Connecticut western news., 1899-01-26

for trying to build tower that could reach to the heavens but l think if onr eyesight were only good enough we could see Babel in many dooryard. Oh, the struggle is fierce! It is store against store, house against house, street againt street, nation against na- bion The goal for which men are run
 hing is chairs and chandeliers and mir
 TOTS and houses and lands and presiden-
 tial equipments. If they get what they
 anticipate, what have they? Men are
 not safe from calumny while they live,
 and, worse than that, they are not safe
 after they are dead, for I have seen swine root up graveyards. One day
 man goes up into publicity, and the
 world does him honor, and people climb np into sycamore trees to watch him as
 he passes, and as he goes along on the I shoulders of the people there is way ing of hats and wild huzza. Tomor-
 row the same man is caught between
 the jaws of the printing press and man.
 gled and bruised, and the very same
 persons who applauded him before cry
 Down with the traitorl Down with himl''
 Belshazzar sits at the feast, the mighty men of Babylon sitting all
 around him. Wit sparkles like the wine, and the wine like the wit Music rolls up among the chandeliers; the chande | Hers flash down on the decanters. The
 breath of hanging gardens floats in on
 the night air; the voice of revelry floats
 out. Amid wreaths, and tapestry, and folded banners, finger writes. The
 march of a host is heard on the stairs.
 Laughter catches in the throat. A thou sand hearts stop beating. The blow is struck The blood on the floor is richer
 hued than the wine on the table, The kingdom has departed. Belshazzar was
 no worse, perhaps, than hundreds of
 people in Babylon, but his position slew him. Oh, be content with just such position as God has placed you in. It
 may not be said of us, "He was a great general, or He was an honored chief tain, 7 or ''He was mighty in worldly attainments, but this thing may be said of you and of me- "He was good citizen, faithful Christian, friend of Jesus And that in the last day will be the highest of all eulogiums
 I learn further from this subject that death comes to the summer house. Egg lon did not expect to die in that fine place Amid all the flower leaves that drifted like summer snow into the win dow in the tinkle and dash of the fountains; in the sound of thousand leaves futing on one tree branch; in the cool breeze that came up to shake feverish trouble out of the kings locks there was nothing that spake of death, but there he died In the winter, when the snow is shroud, and when the wind is dirge, it is easy to think of our mortality; but when the weather is pleasant, and all our surroundings are agreeable, how difficult it is for us to appreciate the truth that we are mortal And yet my text teaches that death does sometimes come to the sum- mer house. He is blind, and cannot see the leaves. He is deaf, and cannot hear
 the fountains. Oh, if death would ask us for victims, we could point him to hundreds of people who would rejoice to have him come. Push back the door of that hovel Look at that little child cold, and sick, and hungry. It has never heard the name of God but in blasphemy. Parents intoxicated, stag gering around its straw bed. Oh, death, there is mark for thee! Up with it into the light Before those little feet stum-
 ble on life's pathway, give them rest. Here is an aged man. He has done his work He has done it gloriously The companions of his youth all gone, his children dead, he longs to be at rest, and wearily the days and the nights pass He says, ''Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly" Oh, death, there is
 mark for theel Take from him the staff
 and give him the scepter. Up with him into the light, where eyes never grow
 dim, and the hair whitens not through the long years of eternity. An, death will not do that Death turns back from
 the straw bed, and from the aged man
 ready for the skies, and comes to the
 summer house. What doest thou here, thou bony, ghastly monster, amid this
 waving grass and under this sunlight
 sitting through the tree branches? Chil-
 dren are at play. How quickly their feet go and their locks toss in the wind.
 Father and mother stand at the side of the room looking on, enjoying their glee It does not seem possible that the wolf should ever break into that fold and carry off lamb Meanwhile an old archer stands looking through the thicket. He points his arrow at the brightest of the group. He is sure marksman The bow bends, the arrow
 speeds Hush now The quick feet have stopped, and the locks toss no more in
 the wind Laughter has gone out of the
 hall. Death in the summer house
 Here is father in midlife His com ing home at night is the signal for
 mirth The children rush to the door,
 and there are books on the evening
 stand, and the hours pass away on glad
 feet. There is nothing wanting in that
 home Religion is there and sacrifices
 on the altar morning and night. You
 look in that household and say: "I can not think of anything happier. I do not
 really believe the world is so sad place
 as some people describe it to be. .' The
 scene changes Father is sick. The ioors must be kept shut. The death
 watch chirps dolefully on the hearth.
 The children whisper and walk softly
 where once they romped. Passing the
 house at night, you see the quick glanc- ing of lights from room to room. It is
 Ill over. Death in the summer housel Here is an aged mother r-aged, but not infrm. You think you will have
 the joy of caring for her wants good while yet. As she goes from house to
 house, to children and grandchildren,
 ner coming is dropping of sunlight in
 the dwelling. Your children see her
 coming through the lane, and they cry,
 Grandmother s comep' Care for you
 aas marked up her face with many
 1eep wrinkle and her back stoops with
 carrying your burdens. Some day she | lo iaf 1a ob< sa o4 c;x