Oh, what A miserable thing it must be to return to A home and to find that the heart has none the fond tru welcome wanting the welcome of the soul not the lips oh where is the glad smile where the cordial greeting where the abandonment of every thing Else in the joy of seeing the loved one return. tis bad Enough when we find petty cares and small annoyances thrust oupon us the moment our foot passes the threshold, to know that we have been waited for to set right some trivial wrong, to mend some minute evil to hear some small complaint when we have been flying from anxieties and labors and thirsting for repose and love to find that the black curc which ever rides behind the horseman has seated himself at our fireside before we could pull off our boots tis bad enough but to return to that whitch ought to be our home and find every express wish neglected every warning slighted every care frustrated and all we have condemned or forbiden, done, I am done

 

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