TIIF. PILOT
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THE REES IN G
INCIDENTS OF THE INVASION
HY lIUDIBRAS
Why this grouping of men? just see!
Why this gen'ral hubbub in 0—?
Why this hastening to and fro?
Why this confusion? Who does know.?..
I'm sure the Fourth comes not in June; •
Nor Christmas either quite ko soon.
Then why do men their business close,
If not a holiday? Who knows ?
"The rebs! the robs!" I hear them cry.
Oh now I know the reason why—
That wagon train retreating past,
Tells true, the rebs are come at lost.
Skedaddle Darks! There they come!
Skedaddle! Run I You rascals, rua!
A squad of "Yanks," who yet remained,
Now put out like "lightning chained."
And true as truth the rebs appear !„.
In all their nasty, filthy gear, '
Who oould think it? In peaceful d-,
A hostile rebel horde should be ?
My muse is strange; but twice we've met,
And I'm afraid she'll fool me yet..
I'm in a plight just at this time,
For want of an appropriate rhyme.
Em men fair, come to my aid
What shall I say? and how be said?
I knew you'd not desert me so.
Here she comes, and now we'll. go—on.
Of all descriptions, east and west,
Of rebel habits—none is best.
(Superlative for positive; .
Poetic license, as I live).
Their uniform is gray, you know :
Their character the same—that's so.
There now, two lines, just sixteen feet,
And rebels line described complete.
A nasty, dirty, busy set—
Excuse, dear friends, the epithet : •
A thieving, pil'fring, roguish band, .
Who came to steal, lay waste the land,
Destroy our towns, and cut our throats,
I marvel not how men "took boats,"
And left for parts to rebs unknown,
Wisely leaving their wives at home. ,•
'Tis well that. Blondin's rope was there,
To span those misty depths of air;
Or else Niagara's rolling sea,
Bad borne some friends far, far away.
'Tis said two townsmen—men from G.—,
Of standing high, and high-degree, •
Approached the. Falls at ninety speed,
And crossed;the rope,:mounted on steed?
Abreast they•orossed=oh, wondrous feat.!
Thou }Houdin yield, ylitt have been beat!
If this:betrue, there's.no use talking, •.
The thing is- ".played"—this tight-rope ica/kitt#
The darkies, too, with reason ran.
By droVes they ran, as darkies can.
In fields they hid, and copses thiCk,
And recluse bends along the creek.
In Cooffey's cave a legion were,
By friends of their's directed there.
A squad of rebels scouting past, •
Discovered their retreat at last.
They " bagged" them all, and bore away,
The poor things back to slavery.
Do you remember, reader dear,
The evening when the rebs cadre here?
They'came in files—by fours and twos,
Some minus hats, and others shoes.
They broke their ranks, and canvassed town
In search of horses, clothes, and so on.
They took alike, merchants', doctors',
Preachers', lawyers', rum concoctore.
They took the black, the sorrel, grey.
They even took "de little Lay."
Some women, wild with fright and fear,
Could not their screams and cries forbear.
"My Good Gracious! Did 'you ever !!"
Echo answers—" no, I never."
"Charlie's gone, and Bet and sly!"
" Will they burn the town ? .oh, my !"
" Oh, yes! My Dear ! ! Look There!!! The
Smoke !! ! !
In grief unbounded, thus they spoke;
And thinking sure the town was doomed,
They very, very nearly swooned.
Jenkins and his horse-thief men,
Passed through to Chambersburg, and then
VIP thought that we again were free
From Southr'n rule and chivalry.
'Tis just a raid, they'll not come back
This way; but take another track.
Let's take up arms and harrass them.
This do ye all, if you are men."
But others more discreet and wise,
Or else perhaps, through cowardice
Said—" No, indeed, not quite so fast;
They're coming yet; they're not all past.
We're under their dominion now,
Let's live in Rome, as Romans do."
One, Sam—a stalwart man and brave,
Said " No 1 I must a rebel have."
True to his word, he soon did catch
A carrier bearing a dispatch.
Enthusiasm now went round.
Excitement raised, and all were bound
To take each rebel [that came through ;
And some there wette for " killing," too.
Old Horner, he alone could write
The noise and tuttnllt--well indite
The scenes that on our, streets to day,
Made 0-- 7 - a place : in history. •
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A train with negroes then soon came.
" Halt you rascals! Stop that train !"
Cried out a dozen men or more ;
Indeed, perhaps, there were a score.
It is . not necessary here
To tell, the names of all that were
Engaged in thiS affair of love
Km Country and for God above.
Suffice it then—they did succeed,
The rebs were captured, negroes freed
TO BE CONTINUED
Goo ,ston).
BA®• COMPANY.
BY T. 8. ARTHUR
"I'm afraid you are keeping bad company."
The young man to whom this was addressed
started, colored, and looked more than half of
fended. Countenance and manner rejected the
ntimation
"An enemy bath spoken evil of me," was his
firmly uttered reply, , ,
"It is , not from the evil which, men say of
us, that we suffer injury. It is the evil 'done
in us that really hurts."
"You are a little mysterious to-day,',Unele
Philip, What has bad company to do with in
ner-wrought evil? As. to bad company, how
ever, it is but right that I should make to you a
firm denial."
"In the face of which, Henry, I'must repeat
that 1 am afraid you are keeping bad coMpany,"
replied the uncle, with a:seriousness that left no
doubt of his being in earnest.,
A struggle in the young man's mind between
anger and affection wa - s plainly visible.. His
eyes, calm and reproachful, rested upon his
encle's countenance. After a momentary si-
leo,ce, he,said: .
"I thought you knew me better, Uncle
Philip. What have Idone to forfeit your con•
fidence? To make my word in your regard as
the idle wind? I have had nothing in lifa.to
hurt me like this!" .
And the young man turned partly away to
hide,thee motion that was getting too strong for
him.
"We have other companions than those 6!
ilesh'and'blead," Said Uncle Philip.
. The young man started and took a deep breatl
of relief.
"Is that.all you mean !!! The shadov,.wqn
from his face.
'"What db yoittodan ?' thOughtslP
qlbre'elian thht." "
"What ?"
"Bad companions."..
• The shadow came back againi .
"You remember Milton's 'Myriads of spir
ual beings,' and St. Paul's 'Cloud of !yitues
MS
"Oh !"
`7Not bad thoughts, but bad spirits I mean,
Philip. It is the company of these that Hear
yoti have been keeping; and tbly have power
to burl you in 'the Most vital pVces."
"What is your evidence ?7,as - ked the nephew
'I saw .a book on your table last evening that
few young men can read without injury to the
imagination. I believe that an impure or pro
fane image in the mind—a gross or sensual
thought—will as certainly allure evil spirits,
as a decaying animal will draw around it a flork
of carrion birds. Believing as I do, that our
spirits are as much among spirits. as our bodies
are among the bodies of men in this outer world,
I cannot do less that warn you against every
mental state that can, by any possibility, attract
the evil instead of the good. You grasp my
thought. You understand what I mean by bad
company. Outwardly, -for all that I know, or
fear, your life is blameless—your company un
exceptional. But the discovery of that book
on your table has alarmed me for your safety.
The worst kind of bad company we can keep is
made up of those subtle, impure, depraved and
selfish spirits that crowd the world of mind and
perpetually seek to draw near and corrupt the
souls of men. They are ever on the watch for
a door of entrance into our herts; and we open
the door for them when we have. unchaste de
sires or bad thoughts. You may know of their
presence by this, that they hold the imagina
tion to impure images, or inspire the thought
with plans for the execution of evil deeds, or
fill us with uncharitableness. The opposite of
all this marks the presence of good spirits.
W% may associate with the evil or good; may ,
have heavenly or infernal companions, as we
will. We choose our own company in the inner
or the outer world. See'-what is involved!
If we arc right as to the interior, all that is ex
ternal is safe. Nothing can really hurt us.
But, if the heart be as a nest of unclean birds.;
if our snuls, enemies be in the citadel of life,
we are in danger of losing everything."
GREENCASTLE, PA., TUESDAY, AUGUST 11, 1863.
Henry had:dropped his eyes to the floor, and
partly turned away his face to hide the crimson
slain that covered it.
"That is the only evidence yon have that I
keep bad company?" he said, with a sobered air,
"No."
Philip turned quickly, with a flash of sur
prise
"I have noted other indications of late."
"What are they?"
"You are getting too much inclined, in your
judgment of others, to search for evil instead
of good; to flnd blemish instead of beauty."
"Is that so, Uncle Philip !"
"According to my observation. It didn't
use to be so. There was a time when your
charity was a broad mantle. Of, late it has
become a torn shread. Why this change
One thing is certain, the influences that more
you cannot come from angelic spirits; for they
seek out and develop the good in man for
which they have affinity. ,It is plain that you
have permitted yourself to be influenced by
other companions; Spirits of a baser sort, who
take pleasure in detraction.",
."Your speech sounds harsh, Uncle Philip,"
answered the nephew. "I cannot be altugeth-
er. as you intimate."
"I speak strongly, because I wish to be heard.
Your-feet, it seems to me, are leaving the pleas
ant ways in which they have so long walked,
and,l wish to•get Ahem_ back !to the old true
paths. 1 will turn a leaf or two in your mem
ory, and
. by what we -find there shall your
present state be judged. -It was only yester
day that one spoke kindly of Mrs. Noble, in
your presence, and extolled her good qualities.
How did you respond, Henry ? '
"Not as I should have responded," he an
swered, frankly.
"You spoke of her faults and peculiarities ;
of the petty-wrongs she had done; of her un
charitableness ,toward others—and this to her
injury,; for the one who hacl,seen and admired
her good qualities was influenced by what you
said,. and will, I fear, wheo.she thinks of Mrs.
Noble, remember .more of what you affirmed
1 1 than of the good which she had seen." , ,
"It was wrong in the; •very wrong !" said
Henry', in real self-&ffideamation: , "What
could have possessed ‘tue at the time ?" 1 r
"It was not my Henry of hld," replied Un-
ele Philip; with :a vcregretful; tenderness' that
touched the-young •mangy;" 'ANA my hey "hart
ands demoralized by; bad 'company."
MI
"Dear . Uncle ! don't uge: the words' bad com
pany. They sound so harshly =involve so
much that does not • exist. I cannot bear
them."
"It is always best and' safest to call things by
their right name, Henry. That yoU have been
keeping evil company of late is, alas ! too ap
parent. There has been demoralization ; I
will not call the work done in Your mind by
any softer phrase. A year. ago, if Harvey
Long had been 'mentioned in your presence,
you would not have curled your lip, nor utter
ed an expression of contetupts for a harmless
young man. Harmless, did I say ? That does
not give a just idea of his character. I should
rather speak of him as useful, honorable, and'
faithful in his sphere of life. He is not bril
liant, nor has he the cultivation seen in many
others; but no man can say aught against his
integrity. A kind son and brother, he has
sustained his family since his father's death in
comfort and respectability. For this he should
have all houor. This you should tell of him
when his name is mentioned, and not seek to
hurt hith with contemptuous and depreciating
language. Of yourself, kind by nature, you
would not have done - so mean a thing. Bad
associates transfused their spirit to you and
ruled you for the time. You opened the door
for them, and they crowded in, possessing your
thoughts and feelings. Ah, my boy ! if you
had been with angel companions you would
have felt and spoken very differently of this
young man. They would have recognized his
good qualities, and touched your heart with
their own kindness." .
"I am angry with myself, Uncle Philip,"
said his nephew, shame spots marking his face.
"How could I have so forgotten to be just and
generous! Harvey Long never injured me;
why should I have sought to injure him ? It
must be as you say. An evil spirit hath done
this."
"Nothing so rapidly depraves the mora
sense as bad company," replied the uncle.
"We see how this works in the visible world of
men. How does it work ?' Not so much by
physical as by mental impressions. It is the
wicked thought exciting the bad affection, or
the bad affection -giving - wings to the wicked
thotight, by which harm is done. These cor-
rupt, sensualize, distort, and mar the human
soul. From these come all the worst effects of
bid winpany. And if this be so of our mcr
tal companions, who are seen and known, how
can it be otherwise with the invisible spirits of
evil, whom we draw into association whenever
we give rein to vile imaginations, or permit
envy, ill nature, malice, or unkindness, to rule
our conduct."
"I will to keep better company in future,"
said Henry. 'The associates to which you
have referred, be they wrong thoughts or bad
spirits, have done me harm. Why should I
seek to injure my neighbor by detraction? To
bide his good .and expose his evil? This is
not the work of true men."
"No; Henry, it is the work of demons. And
I pray you come out from their midst. Shut
against, them all the doors of your heart, and
open its windows heavenward, that you may
have angel.compartions. These, if you will
permit them, will gather around and'keep evil
from your thoughts. They will lead you into
all good, and fill your heart with kindness in
place 'of envy; with peace instead of that
fretful disturbance which ever accompanies
uncharitableness and self-indulgence. We
cannot dwell alone, either at= to our bodies or
our spirits. The inner as well as the outer
world is peopled with intelligent beings; with
the bad and the good. The choice of compan
ionship is mainly with ourselves. Let us see to
it that in either ease we keep good and not bad
company."
POETRY RUN MAD.
SENTIMENTALIST IN COURT
"What is your name ?".
"My name is Norval; on the Grampian
Hills."
"Where did you come from ?"
"I come front that happy land, where care
is unknown."
"Where are you lodging now 7"
"I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls."
"Where are you going to?"
"Far, far o'er hill an dale."
"Vi hat is your occupation?
"I played en'a harp of a thonsiid strings."
"Are you married ?'
'"Long time amn.' : follYput - the kettle on."'
"When were you married ?"
""Iwas 'twelve - o'clock, one starlight night.'
I ever shall remember."
"HoW many children have you?" ,
"There's Doll and Bet, and Moll and Kate,
and —"
"What is your wife's name ?"
"0, no, I never mention her."
"Did your wife oppose 'your leaving ?"
"She wept not when we parted."
"In what condition did you leave her ?"
"A rose tree in full bearing."
"Is your family provided for ?"
"A Jittle farm well tilled."
"Did your wife drive you off ?"
"0, sublime was the warning."
"What did your wife say that induced you
o slope ?"
"Come rest in this bosom."
"Was your wife good looking ?"
"She was all my fancy painted her."
"Did your wife ever treat you badly ?"
"Oft in the stilly night." '
"When you announced your intention of
emigrating, what did your wife say to you ?"
"0, dear, what can the matter be ?"
"What did you reply?"
"Sweet Kitty Clover don't bother me so."
"Where did you last see her ?"
"We met—'twas in a crowd."
"What did she say to you when you were
leaving ?"
"Go, forget me."
"Do you still love her?"
"The minstrels returned from the war."
"What are your possessions ?"
"Old Dog Tray."
"What do you purpose to do with him?"
"Send him to the other side of Jordan."
"How do you promise to make a living ?"
"Pull off your coat and roll up my sleeves."
The Judge could stand it no longer, and ac
cordingly sent , the rhymster up for three
months.
WEALTH is not acquired, as many persons
suppose, by fortunate, speculations and splendid
enterprises, but by the daily practice of indus•
try, frugality, and economy. He who relies
upon these means will rarely be found destitute,
and whosoever relies upon any other will gene
rally become •bankrupt.
If your. friend go into a speculation, don't,
because he happens to break, break with, hint.
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NO. 2,.1.
Who Will Care for Mother Now P
During one of our late battles, among many other
noble fellows that fell, was a young man who had
been the only support of an aged and sick mother
for years. Hearing the Surgeon tell those who
were near him, that. he could not lire, he placed his
hand across his forehead, and with a trembling
voice said, while burning tears ran down his fever..
ed cheeks:— IV/to Mil Care for Mother New ?
Why am I so weak and weary ?
See how faint my heated breath,
All around to me seems darkness,
Tell me, comrades, is this death ?
Alt ! how well I know your answer ;
To my fate I meekly bow
If you'll only tell me truly
Who will care for mother now?
Chorus: Suon with angels I'll be marching,
With bright laurels on my brow.
I have for my country fallen.
Who will care for mother now?
A man should occasionally stop to take breath,
but not other people's.
We bid many guests welcome when at, heart
we wish them well gone.
Love is most, intelligible when it is unable
o express itself in words.
Rob' a man of his life and you'll be hunt*.
'rob him of his living,and you may be applauded.
A pretty female' artist can draw the men
equally well with a brush and a blush.
Men are very uncertain; it is much safer to
back a horse than a man any day.
Men are sometimes constant through weak
ness and bold through fear.
Beauty is like a guinea ; when once changed
at all, 'tis gone in a twinkling.
To know . whe.n to conceal our ability requires
no small degree of it.
Generally speaking, the beggars most asham
ed of begging are those that have to beg par
don.
Let us moderns appreciate our dignity, we
shall be the venerated ancients of future tuod-
erns
Many persons are never capable
thinking except when they think hard of ffeir
neighbors
The highest degree of cunning is an apparent
blindness to snares which are evidently laid
fur us
The devil is uo better judge than to carry
away gold; it will do his work all the better
left behind.
The temple of eternal truth stands half be
low the earth—made hollow by the sepulchres
of its witnesses
The hypocrite is worse than the atheist; the
latter wakes only a light jest of religion, the
the former a sober one
A public speaker should never lose sight of
the thread of his discourse; like a busy needle,
he aLould always have the thread in his eye.
"Sir, this horse you sold we.ean't be made to
budge the first step." "Well didn't I guaranty
him as never starting?"
The bow has ceased to be a weapon of war
fare; javelins have gone into disuse; and bombs
are exploded.
Most persons choose their friends as they do
other useful aniuials, preferring those from
whom they expect the moAt.servio.
eipice Poch:l2.
BY CHARLES C. SAWYER
Who will comfort her in sorrow ?
Who will dry the falling tear,
Gently smooth her wrinkled forehead?
Who will whisper words of cheer?
Even now I think I see her
Kneeling, praying for me ! bow
Can I leave her in her anguish ?
Who will care for mother now ?
Chorus : Soon with angels, &c
Let this knapsack be my pillow,
And my mantle be tl.e sky ;
Hasten, comrades, to the battle,
1 will like a soldier die.
Soon with angels I'll be marching,
With bright laurels on my brow,
I have for my country fallen,
Who will care for mother nowt'
Chorus: Soon with angels, &c
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