THE PILOT Is PUBLISHED EVEY TUESDAY monNixo BY JAMES W. M'CRORY, North West Corner of the Public Square,) 1 file following rates, from which there will be no tlevintion ogle subscription, in advance ithin six months ithin twelve months No paper will he discontinued unless at the eption the Publishers, until all arrearages are 'paid. No subscriptions will he taken for a less period an six months. .clect f) o ctn. PRISONERS OP HOPE. Turn you to the stronghold, ye prisoners of .e."—ZActrAntsu 9: 12. Prisoners, art thou worn and weary, 'Neath sin's heavy, galling chain? Post thou in deep anguish struggle, Its dark bonds to burst—in vain? "Deep and heavy is the bondage Under which I vainly pine: Is there hope for one so wretched Shall I ever freedom find ?" Weary captive, why thus sadly Dost thcrt shed the bitter tear? E'en for thee is found a ransom : lope shall yet thy spirit cheer Raise thine eye, that long has rested On the chains that sin has wound O'er thy spirit,—see how precious Is the rest in Jesus found. See how glorious is "the stronghold" Thou may'st find in Jesus' blood ; If thou wilt "believe" thy Saviour, Thou shalt all His mercy prove. "Tell me, can I conic Jesus, Willi my sins, my doubts, my fears,?— Will he listen to my pleading? Will he wipe away my tears? • " Will my sorrow move Ms pity.? Will he calm this tempest. wild In my bosom I Tell, oh! tell me,— Will Ile own me as His child ?" Mourner! say, was it the righteous Jesus same to seek and save! Was it. such he came to ransom From sin's power—from the grave Fly to thine Almighty Saviour, Lost and ruined!—trust His grace! • To His cross by faith fast clinging, There thoul't find thy hiding-place! .—New York Observer eoub Ztorn. MERITED WEALTH. BY SYLYANUS COBB, Jk Timothy Chandler was five•and•thirty years age, and he had a wife and four children.— is oldest child was a boy, fOurteen years old r Tim. had married young,—while his young t a girl of six. His wife was one of ose busy, tidy, loving womeh,.who seem "raised by Heaven to show to a degenerate age, hOw ueli the wife and mother can ;do towards king fireside heavens on earth. „Thu was a per by trade, and no man could have asked a better business than ho had it in his power `command.' And Tim was one of those kind rted, generous, free-spoken, impulsive men, o can so easily engage the love and esteem 'their fellows. :But Tim had faults. He had sonic very had ults. Be %Vasa discontented mortal; and he s a 'convivial mortal. Ile envied those who . • sessed more worldly wealth than did he ; and spent a large portion of his own effects in e company of riotous companions. In Short, In was becoming intemperate. It was to be ,n in the unsteadiness of his step ; in the natural flush of his cheek t and in the dying ht of his once clear, bright eye. And, alas ! •was to be seen in his ones happy home--but i'py not now. It was to be seen in the fad of the bloom upon his wife's fair 'cheek ; i the tears that stole down her drooping es; in the sighs that broke from her lteav : bosom.; and in the look of deep unrest that dwelt upon the facesof his elder children. d it could be seen, too, in the foct-niarks of esolation that was beginning to creep around cottage. "Timothy," said his wife—it was early in the :ro in g, before the children were up—" Joseph William must have some warmer clothing. e ground is beginning to freeze and they ifer." hat's easier said than done," replied Tim, rough, uneasy way. "They'll have to till I can make a raise. Confound it! was not I born as other folks are born ? wasn't good luck in my star ?. Why 't there a fortune left to me by wealthy ME he wife made no response. This was her land's envious hobby. When be felt the of money he invariably found fault with Fate Look at Stiles," he continued, growing e bitter; "and 'look at Butler; and at ne;—see how they lite: They had money to 'em. They inherited wealth from their eats. They don't have to work, and dig, be dunned for what they eart't airord.— ses on this poor luck s I say !" .4" .... .1,7 i.,... .. 14.. I 1 rt„, j.". , e, 7....,-,5,14. : . ;; \," It / //ro i sy mo y ; • ~,, a 0 $ ..- 4 ' rA. , `.. • I ..,44,4‘,\*.t.,. oiir 0 . ill ~...._____. 4_ ____ II : • 14 , fri 2,... - -, .... 4 ... ! •::- 7.: , , .:, - : °- . , '..\'7 1 V ;.:11411PV:- ----4----L AP . ' , ss I 0 4 0/ 0/ 41/* 'l ' l -.-, '77;-:::: - 112 i, '.....: *.., ...k.:7..t ,:s[ \., / ,„„„....„., 4 i ..,,. $1.50 1.75 2.00 VOL-1111. Hannah Chandler could not help speaking what she felt. She had heard this same coin plaint so often and had tried to cheer her hus band so much, that she felt like telling him the truth. "Timothy," she said, in the kindest way, but yet with firmness, "you do wrong to talk so; you do wrong to allow your thoughts to flow in that direction. Instead of looking at those who are pecuniarily better off than yon are; why not look upon those-who are worse off. Instead of mourning for whEit you cannot pos sess, why can't you think of 'what you might possess if you would ?" "Well—what might I possess ?" asked Tim, abruptly. "You might possess enough.. There is no mechanic in this town with a better trade.— You might possess enough to make your home a .comfortable and a happy one. 0, my hus band, listen to me," she cried, with her folded hands upon her bosom. "You, are making us all very unhappy !—you are making us all very miserable. Your children , feel it. In the street they hear your name coupled with un holy things. They bow their heads in shame —in a shame which their fatker. —" Without allowing his wife to finish the sen tence, Timothy Chandler started from his chair, and seized his hat, and went out into the shed, where he busied himself in working up some odd bits of wood until the children were up, and breakfast was ready. And this was the way he always did. He had not yet come to treating his wife with much harshness ; but he would not listen to her when she spoke of his faults. When breakfast was over he went forth to his shop, Itut the words of his wife were not forgotten. He could not so easily put them from him. He could not hide from him self the fact that his children were suffering; but unfortunately, the presence of this fact did not lead him into a healthful state of mind.— It made him fret, and he straightway laid it upon the shoulder of Stiles. and Butler, and Crane; who had been born with fortunes. As time wore on Tim Chandler became worse instead of better. His wife suffered more, and his children suffered more; and he, icko, suffer ed more. His shop was much of the time neglected, and his income was so small that he had none for his home. His wife worked hard with her mop and her needle, -while he spent a great part of his time at the village tavern. And as Hannah Chandler sat by her work-table during those long winter evenings, with her children crawling close to the fire to warm their shivering bodies, she prayed continually fur her wayward husband. One night—or rather, one evening—Tim. sat in the bar-room of' the tavern. He had drunk but little that day, for lie had no money, and he bad not yet fallen so low as to get trusted for his rum. His appetite for the exciting beverage was keenly active,and he was wait ing for some of his friends to come in, in hopes that they would ask him to drink. lie had asked them so ninny times—he had spent so much for rum for others—that be looked now Mr a return of the favor. The bar-room was of a moderate size, with a deep; broad fireplace standing out ofrom the wall, and in the recess beyond the' chimney was a wooden bunk, upon which the hostler slept during the few hours of night that he bad for rest. Upon this bunk was an old buff alo robe, and upon that buffalo robe was Tim reclining. As , he thus quietly reclined, two gentlemen, who had reached the inn at a late hour, and had had a supper ordered for them selves, entered and took 'seats near the fire.— They did net notice the man upon the bunk, and when the landlord went out, which he did shortly after they came in, they evidently thought that they were the sale occapants of the place. "Webber," said one of the gentlemen, after a silence of some moments' ensued between them, "before we went'in to tea you asked me to drink." "Yes, Carleton—l did." "And I refused." "I remember." "Well," said he who bad been called Carle ton, "since you asked me to drink with you, and I have refused, I feel that I may tell you why I du so." Webber threw the stump of his cigar into the fire, and then remarked— " Tell me by all means. I remember that we used to take a glass together before you moved away from our town, though not often.' "I never drank much," resumed Carleton; "and finally ,I quit it entirely. I'll tell you Low it was. It was a very slmple affair; but still, in our journey through •life we shall find GREENCASTLE, PA., TUESDAY, MAY 5, 1863. that circumstances, very trivial in themselves, sometimes exert wonderful influences over us. My parents were very poor, as you must re, member; but they left we with _a fair educa tion, and many good lessons of' life.. As I grew . up I longed to be rioh. Close by me lived John Boynton. He had inherited great wealth from his parents, and flourished in grand style. I envied John Boynton. When I thought how easily he Prime by his money, I was almost disheartened at my own prospect ; and very often I found myself complaining be cause my parents had not left me something with which to make a start in the World. I married, and went into business; but the old complaint.was upon me. I dreamed of Alad din's lamp, and of the magic ring, nod, spent half .my time in wishing that I had them; and during all this time I was in the habit of using intoxicating'. drink. I didn't drink much, though I often drank more than '.I ought.. - "Wel lone . day I picked up a paper from 'my native town, and saw therein that John Boyn ton was dead. Aye—more than that: he had died poor'and degraded, and his children were left entirely destitute. Their mother had died of a broken heart a year before! , And this was the end of a man whom I had so envied. His wealth was all gone—he was gone—and all that his children could inherit from him would be shame and sorrow. "I went home and reflected. I saw my wife and children sitting by the hearth, and I fan cied that I could detect' lines of sorrow upon their faces. I walked out into the pale moon light, and my thoughts came down to a plain, practical issue. I asked myself: Shan have an inheritance to bequeath to my children ? When am gone, shall those loved ones in herit anything from their father which shall be of value to them in their great work of life? And I said to myself: I may not leave them money—l may not store np for them a board of material wealth; but I can leave for them that which is better: I cat:Cleave to them a father's name unsullied; a father's honor un tarnished; and a• father's LIFE after which they May copy with safety. "I went back to my home, firmly resolved in my new course. I kissed my wife and chil dren ; and when I retired, I prayed 'that God would give me strength. And from that mo ment I have not faltered. I cast away the cup and its associations forever•; I ceased to envy those who might be richer than myself; ,and am now at work, with hand and heart and soul, to lay up for my children•an inheritance which cannot, be lost to them by any revulsion, of earthly fortune. Now you know why I refus ed to drink with you. And surely You for'give me." "More, more than that," cried Webber, reaching forth his hftid. "I forgive you; and I bless 'you for, tbe lesson. From this' time forth lam withyou. The last cup has been' pressed to my lips—the last convivial hour is passed. Here, in this .warni grasp, is my pledge l" The host came in, and the two guests arose and left the room. In a little while Tim Chandler glided down from ihe . bunk, and num• ed towards the door. In the entry he met a number of his boon companions, who were just in for a time. "Hi-lo! where now, Tim? Come—join"us What'll ye have?'" "Not now—not tow,". replied Tim. . • • "Then come and take a glass." . . "No—not now." And with this Titn. Chandler hurried out of doors, The snow-track was hard and sntooth, and the air was sharp and cutting.. Tim. noticed not the cold. He walkedt slowly, thoughtfully on, ever and anon muttering to hiMself, with his head bowed and his hands clenched. Finally, when he had come within sight of his own cottage, he stopped, and spoke aloud. He had been thinking deeply, calmly, and solemnly, and his decision had beonarriv ed at. with clear comprehension and firm pur pose. "Tim Chandler can leave his children an in heritance !" he said, with his feet planted firm ly, his swelling breast thrown nobly out, and his 'head proudly erect "These arms are stout; this heart is strong; and this brain can be clear again. As God lives, and suffers me to live, my children shall have an inheritance which will not cause them to blush for the father who left it !" Carleton had made one convert that night of whose existence, even, be did not know. Timothy entered his house, and sat down by the fire. His wife was alone, and had been weeping. He dared not speak then, but suf fered her to retire with the weight of sorrow still upon her. And Hannah Chandler slept, and dreamed, and did not dream of the angle that come to her home. In the morning Timothy was up first. When his wife came out he had a warm fire built, and the tea-kettle on. She looked into his face, and through the blue cloud, came a light which had long been hidden, gleaming upon her like golden rays from the morning sun, penetrating to her souhas did the old• love•light in the years agone. While yet she stood,• gazing upon him like one in a 'dream, he reached forth .and took both her hands. _ "Hannah"• he said, with voice as strong and firm as man ever spoken, and in tones as true and tender as . • were those which fell from his lips before the altar, "from this hour I begin to make an inheritance for my children. It may not be money—it may not be - material wealth; but if I live, ataltall be an inheritance which they shall not blush to own in the years to come. It shall be a FATHER'S NAME un sullied ; a FATHER'S HONOR untarnished ; a FATHER'S EXAMPLE which may be safely fol lowed! Help me in the work, Hannah. Love me as you ever have; and trust me as you would trust your awn soul. And may God bless and keep us to the end!" And did Hannah help him? Oh ! how she loved and cheered him !—how she clung to him, and blessed him ! How bright was the heavens of that home I—how sweet the music of its angel voices. And Timothy Chandler went forth to carve out the inheritance for his children. His arm was strong, and so was his heart. His soul was firm, and so was his purpose. The years crept on apace, and the frost of age was upon his brow as white as snow. His work was done, and he.sat down in the evening of life, by his Hannah's side, to rest and repose. He had carv ed out the inheritance, and he lived to see his children, and his children's children enjoy it. As father, and as grandfather, he was tenderly loved and worshipped; and as friend and citi zen he was honored and respected; while, as counsellor and guide, to the young, and to ,the middled-aged, none stood higher than did he. Timothy. Char s uller had not been able to.lay up much money for his children; but did he not give to them for an inheritance something of far greater worth—something nearer the worth of heaven? Ah—lid he not? AN AMUSING SCENE; Here is an amusing scene from the-vaude, vill4 of the Prisoner of Rochelle, which, says a Paris journal, keeps the audience• in a roar of, laughter every night of its performance. "Corporal. Cartouch" amuses himself by going through the .manual exercise, while, "Leza,". seated at her work-table, abstracedly questions him 'concerning matrimony. :• Lesa—lf a girl would fall in love with you, Corporal, what would you do Y._ Corporal- Corporal—(blaneeuvering with his musket). Present arms ! L.—She would doubtless look to you for— C.—Support • L.—And what a heavy burden you'd have C : —Carry L.—Your butcher and baker would, have C.—Charge! , I.—And your prospects, of course, would not—. C.—Advance 1 L.—And you'd have to— C.—'Bout face ! L.—And,never have any— • th—Rest I L.—Now, Corporal, praygive me your— C.—Attention ! L.—A. man of your years is not able to bear such a-- C.-Load ! L.—But you are not in your— C.—Prime I L.—Your wife may— C.—'Bout ! L.—Leave you, but she will soon— C.—Return I L. 7 —And then you will have to bear all on your— C.—Shoulder ! L.—You should be— C.—Ready ! L.—l think you have some other— ! L.—And you'd throw all your epistles into the— C.--Fire ! =I To win love and esteem, it is far better to be gracious tban graceful. the following rates 1 column, one year of a column, one year„.,— ;} of a column, one year., 1 square, twelve m0nth5,..,.,, 1 square, six months I square, three months • 1 square, (ten lines or less) 3 insertions..., Each subsequent insertion Professional cards, one year NO. 14. It is well that the poet's heart is full of sympathy; he finds little elsewhere. Party zeal is often received as a substiute for every exoellence. A man may undertake $o many things that he can't overtake half of them. An unhappy death is God's frown, a happy one is His smile. [Fires the musket.] ADVERTISING RATES. Advertisements will be iuserted iu TUE PILOT at Little-or-Notl)ings. „ ... .. ....... ....... . ... Cavalry are the wings of war It takes four springs to make a kap year A bad man, when he is alone, is in the corn pany of fiends. The worst and most unendurable of all our Its are the imaginary ones. ===3 With what kind of fire did Samson lay waste the fields of the Philistines? Fox-fire, to be sure. When you are told to obey the golden rule, don't think that it means the rule or sway of' (=old. Armies don't like to 'be haid-pressed. We can't say how it would be with an array of wo, men Many a preacher complains of empty pews when they are really , not much emptier than the pulpit. The loud tones in which some people appear to reason imply that reason is a great distance from them 'Tis little wonder that men so often lie when they find how many enemies they make by tell, lug the truth, Good works are the fruit of righteousness, not the cause. The tree makes the apple, not the apple the tree. am surprised, wile, at your ignorance Have, you never seen any books at all ?" "Oh, yes, in, a number or eases.". Every sound spoken over the round world whioh we ought to hear will vibrate to our CIO A man with an influenza must be content to stand or sit still. He can't travel unless his nose does, and the influenza stops that. A:Tortreas is generally ' eapiured more easily the'seconA time than' the first This is as true of a widow's heart as of oth . or strongholds, If %the proverb that valor isfire, and bullying smoke, is true, that other proverb that where thereis smoke there must be fire is false. "I am , astonished, my dear young lady, at your sentiments; you make me start" "Well, sir, I have been wanting you to start for the last hour." If a railroad man mere to listen to the rail ing of a set of sharp-tongued woman around a tea table, he would - think it a rare speoimeu of the trail. - souie of the, epitaphs in our country burying grounds show that persons who try to be pa thetic are more comic than those who aim to be funny A bad man may brave courage in some things, but it lurks not in his badness; it is his re deeming trait. The stoicism of the savage is a savage virtue A brave heart may dwell in a body that dangles,tretnulously in the unstrung plight of its material fibres—as a strong man may lodge in a creaking hovel. Many a man, who would shudder at the bare thought of being visited here by a single dis. embodied apirit, feels no dread or apprehension at the thought of visiting a world of spirits. Some of„the boldest conceptions of genius are fortuitous, starting up and vanishing almost in the perception; like that giant form, some times seen amid the glanders, afar from the opposite traveller, moving as he moves, stop. ping as he- stops, yet in a moment lost, and perhaps nevermore seen, although but his own reflection, Genuine bravery has an acute perception of danger. No man is so cautions of the move ment of the ship as the stout-hearted captain. No heart beats so fast in the battle, -no eye seeks so many risks, as the eye and heart of the commander, whose rigid mucles do not flutter as he utters his stern monosylables in the crisis. $70.00 85.0 C 20.00 8.00 5.00 4.00 1.00 26 5.00