The effects will be more perceptible on our children， andthe generations that shall succeed them， than on ourselves，the mechanism of whose life may remain unchanged，though its spirit be far other than it was. The sacred trustof the household-fire has been transmitted in unbrokensuccession from the earliest ages， and faithfully cherished，in spite of every discouragement， such as the Curfewlaw of the Norman conquerors； until， in these evil days，physical science has nearly succeeded in extinguishingit. But we at least have our youthful recollections tingedwith the glow of the hearth， and our life-long habits andassociations arranged on the principle of a mutual bond inthe domestic fire. Therefore， though the sociable friendbe for ever departed， yet in a degree he will be spirituallypresent to us； and still more will the empty forms， whichwere once full of his rejoicing presence， continue to ruleour manners. We shall draw our chairs together， as we andour forefathers have been wont， for thousands of yearsback， and sit around some blank and empty corner ofthe room， babbling， with unreal cheerfulness， of topicssuitable to the homely fireside. A warmth from the past—from the ashes of by-gone years， and the raked-up embersof long ago—will sometimes thaw the ice about ourhearts. But it must be otherwise with our successors. Onthe most favorable supposition， they will be acquaintedwith the fireside in no better shape than that of the sullenstove； and more probably， they will have grown up amidfurnace-heat， in houses which might be fancied to havetheir foundation over the infernal pit， whence sulphuroussteams and unbreathable exhalations ascend through theapertures of the floor. There will be nothing to attractthese poor children to one centre. They will never beholdone another through that peculiar medium of vision—theruddy gleam of blazing wood or bituminous coal—whichgives the human spirit so deep an insight into its fellows，and melts all humanity into one cordial heart of hearts.
Domestic life—if it may still be termed domestic—willseek its separate corners， and never gather itself intogroups. The easy gossip—the merry， yet unambitiousjest—the life-long， practical discussion of real matters in acasual way—the soul of truth， which is so often incarnatedin a simple fireside word—will disappear from earth.
Conversation will contract the air of a debate， and allmoral intercourse be chilled with a fatal frost.
In classic times， the exhortation to fight “pro aris etfocis” —for the altars and the hearths—was considered thestrongest appeal that could be made to patriotism. Andit seemed an immortal utterance； for all subsequent agesand people have acknowledged its force， and respondedto it with the full portion of manhood that Nature hadassigned to each. Wisely were the Altar and the Hearthconjoined in one mighty sentence！ For the hearth， too，had its kindred sanctity. Religion sat down beside it，not in the priestly robes which decorated， and perhapsdisguised， her at the altar， but arrayed in a simple matron’sgarb， and uttering her lessons with the tenderness of amother’s voice and heart. The holy Hearth！ If any earthlyand material thing—or rather， a divine idea， embodiedin brick and mortar—might be supposed to possess thepermanence of mortal truth， it was this. All revered it. Theman， who did not put off his shoes upon this holy ground，would have deemed it pastime to trample upon the altar.
It has been our task to uproot the hearth. What furtherreform is left for our children to achieve， unless theyoverthrow the altar too？ And by what appeal， hereafter，when the breath of hostile armies may mingle with thepure， cold breezes of our country， shall we attempt torouse up native valor？ Fight for your hearths？ There will benone throughout the land. FIGHT FOR YOUR STOVES！
Not I， in faith. If， in such a cause， I strike a blow， it shallbe on the invader’s part； and Heaven grant that it mayshatter the abomination all to pieces！
