It does not matter whether it means thatched
cottage or manor-house, home is home; be it ever so homely, there is no
place on earth like it. Green grows the house-leek on the roof forever,
and let the moss flourish on the thatch. Sweetly the sparrows chirrup
and the swallows twitter around the chosen spot which is my joy and
rest. Every bird loves its own nest; the owls think the old ruins the
fairest spot under the moon, and the fox is of opinion that his hole in
the hill is remarkably cozy. When my master's nag knows that his head is
toward home he wants no whip, but thinks it best to put on all steam;
and I am always of the same mind, for the way home, to me, is the best
bit of road in the country. I like to see the smoke out of my own
chimney better than the fire on another man's hearth; there's something
so beautiful in the way in which it curls up among the trees. Cold
potatoes on my own table taste better than roast meat at my neighbor's,
and the honeysuckle at my own door is the sweetest I ever smell. When
you are out, friends do their best, but still it is not home. "Make
yourself at home," they say, because every body knows that to feel at
home is to feel at ease.
"East and west,
Home is best."
Why, at home you are at home, and what more do you want? Nobody grudges
you, whatever your appetite may be; and you don't get put into a damp
bed.
MEN WHO ARE DOWN.
No man's lot is fully known till he is dead; change of fortune is the
lot of life.
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