Connecticut western news., 1898-07-21

'PleaSe to stand back little till l pass
 through and cast my crown at tha feet
 of him whom, having not seen, I love. '' do not know what you call that. call
 it the harvest of Genesee wheat,
 Out wonder is man very old at 10 years of age, at a time when he ought
 to be buoyant as the morning. He got
 bad habits on him very early, and those habits have become worse. He is man on fire, on fire with alcoholism, on fire with all evil habits, out with the world and the world out with him. Down and falling deeper. His swollen hands in his threadbare pockets, and his eyes fixed on the ground, he passes through the street, and the quick step of an ill nocent child or the strong step of a young man or the roll of a prosperous carriage maddens him, and he curses society and he curses God. Fallen sick, with no resources, he is carried to the almshouse. A loathsome spectacle, he lies all day long waiting for dissolution, or in the night rises on his cot and fights apparitions of what he might have been and what he will be. He started life with as good prospect as any man on the American continent, and there he is a bloated carcass, waiting for the shovels of public charity to put him five feet under. He has only reaped what he sowed. Harvest of wild oats "There is a way that seemeth right to a man, but the end thereof is death. Y"
 Begin a New Life.
 To others life is a masquerade ball, and as at such entertainments gentlemen and ladies put on the garb of kings and queens or mountebanks or clowns and at the close put off the disguise, so a great many pass their whole life ill a mask, taking off the mask at death. While the masquerade ball of life goes on, they trip merrily over the floor, gemmed hand is stretched to gemmed hand, gleaming brow bends to gleaming brow. On with the dancel Flush and rustic and laughter of immeasurable merrymaking. But after awhile the languor of death comes on the limbs and blurs the eyesight. Lights lower. Floor hollow with sepulchral echo. Music saddened into a vail. Lights lower. Now the nraskers are only seen in the dim light. Now the fragrance of the flowers is like the sickening odor that comes from garlands that have lain long in the vaults of cemeteries. Lights low CT. Mists gather in the room. Glasses shake as though quaked by sudden thun- der. Sigh caught in the curtain. Scarf drops from the shoulder of beauty 0 shroud. Lights lower. Over the slip pery boards in dance of death glide jeal- ousies, envies, revenges, lust, despair and death. Stench of lamp wioks almost extinguisbed. Torn garlands will not half cover the Liberated feet. Choking damps, ohilliness. Feet still. Hands closed. Voices hushed. Eyes shut. Lights out
 invite you to quit all that and begin a new life. Roland went into battle. Charlemagne's army had been driven back by the three armies of the Sara cens, and Roland almost in despair took up the trumpet and blew three blasts in one of the mountain passes, and under the power of those three blasts the Sara ceus recoiled and fed in terror. But history says that when he had blown the third blast Roland's trumpet broke. I take this trumpet of the gospel and I blow the first blast, "Whosoever will. blow the second blast, "Seek 70 tho Lord while he may be found." I blow the third blast, "Now is the accepted time" But the trumpet does not break. It was handed down by our fathers to as, and we will hand it down to our children, that after we are dead they may blow the trumpet, telling the world that we have pardoning God, @ loving God, sympathetic God and that more to him than the throne on which he sits is the joy of seeing a prodigal putting his thumb on the latch of his fathers house. I remember that there were two vessels on the sea and in a storm. It was very, very dark, and the two yes sells were going straight for each other, and the captains knew it not. But after awhile the man on the lookout saw the approaching ship, and he shouted, "Hard a-larboardP' And from the other vessel the cry went up, "Hard a-lar- boardP' And they turned just enough to glance by and passed in safety to their harbors. Some of you are ill the storm of temptation, and you are driving on and coming toward fearful collisions unless you change your course. Hard a-larboard" Turn ye, turn ye, for "why will ye die, oh, house of Israeli"
 God Is Waiting.
 Young man, as you cannot live life over again, however you may long to do so, be sure to have your one life right. There is some young man who has gone away from home, perhaps un- der some little spite or evil persuasion of another, and his parents know not where he is. My son, go home. Do not go to sea. Don't go tonight where you may be tempted to go. Go home. Your father will be glad to see you, and your mother-I need not tell you how she feels. How I would like to make your parents present of their wayward boy, repentant and in his right mind. I would like to write them a letter, and you to carry the letter, saying, By the blessing of God on my sermon 1 intro duce to you one whom you have never seen before, for he has become a new creature in Christ Jesus My boy, go home and put your tired head on the bosom that nursed you so tenderly in your childhood years
 A young Scotchman was taken cap- tive in battle by band of Indians, and he learned their language and adopted their habits Years passed on, but the old Indian chieftain never forgot that he had in his possession young man who did not belong to him. We'll, one day this tribe of Indians came in sight of the Scotch regiments from whom this young man had been captured, and the old Indian chieftain said: "I lost my son in battle, and know how a father feels at the loss of a son. Do you think your father is yet alive?" The young man said, ''I am the only son of my fa- ther, and I hope he is still alive" Then said the Indian chieftain: Be cause of the loss of my son this world is a desert. You go free. Return to your countrymen. Revisit your father, that he may rejoice when he sees the sun rise in the morning and the trees blos-