hecy of life. Its warmth, so gradual in its comfort, has soothed each nerve and limb. Its bright aspect, re- flected by the flickering lights and shadows on the walls, now bath- ing a window-pane with " dim, religious light," now lighting up some far corner which had lain in shadow, is full of teaching. It is just mysterious and checkered enough to give a cosy, grateful sense of peace at home in contrast with the wind and storm without. It touches with a sudden gleam the heart of the solitary gazer, and re- minds it of the wanderers and outcasts who arc shivering with the winter's cold and have no fires in their bare garrets. Upward and onward the mind soars into the mysteries of the fire, an element so grand that the Persians worshipped it as God, and Christianity has borrowed from it the most vivid descriptions of divine justice and the purification of the world. The lambent flame, the red, fierce coal, suggest the conflagration of worlds in which the works of man and. 332 THE hearthstone; or, life at home. nature shall be alike consumed. It bears the imagination to those eternal fires which men call stars, that burn and shine in the blue ether like lamps around the throne of the Eternal. All science, all history, all poetry, are glowing in the nursery fire which keeps alive the memories of home. The " Dies Irae " is written in the burning coals, and so is the warmth and heat of that divine beneficence which can melt the heart of stone and unbind the icy fetters of worlds and men. It is in the open fire that the word " home " is written. Take away the warm, bright fire on the winter's day and the heart is chilled and all tender memories are banished. It is the live coal or the Yule log that makes the altar upon which unselfish sacrifices are offered and domestic affections are kept warm and glowing. The furniture may be scanty, the dwelling humble, but while the fire burns brightly on the hearthstone we feel at home.. When the fire of home gops out we sink into ourselves and scarcely feel that we are members of a family, in the chill sense of desolation and penury. When husband, son, or father has been on some journey exposed to the rough, cold wind and storm, no word of welcome is so cheering as that which bids them come near the fire. The sense of warmth and comfort steals over the shivering limbs ; their faces glow in the kindly warmth and light; smiles and words of cheer take the place of complaints about the weather. Then the wet boots are taken off, and the slippers that have been warming for them by the fire give rest and ease to the tired, cold feet. " This is bad weather to be out in. O how glad I am to get home ! " is the traveller's ex- clamation; and, "O I'm so glad you're home!" that of each heart that cares for him. Then memories are quickened and tongues are loosened, and one after another around the fireside recalls some story of the past, when, on a night like this, a dear one was caught in a snow-storm and almost perished in the cold. One remembers the stormy night when the sailor of the family set out to join his ship, and another the midnight knocking at the door which awoke and frightened them, but which heralded the unexpected return of the absent one from some long voyage. Some rough experience of the HOME MEMORIES. 333

AI-modernized reading of the original text

hecy of life. Its warmth, so gradual in its comfort, has soothed each nerve and limb. Its bright aspect, reflected by the flickering lights and shadows on the walls, now bathing a window-pane with " dim, religious light," now lighting up some far corner which had lain in shadow, is full of teaching. It is just mysterious and checkered enough to give a cosy, grateful sense of peace at home in contrast with the wind and storm without. It touches with a sudden gleam the heart of the solitary gazer, and reminds it of the wanderers and outcasts who arc shivering with the winter's cold and have no fires in their bare garrets. Upward and onward the mind soars into the mysteries of the fire, an element so grand that the Persians worshipped it as God, and Christianity has borrowed from it the most vivid descriptions of divine justice and the purification of the world. The lambent flame, the red, fierce coal, suggest the conflagration of worlds in which the works of man and. 332 THE hearthstone; or, life at home. nature shall be alike consumed. It bears the imagination to those eternal fires which men call stars, that burn and shine in the blue ether like lamps around the throne of the Eternal. All science, all history, all poetry, are glowing in the nursery fire which keeps alive the memories of home. The " Dies Irae " is written in the burning coals, and so is the warmth and heat of that divine beneficence which can melt the heart of stone and unbind the icy fetters of worlds and men. It is in the open fire that the word " home " is written. Take away the warm, bright fire on the winter's day and the heart is chilled and all tender memories are banished. It is the live coal or the Yule log that makes the altar upon which unselfish sacrifices are offered and domestic affections are kept warm and glowing. The furniture may be scanty, the dwelling humble, but while the fire burns brightly on the hearthstone we feel at home. When the fire of home goes out we sink into ourselves and scarcely feel that we are members of a family, in the chill sense of desolation and penury. When husband, son, or father has been on some journey exposed to the rough, cold wind and storm, no word of welcome is so cheering as that which bids them come near the fire. The sense of warmth and comfort steals over the shivering limbs ; their faces glow in the kindly warmth and light; smiles and words of cheer take the place of complaints about the weather. Then the wet boots are taken off, and the slippers that have been warming for them by the fire give rest and ease to the tired, cold feet. " This is bad weather to be out in. O how glad I am to get home ! " is the traveller's exclamation; and, "O I'm so glad you're home!" that of each heart that cares for him. Then memories are quickened and tongues are loosened, and one after another around the fireside recalls some story of the past, when, on a night like this, a dear one was caught in a snow-storm and almost perished in the cold. One remembers the stormy night when the sailor of the family set out to join his ship, and another the midnight knocking at the door which awoke and frightened them, but which heralded the unexpected return of the absent one from some long voyage. Some rough experience of the

The hearthstone; or, Life at home