us in our conversation
regarding the stove, he smiled, and said he agreed not with us--our
favourite was more sightly, and more useful, but it bore not the
friendly face of the old hearthstone--one of memory's most treasured
spots was gone--the _fireside_ of our home--the thought of whose
hallowed precincts cheers the wanderer's heart, and has won many from
the path of error, to seek again its sinless welcome.

'Tis while sitting by the fireside at eve, said he, that the vanished
forms of other days gather round me--there where our happiest meetings
were in the holy sanctity of our _home_. Where peace and love hovered
o'er us, I see again kind faces lit by the ruddy gleam, and hear again
the evening hymn, as of old it used to rise from the loving band
assembled there. Alas! long years have passed since I missed them from
the earth, but there they meet me still--in the glowing fire's bright
light I trace their sweet names, and the vague fancies of childhood are
waked again from their dim repose to live in light and truth once more,
amid the fantastic visions and shadowy forms, flitting through the red
world of embers, on which I loved to gaze when thought and hope were
young. I love it even now--the sorrow that is written there makes it
more holy to my mind, telling me, as it does, of a clime where grief
comes not, and where the blighted hope and broken heart will be at rest.

But why, said the old man, do I talk so long--I weary you, my children,
for the fancies of age are not those of youth--hope's fairy flowers are
bright for you--the faded things of memory are mine alone--with them I
live, but rejoice ye in your happiness, and gather now, in the spring
time of your days, treasures to cheer you in the fall of life. As to
your favourite, the stove, although I love it not so well as the old
familiar fire-place, I can admire and value it as part of the spirit of
improvement which is spreading o'er our land--her early troubles are
passing away, and she is rising fast to take her place among the nations
of the earth--bitter has been her struggle for existence, but the clouds
are fading in the brightness of her coming years, and her past woes
will be forgotten.

He ceased, but we all loved to hear him talk, he was so kind and good,
and he was earnestly requested for one of those tales of the early times
of our own land, which had often thrilled us with their simple, yet
often woeful interest.

I am become an egotist to