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No. 6 Vol. V.
From"’Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life.” ;
THE LOVER’S LAST VISIT. I
The window of the lonely cottage of’
Hilltop was beaming far above the highest
birch wood, BeemiDg to travellers at a dis
tance in the long valley below, who knew
It not, to be a star in the sky. A bright
lire was in the kitchen of that small tene
ment, the floor was washed, swept, and
sanded, and not a footstep had marked its
perfect neatness; a small table was cover
ed near the ingle, a snow w hite cloth, on
w|)ich was placed a frugal evening meal;
and iu happy, but pensive mood, sat there
all alone the woodcutter’s only daughter, a
comely and gentle creature, if not beautiful,
such an one as diffuses pleasure around her
in the hay Held, and serenity over the sea’
iiKwhich she sits Vtentively on the Sab
bath, listening to the word of Gpd, or join
ing with mellow voice in his praise and
worship. On this night she expected a
■visit from her lover, that they might fix
their marriage day; and her parents, sati
fied and happy, that their child was about
to be wedded to a respectable shepherd,
had gone to pay a visit to their nearest
neighbour in the glen.
A feeble and hesitating knock was heard
at the door, and like the glad and joyful
tourh of a lover’s hand; and cautiously
opening it, Mary Robinson beheld a female
figure wrapt up in a cloak, with her face
concealed under a black bonnet. The
stranger whoever she might be, seemed
wearied and worn out; and her feet bore
witness to a long day’s travel across the
marshy mountains. Although she could
scarcely help considering her an unwel
come visiter at uch an bottr, yet Mary had
too much sweetness of disposition, too much
humanity, not to request her to step for
ward into the hut, for it seemed as if the
wearied woman had lo6t her way, and hud
come towards the shining window to be put
right upon her journey to the low country.
The stranger took off her bonnet on
reaching the fire, and Mary Robinson be
held the face of one whom in youth she had
tenderly loved, although for some years
past, the distance at which they lived from
each other, had kept them from meeting,
and only a letter or two, written in their
simple way, had given them a few notices
01 each other’s existence. And now Mary
had opportunity, in the first speechless
gaze of recognition, to mark the altered
face of her friend, and her heart was touch
ed with an iguorant compassion. “ For
mercy’s sake sit down Sarah, and tell me
what evil has befallen you, for you are as
while as a ghost. Fear not to confide any
thing to uiy bosom; we have herded
sheep together on the lonesome braes—we
have stripped the bark together in the
more lonesome woods—we have played,
laughed, sung, danced together—we have
talked merrily and gaily, hut inuoceuily
enough surety of sweethearts together—-and
Sarah, graver thoughts too, have we shar
ed, for when vour poor brother died away,
like a frosted flower, 1 wept as isl had been
his sister; nor can I ever be so happy in
this world as to forget him. Tell me, my
friend, why are you here? and why is your
sweet face so ghastly?”
The heart of this unexpected visiferdied
within her at these kind and affectionate
inquiries, for she had come oo an errand
that was likely to dash the joy from that
happy countenance. Her heait upbraided
her with the meanness of the purpose for
which she had paid this visit; but that was
only a passing thought; for was she, inno
cent and free from sin, to submit, not only
to desertion, but to disgrace, aod not trust
herself aod her wrongs, and her prospects
of redress to her whom she loved as a sis
ter, and whose generous nature she well
knew, not even love, the changer of so
many things, could change utterly ; though,
iudeed jt might render it colder than of old
to the anguish of a female friend.
“0! Mary, 1 must speak—yet must my
words make you grieve far less for me than
for yourself. Wretch that I am—l bring
evil tidings into the dwelling of my dearesi
friend !—These ribbands—they are worn
for his sake—they become well, as he
thinks, the auburn of your bonny hair—
that blue gown is wore to-night, because he
likes it—but, Mary, will you curse me to
my face, wHen I declare before the God
that made us, that that man is pledged to
me by all that is sacred between mortal
creatures, and that I have here in my bo
som written promises and oaths of love
from him who I was this morning told, is in
a few days to he thy husbaud. Turn me
out of the hut now if you choose, and let
me, if you choose, die of hunger and fatigue
in the woods, where we have so often walk
ed together; for such a death would be
mercy to me in comparison wiih a mar
riage with him, who i* mine forever, if
there be a God who heeds the oaths of the
creatures he has made.”
Mary Robinson had led a happy life, but a
life of quiet thoughts, tranquil hopes, and
meek desires. —Tenderly aod truly did she
love the man to whom she was uow be
trothed ; but it was becuase she had thought
him gentle, manly, upright, sincere, and
one that feared God. His character was
unimpeached —to her his behaviour had
titways been food, affectionate, and respect
ful: that he was a fine looking p ian, aud
’ C
THE MISSIONARY.
could show himself among the best of the
country round at church and market and
fair day, she saw and felt with pleasure and
with pride. But in the heart of this poor,
humble, contented and pious girl, love was
not a violent passion, hut and affection
sweet and profound. She looked forward
to her marriage with a joyful sedateness,
knowing that she would have to toil for
her family, if blest with children, but hap
py in the thought of keeping her husband’s
house clean—of preparing his frugal meals,
aud welcoming him when wearied at night
to her faithful, affectionate, and grateful
bosom.
At first, perhaps, a slight flush of anger
towards Sarah, tinged hes cheek; then
followed in quick succession, or all blended
together in ona sickening pang, fear, disap
pointment, the sense of wrung, and the
cruel pain of disesteeming and despising
one on whom her heart had rested with all
its best and purest affections. But though
there was a keen struggle between many
feelings in her heart, her resolution was
formed during that very conflict; and she
said within herself, “If it be ev n so, nei
ther will Ibe so unjust as to deprive poor
Sarah of the man who ought to marry her,
nor will 1 be so mean and low spirited, poor
as I am, and so dear as he has been to tne,
a* to become his wife.”
While these thoughts were calmly pas
sing in the soul of this magnanimous girl,
all her former affections for Sarah revived;
and as she sighed for herself, she wept
aloud for her friend. “Be quiet, be quiet,
Sarah, and sob not so as it your heart were
breaking. It need not be thus with you.
Oh ! sob not so sair! You surely have not
walked in this one day from the heart of
the parish of Monlrafh !” “ I have indeed
done so, and am as weak as the wreathed
snow. God knows, little matter if I should
die aw y; lor, alter all, I fear he will nev
er think of me for his wife: arid you, Mary,
will lose a husband with whom you would
have been happy. 1 feel, after all, that I
must appear a mean wretch in your eyes.”
There was silence between them; and
Mary Robinson looking at the clock, .saw
that it wanted only about a quarter of an
hour from the time of tryst. “Give me
the oaths and promises you mentioned, on',
of your bosom, Sarah, that I may show
them to Gabriel when he comes. And
once more I promise, by all the sunny and
the snowy days we have sat together, in
the same plaid on the hillside, or in the
lonesome charcoal plots and nests o’ green
iu the woods, that if my Gabriel—did 1 say
my Gabriel ?—has forsaken you and deceiv
ed me thus, never shall his lips touch mine
again—never shall be pm a ring on my
fiuger—never shall this head lie in his bo
som—oo, never, never; notwithstanding all
the happy, too happy hours and days I have
been with him, near or at a distance—on
the corn ridge—among the meadow hay—
io the singing school—at harvest home—in
this room, and io God’s own house. So
help toe God, but 1 will keep this vow !”
Poor Sarah told, id a few hurried word-,
the story of her love and desertion—how
Gabriel, whose business as a shepherd, of
ten took him into Mnntrath parish, had
wooed her, and had fixed every thing for
their marriage, nearly a year ago.—But
that he had become causelessly jealous of a
young man, whom she scarcely knew; had
accused her of want of virtue, and for many
months never once come to see her.
“This morning, for the first time, I heard,
fora certainty,from one who km w Gabri
el well, and all his concerns, that the band
had been proclaimed in the church be
tween him and you; and that in a day or
two you were to be married. And though
I felt drowning, I determined to make a
struggle for my life; for Oh ! Mary, Mary,
my heart is not like your heart: it want*
your wisdom, your meekness, your piety,
and if I am to lose Gabriel, I will destroy
my miserable life, and face the wrath of
God sitting in judgement upon sinners.”
At this burst of passion Sarah hid her
face with her hands, as if sensible that she
had committed blasphemy. Mary seeing
her wearied, hungry, thirsty and feverish,
spoke to her in the most soothing manner;
led her into the little parlour called the
spence, then removed into it the table, with
oaten cakes, butter and milk; and telling
her to take some refreshment, and then lie
down on the bed, but on no account to leave
the room till called for. In a few minutes
the outer-door opened, and Gabriel en
tered.
The lover said, “ How is my sweet Ma
ry?” with a beaming countenance; and
gently drawing her hand to his bosom, he
kissed her cheek. Mary did not—could
not—wished not—at once to release herself
from his enfolding arms. Gabriel had al
ways treated her as the woman who was to
be his wife; and though at this time her
heart knew its own bitterness, yet she re
pelled not endearments that were so lately
delightful, and suffered him almost to take
her in his arms to their accustomed seat.
He held her hand in his, aod began to speak
in his usual kind and affectionate language.
Kind and affectionate it was, for though he
ought not to have done so, he loved her,
as he thought better than bis life. Her
heart coaid not in one small hour forget a
whole year of blisi. She could not yet
Os all sh HiinrxiCnna the world, and preach the Gospel to every creature. —Jesus Christ.
P_ and hablls wtuch lead political prosperity, Religion and Morality are indispensable supports— Washington.
MOUNT ZION, (HANCOCK COUNTY, GEORGIA,) MONDAY, JULY 21, 1823.
fling away with her own hand, what, only a
tew minutes ago, seemed to her the hope
ot paradise. Her soul sickeaed within her,
and she wished that she were dead, or nev
er had been born.
u O Gabriel! Gabriel! well indeed have
1 loved you: nor will I say, after all that
has passed between u*, that you are not de
serving, after all,-of a belter love than mine.
Vain were it to deny my love either to you,
or to my own soul. But look me in the
face be not wrathful—think not to hide
the truth either from yourself or me, for
that is now impossible; but tell me solemn
ly* a9 you shall’ answer to God at the judg
ment day, it you know any Teason why I
must not be your wedded wife?” She kept
her mild moist eye fixed upon him; but
he hung down his head, and uttered not a
word, for he was guilty before her, before
his own soul, and before God.
11 Gabriel, never could we be happy, for
you often told me that all the secrets of
your heart were known unto me, yet never
did you tell me this. How could von de
sert the poor innocent creature that loved
you: and how could you use me so, who
loved you perhaps as well as she, but whose
heart God will teach not to forget you, for
i hat I may never do, but to think on you
with that friendship and affection which in
nocently I can bestow upon you, when you
are Sarah’s husband. For Gabriel, I have
this night sworn, not in anger or passion, no,
no,y but in sorrow and pity for another’s
wrongs; in sorrow, also, deny it I will not,
for my own, to look on you from this hour,
as one whose life is to be led apart from my
lite, aud whose love must uever snore meet
with my love. Speak not unto me, look
not op me with beseeching eyes. Dutv and
religion forbid us ever to be mau and wife.
But you know there is one, besides me,
whom you loved before you loved me, and
therefore, it may be better too; aod that
she loves yon, and is faithful, as if God had
made you one, I say without fear, I who
have known her ever since she was a child,
although fatally for the peace of us both, we
have long lived apart. Sarah is in the
house, udJ I will bring her unto you io
tear 9, but not tears ot penitence, for she is
as innocent of that sm as I am who now
speak.”
Mary went into the little parlour and led
Sarsh forward by the hand. Despairing as
she had been, yet when she had heard from
poor Marys voice speaking so frequently,
that Gabriel had come, and that her friend
was interceding in her behalf, the poor girl
had arranged her hair iu a lookiog glass—
tied it up with a ribband which Gabriel had
given her, and pot into the breast of her
gown, a little gilt brooch that contained
locks of their blended hair. Pale but beau
tiful* for Sarah Pringle was the fairest girl
in all the country, she advanced with a
flush on that paleness of reviving hope,
injured pride, and love that was ready to
forgive all and forget all, so that once
again she could be restored to the place in
his heart that she had lost. “ What have
I ever done, Gabriel, that you should
fling me from you? May my soul never
live by the atonement of my Saviour, if l
am not innocent of that sin, yea, of all dis
tant thought of that sin with which you, ev
en you, have in your hard heartedness
charged me. Look me in the face Gabriel,
and think of all I have been unto yon, and
it you say that before God, and in your own
soul, you believe me guilty then will I go
away iu the dark Dight, aod, long before the
.norniog, my troubles will he at an end.”
Truth was not only in her fervent and
simple words, but in the tone of her voice,
the colour of her face, and the light of her
eyes. At first, he doubted her virtue, and
that doubt gradually weakened his affection.
At last, he tried to believe her guilty, or to
forget her altogether, when his heart turn
ed to Mary Robinson, and he thought of
making her his wife. His injustice; his
wickedness; bis baseness; which he so
long concealed in some measure, from him
self, by a dim feeling of a wrong done him,
and afterwards by the pleasures of anew
love, now appeared to him as they were,
and without disguise. Mary took Sarah’s
hand, and placed it within that of her con
trite lover, for had the tumult of conflicting
passions allowed him to know his own soul,
such at that moment he surely was; saying
with a voice as composed as the eyes with
which she looked upon them, “ I restore
you to each other: and 1 already feel the
comfort of being able to do my duty. I will
be bride’s maid. And I now implore the
blessing of God upon your marriage. Ga
briel, your betrothed will sleep this night
in my bosom. We will think ofyou better
perhaps than you deserve. Ii is not forme
to tell you what you have to repent of.
Let us all three pray for each other this
night, and evermore when we are on our
knees before our Maker- The old people
will soon be at home. Good night Gabri
el.” He kissed Sarah, and giving Mary a
look of 9bame, humility, and reverence, he
went home to meditation and repentance.
It was now midsummer, and before the
harvest had been gathered in throughout
the higher vallies, or the shehp brought
from the mountain fold, Gabriel and Sa
rah were man and wife. Time passed on,,
and a blooming family cheered their board
aod fireside, Nor did Mary Robinson, the
flower of the forest, (for so the woodcut
ter’s daughter was often called) pass her
life in single blessedness. She, too, became
a wife and mother ; and the two families,
who lived at last on adjacent farms, were
remarkable for mutual affection through
out all the parish; aud more (ban one in
termarriage took place between them, at a
tin#: when the worthy parents had almost
entirely forgotten the trying incidents of
their youth.
RELIGIOUS.
-- —s
THE MYSTERIES OF GOD.
From Dr Moore's Sermon, preached at an Or
dination xn Blandford. Feb. 5, 1823.
After an examination ot the manner iu which
the term mystery it used iu the Scriptures, and
the connexions iu which it is introduced, the
Dr. observes that there are two reasons why cer
tain truths of revelation urv called mysteries.
“One is, they could be known only by a
revelation from God. The doctrine of the
Trinity, which has respect to the manner
of the Divine existence, and which holds a
pre-eminent place in the scheme of reveal
ed religion ; the incarnation of Him, who is
ao effulgence of the Father’s glory, and an
exact image ot his substance; atonemeutby
Hi* sufferings; the renovating influences of
the Holy Spirit; the restoration to holiness
and happiness of ail who believe in the
named Jesus; and the whole scheme of
redemption and salvation by a Mediator,
and iis future and endless influence in aug
menting the happiness of the intelligent
universe, were secrets in the Divine mind.
and wholly inscrutable by any creature, till
revealed by the Spirit of God. It is hence
easy to see the propriety, according to tb*
primitive meaning of the word mystery, of
calling the truths of revelation mysteries , aud
the mysteries of God.
“Another reason why they are called
mysteries, is, that they are known, many of
them at least, only as facts, aud relate to
things, the nature of which is incomprehen
sible by the human mind. All the truths
of revealed religion are known and intelli
gible as facts ; but many of them relate to
things to which the term mystery, ns de
noting what is incomprehensible by the hu
man mind, may be applied. IVe are to
make a distinction between what is revealed
and what is not revealed in the doctrines of
the sacred Scriptures. What is revealed is
no longer a secret, hut is manifest and
known. The fact or truth that is repealed,
we have no difficulty in understanding as a
fact or truth, because there is decisive evi
dence of it. The only way in which we
know any fact or truth, is on the ground of
proper evidence. We can have no higher
evidence, than the testimony of God. But
the nature of the thing to which that testi
mony relates, the nature of the thing de
clared, or of which the fact is predicated,
and the manner of the fact, may be wholly
incomprehensible.
This distinction I will illustrate by a few
instances. God created the visible universe.
This is a truth or far.f, of which there is
the. fullest evidence, and as a fact it is per
fectly intelligible, and easy to he under
stood. But the manner in which God so
operated as to cause ihe visible universe to
exist, where nothing before existed, is not
, revealed; it is to us a secret. God -will
raise the dead, and these corruptible bodies
will be so changed as to be no more subject to
decay. This is revealed as what God by
bis power will effect. But how he will do
this is not repealed. A? a fact the future
resurrection of the body is perfectly intelli
gible; the manner in which it will be raised,
is uot revealed; it is a secret aud wholly
incomprehensible. The mode of divine ex
istence is such as to lay a foundation for a. dis
tinction into three. That the father is God;
that the Son is God; and that the Holy
Ghost is God; and that these three are one
God, is a revealed fact. The fact we un
derstand. But the nature of uncaused exis
tence, the nature, of the Infinite Mi.id, we do
not understand. The incomprehensible
ness of the doctrine of the Trinity lies in
the nature of the thing declared, for it re
lates to the manner of the divine existence,
and not in the fact declared. The fact is
intelligible oo the same ground, that the
eternity, self existence, omniscience, and
omnipresence of God are intelligible, that
is, on the ground of clear and decisive evi
dence.
God knows the manner ofbis own exis
tence, and what be has revealed with re
spect to it we know as a fact, and no fur
’her. Christ is God, and became incarnate.
This, as a matter of fact, is perfectly intel
ligible. But how the human nature and
the divine nature were united in the per
son of Christ, we and not know. This is not
revealed fVe shall exist in a social stale
immediately after death There is no d-ffi
culty in understanding this as a matter of
fact. But how minds can hold intercou.ie
with each other without material organs,
we know not. This is not revealed.
Thu* as respects the nature of the things to
which they relate, the doctrines of revela
tion may be called mysteries, according to
the common acceptation of the term, as de
noting that which is difficult to be conceiv
ed, or which is whcllv incomprehensible.
I would here remark, that there is a
very striking analogy between the truths
Price 1 $ 3 50 pr. ann. or,
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of revelation and the truths which relate to
the visible universe. All the sciences,
which relate to matter, rest on facts, of
which we can give no explanation, and of
which we can give no account, but that
such is the will of the Creator; facts, Os
which we have the fullest evidence, aud to
deny which would indicate insanity ; hot of
which we can give no explanation, and opr
only refer them to the mysterious and in
comprehensible agency of Him, who work*
eth all thing* according to the counsel of his
own will. Os this no one will for a mo
ment doubt, who will attempt au explana
tion of the familiar and noiver-<al fact de
noted by the term gravitation. This term,
when used to denote a fact, or the tenden
cy of one body towards another, we per
fectly understand; bill when u*edto denote
the cause of that tendency, who can ex
plain its meaning, or give any account of
the thing which it deuotes, otherwise than
by resolving it into the invisible and incom
prehensible agency of God. So the term
magnetism, when used to denote a fact we 4
understand, hut when used to deunle the
cause of that fact, we can only say, that it
denotes an invisible ageucy, which we do
not compreheud. So all the terms used fa
denote the changes, which (Vike pi- e in
the material world, are intelligible ,< de
noting matters of fact, because of these tacts
we have the most satisfactory eiid t.ee.
But, when they are used to denott the
cause of these changes, we do not c-. pre
lieod the tiling denoted. It is the iuv „ible
and mysterious agency of God.
“There is not an object io existence,
which does not present mysteries, that
mock all our efforts at explanation.” In
pursuing any subject that comes within ihe
sphere of our knowledge beyond cprlain
limits, we find ourselves involved in myste
ry, and that we have arrived at the utmost
verge of our intellectual powers. Even
mathematical science, which is justly deem
ed an impregnable fortress of human rea
son, has its mysteries. The demonstra
tions of Ihe infinite divisibility of quantity,
the doettines of endless approximations,
and ol infinitesimals, involve us in myste
ries, as far above the comprehension of the
human mind, as the illimitable nature of
-pace.”
MISSIONARY.
GEORGIAN ISLANDS.—SOUTH SEA.
NEW CODE OF LAWS.
The re-modelling of a State, hitherto
Heathen, on Christian Principles, under al!
the freshness and vigour of impression from
those principles being just received, is an
object perfectly neiv in this latter Hge of
the world. What has, however, taken
place in this respect, in some of the smal
ler Islands of the Pacifiok, is bht the pre
lude, we trust, of what will ere long follow
on a far larger scale in other Heathen
Lands.
The New Code of Otaheitean Laws wa9
enacted by the late King and the Chiefs, in
concurrence with the People. They were
immediately printed, and were posted up
in every district; so that the people in
general who have learnt to read, have be
come well acquainted with their civil and
social duties.
Introduction of the Code.
Pomare, by the Grace of God King of
Tahiti, Morea, and all surrounding lands,
to all faithful subjects, Greeting, in the
name of the True God. God, in bis great
mercy, has sent his word among us. We
desire to regard the commandments which
he bas given us. In order, therefore, that
our conduct may become like the conduct
of those if ho love God, we make known to
you the following Laws of Tahiti.
Nineteen heads of the Code.
/. Os Murder. 2. Os Robbery. 3. Os
Depredations committed by Swine. 4
Os Stolen Property. 5. Os Lost Property*
G Os Buying aud Selling 7. Os Sabbath
Breaking. 8. Ol'Stirring up War. 9. Os
a Man with two Wives. 10 Os Wives (hat
were cast off before the Reception of the
Gospel. 11. Os Adultery. 12. Os For
saking a Wife or Husband. 13. Os not :
Providing Food for the Wife. 14 Os Mar-!
riage. 15. Os raising False Reports. IG* |
Os the Judges.—l 7. Os tijing Cases*.;
18. Os Courts of Justice. 19. Ofthe Laws
in General.
Article 16 contains the names of the
Judges, 400 in number. Articles 18 and
19 prescribe that Courts of Justice shall be
erected all around Ofoheite and Eimi*.—!
that they shall be used solely for the admin-1
iterators of justice—that a printed copv of
the Law* nhail be posted 0,1 every such i
House of Judgment— and that the chiefs j 0 i
the several districts shall support the exe-1]
cution thereof. Murder is made ponishal
ble by death
Modifications in these laws will, of course I
continually be found necessamu in order trJl
adapt them to the new and tin fried state o£J
society % which they are designed. Tht |j
intelligence of the missionaries will doubtH
less be applied to this object, as it has beetll
already beneficially employed in fra mini#
the Code. *|i
Specimen of three Laws.
subjoin these three -pecimens, thafl
our readers way thg more lvtfly enter iat il