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- : .... -' *