Connecticut western news., 1890-07-16

tops of the paddles.
 Oh, have you never sat by such deathbed9 In that hour you hear the departing soul cry, "Hark, look!" You hearkened and you looked. A little child pining away because of the death of it's mother, getting weaker and weak CT every day, was taken into the room where hung the picture of her mother. She seemed to enjoy looking at it, and then she was taken Away and after a while died. In the last moment that wan and wasted little one lifted her hands, while her face lighted up with the glory of the next world, and cried out, "Mother" You tell me she did not see her mother? She did. So in my first settlement at Belleville plain man said to me, What do you think heard last night? I was in the room where one of my neighbors was dying He was a good man, and he said he heard the angels of God singing before the throne. I haven't much poetry about me, but I listened, and I heard them, too" Said I, II have no doubt of it." Why, we are to be taken up to heaven at last by ministering spirits Who are they to be2 Souls that went up from Madras, or Antioch or Jerusa- lem2 Oh, no; our glorified kindred are going to troop around us.
 DIR. PHARMACIES IDEA OF HEAVEN.
 Heaven is not stately, formal place, as I sometimes hear 1t described, a very frigidity of splendor, where people stand on cold formalities and go around about with heavy crowns of gold on their heads. No, that is not my idea of heaven. My idea of heaven is more like this: You are seated in the evening tide by the fireplace, your whole family there, or nearly all of them there. While you are seated talking and en- toying the evening hour there is a knock at the door, and the door opens and there comes in 8 brother that has been long absent. He has been ab- sent-for years you have not seen him and no sooner do you make up your mind that 1t is certainly he than you leap up, and the question is who shall give him the first embrace That is my idea of heaven-a great home circle, where they are waiting for us
 Oh, will you not know your mothers voice there2 She who always called you by your first name long after others had given you the formal "Misterp You were never anything but James, or John, or George, or Thomas, or Mary, or Florence, to her. Will you not know your child's voicea She of the bright eye, and the ruddy cheek, and the quiet step, who came in from play and flung herself into your lap a very shower of mirth and beautyG Why, the picture is graven in your soul. It cannot wear out. If that little one should stand on the other side of some heavenly hill and call to you you could hear her voice above the burst of heavens great orchestra. Know it? You could not help but know it.
 A WONDERFUL ASSURANCE.
 Now bring you this glorious con- solation of future recognition. If you could get this theory into your heart it would lift great many shadows that are stretching across it. When was lad used to go out to the railroad track and put my ear down on the track, and I could hear the express train rumbling miles away and coming on, and today, my friends, if we only Lad faith enough, we could put our ear 1< %o 41,o <f listen, and hear in the distance the rumbling on of the chariots of resur- rection victory. o heaven, sweet heaven! You do not spell heaven as you used to spell it. You used to spell it h-e-a-v-e-n-heaven. But now when you want to spell that word you place side by side the faces of the loved ones who are gone, and in that irradiaion of light and love and beauty and joy you spell it out aa never before in songs and hallelujahs. Oh, ye whose hearts are down under the sod of the cem@tery, cheer up at the thought of this reunion! Oh, how much you will have to tell them when once you meet theml
 How much you have been through since you saw them last. On the shining shore you will talk it all over. The heartaches, the loneliness, the sleepless nights, the weeping until you had no more power to weep, be- cause the heart was withered and dried up. Story of vacant chair, and empty cradle, and little shoe only half worn out, never to be worn again, just the shape of the foot that once pressed it. And dreams when you thought that the departed had come back again, and the room seemed bright with their faces, and you started up to greet them, and in the effort the dream broke and you found yourself standing amid room in the midnight Talking it all over, and then, hand in hand, walking up and down in the light No sorrow, no tears, no death. O heaven, beautiful heaven! Heaven, where our friends are. Heaven, where we expect to be. In the east they take cage of birds and bring it to the tomb of the dead, and then they open the door of the cage, and the birds, flying out, sing. And I would today bring a cage of Christian cancellations to the grave of your loved ones, and would open the door and let them All all the air with the music of their voices
 THE FINAL VICTORY.
 Oh, how they bound in, these spirits before the throne! Some shout with gladness, some break forth into un- controllable weeping for joy, some stand speeches. in their shock of de light. They sing, they quiver with excessive gladness, they gaze on the