The attachment to one's birth-place, to the home of early youth, "be it ever so humble," is a beautiful trait of character, and is significant of a refined and noble spirit. It is in masses one of the first and most prolific fruits of civilization, distinguishing a stable community from a nomadic tribe; and, as another peculiarity of the trait, it is most touchingly exhibited in the least fortunate members of the human family. The Icelanders, dwelling in a hyperborean region, where for a large portion of the year they are deprived of the light of the sun, and depend upon the stars and the Aurora Borealis to guide their footsteps in the long, long winter midnight, are accustomed to say, with a spirit of unmistakable fondness and affection, Iceland is the fairest country of the globe! The poor Highlander regards the smoky hut where he was born with enthusiastic love. As life draws gradually towards its close, this feeling deepens in the human breast. Standing on the extreme verge of existence, and just about to leave the world forever, man, as he turns to survey the pathway he has travelled, overlooks its midway stations, and fixes his eyes upon the starting. The beginning and the end of the journey are then brought close together; from the earthly to the eternal home there is but one step; from the tenderest recollections of his earthly parent he passes into the presence of his Father in heaven. Love of home! what a theme for the essayist!
It would almost seem as if the deprivations and hardships of his youthful days must have thrown an unhappy spell about his early home, and as though the memories that came up to him from the long vista of years would be laden with recollections of want and severe trial, of personal endurance, of scanty food and more scanty clothing; in short, of all the stern realities of his childhood's home. But this was very far from being the case with him. He has often said to us, in relation to this subject, that he deemed his life at that time anything but unhappy,—that what now appeared to be so great hardships, by comparison, were then but trifling discomforts, and matters of course. He was never inclined to set up for a martyr, or to gather any credit for having endured patiently, and risen in time above the fortunes of his youth. He could only recall this period of his life with feelings of pleasure. Such feelings as these force upon us the conviction that there is ever about the place of one's birth a spell that hardship seems only the more closely to bind about the heart,—that deprivation and want but the more strongly cement. The cheerful allusion to the affectionate regard of his brothers and sisters, and the remark that contentment ever smiled upon his early home, show the true spirit of the man, and the natural trait which ever influenced him to make the best of everything.
"How I used to cherish a kind word from my father, when I was a boy!" says Mr. Ballou. "He was in some respects an austere man; and when I was born, being the youngest of our large family, he had got to be advanced in years, and looked with a more serious and practical eye on the events of life and all things about us. He was Puritanic, strictly religious, as he interpreted the meaning of that word, and his mind was ever engrossed upon serious matters. But when he put his hand sometimes upon my head, and told me I had done well, that the labor I had performed might have been more poorly done by older hands, or that I was a good and faithful boy, my heart was electrified beyond measure; and I remember his words and smile, even now, with delight."
How the simplicity and purity of the man shine forth in this little paragraph!
"It may be interesting to your readers to know how Father Ballou was regarded in the town of his nativity," says the Rev. Joshua Britton, Jr., of Richmond, N. H., in a communication addressed to the Christian Freeman. "He was accustomed to visit this place once in every few years, and always received a cordial and hearty greeting. It was my privilege and happiness to spend a few days with him on the occasion of his visit here in October last. I removed to this town in October, 1850, and soon learned that there was a general desire among our friends to see and hear their fellow-townsman again. The approach of cold weather prevented our taking any immediate steps to accomplish this object. In June, 1851, I saw him at the meeting of the State Convention in Chicopee. He had many affectionate inquiries to make respecting his friends in Richmond, but then he could not name any time when he would visit us. In July I wrote him, and he replied August 5, and said:—'I want very much to visit Richmond, and will on one of the days you have named.' He suggested that we could complete the arrangement at the convention meeting in Boston. We did so, and fixed upon Sunday, October 12th, as the day when he would be with us. He was careful to have no appointment for the following Sunday, in order that he might remain in this vicinity. He was met at Fitzwilliam depot, by one of our friends, on Friday, October 10th, and conveyed to his residence. Sunday was a favorable day for meeting, and there was a large audience from this and the adjacent towns in this state and in Massachusetts. It was a happy day for us all; but I must not dwell here.
"Though I enjoyed the meeting very much, yet my enjoyment was still greater on the following week, in the society of our aged friend and father, at my own home and the homes of our mutual friends in this town.
"It may be proper to state that Father Ballou had no very near relatives here. None, I believe, by the name of Ballou. He was a cousin of Father Luke Harris, and with him and his family he spent a portion of the time quite pleasantly. He seemed happy in being once more in his 'native Richmond.'
"Three days the writer accompanied Father Ballou while he made calls upon various families in different parts of the town. We were uniformly kindly received; and those not acquainted with Father Ballou can hardly conceive the ease and success with which he familiarly approached all,—the young, the middle-aged, and the aged. We had brief interviews, but they were agreeable and profitable. Prayer was offered with and consolation afforded to the sick. In one or two instances we met with those whose minds were in doubt on doctrinal points: these, of course, listened to a few words of explanation. Then there was the going back to former days, and a rehearsal of time's numerous changes. We visited the old burying-ground, and stood by the graves of the parents of my aged companion. We visited the old homestead, the place where he was born, and spent his boyhood. This was changed, and unchanged. The buildings, fences, and some of the fields, presented a new aspect, but the valleys and hills remained as before. At the homestead we entered the orchard, where the owner was engaged picking apples. We walked about and found apples, of which my companion ate, though he declined taking any, a short time previous, on an adjoining farm. We also, by invitation, dined here, and had a pleasant chat with the family. This farm is a mile and a half east of our meeting-house. Grassy Hill is on its eastern border, and overlooks the valley in which it is situated. Some will recollect the poetry of our friend, 'My native Richmond.' He repeated this, at my suggestion, at a dwelling in full view of this eminence; and as the words 'Grassy Hill' were spoken, he gracefully waved his right hand in that direction, his countenance expressing satisfaction and delight.
"Several times, during his stay, the inquiry was agitated,—'Will you come to Richmond again?' His reply was, ''Tis uncertain,—I may; should life be spared, and my health remain as good as it is at present, I think I may.' But, as we had some reason to expect, this proved to be his last visit. He was conveyed to Winchester on Friday, where he preached on the following Sabbath. He returned on Tuesday, Oct. 21st. I made a few calls with him on the afternoon of that day, and in the evening he spent an hour at our singing-school, tarrying with us at night. On the following morning we bade him 'good-by,' and he proceeded homewards to visit a daughter, rejoined his wife, and in due time reached their home in Boston."
In Mr. Ballou's letter to the Trumpet, describing this visit, he says:—