flie ifaniilu ©irtlf. THOUGHTS ON THE LAST EVENING OE 1868. BY JESSIE ULEHX Tis night again, dark night again! the last one of the year, And round the fire, we, one by one, with saddened looks draw near. Another year from time’s dark roll is swiftly gliding Anil who can see it pass away without a thoughtful brow ? It seems but yesterday since we to last year bade adieu; But now another one has gone, so we are passing, too! But stay ! some moments still remain for calm reflec tion given, So I’ll review the closing year. But hark! the clock strikes seven. ’Tis seven! how fast the moments fly ! and so this year has gone, Like sunlight piercing through a cloud, like snatches of a song! How well do I remember yet the hopes this year began, In fancy’s dreams such joyousneßs throughout its mo ments ran, Those brilliant hopes, those happy scenes, oh, tell me where are they ? Gone, withered, drooping, dying, dead, the (children of decay! - . The garland hope framed for this year met but a chill ing fate, ■ Its buds lie blasted on the stem, —but stay, the clock strikes eight. -another hou£jhas gonp.-and like a funeral AVith that last stroke a host of thoughts come sweeping by again; Black, hateftil Sins comeftoatirigup from the forgotten past, Aud remdutions half unkept cpme crowding thick £nd ’OiriM,*u fßut comes* steaMng by ? A-soleinn sigh, a tear, Breathed for the sms that marklhe steps of the ex piringyear l “ • Tell me, my soul, will tears suffice, may pardon still be mine ? ‘Wls|!| wash'thee in'thy SayiouFsVblo&dAthen’’—stay ’ ' strike's" iliid. " »' ■ •t- ’Tis.nine! the year is almost gone! and as it hurries by. How many broken hearts remain to bleed', and droop . and die ? , . . Some mourn because unkindness cats, and scornful looks are given. Some grieve because temptations come to lure their hearts from heaven. . How cold the shadows of this year. What anguish marks the spot. . / Where mothers weep, all comfortless, because dear ones “are not.’’ A last farewell, a dying look, a groan, a Sigh, and then ~ Young spirits passed from earth to heaven. But hark! ■ the clock strikes ten. Ten, ten! that is OKr'nutnber now.' for death this last sad year, Stole from ouv fAen unbroken band a brother kind and dear; ' And as it stilled his noble heart, and dimmed his lov- ing eye, ' \ '• We felt, though ten of us ,were left, how. soon those, tpi must die. Yes! toe are ten! how strange it seems to have our num- her less! : To know tlie coffin hides away one from our fond ca- ■ rcss, ' To feel, as I’have felt to-night, the sudden longing given, To see him once before ! sleep! In rain! It is eleven. Eleven! the last sad hour has come'of eighteen sixty eight ! ~ ' ‘ , , Beside the fire in wakeful mood, for, its last stroke! I wait. ‘ How fast, how swift its moments pass! ,So,.time will hurry by, '- Y , ! Until within the silent tQqib.beside-our dead I Re. Then years 1 wiib glide unheeded past; tlmkhribys not one delay! ; , ( ■; s A moment seems our dreamloss sleep, them comes the judgment Sty,'- ■ ■ - •’ - ■ Tlie bar of God!- eternity!! No more with sin I delve. But hark ! the old year breathes its last! Tick, tick! the clock strikes twelve ! the,Foiled : peatheb.<! >•, t; Come, bring the oil flask, there’s a pet,” said Samuel Parsons^}si§Cjwife ; as he finished sbre wiug on a hew lock to his. front : door. Sam, of course needn't have said, “ there’s a pet,” unless he liked ; but he used to- *th-ink : -that- it was a great shame that woftten were called all sor4s of pretty names before they were married, but none after wards. “ I say,” says Sam, “ many of the poor creatures are cheated with them there pretty names; poor folk ! they'think they’ll always get them but they'become'mighty scarce, after the finger is in the ring.” We don’t meanitd tell all thfe naine -iSam callcd his wife, before they were married; but now he called her “ pet;” and as soon as Bhe heard the loving word, she throw down her duster on the chair, and sped off to the kitchen for the flask. The flask had a feather in it, as such flasks generally havo ; and Sam, tak ing the said leather.between his forefinger and thumb, oiled the key of the street-door right well; and then locked it and unlocked it a dozen times. At first it went stiff; and required some, strength of wrist to turn it; but, as it was worked to and fro, and the oil began to make its way into the wards, it worked more ond'more easily; until at last, Tommy, Sam’s little son’ who was standing by, was able tqylurn it almost with a touch; and then Sam pronounced that it would^fijo. The operation finished, Sam thought'he’d just give his knife a touch of the end of the leather; less than,a drop.out of the flask would do; just a mere touch—that was all it wanted; and presently, to young Tommy’s great delight, his father made the blade go up and down, click, click. Tommy evidently approved of the result, for he began to click, click, with his tongue and the roof of his mouth, in imitation ; and how long, he might have delayed his father we can’t tell; if it were not that Mrs. Parsonß caught him up in her arms, and made off with him; she calling Tommy a “ saucy rogue,” and kissing him all the way; and he'on his part i lick, clicking, as though bis mouth were a cutler’s shop, and you were opening and shutting every knife ip lt v Some folk might think that Sam Parsons bad done epough in for one, day ; but there was one thing more to dp, j THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN JANUARY 7, 1869. and Ibon be would bo quite ready to take his potatoes to market. One or two of tbe wheels of his waggon had been a trifle creaky ; and so he took the greasepot, and gave them a toi eh of iis contents. You could have rolled all he put upon them into the size of a couple of marbles, but it was quite enough ; the wheels gave over creak ing; if the old proverb be true, “Silence gives consent,” no doubt they approved of what Sam had done. “ Now, then, I’m off to market,” said Sam. “ Good bye, jenny pet.” Ob that little word “pet!” didn’t the cunning fellow oil his wife’s temper, and even almost her very joints, for her day’s work, when he called her that little name. “ Good-bye, Tommy, my darling.” Ob yon cunning man ! there you are with: your oiled feather again for wheii Tommy was naughty, and his mother reminded him that she must tell his father when he came home, and “ father would be sore grjeyed if his darlijag , ,was£ naughty,” wasn't'Tbmmy good ?'’for, child though be was, he was able to reason thus much in his mind: Tommy is father’s darling and he won’t vex him ; darlings ought not to vex those who love them. Never mind, good, reader, if there’s a ffaw in fthe -logic; nursery logic is sometimes very funny rea soning, but it answered the purpose; naughty Tommy, became good,, and click-clicked about the house as merry as a cricket, ini stead of sprawling and bawling on the ground: and all because his father happened to ball him “ a darling’’ before he went out. “JL say, Polly,” said. Sam Parsons to -his one servant-maid, as- -he left the house; “ don’t forget to clean up those irons, if you can manage it, there’s a good lass; you’ll find the oil-flask hanging, behind the kitchen door;” and so, with a cheerful smile on his countenance, Sam Parsons took his departure for market. Ah ! 1 cunning 'Sain; before he went he oiled his wifdand child, and nbw he oiled, his servant-maid; and when he turned his bach upon his own door, he left smiling faces and glad hearts behind him; and, I warrant, he found them all smiling to receive him, when he batne home. * * # * * * * “ I have great faith in oil,” said Sam Par sons; “I oil almost everything; this very, morning I oiled the lock of my street-door, and my penknife; and greased my wkgoh! wheels; and I oiled my wife and child; and I gave the servant-maid, a touch too; and I tell you what it is, Neighbor Joe, I slip along famously, where I find many another sticks fast.” “Busty Joe’s” torn nail -seemed to give him a fresh twinge when the penknife was spoken about;.and so as to the wife,, his conscience reminded him bow bearishly he had behaved to her at breakfast. “What do yon mean by oiling ypur wife, man,” 1 said “Busty. Joe, ’’ rather tartly; “you haven’t been sneaking, have you, and knocking under to a,woman,?” ana “Busty Joe ” edged away from “ Polished Sam’s” side, as though he were near some slimy serpent. I '. “No indeed,” answered Shm, “I’ve not been knocking any way, neither over nor under; but I just gave her and the bantling a loving word before I started from home ; and I said a kind word to the lass to cheer her up through, her ' work for tho day; and, for the matter of that I gave the old apple woman a touch of my oiled feather too ; few people say a kind word to her, and so I did; and I dare say it helped her through the: day too ! I wouldn’t cringe 1 to any one Ji ving,” continued “Polished Sam,” “no.t to the Queen herself; but to cringe is one thing; to be civil, respectful, and loving, ac cording as the case requires, is another; I never knew ill come of it, and I’ve often known good. Yos, neighbor, I’ve known the good of it in my own, house, over and over again. There’s my-Jenny; you don’t know the work there’s in that little crea ture ; bless you! she’d work herself to.the finger-borie, if you give her a kind word, I knowed her to sit up seven nights with me, without taking off a stitch of her clothes that time I broke my log; and when I said to-her, one moi;qi-ng, as the d.ay was break ing; and 1 looked at her reel eyielids, 1 Jenny, my darling, I can never pay yon for all this’ —didn’t she laugh and saj, ‘Why, Sam, how can-you tpll such a story ? you>e paid ma now.! -■&•••*■ ■ ■ “ 1 Paid you, my wife ! why, what do you mean V ■ ! ‘“Didn’t you say.“myi darling?”’ “‘Tb.belsure l'did/IsaiclßL J }■ ’ “ ‘Well.’ wasn’t that payment to a woman’s heart?' 'i-'.:/. V ’ iV IL' “And she looked so earnest-like at me, that I felt the tears cOme in my eyes. Oh neighbor, I couldn’t 1 say itas she said it; for these women have a way of speaking that don’t belong to ns men.—Sometimes I think there’s a kind, of a pipe that makes, music in their throats; but ever since- that- day* I’ve been ten times as loving as I was before; and I try tb say a kind word, not only to Jenny, but to every one I meet. I believe, neighbor,” continued Sam, “ that women are of that nature, that they’ll do anything lor love; nouSe our driving them, our scolding, and ordering, and bangiDg about; that only makes slaves of them ; but give them a lit tle love, and they'll do wonders.” As Sam Parsons found that his neighbor was listening, he was encouraged to go on, even though he received no answer. “ And I do the same,” said Sam, “ by every wench that comeß to service tome. Servants are made of .the same stuff as their mistresses; they all have hearts; and the'same, kind of oil will reach them all.” Thus discoursing, Sam Parson arrived at his own farm-yard. There, was Jenny his wife, ready to meet him with a kiss; and there was Tommy, who received his father with a click, click; leaving it a matter of speculation as to whether'he had not been clicking ever since the morning until now.—And then, there was Polly tne ser vant-maid, standing close to the irons, which shone as though" they were fresh from the shop; she hoped they’d catch her master’s eye; and she knew she’d a kind word. And when Sam went into the sitting-room, there be saw a great heap of his stockings’ that Jenny had been darning; and when Sam sat down to tea, there was a pie that Jenny had made; and if Sam had been a little boy instead of a grown-up man, he would certainly have patted his chest and smacked his lips and so expressed his opin ion, that this was “something like a pie.” One would think that Sam Parsons had oil ed the pie, so smoothly did each piece slip down his throat, for he was at peace with Jenny his wife, Tommy his son,-and Polly the servant-maid. Good humor promotes digestion; and our readers will be gald to hear that Sam slept well upon that good supper, and had pleasant dreams; and woke up refreshed, to be happy, and make others happy all day long,— English Pa per. A PBAYEB-MEETING SKETCH. THE FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, CHICAGO. The lecture-room'of !tbis f church is not a base ment room, or a rqqm»at the rear of . the .cjnirch, but-! a separate”building 'fronting'-M'n' : aWther street. ’On passing by previously, I had sup posed it to be a modest little church'" 81 some aft'er'a brisfi walk T—for thls'skjr"is .jffear and" the air is'stinging coid—l'find ’inysblf odtt/e west side of Wabash' avenue, directly in front of the great church. All is dark7What does\ .it mean, ? Is it not time for prayer-meeting? Where is the lecture room? I see the modest little, church around the corner glowing at every window wifh a cheer ful light; I wonder if -that-is not the place I seek ! .1 will go and see. It I ,is. I enter. The room is an unusually pleasant one, and to my'no tion admirably arranged. It is seated wiib'eane bottom, half-arm chairs, which can be easily re moved when the room is required 'for social pur poses. The carpet' is a bright, cheerfuk one; a few choice pictures hang,-qn--the fWalls-V|onvone si'de of the rbom is a sligfttiy p&trornY, ode part of Which is occupied by a small pipe' organ, and the other part by a chair and'stand for the use ; of’the leader ofthe meeting; I can scarcely conceive how wealth or taste “an add. anything to the pleasant; home-like appearance of the place. , And now. let me see. YYill the meeting I have come to attend correspond to - the place ? Will the hearts that come in hefe be asweilfurnished as the room is ? or have these., people who wor ship here, as is too often the case, been trying to ■makeup in outward adornings what they;con sciously lack, in inward'adofningsjf Ah, I re member well many* many prayer-meetings that I have attended in rude school-houses' and bare 1 kitchenspwhere T'have/metKGcod-.as. in heaven’s every gate and; bn the *bllre#Ahkn<it, many,-; Oh, how many! in -beautiful, elegant, faultleEs church parlors; which were.as c.old.,and dead as fasli ’ionable trappings 1 arohnd. Sow (will -it>b4t to night? ~ v-o'iia! .v/ v/.;:-C'(“ “Sy-. ; It ia'fifteen minutes early. A dozen are in the; roqm. Th>e q,uick. click, filic.k, crannch, praunch,i of'hurrying feet drb heard ijif thte'-ftozetf side-i w.alkapd'threshold. In a very short.time ahun dred dre present. A slender, : pale-looking young man, seemingly’not more than twenty-five years qld, comes in and takes his seat on the platform. lam disajipointed. I was hoping Mr. Mitchell, the new pastor of the. church, would lead the meeting, to-night., I wonder if this yo,ung * man is going to take his place. I inquire of my; right-hand neighbor about .the-,niatter., “ Why; sir,”- saij is,sfi\ ( The^cloud is'at once gone from my face. In a iuomedt tlie pastor is reading with' aj mellow, rich; voice, 1 the hymn commencing: !‘Jesuß, where'er, thy people meet!.. There [they behold thy mercy-seat.” At the singing promises badly, for three distinct attempts are made before ,the .leader can start the familiar tune, “ Retreat,”, Once started, however, all goes on well,, and during the rest of the evening there is no difficulty: .1 can not quite understand why no use whatever is made "of thS organ-d'nrihg'the evening.: j, ] . , The pastor prays, in a. subdued, sympathetic manner, seemingly carrying with him all hearts. lam sure he did mine. 1 have rarely heard a prayer in which the ppe who offered it seemed more truly to enter into and sympathize with all the-feelings, and-needs, Qf ( those whom he, led, “ 51a:y'the'busine®-iafieb who have come in here to night be rested. May those seeking God find him speedily, sweetly, to’ the joy and satis faction of their souls. May .the young in Christ cling close to, their,Lord, and', so grow strong. May those of. us who are older in thy service forget hot to keep the flame of our devotion burn ing brightly always, by renewing it daily and hourly at thiqpjalhp. jslay b.e healed; or, what is better .if, it seem so to thee, taught to abide ’their aih'ictiori in paitient submission to thy will May the bereaved be comforted by finding {Jesus standipgiin jtfhe glace, p,f the for one. 1 ' all hearts here to-night f ruk "togkher in thankfulness .to thee, in sympathy for one an other, and in earnest longinga for our dear un saved friends ” Another hymn is sung, a short chapter is read and very briefly commented, upon, perhaps two more prayers are offered, and then the pastor announces that he has invited Rev. Mr. Rider to be present and address us for a few moments to night on the subject of mission work among tlie Jews. Mr. Rider himself a Jew by birth and education. Some of the readers of The Stan dard will remember reading, perhaps four years ago, of the somewhat remarkable conversion of a young Jew who was at the time, acting in one of the/ theatres in Chicago. Mr. Rider is the man: He is now laboring in this city and the North west for the evangelization. ot his people. His remarks are full of interest. us plainly that ounPrqtcsfant churches, amid all our general zeal for missions, /baye bpefi guilty of a shameful neglect of that particular people, to whom we are indebted almost infinitely more than to anyvother, and who are as sadly in need of missionary labor as any of the nations of India can be. He finds but a very limited sympathy and co operation among Christian men. There seems to be a sort of general impression that the Jews are beyond hope. But this is a mistake: In London, 2,0111 Jews have been converted, and about a hundred are preaching the Gospel. In this city, a promi nent and learned Rabbi is now under conviction, and inquiring earnestly about Jesus. Yet so faithless are Christian men in the matter, that Mr. Rider has had a package of thirty dollars’ worth of Hebrew books and tracts, sent him from London, lying for weeks in the American Ex press office in this city, because he has been un able to raise money sufficient to pay the charges on them. . As soon as Mr. Rider has sat down, a brother rises and says : “ Come to my office in the morn ing and you shall have the required -money.” Another brother rises and says: ”It seems to me we ought to take up a collection here to-night for the cause, which has been set before us,” Another responds: “It seems so to me too.” Several speak with much interest, commending the cause to each other's sympathy and prayer and. support, and indorsing the proposal,,for, collection to-night. , The, pastor says: “ The brother whom you have heard' has hot asked for a collection, But I am glad to see that we cannot rest unless we give him one.” A collection' is taken up. The meeting goes od. ; A young brother speaks for, tHe first time .publicly.. ; Another thanks God that he has had. strength.to do_so,_ Several.short prayers follow, all warm with feeling for God’s ancient people.', One says : -hrlihayefbeen greatly impressed with’ the thought that ungodly men all around us, while they are not reading their Bibles or Christ, are all the while with keen eyes read ing us. We are to them the Bible and , Christir anity.” Another says: “I was in a bank last Saturday,- and took the liberty to ask, .the,, Resi dent, who is" not a'Christian man, whether he at tended church regularly, and if he , would not come to ours. He told me to stop and sit down. ‘ Now',’’said ! he, ‘if I were a Christian man, I would not-do what you are doih'g. : Why do you not go to-work in the spirit -that Christ ; did ? Why do you not quit building your palatial churches, and hiring Jour $5;000 choirs, and all that sort of thing, and go to; work, directly and first of all, to save souls and bless those in the community who need poor, the neglected, the degraded ?’ And, brethren, I felt that that non-professing hank, president was speaking true words, and I didn’t know how to answer him.”' But it, is now neayly nine p’clock?—time’for the meeting to close. Announcement is made that the young people’s missionary society will meet as soon as this meeting is over. A hymn is sung, the benedictiop is pronounced, and the end has come. The meeting has been a warm, good one ; but there has. been jnst one sad lack. None of the sisters have taken part—for it is a Presby terian meeting, you know.— Standard, (Baptist.) THE AXE Iff THE BUBBLE OF BODS. The axe carried before the Roman con suls was always bound up in a bundle of rods. An old author tells ns that “ the rods were t’ied up with; knotted cords, and that when an offender was condemned to be ; i unished, the executioner would untie the 4 kopt?* JWJ?-stey. in.eahwhile, thei magistr%^ ; |mnld loSfc- the’ eniprft- in the ’ face, ,to obselve any signs of repentance, and watch his wOrds, to see if he could find a motive for mercy.; and thus justice went to its w;ork )'de|sbebajtely -and without pas sion/’ The axeJjjaß inefosed in rods to show that the exu-bme -penalty was neverj inflicted tnllimilder means had ’failed ilfiyst the rod, and th,e-axe. only as i & terrible ne cessity." ' , ;, Reader, if yon are'unconverted, I beg you; to; look- at e, *sy npcbol and, 'a,Jggfebn. The Lord is gfjacidis and fuli <}f cOmpks&ionj toward you. He has .w aited 10.11) ese ypars, untying tjie, knpts slowly,, and seeing l whether you will,'by His long' suffering, be led to repentance. Hitherto,flew and fee ble, have ;be'en any. tokens for good in you. beware! for mercy tarries not, forever, and justice will not long delay. The rods you have already fell. Those burials of dear ones were all rods to you. That fever, that broken; iarm, that loss in business—all these put together have been warnings to you, which you cannot despise without .commit ting "great sin.‘ Many have,been brought to God by afflictions; but you, perhaps, have been rather hardened than otherwise. See to it, sinner! For, when the rods have had their turn, the axe must come in for its work. Its edge is sharp, and its blow is terrible. He who wields it will cu t through soul and body, and none can escape from His wrath. You have found the rod to bo very dreadful, but what will the axe'be? Hell is not to be thought of without trem bling; but it will soop be your eternal dwel- ling place, unless you repent. • Can you en dure its endless torments ?• Trembler, there is hope ! Jesus die t d. Jesup liyes.,. .Trust in him who stood in the sinner’s placeyMtl you are saved. 01), may the Holy Ghost you lehd you to Jesus and to safety, for time, flies like the,weaver’s shuttle, and, tho thread of. life, is soon snapped. “Tmday, if ye' will hear His voice, harden not your, hearts,’'— Spurgeon. THE RESPONSIBILITY OF PARENTS. A writer to the American Messenger relates the,following: . . t i°* ' r j , i ( . ..-1.,.. There was a deep religious interest in the town of M. —■ . Many bad found the Lord Jesus, and were rejoicing in His won derful grace. The consciousness of God’s awful presence was in every heart. The friends of Christ were in gladness, the long prayed for time had come. There Was a harvest of souls, and Christians gave them selves to the unwearied prosecution of the Lord’s work. Among those deeply convinced of sin and thrown thereby into great distress was a strong-minded man, who seemed to make no advance whatever beyond the mere con viction, and for whom no relief came Agony and pride strdve together—the pow enrol-, the world to come and an obdurately wicked heart. Sometimes he would avoid \hecompany of Christians and get-a wav from his pastor. Then his distress) would* be so great that he would open his heart to some friend. After many days, his pas tor ielt he must make one more eliori bring him to Christ. He sought him out. pressed upon him tho duty of immediate sub. mission to God, plied him with tho precious promises, prayed with him ; but all to no,'pur pose. The stout heart did not bend, would not break though there was upon it great horror. Never can the look of his face be for gotten, as with freezing words of terror, he exclaimed : “ It is of no use ;.1 behmg to an irreligious family. My father and mother never loved God, never serv.ed Jesus Christ. I cannot, I will not submit to him.” The crisis was reached,. . The .Spirit was grieved. The man was left. His convictions faded, and soon he was a hardened man. It was felt that he was given up. : >So lie lived and thus he died. -, ■ < - ; ; T ie sin of ungodly parents may ,fasten upon their children a pridefpf Jbpart and perversity;of will that shaU . lead.’tO their perdition. S-ball our children:'ihlWP >t to say, ‘1 Myifather, my, mother wprei’Christ ?” liet not, our example drag them down; rather let it aid them to the true life, that is hid with Christ in God. ; THE DEAREST BAItE. , . A .remarkabLe inp%nce pf the, power of Christ and iiie lpye to arouse the dormant facul Lies of a- ’ mind unable to respond, on pther subjects was furbished , during the closing years of the late Jes sup, an eminent civilian and jjurfst, and de voted Christian of Montrose^ !Pbnn; Luring the past five years, while his mii/d, and memory, and physical powers'vfereiserious ly affected, by successive strokes of paraly sis, ' his Christian life seemed unimpaired. “ Worldly things,” Bays iPAe Evangelist, “seemed to be forgotten, while religious things continued fresh and clear in his mind. When writing about the town, he could- go directly to tho church ; .but the court-house, the scene of his’ legal experience, he seemed to have utterly forgotten-. : His’law-Books he had forgotten, but hiS Bible was retd daily. He even "fotgof the’name's of’Bis ertrtf- Chil dren, but never forgot the name Pf JfcsUe: The mention of that natnb always, bfonght a smile to his face. Storemembered distinct ly the brethren whom Kb had known in com nection with the chfidph- 1 and the religious societies, while he'couhLPnly with-difficulty recall those whom he had kn’own in the sphere of the law, politics and buPtnoss. ' “ For many days- before he Jay upon his- bodj-fee held.in«biß r right,.hand his lohgmsed arif ready, pil grim-like, to set out upon his last journey. His death was as his life Bad been, and h : e‘bap Jgft/ tOjhjs femily, bis church and his country that , best of all le gacies, ,tbe memory of a pure, unselfish and upright lifej d e voted to the, glory of God and the welfare of his fellow-men.” ; GETTYSBURG NATIONAL MONUMENT. The annual meeting of the Board of Man agers of the Soldiers National Cemetery was held at Washington, December 9th, D. 'Wills, Esq , of Gettysburg, presiding. Reportswere made by Mr. Wills, and Hon. S. R. Bussell, Treasurer, and by various committees, exhibiting the financial condi tion of the Association and the progress of tne‘ work. The ‘Monument, w'hibh has been ;de,lay@d',\ py\the-. breakingof one of the statues in Italy; will be' completed next Spring. It will be jf> (New England white granite, 65 feet fhigh, the Statues of Italian marble. Tfcb tbp represents the God dess of Liberty,.and iS 10 -feet,6 inches high. It was cut in Italy.under the superinten denee Of Randolph'Rodgers,-an d is now on Ihe ground at Gettysburg. The shaft of the monument us of . wbiSbiTgranite, and is already cut. and nady-to b.e,’.shipped f.om the, quarries at Westerly,. Rhode Island. Two of the statues, “ War ” and “ History,” arc, finished and were shipped from Leghorn on the 20th ,pf November. Tho other statues, “Peace/’ and “Plenty,’’ are in the hands of the sculptor in Italy, and will be shipped early in the spring. These will be placed around the four pedestals or corners of the monument; It 'was determined to have the final consecration ceremonies on the Ist of July next, and committees were appointed to make the necessary arrange ments,-which will be on an extensive scale, and worthy of the occasion. Mr. Russell, the Treasurer, reports the amount received during the year, including balanceon’ hand at previous settlement,sl4, 623.50; amount paid’out during the year on monument; lodge * Wash; >' &b. ,w515 f 138.63, leaving a cash balance > of §1,48487, besides 822,500 investednn ILvS. -fc-20 bonds. .There has been paid oh-the contract for the mon ument 835,000;.leaving. tl2rsoftvto» be, paid on final completion of* the work. This would leave a surplus of nbout $ll,OOO in the hands of the Board, to appropriate to the proposed Observatory, or such other improvements as may be deemed best— Gettysburg Star. , . A P 8 S re ® t 'y w >se to talk with our past hours; Ant wh ?t report they bore'to heav’n; o iow they might have borne more welcome liews;^'■ v-4 . - • >vh'-. u h uf- a ! mvers form what meii experience call; it Wisdom’s friend, her best;, if not, worst foe. <-in 6oollol I •JK.ind Experience cries, hut what as nothing weighs; j h’hre'tmr jnV, the iibre We’know it vain: by success are tutor’d to despair.' wif on) y thus, but must be so.. Who knows not this, though gray, is still a child, boose then frqrn earth the grasp’ of fond desire, Weigh anchor, and some hazierdime explore. As Claverheuse’a dragoons were down- on a worshipping assembl}' of Covenantors, their aged pastor prayer three times, “ Lord spare the green and take ft'* xipq among the first that fell- : .... -' *
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers