nes and studies familiar to them both. Shine out of the past, dear, kindly faces ! Break upon our ice-bound life with the sunshine of those hours in which sorrow was not, nor want and hardship, nor bereavement and the vacant chair. One face can never be forgotten by most of us. It is as necessary a face as though it belonged to the family in a multitude of homes. Shakespeare speaks of the infant in the nurse's arms. The nurse's face, not less than her arms, is part of our home memories. The good creature loved and cared for us, as we grew out of utter helpless- ness to the use of our limbs and the exercise of our mimic strength, as dearly as if she had been our mother instead of our mother's help and substitute. We hear much about the mothers of great men and the influence they have exercised over the mind and character, nor can this influence be overrated. But a volume might be written upon the nurses of great men and women whose names are unknown to HOME MEMORIES. 329 fame and who are never heard of; for, except the ubiquitous, sempi- ternal and mythical nurses of George Washington, domestic history is silent upon the influence which the faithful domestic servant has often had upon the disposition, the imagination and the future con- duct of heroes and heroines. Brothers and sisters fill the private box in memory's theatre to many of us. Some are remembered with pain and grief too deep for words, and others with a swelling sense of grateful pride at the noble fulfilment they have made of early promise. It is as though we had fought a brother's battles when we look back upon his scars of honorable warfare. His success is a bright flower-bed bathed in sun- shine in the story of our humble lives. How proud the mother was of him, her daring, generous, patient, self-sacrificing boy ! If there is a weak brother in most large families there is generally a strong one also, who preserves the balance of family qualities and the honor of its record. Objects as well as persons, though not so vividly, once seen and loved in childhood, and from having been associated with the dawn of life's perceptions, become unfading furniture in the memories of home. Who does not sometimes seem to handle again the old fishing-rod, the antique box, the massive walking-stick, the heredi- tary punch-bowl, that were heirlooms in the family ! Even an old bunch of keys may be remembered because of the rooms that it un- locked, some seldom visited and oppressing the spirits with an inde- finable gloom ; others light, cheerful, bright in color, cosy to sit in, from whose walls the old heroic sires and matrons of our lineage, or the grand persons of the world's history, looked down on us with placid condescension. One key, perhaps, unlocked a store-closet full of dainty dishes and rich preserves, and when we heard it turn in the housekeeper's hand we knew that company was coming to dinner, and sighed the sigh of joyful anticipation at the remnants of jam or jelly that would certainly find their way at last to our appreciative and prematurely smacking lips. For surely the smacking of the lips is one of the luxurious memories of home. 330 THE hearthstone; or, life at home.

AI-modernized reading of the original text

nes and studies familiar to them both. Shine out of the past, dear, kindly faces ! Break upon our ice-bound life with the sunshine of those hours in which sorrow was not, nor want and hardship, nor bereavement and the vacant chair. One face can never be forgotten by most of us. It is as necessary a face as though it belonged to the family in a multitude of homes. Shakespeare speaks of the infant in the nurse's arms. The nurse's face, not less than her arms, is part of our home memories. The good creature loved and cared for us, as we grew out of utter helplessness to the use of our limbs and the exercise of our mimic strength, as dearly as if she had been our mother instead of our mother's help and substitute. We hear much about the mothers of great men and the influence they have exercised over the mind and character, nor can this influence be overrated. But a volume might be written upon the nurses of great men and women whose names are unknown to fame and who are never heard of; for, except the ubiquitous, sempiternal and mythical nurses of George Washington, domestic history is silent upon the influence which the faithful domestic servant has often had upon the disposition, the imagination and the future conduct of heroes and heroines. Brothers and sisters fill the private box in memory's theatre to many of us. Some are remembered with pain and grief too deep for words, and others with a swelling sense of grateful pride at the noble fulfilment they have made of early promise. It is as though we had fought a brother's battles when we look back upon his scars of honorable warfare. His success is a bright flower-bed bathed in sunshine in the story of our humble lives. How proud the mother was of him, her daring, generous, patient, self-sacrificing boy ! If there is a weak brother in most large families there is generally a strong one also, who preserves the balance of family qualities and the honor of its record. Objects as well as persons, though not so vividly, once seen and loved in childhood, and from having been associated with the dawn of life's perceptions, become unfading furniture in the memories of home. Who does not sometimes seem to handle again the old fishing-rod, the antique box, the massive walking-stick, the hereditary punch-bowl, that were heirlooms in the family ! Even an old bunch of keys may be remembered because of the rooms that it unlocked, some seldom visited and oppressing the spirits with an indefinable gloom ; others light, cheerful, bright in color, cosy to sit in, from whose walls the old heroic sires and matrons of our lineage, or the grand persons of the world's history, looked down on us with placid condescension. One key, perhaps, unlocked a store-closet full of dainty dishes and rich preserves, and when we heard it turn in the housekeeper's hand we knew that company was coming to dinner, and sighed the sigh of joyful anticipation at the remnants of jam or jelly that would certainly find their way at last to our appreciative and prematurely smacking lips. For surely the smacking of the lips is one of the luxurious memories of home. 330 THE hearthstone; or, life at home.

The hearthstone; or, Life at home