80 THE PHILADELPHIA FLORIST. [July 



2 titude has found a respite from their toils in sleep, it seems as if Na- 

 ture had chosen this calm hour, with the bloom of Eden, resting up- ^t) 

 on her, to offer up incense to the Deity — praise and thanksgiving for 

 this gay and happy season. 



It is strange that we can live so much in such a little time, for 

 my moods to-day have been as varied as the Hydrangea's bloom ; 

 gratitude, perplexity, meditation, joy, grief and resignation have 

 each had their reign in the space of one short day, and thought per- 

 plexed still holds the sway; for a friend chanced to ask me this 

 morning, what my idol was, that on earth to which my heart most 

 fondly clung. 



I essayed a reply, but the unspoken words fell back upon my 

 heart, like the echo of a departed hope, and I felt alas! there was a 

 blank upon the heart's tablet, a page upon which the recording an- 

 gel had placed no seal. I searched the casket of unwritten thought 

 for gems the world has never known, and lifted the curtain of re- 

 serve, but found no ambushed idol; pencillings were there of birds, 

 and flowers, and books, and friends that wore the smile of love, but 

 not idolatry. I called up pride in goodly apparel^ but the indignant 

 frown convinced me it was not there. I searched in vain, until the 

 present whispered turn to the records of the past : I obeyed and the 

 scenes of other'days rose up before me ; home with its clustering 

 vines, and shrubs, and flowers, the dulcet tones of kindred voices, and 

 the winning smiles of loved familiar faces, revealed what once had 

 been my earthly idol; for surely are not the home affections nearest 

 to those ,of heaven 1 And call it not a crime to worship at such a 

 hallowed shrine ; a mother's heart is the altar of affection for a child, 

 and a father's heartfelt prayer is the ladder upon which it shall as- 

 cend to receive the blessing. 



But with all this gush of holy feeling, this living over again of the 

 heart's histories, I could find no answer from without to the echoed 

 words; the polar star of my earthly existence has been stricken from 

 the firmament, and 1 have nothing around which to rally my affec- 

 tions, they have gone out in the world upon a general mission; a feel- 

 ing of sadness may arise when a tiny warbler sings no more, when a 

 floweret dies, or a volume is lost, and the bitter tear-drop may fall 

 when friends depart, but there is no more breaking up of the soul's 

 waters, for home, the idol, is destroyed. 



Kind reader, ask thyself the question ! it is well for all to know 

 their household image ; whether it be in a tangible form, or like my 

 own, the spirit records of the past. 



5th mo. 16, 1852. 



* Time consecrates; and what is gray with age becomes religion. 



