Newspaper Page Text
No. 23. Vol. IV.
From. “ Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life
THE POOH SCHOLAR.
The vernal weather, that had come so
early in the year, as to induce a fear that
it would not be lasting, seemed contrary
to that foreboding of change, to become ev
ery day more mild and genial; and the
spirit of beauty, that had at first ventured
out over the bosom of the earth with timid
footsteps, was now blending itself more
boldly with the deep verdure of the ground,
and the life of the budding trees. Some
thing in the air, and in the great, wide,
blue, bending arch of the unclouded sky,
called upon the heart to come forth from
the seclusion of parlour or study, and par
take of the cheerfulness of nature.
We had made some short excursions to
gether up the lone glens, and over the
moors, and also through the more thickly
inhabited field farms of his parish, and now
the old Minister proposed that we should
pay a visit to a solitary hut near the head
of a del!, which although not very remote
from the Manse, we had not yet seen. And
1 was anxious that we should do so, as, from
his conversation, I understood that we
Should see there a family—if so a widow
and her son could be called—that would re
pay ns by the interest we could not fail to
feel in their character, forth” time and toil
spent on reaching their secluded and gaurd
ed dwelling.
“ The poor widow woman,” said the
minister, “ who lives in the hut called Brac
head has as noble a soul as ever tenanted
a human bosom. One earthly hope alone
has she now—but 1 fear it never will be
fulfilled. She is the widow of a common
cotter who lived and died in the hut which
she and her son now inhabit. Her hus
band was a man of little education, but in
telligent, even ingenious, simple, laborious,
and pious. His duties lay all within a nar
row circle, and his temptations it may he
said were few. Such as they were, he dis
charged the one and withstood the other.
Nor is there any reason to think, that, had
they both been greater, he would have
been found wanting. lie was contented
with meal and water all his days; and so
fond of work that he seemed to love the
summer chiefly for the length of its labour
ing days. He had a slight genius for me
chanicks; an.), during the long winter eve
nings, he made many articles of curious
workmanship, the sale of which added a
little to the earnings of his severer toil.
The same love of industry excited him
from morning to night ; hut he had also
stronger, tenderer, and dearer motives;
for if bis wife and their one pretty boy
should outlive him, he hoped, that, though
left poor, they would not be left in penury,
but enabled to lead, without any additional
hardships, Ihe usual life, at least, of the
widow and the orphans of honest hard
working men. Few thought much about
Abraham Blane while he lived, except that
he was an industrious and blameless man;
hut, on his death, it was felt that there had
been something far more valuable in his
character; and now 1 myself, who knew
him well, was pleasingly surprised to know
that he had left his widow and hoy a small
independence. Then the memory of his
long summer days, and long winter nights,
all ceaselessly employed in some kind of
manual labour, dignified the lowly and
steadfast virtue of the unpretending and
tjonscientious man.
“The widow of this humble-hearted and
simple-minded man, whom we shall this
forenoon visit,you will remember, perhaps,
although then neither she nor her husband
were much known in the parish, as the wife
of the basket maker. Her father had been
a clergyman—hut his stipend was one of
the smallest in Scotland, and he died in ex
treme poverty. This, his only daughter,
who had many fine feelings and deep
thought* in her young innocent and simple
heart, was forced to become a menial ser
vant in a farm house. There, subduing
her heart to her situation, she married that
inoffensive and good mao; and all her life
ru.N been—maid, wife, and widow, —the
humblest among the humble. But you
shall soon have an opportunity’ of seeing
w bat sense, what feeling, what knowledge,
ami what piety, may all live together, with
out their owner suspecting them, in the
sou! of the lonely widow of a Scottish cot
ter ; for except that she is pious, she thinks
not that she possesses any other treasure ;
and pven her piety she regards, like a true
Christian, as a gift bestowed.
“But well worthy of esteem, and to
speak in the language of this world’s fan
cies, f admiration, as you will think this
poor solitary widow, perhapsyou will think
such feelings bestowed even more deserv
edly on her only son. He is now a boy
only of sixteen years of age, but, in my lim
ited experience of life, never knew I such
another. From his veriest infancy he
showed a singular capacity for learning; at
seven years of age he could read, write,
and was even an arithmetician. He seized
upon books with the some avidity with
kpvhich children, in general, seize upon play
things. He soon caught glimmerings of
the meaning eveo of other languages; and
before he was ten years old, tberp was in
his mind clear dawning* of the scholar, and
indications nut to be doubted of genius and
THE MISSIONARY.
MOUNT ZION, (HANCOCK COUNTY, GEORGIA,) MONDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 1822.
intellectual power. His father was dead;
hut his mother, who was no common wo
man, however common her lot, saw with
pure delight, and with stroug maternal
pride, that God had given her an extraordi
nary child to bless her solitary hut. She
vowed to dedicate him to the ministry, and
that all her husband bad left should .be
spent upon him, to the last farthing, to
quality him to be a preacher of God’s word.
Such ambition, if sometimes misplaced, is
almost always necessarily honourable.
Here it was justified by the excelling tal
ents ot the boy ; by bis zeal for knowledge ;
which was like a fever in bis blood; and
by a childish piety, of which the simple,
and eloquent, and beautiful expression has
“tore than once made me shed tears. But
let us leave the mause, and walk to Brae
. head. The sunshine is precious at this ear
ly season; let us enjoy it while it smiles !”
We crossed a few fields—a few coppice
wood?—an extensive sheep pasture, and
then found ourselves on the edge of a moor
land. Keeping the shelving heather ridge
of hills above us, we gently descended into
a narrow rushy glen, without any thing
that could be called a stream, but here and
there crossed and intersected by runlets.
Soon all cultivation ceased, and no houses
were to be seen. Had the glen been a
long one, it would have seemed desolate,
but on turning round a little green mount
that ran almost across it, we saw at once an
end to our walk, and one but, with a peat
stack close to it, and one or two elder, or,
as we call them in Scotland bourtrie-bushes,
at the low gable-eod. A little smoke
seemed to tinge the air over the roof un
certainly—but except in that, there was
nothing to tell that the hut was inhabited.
A few sheep lying near it, and a single cow
of the small hill-breed, seemed to appertain
to the hut, and a circular wall behind it ap
parently enclosed a garden. We sat down
together on one of those large mossy stones
that often lie among the smooth green pas
toral hills, like the relicks of some building
utterly decayed; and my venerable friend,
whose solemn voice was indeed pleasant in
this quiet solitude, continued the simple his
tory of the poor Scholar. *
“At school he soon outstripped all the
other boys, but no desire of superiority
over the other boys seemed to actuate
him; it was the pure native love of knowl
edge. Gentle as a lamb, but happy as a
lark, the very wildest of them all loved
Isaac Biane. He procured a Hebrew Bible
and a Greek Testament, both of which he
taught himself to read. It was more than
affecting; it was sublime and awful to see
the solitary boy sitting by himself on the
braes shedding tears over the mysteries of
the Christian faith. His mother’s heart
burned within her towards her son; and if
it was pride, you will allow that was pride
of a divine origin. She appeared with him
in the kirk every Sabbath, dressed qot os
tentatiously, but still in a way that showed
she intended him not for a life of manual
labour. Perhaps at first some thought that
she was too proud of him ; but that was a
suggestion not to be cherished, for all ac
knowledged that be was sure to prove an
honour to the parish in which he was born.
She often brought him to the Manse, & earth
did not contain a happier creature than her,
when her boy answered all my questions,
and modestly made his own simple, yet
wise remark? on the sacred subjects gradu
ally unfolding before his understanding and
hi? heart.
“ Before he was twelve years of age he
went to college ; and his mother accompa
nied him to pass the winter in the city.—
Two small rooms she took near Ihe Cathe
dral, and while he was at the classes, or
reading alone, she was not idle but strove
to make a small sum to help to defray their
winter expenses. To her that retired cell
was a heaven when she looked upon her
pious and studious bov. His genius was
soon conspicuous; for four winters he pur
sued his studies in the university ; returning
always in summer to this hut, the door of
which during their absence was closed. He
made many friends, and frequently, during
the three last summers, visiters came to
pass a day at Braehead, in a raak of life
far above his own. But in Scotland, thank
God, talent, and learning, and genius, and
virtue, when found in the poorest hut, go
not without their admiratiou and their re
ward. Young as he is, he has had pupils
of his own; hi* mother’s little property
has not been lessened at this boar by his
education; and besides contributing to the
support of her and himself, he has brought
neater furniture into that lonely hut, and
there has he a library, limited in the num
ber but rich in the choice of books, such as
contain food for years of silent (bought to
(he Poor Scholar; if years iodeed are’ to
be his on earth.”
We rose to proceed onwards to the hut,
across one smooth level of greenest herb
age, and up one intervening knowe • little
lower than the mount on which it. stood.
Why, thought I, has the old man always
spoken of the Poor Scholar, as if he had
been speaking of one now dead? Can it be,
from the hints he hp? dropped, that this
youth, do richly endowed, is under the doom
of death, and the fountain of all those clear
and fresh gushing thoughts about to be
sealed ? I asked, as we wajksd along, if
00 YE INTO ALL THE WORLD AND PREACH THE GOSPEL, TO EVERY CREATURE.
Isaac Blane seemed marked out to be one
of those sweet flowers “ no sooner blown
than blasted,” and who perish like the
creatures of a dream ? The old man made
answer that it was even so; that he had
been unable to attend College the last win
ter; and that it was to be feared he was
now far advanced in a hopeless decline.
Simple is he still as a very child; but with
a sublime sense of duty to fc and and man; of
profound affection and humanity never to
be appeased towards all the brethren of
our race. Each month; each week; each
day has seemed visibly to bring him new
stores of silent feeling and thought; and
even now, boy as he is, he is fit for the
ministry. But he has no thought of living
to that day ; nor have I. The deep spirit
of his piety is now blended with a sure pre
science ot an early death. Expect, there
fore, to see him pale, emaciated, and sitting
in the hut like a beautiful and blessed
ghost.”
We entered the hut, but no one was in
tbe room. The clock ticked solitarily;
and on a table, beside a nearly extinguished
peat fire, lay the open Bible, and a small
volume, which, on lifting up, I found to be
a Greek Testament. “ They have gone
out to walk, or to sit down for an hour in
the sunshine,” said the old man: “ Let us
sit down and wait thpir return. It will not
be long.” A long lpw sigh wa9 heard in
the silence, proceeding, as it seemed, from
a small room adjoining that in which we
were sitting, and of which the door was
left half-open. The Minister looked into
that room, ami, after a long earnest gaze,
stept softly back to me again, with a solemn
face, and takfag me by the hand, whispered
to me to come with him to that door, which
lie gently moved. On a low bed lay tbe
Poor Scholar, dressed as he bad been for
tbe day, stretched out in a stillness 100 mo
tionless and profound for sleep, and with
his fixed face up to heaven. We saw that
he was dead. His mother was kneeling,
with her face on the bed, and covered with
both her hands. Then she lifted up her
eyes and said, “O merciful Redeemer,
who wrought that miracle, on the child of
the widow of Nain, comfort me, comfort
me, in this my sore distress. I know that
my son is never to rise again until the great
Judgment day. But not the less do I bless
thy holy name ; for thou didst die to save
us sinners!”
She arose from her knees, and, still blind
to every other object, went up to his breast.
“1 thought thee lovelier, when alive, than
any of the sons of the children of men; but
that smile is beyond the power of a moth
er’s heart to sustain.” And stooping dowo,
she kissed his lips, and cheeks, and eyes,
and forehead, with a hundred soft, stream
ing and murmuring kisses, aad then stood
up in her solitary hut, alone and childless,
with a long mortal sigh, in which all earth
ly feelings seemed breathed out, and all
earthly ties broken. Her eyes wandered
towards the door, and fixed themselves with
a ghastly Rnd unconscious gaze for a few
moments on the grey locks and withered
countenance of the old holy man, bent to
wards her with a pitying and benignaut air,
and stooped, too, in the posture of devotion.
She sooi: recognized the best friend of her
son, and leaving the bed on which his body
lav, she came out into the room, and said,
“You have come to me at a time when
your presence was sorely needed. Had
you been here but a few minutes sooner, you
would have seen my Isaac die !”
Unconsciously we were all seated; and
the widow turniog fervently to her venera
ted friend, said, “ He was reading the Bi
ble; be felt faiut, and said feebly, “Moth
er, attend me to my bed, and when I lie
down, put your arm over my breast and
kiss me.” I did just as he had told me;
and on wiping away a tear or two vainly
shed by me on my dear boy’s face, I saw
that his eyes, though open, moved not, and
that the lids were fixed. He had gone to
another world. See, Sir! there is the Bi
ble lying open at the place where he was
reading—God preserve my soul from repi
ning—only a few, few minutes ago.”
The minister took the Bible on his knees,
and laying his right band, without selection,
on part of one of the pages that lay open,
he read aloud the following verses:
“ Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs
is the kingdom of heaven.”
“ Blessed are they that mourn, for they
shall be comforted.”
The mother’s heart seemed to be deeply
blest for a while by these words. She gave
a grateful smile to tbe old man, and sat si
lent, moving her lip*. At length she again
broke forth ’.
“Ob ! Death, whatever may have been
our thoughts or fears, ever comes unex
pectedly at last! My son often, often told
me, that he was dying, and I mw that it was
so ever since Christmas. Byt how could I
prevent hope from entering my heart? Hi 9
sweet happy voice; the calmness of his
prayers; bis smiles, that never left his face
whenever he looked or spoke to me; his
studies, still pursuing as anxiously as ever;
the interest he took in any little incident of
our retired life ; all forced me tc believe at
times that he was not yet destined to die.
But why think on all these thing? now?
Yes! I will always think of them, till I join
him and my husband in Heaven!”
It seemed now as if the widow had only
noticed me for the first time. Her soul had
been so engrossed with its passion of grief,
and with the felt sympathy and compassion
of my venerable friend. She asked me if
I had known her son; and I answered, that
if I bad, I could not have sat there so com
posedly, but that I was no stranger to his
incomparable excellence, and felt indeed
foe her grievous loss. She listened to my
words, but did not seem to bear them, and
again addressed the. old man. “He suffer
ed much sickness, my poor boy. For al
though it was n consumption, that is not al
ways un easy death. But soon as the sick
ness and racking pain gave way to our uni
ted prayers, God aud our Saviour made ns
happy, and sure he spake then as never
mortal spake, kindling into a happiness that
was beautiful to see, when I beheld his face
marked by dissolution, and knew even in
those inspired moments, for I can call them
pothing else, that ere long the dust was to
lie on those lips now flowing over with
heavenly musick!”
We sat for some hours in the widow’s
but and the minister several times prayed
with her, at her own request. On rising to
depart, he said that he would send up one
of her dearest friends to pass the night with
her, and help her to do the last offices to
her son. But she replied that she wished
to be left alone far that day and night, and
would expect her friend in the morning.
We went toward? the omor door, and she,
in a sort of sudden 9tupor, let ns depart
without any farewell words, and retired in
to the room where her eon was lying.
Casting back our eye?, before our depar
ture, we saw her steal into the bed beside
the dead body, and drawing the head gently
into her bosom, she fay down with him in
her arms, and as if they had in that manner
fallen asleep.
Extracts from a Sermon preached before trrr
Lodges of Freemasons , at Reading , Mass.,
June 25, 1821—By Rev. Jacob W. East
man.
masonry.
The Bible is the soul of Masonry—Ma
sonry, therefore, is a good system. The
reading of this good book accompanies all
our performances. To facts, which it re
veals, and duties, which it urges, all our
rites and ceremonies refer. The ,amb
skin, gauge and gavel; the level and the
plumb-line ; the square aud compasses; the
mallet, the chisel and trowel, with many
other Masomck instruments, “ of which we
cannot now speak plainly,” have impwtant
moral uses. They are mementos of facts,
which the Bible records. They are checks
against sins, which it forbids. They are
monitors to excite us to duties, which it in
culcates.
lo addition to this, it may not be improp
er to remark, that every Mason has as sol
emnly engaged to take the Word of God for
the rule and guide of his life , as the Christian
has to take it for his “ rule of faith and
practice.” His not living according to it,
is the same evidence of his departure from
Masonry, as the Christian’s not living ac
cording to it, is of his departure from Chris
tianity. The case of botb is a grief to hu
manity, but is no evidence against (he in
stitutions they respectively dishonour.*
Many have objected to our order because
of its secrecy. But this objection 1 consid
er unreasonable. There are many reasons,
as every brother knows, in favour of its im
portance. Two of these may be noticed
without a violation of the rules of tbe frater
nity.
fa Masonry a charitable institution? aod
do those, who in days of prosperity contrib
ute to its funds, have a right to support from
them in a time of adversity ? it will appear
evident to every reflecting mind, that it i9
necessary there should be secrets, by which
a brother may know a brother from an im
poster. Otherwise vagrants would be sup
ported, while contributors themselves were
left to suffer. A secret is the only safe
guard which can be devised to remedy this
evil.
I* Masonry calculated for fitting men for
usefulness ? Men, in whom you can place no
confidence, are not fit for any publick sta
tion. A Senator of this class would-render
the calculations, intemfbd by a session in
closed doors, abortive, and be a means of in
jury to tbe nation. A general af this class
would divulge every plan of concert so ear
ly as to prevent its success. Masonry ha
bituates a man to the exercise of confidence,
and is happily calculated to prepare men to
keep secrets in business, where secrecy is
required.
The exclusion of females from tbe insti
tution has often been condemned. But tbe
reflecting will not ceesider it improper.
By their exclusion, ouv lodges are preserv
ed from an accusation, which, had they been
admitted, would unquestionably have been
levelled against them—an accusation, which I
delicacy forbids me to mention. Nor ar j
tbe fairer part of creation injured by this or |
* Those who have written against Masonry, 1
have confounded Illumiuees with .Masons. In this
they have imitated infidel writers, who, led away 1
by the sound of words,have confounded the Brali- ,
mins of Hindostan with the Protestant clergy.— ,
A* a Minister of (he Gospel I protest against tbe
conduct of the latter. Aa a Alasou, I protebt !
against the former.—The conduct of both I con
sider equally ungenerous.
Price 5 P r - onn, or,)
’ ( $3,00 in advance, y
any other regulation of the fraternity. Ma
sonry is airiend to their virtue. Such are
its! barriers for their defence, tbat if virtu*
, °“S females only knew them, they woold
consider a relation to a Mason a privilege
indeed. Nay more; they would ardently
desire that Masonry might speedily become
1 so universal, as to ioclude every depraved
son of Adam.
purr or MASONS.
A* men we are called upon by the want#
of the wretched, and the distresses of (he
unenlightened to exercise the spirit of uni
versal philanthropy. A? Masons, we have
motives ofan imperious kiod to induce us to
the exercise of benevolence towards the
idolatrous nations of the earth. Where the
Shaster aod the Kona are reverenced, Ma
sonry has an existence. But destitute of
the Bible, that existence is miserable.
Lodges in this situation, like a crew at sea,
without a compass, move in the dark. The
great light of Masonry not being there, the
less lights are all suffering an eclipse—Our
brethren of consequence are left in obscuri
ty and confusion, deserving of the pity of
their more favoured brethren. And shall
not otir pity be extended to them? From
what they have heard of the Bible by Ma
sonjek tradition, they are comparatively
prepared to receive it.* In this way divine
Providence has prepared the world for its
! approaching glory. Let us follow the lead
ings of Providence, ant) send the Bible to
1 those unhappy members of our Paternity.
* From a brother, who veiled a number of
Lodge? in Turkey, and in several oilier kingdoms
destitute of th B hie, this information is derived.
He slates, that although our brethren in these
lands are dtstitute of the Bible, their work avrees
’ with it y.and hence infers, that if ibe holy oraotjes
1 could be given them in their oivn language, they
. would be peculiarly welcome. A* John the Bap
tist prepared the way for Christ, so
Lodge? “dedicated to £t. John,” are preparing iiye
way in Pagan and Mahometan countries for Clirisa
. ianity. And when the Gospel shall be preached:
‘in all the world, and the Bible shall be given to
all nations, there is reason to believe that Masons
will be among the first to credit the latter and
embrace the former,
11 ... .
American Colonization Society.
From the National Intelligencer.
ADDRESS OF THE BOARD OF MANA
GERS.
The period has at length arrived, when
we feel it our duty to ca!l upon our friends
for their united aid and exertions. We
have now a reasonable prospect of accom
plishing the great object for which the so
ciety was formed. The publick have
been made acquainted with tbe difficulties
with which it has pleased Providence to
try our faith, our constancy, and our zeal.
They have been informed by tbe last Re
port, that a territory had been purchased,
under the directioo of Lieutenant Stockton
■ and Dr. Ayres, on the 15th of December
last. This territory is situated at Montse*
rado, at the moutfc of Montserudu river.
Further accounts and fuller observation
confirm all the representation formerly
made of the health, fertility, commercial
am! agricultural importance of this place.
It is situated in about 6 deg 15 min. of
north latitude, and about 250 miles south
east of Sierra Leone. Our people who
were at Fourah bay, in the colony of Sierra
Leone, have been removed to their new
settlement. Dr. Ayres, and Mr.lViltberger,
left them on tbe 4th of June, when hou-os
had been prepared for them. They
amounted, at that time, to about eighty. A
vessel was (ben on the way to join them,
with tbirty-five new settlers, and fifteen
captured Africans, with a good supply of
provisions and stores. As the rain,? will
cease in October, and Ihe season then com
mence for active operations, it is of impor
tance that such re-enforcements as will be
necessary to place tbe settlement on a re
spectable footing, as to strength, society,
and resources, should be forwarded without
delay. Jt is for this purpose we now call
npon the publick far aid. To this period
we have always looked, not without anxie
ty as to the result, but with a confident ex
pectation that we might rely upon the lib
erality, benevolence, and Chritian zeal of
our fellow citizens, tn upply the necessary
funds for laying tbe foundation of a settle
ment, which will make Africa rejoice, and
wbicb America shall not be ashamed to
own as her work. Great as have been our
difficulties, our discouragements, and our
trials, we view in them all the band of a
kind Providence who has sent them, as we
believe,for wise purposes, and has not failed
to support us under them. We necessarily
commenced our operations under much ig
norance of the country and people of Afri
ca By the delay which has taken place,
we have procured such information as, wa
hope, has enabled m to select our situation
with greater advantage, and to direct our
future operations with greater skill and
judgment, and tn give to some of the peo
ple of Africa a knowledge of our objects,
and a confidence in our agents and country.
We are happy to learn that many of the
most powerful and intelligent of the kings
along the coast, have become convinced,
that the slave trade must aoou ..ease ; and
they have been led to look with no small
anxiety, far the sources 0! their future sop.
plies: ti lhey now ses ip oijrnew settlement,
s