Connecticut western news., 1899-03-02

Chrlalan prlnclple Tn the hearts or your children. and you do not warn them against evil. and you do not in- vite them to holiness and to God. and they wander of into dissipation and into infidelity. and at last make ship wreck of their immortal soua, on their deathbed and in the day of judgment they will curse youl
 Early Recorections.
 Seated by the register or the stove. what if on the wall should come out the history of your childrenl What a history-the mortal and immortal life of your loved ones! Every parent is writing the history of his child. He is writing it. composing it into song or pointing it with a groan.
 My mind runs back to one of the best of early homes, Prayer like roof over it. Peach like an atmosphere in it. Parents personifications of faith in trial and comfort in darkness. The two pillars of that earthly home long crum bled to dust But shall I ever forget that early homeS Yes, when the flower forgets the sun that warmed it. Yes. when the mariner forgets the star that guided him. Yes, when love has gone out on the hearts altar and memory has emptied its urn into forgetfulness- Then, the home of my childhood, will forget thee. The family altar of fla ther's importantly and mothers ten derness, the voices of affection, the fu- neral of our dead. the father and moth CT with interlocked arms like intertwin- ing branches of trees making per petual arbor of love and peace and kind ness. Then I will forget thee-then, and only then. You know, my brother, that hundred times you have been kept out of sin by the memory of such n scene as I have been describing. You have cften had raging temptations. but you know what has held you with su- pernaturai grasp, tell you man who has had such a good home as that never gets over it, and a man who has had a bad early home never gets over 1t.
 Again. home is type of heaven. At our best estate we are only pilgrims and strangers here Heaven Is our home" Death will never knock at the door of that mansion. and in all that country there is not single grave. How glad parents are in the holidays to gather their children home again ! But I have noticed that there is almost always a son or a daughter absent absent from home. perhaps absent from the country, perhaps absent from the world Oh. how glad cur Heavenly Fa- ther will be when he gets all his chill dren home with him in heavenl And how delightful it will be for brothers and sisters to meet after long separa- tion, Once they parted at the door of the tomb, now they meet at the door of immortality. Once they saw only through a glass, darkly; now 1t Is face to face-corruption, interruption; 1; mortality. immortality. Where are now all their sins and sorrows and troubles ! Overwhelmed in the Red sea of death, while they pass through dry shod. Gates of pearl, capstones of amethyst, thrones of dominion do not stir my soul so much as the thought of home. Once there. let earthly sorrows howl like storms and roll like seas. Homel Let thrones rot and empires wither. Homei Let the world die in earthquake strug' gle and be buried amid procession of planets and dirge of spheres Home ! Let everlasting ages roll in irresistible sweep. Homel No sorrow. No crying. No tears. No death. But home. sweet home. beautiful home, everlasting homo, home with each other, home with an gels. home with Godl
 Dream of a Far Country.
 One night. lying on my lounge when very tired. my children all around about me. in full romp and hilarity and laughter-on the lounge, half awake and half asleep-I dreamed this dream: was in far country. It was not Persia, although more than orien- tai luxuriance crowned the cities. It was not the tropics, although more than tropical fruitfulness filled the gar dens It was not Italy, although more than Italian softness filled the air. And wandered around looking for thorns and nettles, but I found that none of them grew there. And I saw the sun rise, and watched to see it set, but it sank not And saw the people in holi day attire, and I said. "When will they put off this and put on workmen' 8 garb, and again delve in the mine and swell ter at the forgef" But they never put of the holiday attire
 And I wandered in the suburbs of the city to find the place where the dead sleep, and looked all along the line of the beautiful hills. the place where the dead might most peacefully sleep, and I saw towers and castles, but not a mausoleum, or monument, or a white slab could I see. And I went into the chapel of the great town, and said, Where do the poor worship and where are the hard benches on which they ait 2" And the answer was made me, We have no poor in this country. And then I wandered out to find the novels of the destitute, and I found mansions of amber and ivory and gold, but not tear could see, not a sigh could I hear And I was bewildered and sat down under the branches of a great tree. and I said, Where am and whence comes all this scenef' And then out from among the leaves and up the fowery paths and across the broad streams there came a beautiful group thronging all about me, and as I saw them come I thought knew their step. and as they shouted I thought knew their voices. but then they were so gloriously arrayed in apparel such as had never before witnessed that bowed as stranger to stranger. But when again they clapped their hands and shouted. Welcome. welcome, the mystery all vanished, and 1 found that time had gone and eternity had come. and we were all together again in our new home in heaven, and I looked around and said, Are we all heref" and the voices of many generations responded. "All heret And while tears of glad ness were running down our cheeks. and the branches of the Lebanon cedars were clapping their hands, and the towers of the great city were chiming | thoir xuolno,po xra oil fo0ofhor haoor, to