g in order that he may be something. For,
what he thinks is in his heart may be exaggerated by self-flattery, or
darkened by morbid self-distrust. It needs some occasion to prove what
is really there. And Home is precisely that sphere which is sufficiently
removed from the factitious motives of publicity on the one extreme, and
the unexercised possibilities of the human heart on the other, to afford
a genuine test. What a man really is, therefore, will appear in the
truest light under his own roof and by his own fireside. I can believe
that he is a Christian, when I know that he faithfully takes up the
daily duties, and bears the crosses, that cluster within his own doors.
I shall think that the world rightly calls him a philanthropist, when,
notwithstanding common faults and infirmities, he receives the
spontaneous award of the good husband and father, and the kindness of
his nature is reflected in the very air and light of his dwelling.
And,--talk of noble deeds!--where will you find occasions for, where
will you behold manifestations of, a more beautiful self-sacrifice, a
more generous heroism, than in the labors and in the endurance of
thousands of men and women, shut out from the world's observation in
silent nooks and corners of this very city, amidst the relationships and
cares and struggles of home? But whether it be in forms of good or evil,
we know that the real elements of character, the genuine moral qualities
of people, must be expressed there.

And, I remark once more, that at Home we must find _the most essential
happiness or misery of life_. The same conditions apply here as those
which relate to character. The world is a theatre of _seeming_, and we
can hardly tell by what we notice there who is, or who is not, happy. We
know that gaiety is often the reckless ripple over depths of despair;
and that men will bear up with a smile while untold agony is gnawing at
their heart-strings, and will die laughing, in an agony of defiance,
under the sword-strokes of fortune. On the other hand we may count some
as unfortunate, in whose bosoms, all the while, there are flowing
inexhaustible springs of peace, and who derive real joy from what we
suppose to be a hard and pitiable lot. But amidst the undisguised
realities of home we can form the most correct estimate of a man's
condition. In the first place because, as has been remarked, he is there
most truly himself. He gains opportunity for reflection, and gives vent