THE PILOT IS PUBLISHED EVEY TUESDAY MORNING BY JAMES W. M'CRORY, (North. West Corner of the Public Square,) st the following rates, from which there will be no deviation: Single subscription, in advance $1.50 Within six months 1.75 Within twelve months 2.00 No paper will be discontinued unless at the option of the Publishers, until all arrearages are paid. No subscriptions will be taken for a less period ban six months. 9clect Portril. THE TREE OF LIFE. Come hither, weary souls, And drop thy burden here; if thou would'st be made whole, A blessed tree is near; Upon the high-way side it grows— And sweetly healeth human woes. It only suits the soil. Where broken hearts abound; Yet visits every isle Whore gospel truth is found— 'Tie planted for the health of man, And by a heavenly husbandman. Upon the roads it stands To catch a pilgrim's eye, And spreads its leafy hands To beckon strangers nigh— - Breathes forth a gale of pure delight, And charms the traveler's weary sight Its friendly arms afford, A screen froth heat and blast; Its branches well are stored; With purity of choicest,taste—, . • And in the loaf kind juices dwell, IVliich sore and sicknes's qUietly heal.' But stand not gazing on The branches of the tree Go under, and sit down Or sure it help's" nut thee. There rest thy aching' feet 'end Side, And in this resting-phiee ICo.sooner art thou set Beneath its shadow there, But all the stalding " And all thy fretful cure—: And every pain from thee will drop, As fruit comes tumbling in thy lap: This is the tree of life, Which first in Eden'grew; But AdOnt, with his wife, Ccncealed it from our view-- Then.it was fixed on Calvary's top,. And is the pillar of my hope. (soob Ztorics. Ft•vtn ate 'Waver ley Mogazinr THE TWO COUSINS. BY EDWARD E. ROGERS. It was Matilda's first morning in the' country. 'She felt like an uncaged bird—as if she could scale fences and bound over fields as lightly as the forest fawn. She came down to breakfast dressed in plain calico, a rustic sunbonnet it her hand, and thick-soled morocco boots on her feet, "ready," as she said, "to have a ,good time." "You will go with me, wont lou,'Bessie?" ; she said, turning to her nountry cousin, a pret., ty maiden of seventeen summers. • • • "Oh, certainly," was the response; "I will, lgo immediately after breakfast.' After Lhave' ;shown you my pet ducks and chickens I will ~ % take a walk with you through the woods." Matilda's appetite was unsually poor; she 5' was so absorbed by the thought of the pleasure in prospect. "Come, Bessie," she said as soon as they hail risen from the breakfast table, "are ready ?" "1 es.'' "Nuw, gills, don't go too far," said Bessic's ,-..' mother. "I am afraid Matilda will romp too ~, Itch for her strength." ' "No fear of that, Aunt Charlotte. Why, I ." ave walked three times up and down Chapel `Jtreet in one day. Bessie will be the one who ill tire out first." Bessie, according to her promise, went to the 'bare-yard first. There were hens, turkeys, ' nd ducks; some promenading about evidently o show their fine feathers; some rolling in the irt, others leading troops of little ones. Ma ilda was delighte e d, and could not leave the cunning little ducks," as she called them, ..'! rail she had taken at least a dozen in her hatid d kissed them. 'T;:i ,o "Now, cousin," said Bessie, "let us turn own this lane and go over to the woods, ycind- CO „ e. el 0 "How shall we get through these bars, Bes -‘,"Oie ?" ti "Jump over them, of course." "You don't mean so?" i t • iltt "I do, though," said Bessie, bounding over ' them with a cricket-like agility. "Now let me see you do that." "Oh ! I can't." "Well, crawl through," and Bessie let down , ne of the rails. The course led through a corn-field, in which `i e young plants were just beginning to grow. essie was telling her cousin about planting land hoeing, and how corn and potatoes are cul ivated, when Matilda exclaimed : i.i "See those black hens yonder! they are pick ng, up the corn, aren't they?" Warn, r tf ( 4** 4 irA t 4 •*: Lt. 0.: ) 3 0 A 4,4 4 t 1 • VOL-1111. "Black hens! Oh, they do sing so nicely. I am sure you wouldn't care anything more about canaries, if you could hear them sing once.- I will run out there and scare them, and then they will sing as they fly. Now listen ;" and Bessie ran out into the field to scare them Up they flew, - screaming —"caw ! caw! caw!" "Oh, horrid! You don't call that singing ?" . "I was only thinking of a chapter on Irony which I learned last winter in Boyd's Rhetoric,' said Bessie, quietly.. • '1 • • • Soon they reached , tt medowf covered. with tall grass. Bessie led•the way, tranipling down the grass to make a path for her cousin. "What if we should find a snake, Matilda?" "A snake !" whispered - the city cousin in a suppressed scream; ihinking'of those frightful looking creatures she had seen in the traveling museums. "A snake ! Let uego back L! "Oh, I don't believe there are• any here; .if there'are, I'll kill them," and Bessie caught up a Stick from the grass.- By her' hold man ner she restored the courage of thehalf•fright ened girl, and' they ' ' It was nine o'clock." ) The'dew' had all dis 'appeared from the grass, and the heat was be coniingloppressive. - Both of them were' glad to enter the shade of- the woods;-toiwhich Bes sie bad alluded at the breakfast table. ' They had jttst seated'themselves beneath a spread ing oak, tree when Matilda spied a little red and yellow animal, 'and'ahe Baked Bessie what it Was. "A Squirrel, cousin. Catcht him and bring Mtn to Me." " '• Matilda sprang up, not donbting that a few steps would brin,g thebright-eyed little stranger into her hands. She ran in pursuit,- increas ing her speed i till -shelfound that squirrels can run faster than girls, and their gave up i the chase. iShe.came near being vexed at Bessie for telling, her tondo, such a foolish thing. She sat down ,again, and then they listened to the wild strains of bird-song coming from treetops far and pear. . "Oh, delightful ! delightful !" said the young city lady; "I would rather hear it than the, splendid music of the opera I heard night before last." Bessie, was listeninr , to the sound of an axe in, the hands of A woodman, at no great distance; and so she got up and peered through the trees to find out who he was. By his manner and dress she knew it was a young farmer living close by her father's house. John Percival was dressed in a farmer's clothing, it is true, but for all that he was a true child of genius, a botanist, a lover and 'silent observer of Nature in, her thousand forms of beauty. Bessie sAddenly commenced look ing about for flowers, and in a abort time gath ered some rare specimens. "What are you going to do with those, Bes sie ?" • "Smell of them ; see how fragrant they are;" and she broughttheui to Matilda. "Do you carry them, and you will soon see what use I shall make of them. Let:us walk this way ;" and she led her toward the place where the young far Mer Was 'chopping•. 'Matilda now, for the first time, saw the young man in the distance. She was turning to go in another directiOn, but Bessie stopped her, saying : "You have taken me for a pilot, and I must be pilot for the whole voyage."' - Matilda had become possessed of the idea that farmers are 'inexpressibly verdant, and she had repeatedly said she wouldn't "even look at one of those country clowns."' Bessie was going to hive her own way this time. She led the way directly toward the young man, with whoui she felt' intimately acquainted. "Good morning, .Mr. Percival," she, said. smilingly ; "let me introduce you to my cousin, Miss Welton; from the city." . Miss Matilda Welton couldn't help looking at one of 'those "country clowns" now, if she had tried. That look was a thing of magic; it accomplished a complete revolution of ideas in the mind of the accomplished city lady. "What a noble:looking man ! What an in telligent countedanee ! What expressive eyes! What a gentlemanly deportment," she said within herself. "How unlike the stupid crea ture I had supposed a farmer must be." "Let Mr. Percival take those: flowers," s a id Bessie; "he will analyze them 'for you." Certainly, if you wish," said Mr. Percival, as Miss Welton presented them smilingly, say ing that she felt an interest in Botany, and that an analysis of those specimens before her would give her much pleasure. As he picked them to pieces, showing the most intimate acquaintance with petals, pistils GREENCASTLE, PA., TUESDAY, MARCH 31, 1863. and starnons, all the while talking enthusiasti cally about the wonders of the natural world, then by a natural transition discoursing,rever ently of the skill of Nature's God, and of 11's love shown in creation, the maiden became strangely interested in him ; and every time those earnest black eyes were thrown upon her, Cupid was making impressions upon her heart. Matilda was pretty, but not handsome.. She' possessed a cultivated mind,.and the young farmer was not slow .in discovering it. As; ,they left him he remarked, ; carelessly , "If you happen to find .some other varieties' in, your walk I shall be happy to assist you in, analyzing them. They_ thanked him, assuring, him, that they . would do their best in finding rare specitnew,: since the analysis of those before:, them .had, given so much pleasure.. , Matilda was "tired out" when she reached: the farm house, but the thought of, those "rare' specimens," and that "handsome young fariner,"! (who Bessie knew would come over and talk 13otany in the evening,) took so much of her! Atteotion'that,,slie, :was scarcely, aware of her, fatigue. , Mr. Percival did come that evening; arid' • Bessie said "she knew he would come again : ; : sbe.liadn't w,atched,the direction of those black' eyes for nothing." According to. Bessie's Trediction, h.e. came,;' and, when Miss Matilda Welton went, home, she carried with: her the certainty that , he would come and see her in the city. I Now, Par reader, I need not, go any further ; for you know, of, course, what happened. .1 need, out); repeat what Mrs., I.aragaret,.l.!ercival often says, quoting, the words of a great poet— "Honor and shame from no condition rise; • Act well your part,—there all the nonor lies.' ' THE POETS 'MISSION. The angel of light lifted -the star-spangled' curtain of Night, and the morning light dawn.' ed fair upon the sleeping world, while the glo-• rious sunlight : 'flooded sea and , land. And, as' the angel . gazed .through boundless space,, his ,eye. rested upon the form, of. sleeping childhood.. The angel gazed, and with . . one harp-note of, heavenly music thrilling through, her,, inner. soul, and awakening anew life within her, the. child opened her eyes upon the glad sunlight,. happy thoughts and wild longings rushing tu-: tnuituously through her heart,. stirring,, its, fountains as they were never : stirred hefore.-- 7 1 The angel soared away. to .his home of light,t knowing that her, mission to the c.hild, of, earth; was done • she had awakened the child heart; to alromart's life, and illumined its,,dawttini with the, light of genius:, The child went to the school-room, and her • playmates wondered why it was that the merry Estelle joined in, their childish sports no more, and why she wandered from the play-ground, and its laughter-loving, throng, to the quiet and! loneliness of the wayside spring. But, had' you asked that fair, young creature if she was' lonely there, she would have told you no ! that there was companionship fbr her in the whis pering of the tall trees bending over her; and that in the babbling spring she found more of companionship than iu the wild laughter of her former playmates; while in ber.yonng' heart a fount of song was gushing,, which to her seemed. but an indefinable feeling of hap piness, a joy unknown before. The child knew not that a poet's soul was: hers. Her instructors marked the growing eartness of her deep, dart: eye, and the kind ling flush that ofttimes passed over her cheek, leaving paleness where 'it had relied ; they marked her passionate devotion to the old tales of poetry and romance, her deep reverence for the beautiful, and they said,. "The child.is not for earth ;" and they called her "the beautiful dreamer." Years passed away ; 'the child of the old time had come forth into the world a noble, gifted woman; and the early womanhood of Estelle was beautiful as her childhood had been. She had passed the years in a deep and earnest search for knowledge, and mist after mist had rollod away since we looked upon the child heart. The heaven-born music then playing so sweetly upon her heart-strings had now found utterance; and, speaking the word reverently, in its deepest, holiest meaning, Estelle was a poet. A poet I not a mere rhymer of meaningless verses, but one who understood her mission truly, who felt that it was hers to elevate, to make purer, to refine. She standeth by the wayside spring as in childhood, but not as then, alone. Another is by her side, and the lovelight beameth bright in his eye as it ineeteth her own ; bill., as she = BF RES'aR C. LAUREATE.--„, looks upon him, tears gather in her earnest eyes, for there is sternness marked upon the features which never before had looked upon her with other looks than of love. His voice sounded cold as he saith, "Estelle, did I not see your name in the " Macazine" as an author ?" 'The blinding tears were swallowed, and a happy look of pride rested tor a moment upon her featutes as she answered— "You did, Adolphe." "Mhy I ask why I Was'not informed of your intention of becOniing anthOreas ?" "I wished to surprise you, Adolphe." "You have surprised me, indeed!" Bitter Sarcasm was in his tone as he uttered the lait word's, and s'trangely'iounded harsh 41:tids frOin Adolphe, in the ear of Estelle; but the determined will of a strong mind was in the maiden's heart, and 'She stood by the `streatfilet in the pride of conscious innocence, her tall form unbent, her firm lip quivered not as she Said, '"You sic displeased, Adolphe." - "I ant, Buethis shall lie naught if the tiame of Estelle has 'made its last ap- pearance, ass. p i uhite )yrtter. , "I.Chai :made its first, A.dolphe—l trust not its Blast;" , . ; "TheO', Estelle, what say you when I say that yOu and I must part'?" ' ' "I would say so be it"; but I would also'saY, Adolphe 'Raynier 'far 'from being the min I had thought him to be." "He is not the mart you thought; if You thought he would wish to call a woman his wife who strove bUt to"win laurel leaveS. What would her husband, - what would her hoine'be to her ?" "It would be what I once hoped my home would be, were'Adolphe Raynier my husbatid, and his home my home—deardr than aught else on earth:" "Then, Estelle, say but the Word ! dream of fame no more; and be my Own Estelle, as you have been since childhood." - Iler heart throbbed heavily ; that allusion of his to the happy days now gone'forever had al most made her waver. For a moment her spirit was fettere'd,•but another dote from the harp strings of the angel'Uf her childhood swept suddenly'across her heart, filling her soul with the-beauty of her .hidden inner life —her power to- confer good upon her fellow mortals; and she wavered no more, but said, sadly, "Adolphe, oh, Adolphe ! you speak to me of .fame 'lnd of laurel leaves.; Compared' to' :Our love" they ;are t.c; me' its' niaight Pdare not does you. , bid Me, "not even if 'I would t,,,• - • • . ."Dare not, Estelle ! Why ?" "Because, Adolphe, our Father in 'Heaven has given me a mission to perform on earth; He has given me a gift which it were wrong for me to cast aside—a light which it were a sin for me to quench. A gift with which I may call the world weary back from the pathway of sin to the love and admiration of Nature; and as they learn to look upon Nature in its true light, they cannot forget the Creator. A gift with which' I May proclaim to the young and unformed mind the duties and the objects of a true life, and which May 'help to lead him nearer to his God ; for true poetry is Heaven born in its deep yearnings for a purer'and a holier life. I cannot cast aside this gift, not even for you, Adolphe." "Your decision is made, Estelle?:' "It is ; and now farewell ; I would be alone." The beautiful 'dreamer was alone`with 'her Creator; Duty had triumphed over love. And now, her mission ended, some few of her, fellow creatures Aide better by her sojourn on earth, the bright angel has borne Estelle to "sun-bright clime, where the flowers are fade less, and where the morning changeth not to night." A QUICK 14UARTER.-A boy worked hard all - day for a quarter of a dollar. With the quarter he bdu4ht apples, and took them to town and sold them in the street for one dollar. With the dollar he bought n a sheep. The sheep bought him a lamb, and her fleece another dollar. With the dollar he bought another sheep. The next spring he had two sheep, two lambs and a yearling sheep. The three fleeces he sold for three dollars, and bought three more sheep. He now had six with a fair prospect. He worked where he found an op portunity, for hay, and corn and oats, and pas turing for his sheep. MI took the best care , cf them and soon had a flock. Their wool ena bled him to buy a pasture:for them, and by the time he was twenty-one he- had a fair start in life, and all from a quarter earned in one day. ADVERTISING RATES. Advertisements will be inserted in THE PILOT at the following rates: 1 column, one year of a column, one year of a column, one year 1 square, twelve months 1 square, six months 1 square. three months • 1 square, (ten lines or less) 3 insertions Each subsequent insertion Professional cards, one year NO. 9. rattle-or-Notl)ings. Men are never so easily deceived as when they are plotting to deceive others. Sorrows grow less and less every time they are told—like a lady's age. The form which God's providence on earth oftenest takes is that of a good woman. Temperance is a Rarey that may be always relied on to tame the ni.,ht-mare. . A clock or a watch is all the better for being a second-bapd timepiece. Success is not genuine merit, but it is a good counterfeit It takes but a.rouuh trailor to fit a man with a suit of tar and feathers. Innocence is no security against temptation ; it is exactly what temptation conquers. Every unmarried lady of forty has passed the .Cape of Good Hope. Embrace as many opportunities as you please, but only one woman. In uttering a great thought, use no word that doesn't -weigh a pound. 1 oldies Saves his own life by slaying his enemies. He kills for a living. Sour people should be hung on sour apple trees; crabbed ones on crab-apple trees. Every sound spokeu over the round world which we ought to hear,will vibrate to our ears. Women may be nearer akin to angels than man is ; _ but she got intimate with the devil first. Spiritual life is the rippling of a soul-ri'er between, its undulating banks and beneath its rejoicing trees The physician who is advertising to cure "all kinds of female weakness" must be the most wonderful of all possible doctors. 'lt would seem to be dangerous to walk abroad when the leaves shoot and the flowers display their ,pistils. Some of the young women may think Angle blessedness an excellent thing, but most of them know a game worth two of that. We may be in far r better health today than we were yesterday, but we are nearer dissolu- BM An ostentatious man not unfrequently sets up his' statues of the heathen gods and worship of the true God alike for show. Every Man is not so much a workman in the world as a 'sup estion of what to be. Men walicas prophecies of the nest age. What man shall dare tax another with im prudence? Who is prudent? The men we call greatest are the least in this kingdom. A physician should have a cheerful count° nance. A sentence of death on his face is as bad as a warrant for execution signed by the governor People.mrith short legs step quickly, because legs are pendulums, and swing more times in minute the shorter they are. Apology is egotism turned wrong side out. G-enirally the first things a man's :companion knows of his short-comings is from his apology. The true way of reaching the Right is through the heart of the Wrong : he who goes around it finds but the other side of Wrong and the wrong side of Right. There may be as honest a difference between two men as between two thermometers. The difference in both cases may arise from dif- ference in position The mirage of desert paints the things of earth in the heavens. There is more glorious mirage, which, to the eye of the Cbristain, paints the things of heaven upon the canvas of earth. The true reader loves poetry and prose, fic tion and history, seriousness and mirth, because he is a thdrough hu*ln being, and contains portions of all the 'faculties to which they appeal. The house may draw visitors, but it is the prossessor alone that can detain them. We cross the' Alps, and, after a short interval, we are glad to return—we go to see Italy, not the Italians. $70.00 35.0( 20.00 8.00 6.00 4.00 =:: =l= 1.00 2 5.00
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