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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.
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
"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
"Come, Bessie," she said as soon as they
hail risen from the breakfast table, "are ready ?"
"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.
,o "Now, cousin," said Bessie, "let us turn
own this lane and go over to the woods, ycind-
0 "How shall we get through these bars, Bes
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 •*:
A 4,4 4 t
"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 !
"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
"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
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,
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,
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
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,
"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
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.
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
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
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
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
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-
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
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
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
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