Home! Yes, to
be sure it might be a dear good home, but father is so full of business,
and anxious, and thinking all the time, he never speaks to one of us,
unless it is to tell us to do something, or to find fault with what is
done. And mother--fret, fret, fret, tired to death with the care of the
children, and company, and servants, and societies, and every thing--it
really seems as if she had lost all affection for us--_me_, at any rate,
and I am sure I don't care for any body that scolds at me so, and the
sooner I am out of the way the better. I am sure if father is trying to
make money to leave me some of it, I'd a thousand times rather he'd give
me pleasant words as we go along, than all the dollars I shall ever
get--yes, indeed I had."
The above scene, I am sorry to say, is but a sample of what occurred
weekly, and I fear I might say daily, or even hourly, to some member of
the family of Mr. Colman, and yet Mr. and Mrs. Colman were very good
sort of people--made a very respectable appearance in the world, regular
at church with their children--ate symbolically of the body, and drank
of the blood, of that loving Savior, who ever spake gently to the
youthful and the erring--and meant to be, and really thought they were,
the very best of parents. Their children were well cared for, mentally
and physically. They were well fed, well clothed, attended the best
schools--but as they advanced beyond the years of infancy, there was in
each of them the sullen look, or the discouraged tone, the tart reply,
or the vexing remark, which made them any thing but beloved by their
companions, any thing but happy themselves.
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