Connecticut western news., 1894-03-08


 too little, or a moment too soon or too
 late. She is very anxious, for she has
 buried three children with the same dis
 ease, and sheprays andweeps, each pray
 CT and sob ending with kiss of the pale
 cheek. By dint of kindness she gets the
 little one through the ordeal.
 After it is all over the mother is taken
 down. Brain or nervous fever sets in,
 and one day she leaves the convalescent
 child with mothers blessing and goes
 up to join the three in the kingdom of
 heaven. Life for life. Substitution
 The fact is that there are an uncounted number of mothers who. after they have
 navigatedf 8 large family of children
 through all the diseases of infancy and
 got them fairly started up the Towering
 strength enough left to die. They fade
 away. Some call it consumption; some
 call it nervous prostration; some call it
 intermittent or malarial disposition, but
 I call it martyrdom of the domestic cir
 cle. Life for life. Blood for blood.
 Substitution
 THE SACRIFICE OF PATRIOTISM. Or perhaps the mother fingers long
 enough to see a son get on the wrong
 road, and his former kindness becomes
 rough reply when she expresses anxiety
 about him. But she goes right on, look ing carefully after his apparel, remem- bering his every birthday with some me mento, and when he is brought home,
 worn out with dissipation, nurses him till he gets we'll and starts him again and hopes and expects and prays and counsels and suffers until her strength gives out and she falls. She is going,
 and attendants bending over her pillow ask her if she has any message to leave, and she makes great effort to say some thing, but out, of three or four minutes of indistinct utterance they can catch but three words, My poor boyw The simple fact is she died for him. Life for life. Substitution
 About 33 years ago there went forth from our homes hundreds of thousands of men to do battle for their country. All the poetry of war soon vanished and left them nothing but the terrible prose. They waded knee deep in mud. They slept in snowbanks. They marched till their cut feet tracked the earth. They were swindled out of their honest rations and lived on meat not fit for a dog. They had jaws all fractured, and eyes extin- guished, and limbs shot away. Thou sands of them cried for water as they lay dying on the field the night after the battle and got it not. They were home sick and received no message from their loved ones. They died in barns, in bushes, in ditches, the buzzards of the summer heat the only attendants on their obsequies.
 No one but the infinite God, who knows everything, knows the ten thousandth part of the length and breadth and depth and height of anguish of the northern and southern battlefelds. Why did these fathers leave their children and go to the front, and why did these young men, postponing the marriage day, start out into the probabilities of never com ing9back? For the country they died. Life for life. Blood for blood. Substi- tutionl
 But we need not go so far. What is that monument in Greenwood? It is to the doctors who fell in the southern cpl demics Why go? Were there not enough sick to be attended in these northern latitudes? Oh, yes; but the doctor puts few medical books in his
 valise, and some vials of medicine, and leaves his patients here in the hands of other physicians, and takes the rail train. Before he gets to the infected regions he passes crowded rail trains, regular and
 extra, taking the flying and affrighted populations. He arrives in city over
 which great horror is breeding. He goes from couch to couch, feeling of
 pulse and studying symptoms. and pre-
 scribing day after day, night after
 night, until fellow physician says, Doctor. you had better go home and
 rest; you look miserable"
 But he cannot rest while so many are suffering. On and on until some morn ing finds him in delirium, in which he talks of home and then rises and says he must go and look after those patients. He is told to lie down, but he fights his attendants until he falls back, and is
 weaker and weaker, and dies for people with whom he had no kinship, and far away from his own family, and is hasti- ly put away in strangers tomb, and only the fifth part of newspaper line tells us of his sacrifce-his name just mentioned among five. Yet he has touched the furthest height of sublimity in that three weeks of humanitarian service. He goes straight as an arrow
 to the bosom of him who said, II was sick and ye visited me-" Life for life. Blood for blood. Substitution THE CRIMSON TIDE.
 Some of our modern theologians who want to give God lessons about the best
 way to save the world tell us they do not want any blood in their redemption. They want to take this horse by the bit and hurl him back on lis launches and tell this rider from Bozrah to go around some other way. Look out lest ye fall under the flying hoofs of this horse, lest ye go down under the sword of this con- queror from Bozrahl What means the blood of the pigeons in the old dispen- sation; the blood of the bullock; the blood | of the heifer; the blood of the lamb? It
 meant to prophecy the cleansing blood, the pardoning blood, the healing blood | of this conqueror who comes up from Bozrah, travelling in the greatness of his strength"
 I catch handful of the red torrent that rushes out from the heart of the Lord, and throw it over this audience,
 hoping that one drop of it's cleansing ] power may come upon your soul. O Jesus, in that crimson tide wash our
 soulsl We accept thy sacrifice. Con- queror of Bozrah, have mercy upon us! We throw our garments in the way. We fall into line. Ride on, Jesus, ride onl Travelling, travelling is the great
 ness of thy strength"
 But after awhile the returning con- queror will reach the gate, and all the armies of the saved will be with him. I hope you will be there and I will be
 there. As we go through the gate and around about the throne for the review,
 "a great multitude that no man can