself from it, and expose its defects.

Instances of this kind are not of very frequent occurrence. Home has its charms for nearly all, and the very name comes with a blessing to the spirit. This, however, is more the case with those who have been separated from it, than it is with those who yet remain in the old homestead, with parents, brothers, and sisters as their friends and companions.

The earnest love of home, felt by nearly all who have been compelled to leave that pleasant place, is a feeling that should be tenderly cherished, and this love should be kept alive by associations that have in them as perfect a resemblance of

home as it is possible to obtain. It is for this reason that it is bad for a young man to board in a large hotel, where there is nothing in which there is even an image of the home circle. Each has his separate chamber; but that is not home; all meet together at the common table; but there is no home feeling there, with its many sweet reciprocations. The meal completed, all separate, each to his individual pursuit or pleasure. There is a parlor, it is true; but there are no family gatherings there. One and another sit there, as inclination prompts; but each sits alone, busy with his own thoughts. All this is a poor substitute for home. And yet it offers its attractions to some. A young man in a hotel has more freedom than in a family or private boarding house. He comes in and goes out unobserved; there is no one to say to him, "why?" or "wherefore?" But this is a dangerous freedom, and one which no young man should desire.

But mere negative evils, so to speak, are not the worst that beset a young man who unwisely chooses a public hotel as a place of boarding. He is much more exposed to temptations there than in a private boarding house or at home. Men of licentious habits, in most cases, select hotels as boarding places; and such rarely scruple to offer to the ardent minds of young men, with whom they happen to fall in company, those allurements that are most likely to lead them away from virtue. And, besides this, there being no evening home circle in a hotel, a young man who is not engaged earnestly in some pursuit that occupies his hours of leisure from business, has nothing to keep him there, but is forced to seek for something to interest his mind elsewhere, and is, in consequence, more open to temptation.

Home is man's true place. Every man should have a home. Here his first duties lie, and here he finds the strength by which he is able successfully to combat in life's temptations. Happy is that young man who is still blessed with a home-who has his mother's counsel and the pure love of sisters to strengthen and cheer him amid life's opening combats.

Parents.

Although the attainment of mature age takes away the obligation of obedience to parents, as well as the right of dependence upon them, it should lessen in no way a young man's deference, respect, or affection. For twenty-one years, or from the earliest period of infancy, through childhood and youth, up to mature age, his parents have felt and thought, and labored for him. They have watched over his pillow, anxiously, in sickness; they have, with the most unselfish love, earnestly sought his good in everything, even to the extent of much self-denial; and can he now offer them less than deference, respect, and affection? No; surely no young man will

withhold this.

Do you see that feeble infant

Let us show you a picture. asleep on its mother's bosom? How helpless it lies! How dependent it is upon others for everything! The neglect of a moment might cause some fatal injury to a being so entirely powerless. But that mother's love neither slumbers nor sleeps. It is ever around the fragile creature committed to her care, and she is ready to guard its life with her own. You once lay thus in your mother's arms, and she nourished your helpless infancy thus at her bosom. She watched over you, loved you, protected and defended you; and all was from love,-deep, pure, fervent love, the first love and the most unselfish love that ever has or ever will bless you in this life, for it asked for and expected no return. A mother's love!-it is the most perfect reflection of the love of God ever thrown back from the mirror of a human heart.

Here is another picture. A mother sits in grief, and her boy, now no longer an infant, stands in sullen disobedience by her side. She has striven to correct his faults for his own good, and in love reproved him; but he would not regard her admonitions. Again and again she has sought, by gentle urgings, to direct him to

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good; but all has been in vain, and she now resorts to punishment that is far more painful to her than to her child. The scene is changed. See where she sits now, alone, bitterly weeping. There is an image in her mind, and but one, that obscures all the rest; it is the image of her suffering child-suffering by her hand! Her breast labors heavily, her heart is oppressed-she feels deep anguish of spirit. But she has done her duty, painful though it has been, and that sustains her. You were once a boy like that; and thus your own mother has grieved over your disobedience, and felt the same bitterness of spirit. And love for you was the cause. Can you ever forget this?

Do you see that darkened chamber? By the bed of sickness sits a pale watcher, and there are tears upon her cheek. Day and night, for nearly a week, has she sat by the bed, or moved with noiseless feet about the room. She has not taken off her garments during the time; nor has she joined the family at their regular meals. Who is the object of all this deep solicitude? It is her child. The hand of sickness is upon him, and he has drawn near to the gates of death. In her solicitude she forgets even herself. She has but one thought, and that is for her offspring. Her love, her care, her anxious hopes are at length rewarded. The destroyer passes by and leaves her her child. Thus has your mother watched, day by day and night by night, beside your couch of sickness. Never forget this, young man. Forget every other obligation, but never forget how much you owe your mother! You can never know a thousandth part of what she has endured for your sake; and now, in her old age, all she asks is that you will love her-not with the love she still bears to you; she does not expect that-and care for her, that life's sunshine may still come through the windows and over the threshold of her dwelling.

And with no less of respect and affection should a young man think of his father. Not until his own life-trials come on will he fully understand how much he owes his father. It is no light task which a man takes upon himself—that of sustaining, by his single efforts, a whole family, and sustaining them in comfort, and per

haps in luxury. You have an education that enables you to take a respectable position in society; you have a groundwork of good principles; habits of industry; in fact, all that a young man need ask for in order that he may rise in the world; and for these you are indebted to your father. To give you such advantages cost him labor, self-denial, and much anxious thought. Many times, during the struggle to sustain his family, has he been pressed down with worldly difficulties, and almost ready to despair. He has seen his last dollar, it may be, leave his hand, without knowing certainly where the next was to come from. But still his love for his children has urged him on, and by new and more vigorous efforts he has overcome the difficulties by which he was surrounded.

A young man should think often of these things, and let them influence his conduct to his parents. There will come a time in life when such thoughts will force themselves upon him; but these thoughts may come too late.

Toward parents the deportment should always be deferential and kind. A young man, who properly reflects upon the new relation now existing between them and himself, will naturally change his manner of address, and be far more guarded than he was before he arrived of age, lest he say or do anything that might cause them to feel that he now considered himself beyond their control. When they advise, he should consider well what they say; and, if compelled to differ from them, he should carefully explain the reason, and show truly his regret at not being able to act from their judgment of the matter. As a general thing, however, he will find their advice better than the counsels of his own scarcely fledged reason, and he will do well seriously to deliberate upon it before taking his own

course.

Above all, let no unkind word ever pass your lips. Nothing stings so, nothing so deeply wounds the heart of a parent, as harsh words from his children who have grown up and become men and women. Almost as bad as this is neglect.

The older your father and mother grow, the narrower becomes the sphere of their hopes and wishes until, at length, all thought

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