The pilot. (Greencastle, Pa.) 1860-1866, September 08, 1863, Image 1

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    Tli E ILO T
i,V,rth West Corner of the Public Square,)
it the fullowin rated, from which there will be no
s o paper will he discontinued unless at the option
, ) 1' the Publishers, until all arrearages are paid.
s o s ubscriptions will be taken for a less period
than six moult he.
!tisgle s ubscription, in advance
NrikLin six months
WOW' twelve months
Poor H— had scarcely dumped his load,
When a "big man" came up the road.
In his arms some bacon sweet. •
He had with which old Rhodes to greet.
Two hundred pounds his fighting weight.,
Dig J— is "some" when walking straight;
But now his head was slightly bent, • .
Inclined as if by discontent.
"By Diker, what a harry way,"
As marching, he was heard to say.
Next came a tall, stout, stalwart man,
With twenty pounds or more of ham.
lie threw it on-the pavement—" There,
Confound the rebels ev'rywhere."
Both men and women, too, were there; •
And boys and girls, and ladies fair,
With loads of vegetables, good,
And bacon, bread and other food.
But still there was a lack of stuff—
Of bacon, bread, not quite enough,
And it was sail—" The Couneil will
Be held in, custody until •
The requisitions are all met."
This put these men in quite a sweat • •
The Clerk—you all &know his face—
A man of comliness andgrace;
Oa his upper lip there's 'hair ;'
The balance of his face is bare.
Too small for knapsack or far gun,
But not too small for our fun.
Tue Utter he does edit—well,
No more is requisite to tell ;
Unless, excuse me, I might say,
His name is W. and A.
This man was seated high in air,
The "look" of sheer and blank despair;
Wes noting down,
.and kept account
Of all the thingsr—the full amount
Of all that Gen'ral Rhodes desired,
Or, rather I should say, required.
Poor Will, we all did pity him,
When there was a lack of tin,
And bread, and, bacon, Buddies, all
For which the rebels,made a call.
"Dpar friends, be kind, do give—" he said,
"1 knowyou all can spare some bread,
And all the things for which they ask.
Just think, it is an easy task.
And if you don't, then I must go
To Richmond.. Do not treat me so."
But all his prayers would not avail;
Like rebel threats, they all did fail.
The Council met and called the roll s
And in committee °PA.)te• whole,
They went th-ltheodes—the rebel chief,"
To see if he would•give relief.•' •
"Dear sir, the things that you desire,
Are more than we can well acquire.
We've met•as well as we Could do,
All yeur demiincls and wishes too."
"All right, good men, now you can go,
I'm busy, do not bore me so."
The rebs some private things did take,
Besides the calls that Rhodes did make.
Unauthorized, some footmen bold,
Of by-standees new hots took hold;
And doffing then their own grey caps.
They gave them to these hatless Asps.
Sometimes they got, sometimes did not,
The hats that. they so gently Fought.
Friend Harry B—, you know him well
He lost his arm, in battle fell,
Was standing by, suspecting naught,
When some big reb his good hot caught,
He turned around—" That is my hat."
Ile showed such coolness. courage, that
The rebs son rce knew which way to look,
And Harry his good hat retook.
But J—, a tinner of the town,
Less lucky was, and more " took down."
His boots were real& good and big,
The thing exact, for rebel rig.
This J— was walking out the road,
His "pants in boots"—their beauty showed,
" Halt there, my man." some rebel cried,
And Jimie's boots with Itv'rice eyed.
"Come, take them off," he coolly said..
Our friend was slow—" Come go ahead—
I want them for myself, you know,
You can eas'ly bare-foot go."
Poor J— now drew his boots, and gave
Theta to this rebel thief and knave.
We all wore glad one morn to Snd
Old Rhodes had left. The corps behind
Came up and passed on through the town
To ruin they were marching down.
We counted them, their guns and all; •
To me, said one, "There'll be a ball
Somewhere in Pa. Come on and dance,
Come on and see the war-steeds prance.
Come on and hear the cannon's roar, 4 .
The bomb's shrill shriek, and what all more I
The Yank's deep death groans, and his'cries
For mercy sweet, and then he dies.
No sound do I so much enjoy
As th' cries and groans of a Yankee boy,
Pierced to the heart. with " rebel" lead,
Or if it penetrlte his head,
To see him wreathe in agony,
And hear his words before he die.
I love the din of battle, boys.
The horrors dread of war, are joys
To me, who loves the shed of blood
And eats the hearts of Yanks for food." Doyou?
• .1 ,,
• .
41/ / -
• y
Mr. Frazier sat reading in his counting-rqom.
He was in the midst of a piece of interesting
news, when a lad came to the door and said,
"Do you want a boy, sir ?"
Without lifting his eyes from the paper, Mr.
Frazier answered "No" to the applicant, and
in rather a rough way.
Before the lad reached the street, conscience
had 'compelled the merchant to listen to a re
buking sentence.
"You might have spoken kindly to the poor
boy, at least," said Conscience. "This is an
Mr. Frazier let the paper fall from before his
eyes, and turned to look at the lad. He was
small—not twelve years old, to appearance—
poorly attired, but clean. The merchant tap
ped against one of the windows in the count
ing-room, and the boy glanced beck over his
shoulder. A sign from the merchant caused
him to return.
"What did you say, just now ?"
"Do you want a boy, sir ?" The laa repeat
ed the words he had spoken, hesitating,ly, a few
moments before
Mr. Frazier looked at him with a suddenly
awakened interest. Ile had a fair, girlish face;
dark brown eyes and hair; and though slender
and delicate in appearance, stood erect, and with
a manliness of aspect that showed him to be
already conscious of duty in the 'world. But
there did not seem to be much of that stuff in
him that is needed fnr the battle of life.
"Take a chair," said Mr. Frazier, an invol
untary respect for the lad getting possession of
his mind.
The boy sat down, with his large, clear eyes
fixed on the merchant's face.
"How old are you?"
"I was twelve, sir, last month," replied the
boy. •
"What splendid eyes!" said the merchant to
himself. "And I've seen them before. Soft,
dark, and lustroui as a woman's!"
Away back in the past the thoughts of Mr.
Frazier went, borne on the light from those
beautiful eyes; and for some moments he for
got the present
. But when ,he
came back into the present again, he had a
softer heart towards the stranger lad.
"You should go- to school for a year or two
longer," he said.
"I must help my mother," replied the lad.
"Is your mother very poor ?"
"Yes, sir; and she's sick."
The lad's voice shook a little, and his soft
woman's eyes grew brighter in the tears that
filled them. •
Mr. Frazier had already forgotten the point
of interest in the news after which his mind
was searching, when the boy interrupted
"1 don't want a lad myself," said Mr. Fra
zier, "but maybe I 'might speak a good word
for you, and that would help, you know. I
think you would make an honest, useful lad.
But you are not strong."
"Oh, yes, sir, I'm strong-!" And the boy
stood up in a brave spirit.
The tuerchantlooked it 'him with a steadily
increasing interest.
"What is your name ?" he asked.
"Charlet Leonard, sir."
There was an instant change in the mer
chant's manner, and he turned his face so far
away that the boy's eyes could not see its ex
pression. For a-long time he sat still and si
lent—so long that the boy wondered.
"Is your father living ?" Mr. Frazier did
not look at the boy, but still kept his face away.
His voice was low, and not very even.
"No, sir. He died four years ago."
"Where ?" The voice was quicker and firm-
"In London, sir."
"How long since you came to America ?"
"Two years."
"Have you been in this city ever since ?"
"No, sir. 'We came here with my uncle a
year ago. But he died a month after our ar-
'What was your uncles, name ?"
"Mr. Hoyle, sir."
There came another long silence, in which
the lad was not able to see the merchant's
countenance. But when he did look at him
again, there was such a new and kind expres
sion in the eyes which seemed almost to devour
his face, that he felt an assurance in his heart
that Mr. Frazier was a good man, and would
be a friend to his mother.
"Sit there for a little while," said Mr. Fra
zier, and turning to his desk, he wrote a brief
note, in which, without permitting the lad to
see what he was doing, be enclosed two or
three bank bills.
"Take this to your mother," he said, hand
ing the note to the lad. •
"You'll try and get me a place, sir, won't
you ?" The boy lifted to, him an appealing
"0 yes. You shall have a good place. But
stay; you haven't told me where you live."
Melon street."
"At No
"Very well." Mr. Frazier noted down the
street and number. "And now take that note
to your mother."
"The merchant did not resume his newspa
per after the lad departed. He had lust all
interest in its contents. For a long time he
sat, with his hand shading his face, so that no
one saw its expression. If spoken to on any
matter, he answered briefly, and with nothing
of his usual interest in business. The change
in him was so marked, that one of his part
ners asked if he were not well.
"I feel a little dull," was evasively an
Before his usual time Mr. Frazier left the
store and went home. As he opened the dour
of his dwelling, the distressed cries and sobb
ings of a child came with an unpleasant shock
upon his ears. He went up stairs, with two
or three long strides, and entered the nusery,
from which the cries came.
" What is the matter. darling ?" he said, as
he caught the weeper in his arms. " What
ails my little Maggy ?"
" Oh, papa! papa !" sobbed the child,
clinging to his neck, and laying her wet face
close to his.
" Jane." said Mr. Frazier, looking
. at the
nurse, and speaking with some sternness of
manner,'`' why is Maggy crying in this man
ner 7"
The girl looked excited, but pale.
" She's been naughty," was her answer.
" No, papa! I ain't been naughty," said the
child, indignantly. " I didn't want to stay
here all alone, and she pinched me and slapped
me so hard. Oh, papa!" And the child's
wail rung out again ; and she clung to his neck,
" Has she ever pinched and slapped you
before ?" asked the father.
" She does it most every day," answered the
little girl.
" Why haven't you told me ?"
" She said she'd throw me out of the win
dow, if I told !` 0, dear ! 0, dear ! Don't
let her do it, papa!"
" It's all a lie !" exclaimed the nurse, pas
" Just look at my poor leg, papa." The
child said this in a hushed whisper, with her
lips laid close to her father's ear.
Mr. Frazier sat down, and baring the child's
leg to the hip, saw that it was covered with
blue and greenish spots ; all above the knee ;
there were not less than a dozer. of these dis
figuring marks. He examined the other leg
and found it in the same condition.
Mr. Frazier loved that child with a deep
tenderness. She was his all to love. Her
mother, betweeen whom and himself there had
never been any true heart-sympathy, died two
years before; and since that time, his precious
darling—the apple of his eye—had it been left
to the tender mercies of hired nurses, over
whose conduct it was impossible for him to
have any right observation. He often feared
that Maggy was neglected—often troubled him-
self on her account—but a suspicion of cruelty
like this, never came into his imagination as
Mr. Frazier was profoundly disturbed; bu
even in his passion he was calm.
"Jane," he said steanly, "I wish you to leave
the house imtuediately?"
"Mr. Frazier—
"Silence !" He showed himself so stern and
angry, even in his suppressed utterance of the
word, that Jane started, and left the room in-
Mr. Frazier rung the bell, and to the. waiter
who answered it, said :
"See that Jane leaves the house at once. I
have discharged her. Send her trunk wher
ever she may wish„it taken. Here is the money
that is due. I must see, her again."
As the waiter left the room, Mr. Frazier
hugged his child to his heart tightly again, and
kissed her with an eagerness of manner that
was unusual with him. He was fond, but quiet
in his caressess. Now, the sleeping impulses
of a strong heart were all awake and active.
UMBER 8, 1863.
In a small, back chamber sat a pale, sweet
faced, patient looking woman, reading a letter
which had just been left for her by the post-
"Thank God!" she said, as she finished read
ing it, and her soft, brown eyes were lifted up
ward. It looked very dark," she murmured,
"but the morning has broken again."
A light, quick step, was on the stairs; and
the door was pushed hastily open.
"Charles, dear !"
The boy entered with an excited countenance.
" going to get a place, mother!" he cried
to her, the moment his feet were in side the
The pale woman smiled and held out her
hand to her boy. He came quickly to her aide.
"There is no necessity for you getting a place
now, Charles. We shall go back to England."
"Oh, mother" The boy's face was all aglow
with sunbeams.
"Here a letter from a gentleman in New
York, who says that he is directed by .your
Uucle Wilton to pay our passages to England,
if we will return. God is good, my son. Let
us be thankful !"
Charles now drew from his pocket tbe note
which Mr. Frazier had given him, and handed
it to his mother.
"What is this ?" she asked.
"The gentleman who promised to get me a
place, told me to give it to you."
The woman broke the seal. There were
three bank bills, of ten dollars each, enclosed
and this brief sentence written on the sheet of
" God sent your son to a true friend. Take
courage. Let him come to me to-morrow."
"Who gave you this ?" she asked. Her
pale face was growing warm with sudden ex
"A gentleman. But Ido not know who he
was. I went into a great many stores to ask if
they didn't want a boy, and at last I came to
the one where the gentleman was, who sent
you this letter. He spoke ,roughly to me at
first, and then called me back and asked me
who I was, and about my mother. I told him
your name, and how father had died, and you
were sick. Then he sat a good while, and didn't
say anything; and then he wrote the note, and
told me be would get me a place. He was a
kindlooking man, if he did speak roughly at
"Did you see what name was' on the sign'?"
"I never. thought to look," replied the boy.
"Lomas so glad when I came away. But I can
go straight to'the place."
"I will write the gentleman a note, thanking
him for his kindness, and you must take it to
him in the morning. How light it makes my
heart feel to know that we are going back to
dear England God is good to us, my son, and
we must be obedient and thankful." .
Just before the evening twilight fell, word
came up to the woman that a gentleman had
called and wish to see her.
"Go and see who it is, Charles," she said to
her son.
"Oh, mother! It's the gentleman who sent
you the note !" exclaimed Charles, in an un
der tone, coming back quickly. And he wants
to see you. Can he come up ?"
There was a hasty glance of a woman's eyes
around the room, to see if everything was in
order, then a few slight changes in attire.
A man's firm tread approached the door. It
was opened, and the boy's mother and the boy's
new-found friend looked into other's faces.
"Oh, Edward I" fell from her lips, in a quick,
surprised voice, and she started from her chair,
and stood strongly agitated, before him. He
advanced, not speaking until he had taken her
"Florence ! I never thought to see you thus !"
He said it in a calm, kind, evenly modulated
voice, but her ears were finely enough chorded
to preceive the deep emotion that lay beneath.
He said it, looking down into the dark, soft,
tender brown eyes. "But I think there is a
providence in our meeting," he added.
They sat down and talked long together—
talked of the times gone by, and of the causes
that separated them, while their hearts beat
only for each other—of the weary years that
had passed for both of them since then-Lot
the actual present in their lives.
"I have a motherless child," he said at last,
"a tender little •thing that I love, and today I
Bud her body purple with bruises from the
cruel hand of a servant I Florence ! will you
be a mother to that child ? You have a noble
boy, who is fatherless; let, me be to him a fa
ther ! Oh, Florence ! there has been a great
void in our lives. A dark and impassible
river has flowed between us for years. But
Advertisements will be inserted in THE PILOT et
the following rates:
1 column, one year
of a column, one year
of a column, one year
1 square, twelve months
1 square t •six month' ...
I square, three months •
1 square, (ten lines or less) 3 insertions
Each subsequent insertion
Professional cards, one year
NO. 26.
we stand, at last, together and if the old love,
fills your heart as it fills mine, there are gold
en days for us in the future."
And so it proved. The lady and her son did
not go back to England, but passed to the mer-
chant's stately residence, she becoming its mis
tress, and he finding a home there, and a truer
father than the one he bad, in former years,
called by the name.
"Do good as you have opportunity." Only
a week before the lad's application to the tner
chant, had this injunction been urged, in bis
hearing, by an eloquent preacher, and the
words, coming to his thought, led him to call
back the boy after his cold, almost unkind re
Many times be thought of the incident af
terwards, and of the small event on which such
lifelong issues bung, almost trembling in view
of what he might have lost, had that slight op
portunity for doing good been neglected.—N.
Y. Ledger.
It is less injurious to society that a good doc
trine should be accompanied by a bad life than
that a good life should lend its support to a
bad doctrine.
Many persons confess their depravity, but
defend their conduct. They are wrong in
general, but right in particular.
Many of our cares are but a morbid way of
looking at our privileges. We let our blessing
get mouldy and then call them curses.
When a lady, fishing for a lover, cunningly
adjusts her features for the purpose, each of
hem is at an acute angle
Prejudices are like rats, and a man's mind
like a trap; they get in easily, and then per
haps can't get out at all.
If you would paint your face all over with
tracks, harbor vicious thoughts. If you would
be good-looking, be good
We hear of the state of original sin. The
united states of original sin are doubtless the
world, the flesh, and the devil.
True poets seem as old as the stars, with
blossoms of youth bursting from their heart
forever and filling the world with•perfume.
You :may be sufficiently sensitive, but don't
magine yourself a conductor for everybody's
lightning--running the thing into the ground.
Some hypocritical prayers in church are in
tended to cheat the con?re , !ation others the
As long as men smell cf whiskey and tobacco,
the women have a right to defend themselves
with mush
What is most useful is generally least exhil
arating. Light has no color, water no taste,
air no odor
The young fellow who engages bitnself to
halt a dozen young women is undoubtedly a
beaux of promise.
Many persons• write articles and send them
to an editor to be corrected—as if an editor's
office were a house of correction
If a woman tells more than the truth in
speaking a rival's age, she will probably make
the thing even in stating her own.
An author had better ask himself why he is
going to write a book, than be asked afterwards
why he haR written it.
Many persons write because they have noth
ing to do, not duly considering that they have
also nothing to say.
Memory is at the enchanted threshold of
the Past, but Hope stands in the doorway of
the Future
He is the greatest man whose strength car
ries up the most hearts by the attraction of his
In a large assembly, men will decide with
more justness by raising the hand than by rea-
A book is entitled to be examined good na
turedly. It shouldn't have a eross-exainina-
It isn't necessary that ones wife should be
tall. It is enough if she is short and sweet.
Most men have a much greater curiosity to
know what is said than to know what is true.
Simple words are sometimes loaded like
shells and explode a century away.