“You shall select poetry for me, Charles,” said Susan, “since you so justly appreciate my taste. In the summer we will retrace these pleasant scenes.” “I know them all,” said Charles, “and many more I will show you, Susan.” “There are many lovely spots around us,” said Elizabeth, “and the history of some of them connected with the early settlement of the town.” “Do you remember, Charles, that in our ride last summer I pointed out to you a delightful situation situated upon a point of land projecting into the ocean?” “Yes, mother, and Elizabeth said it would not be so pleasant in the winter on account of its exposure to the sea.” “I will relate a circumstance connected with that situation, which must conclude our evening’s entertainment. An English gentleman, the younger son of a noble family, determined to leave his native land and settle in America. His fortune, which was not sufficient to support him in England in that style and opulence which he thought consistent with the dignity of his family, would be ample in America for all the luxuries of life. He had married a young and lovely wife and did not find much difficulty in persuading her to follow his fortunes; but she overestimated her strength when she bade farewell to the home of her birth, the friends of her childhood. She suffered much from sickness during her voyage and, weakened both in body and mind, landed upon this, to her, a home of strangers. That sickness of the heart, which we emphatically term homesickness, seized her; she became melancholy and unhappy and even the soothing affection of her husband failed to disperse the deep gloom of her mind. With the hope that change of scene would benefit and amuse her, he made frequent excursions in the country around Salem, where they then resided, and one of these was in the neighborhood of the situation I showed you. She immediately recognized a resemblance to the scenes of her youth, her first home. The mansion of her birth stood upon the seashore, the sound of the rushing waters was like the lullaby of her infancy, and the rugged rocks were associated in her ideas with those around her own loved home in England. Delighted that she had found a spot congenial to her feelings, her husband caused the building which you saw to be erected, and, adopting it as another home, she became tranquil and happy, lived beloved and respected and reared a family of children, some of whose descendants still reside upon the same spot.” “It is not always local situation which causes this deep attachment to home,” said Mary. “It is wisely ordered that it should not be so,” said Mrs. Wilson. “Mother,” said Charles, “may I repeat those lines upon our native land?” “Do so,” said his mother.
“There is no passion in the human breast
So deep implanted as the love of home,
’Midst the rude mountains, where eternal snows
Rest on their towering height, or, hanging o’er.
Threaten each passing traveler with death.
In the secluded valleys dwell a race
Of hardy mountaineers, whose lowly huts
Are to them dearer than the whole world’s wealth.
And, on Arabia’s sandy desert soil,