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Updated: June 17, 2025
But the plants that come up every year in the same place, like the Star-of-Bethlehems, of all the lesser objects, give me the liveliest home-feeling. Close to our ancient gambrel-roofed house is the dwelling of pleasant old Neighbor Walrus. I remember the sweet honeysuckle that I saw in flower against the wall of his house a few months ago, as long as I remember the sky and stars.
The barest-looking and dingiest of houses, set plump in a green field, without one softening or home-like touch from any home-feeling within; not a flower, not a shrub, not an out- house, not a tree near.
The result was, that I acquired a home-feeling there, as nowhere else in the world, though afterwards I came to have a somewhat similar sentiment in regard to Rome; and as long as either of those two great cities shall exist, the cities of the Past and of the Present, a man's native soil may crumble beneath his feet without leaving him altogether homeless upon earth.
I have always cherished the memory of a certain pair of large-bowed spectacles that she wore, and of the green calash, held by a ribbon bridle, that sheltered her head, when she walked up from the shore to see us, as she often did. They announced to us the approach of inexhaustible kindliness and good cheer. We took in a home-feeling with the words "Aunt Betsey" then and always.
It still haunts me, and induces a sort of home-feeling with the past, which I scarcely claim in reference to the present phase of the town.
It still haunts me, and induces a sort of home-feeling with the past, which I scarcely claim in reference to the present, phase of the town.
It still haunts me, and induces a sort of home-feeling with the past, which I scarcely claim in reference to the present phase of the town.
"Being yourself such an old and experienced mother," said Otto. "Silence, sir! you ought to remember that we have a dear, darling mother at home, whose character is engraven on my memory, and whom I can hold up as a model." "True, Pina! The dear old mother!" returned Otto, a burst of home-feeling interfering for a moment with his levity.
It still haunts me, and induces a sort of home-feeling with the past, which I scarcely claim in reference to the present phase of the town.
I hate the Roman atmosphere; indeed, all my pleasure in getting back all my home-feeling has already evaporated, and what now impresses me, as before, is the languor of Rome, its weary pavements, its little life, pressed down by a weight of death. Quitting St.
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