My house, my house, though thou art small, Thou art to me a palace. 900 TRUE NATURE OF HOME. This is the true nature of home--it is the place of Peace; the shelter not only from all injury, but from all terror, doubt and division. In so far as it is not this, it is not home; so far as the anxieties of the outer life penetrate into it * * * it ceases to be home; it is then only a part of that outer world which you have roofed over and lighted fire in. --_John Ruskin._ 901 THE WANDERER'S RETURN. He seeks the tranquil scenes of early days, Leaving the dazzling haunts of vain ambition; And now, he longs to meet a kindly gaze And hear a warm and cheering recognition. How changed he seems! Though still in manhood's prime, Long hath he striven with care, want, and danger; Their iron grasp has wrought the work of Time, And all who view him, deem him as a stranger. He meets with one who knew him when a boy: How oft, beneath yon trees, in summer weather, They sat, and pictured scenes of future joy, When they should tread the far-off world together! They stand upon the old familiar spot: One feels long vanished memories steal o'er him; The other sees, yet recognizes not His blithe companion in the form before him. Next comes a friend who in his wavering youth His footsteps had upheld with patient guiding; Wise in his counsel, steadfast in his truth, Prompt in his praise, and gracious in his chiding. Hath he, indeed, discarded from his mind The object of his care and admonition? He hath not--yet he casts no glance behind; The wanderer fails to make his recognition. What, doth his image live indeed with none? Have all expelled him from their recollection? Lo! a sweet lady comes--the cherished one To whom he breathed his vows of young affection. He views her--she has lost the airy grace And mantling bloom that won his boyish duty; And yet a winning charm pervades her face, In the calm radiance of its mellowed beauty. Can she forget? Though others pass him by, Failing his former features to discover, Will not her faithful heart instruct her eye To recognize her dear, her long-lost lover? Oh! in that grief-worn man, no trace remains Of the gay, gallant youth from whom she parted; A brief and careless glance alone she deigns To the poor sufferer, chilled and broken-hearted; Who feels as though condemned to lead henceforth A strange, a sad, a separate existence, Gazing awhile on those he loves on earth, But to behold them fading in the distance.