Love of Ancestors

Tenderness for those dead and gone.

       Yet, if they think of it, in every link of the chain of relationship the tenderest closeness of affection has probably subsisted; they themselves were kissed by lips that in turn received the kisses of those behind, and they again received the love and caresses of those yet behind, kisses and caresses forming the long chain between people dear to one another, and not strangers, though the last known be many generations gone. As they look at the stiff, prim likeness of some grandame five or six times removed, they would not regard her so critically if they bethought themselves how that face had lighted up with smiles, and those lips had gathered sweets from the babies that grew up to hand down the line that ends in themselves; they would feel as if they, too, had come in for some share of the warmth of her nature, and recognize the kinship of race; they would possibly find themselves even loving this woman whom they have never seen, and of whom they know nothing but that she lived and loved. It is not easy always to throw ourselves into the personality of those who belonged to a life so long past and so different from our own; but we are sure to know that, whatever their lives were, their hearts were the hearts of mothers and fathers, and into those imagined natures, then, there is not a heart of their posterity which beats that cannot pulse some of its own warm life-blood, and make them for the nonce alive.

      There can hardly be too much closeness in family ties between the members of an existing generation; there is none too much love broadcast in the world, and if it is not our duty to value and cherish those of our own blood, it would be hard to say whose duty it is. The more this obligation is recognized, the better for the world in general, and surely for the world in particular, for there is nothing that smooths the way through life like love, and love that is also a duty has an added force, and is twice loved.

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