THE NEW HOME. The founding of a new home marks an important era in a human life. Whether you be poor or wealthy, wise or ignorant, it is all the same--you begin a new existence. The associations of childhood and youth now undergo a total change. The familiar scenes disappear suddenly. Longfellow, in his "Hanging of the Crane," writes the following touching words on the eventful day: "O fortunate, O happy day, When a new household finds its place Among the myriad homes of earth, Like a new star sprung to birth, And rolled on its harmonious way Into the boundless realms of space! ..... "For two alone, there in the hall, Is spread the table round and small; Upon the polished silver shine The evening lamps; but, more divine, The light of love shines over all; Of love that says not mine and thine, But ours, for ours is thine and mine. ..... "They want no guests; they needs must be Each other's own best company." What sort of a home shall the new one be? Shall it be the abode of happy hearts and pure and noble lives, or shall discontent and misery prevail? Jane Welch Carlyle says truly: "If ever one is to pray--if ever one is to feel grave and anxious--if ever one is to shrink from vain show and vain babble--surely it is just on the occasion of two human beings binding themselves to one another, for better and for worse, till death part them." Great is the difference in households. As one walks along a beautiful street in a city there is nothing in the fronts of the houses to indicate the kind of life which passes within doors. But an intimate acquaintance, such as a faithful pastor gains in the course of his labors, often reveals the fact that in some of the most magnificent houses there is no peace or joy, while in some of the humblest cottages there is a calm and loving spirit which continues and grows from year to year. The kind of a house, even the adornments which wealth and luxury bring, do not determine the true home. The two people who establish the new household decide its quality. That the people who occupy a home decide its quality is beautifully expressed by Nathaniel Cotton, a poet of the last century: "If solid happiness we prize, Within our breast this jewel lies; And they are fools who roam: The world has nothing to bestow; From our own selves our joys must flow, And that dear hut, our home."