Elizabeth-Town gazette. [volume] (Elizabeth-Town, N.J.) 1818-1821, 1821-02-13

lay on the window, and looked over the
lpages--Mary left The room. No answer
was returned nor any farther inquiry
made /; and our little party broke up in ST.
Hence.
When we met il the evening, we were
lstill all sullen. My mother tried TO speak
Iof indifferent things, but il was apparent
that her thoughts had 40 share 10 the
words that dropped from her tongue. My
father at last said, you win soon forget
us, Duncan, but there are some among us
who will not SO soon forget you." Mary
again left the room, aud silence ensued.
until the family were called together for
!evening worship. There was one sentence
in my fathers prayer thai night. which ]
think / yet remember, word for word.
1t may appear Of little Importance TO those
who are no wise in,eresled, butt affected.
us deeply, and left not a dry cheek in the
family. 1T runs thus: q We are All un-
worthy little flock, thou seest here kneei-
ing before thee, our God; but few as we
lare, it is probable We shall never all kueei
again together before thee in this world
We have long lived together 10 peace and
happiness, aud hoped TO have lived SO
much longer; but since II is thy will that
we'part enable US to submit TO that will
with firmness; and though thou scatter
US to the four winds Of heaven may thy
Almighty arm still be about us FOR good,
and grant that we may all meet hereafter
III another and better world"
The next morning, after restless night,
Duncan rose early, put on his best suit,
and packed up some little articles to
carry with him. lay painting and trem-
bling, but pretended TO be fast asleep.
When he was ready to depart, he took
his bundle below his arm, came up to the
side Of the bed, aud listened il | was
sleeping. He then stood long hesitatiug,
looking wistfnlly TO the door, and then TO
tic, alternately; and saw him three or
four times wipe his eyes. AT length he
shook me gently by the shoulder, and
asked il was awake. feigned to start,
i and answered as if half asleep. 81 must
bid yon farewell" said he, cropping to get
hold of my hand. " Will you moi break
fast with us, Duncan ?" said /. g No."
said be, am thinking that il is best to
steal away, for it will break my heart TO
take leave Of your parents. AUDI" And
who, Duncan ?" said l. g And you," said
he Indeed, but IT is no. BEST, Dnncan.n.
said /, eve will all breakfast together
for the last time, aud then take formal
and kind leave Of each other" We did
breakfast together, aud as the converse
ton turned upon former days, it became
highly interesting to us all. When my
father had returned thanks to heaven for
our meal, we knew what was coming, and
|begau to look at each other. Duncan
rose, aud after we had all loaded him
with our blessings and warmest wishes, he
embraced my parents and me. He turned
about. His eyes said plainly, there is
somebody still waiting, but his heart was
so full be could not speak. !" What is
become of Mary ?" said my father; Mary
was gone. We searched the house, the
garden, aud the house Of all the cottagers,
hut she was no where 10 be found. Poor
Ilovelorn forsaken Mary! She had bid
herself in the ancient yew that grows 10
front of the old ruin, that she might see
her lover depart, without herself being
Iseen, and might indulge 10 all the luxury
of wo. Poor Mary how often have
heard her Sigh, and seen her eyes red
4 with weeping while the smile that played
on her languid features, when ought was
mentioned 10 Duncan's recommendation,
would have melted a heart of adamant.
I must pass over Duncan's journey to
1.-THE north Highlands, for want Of room,
but on the evening Of the sixth day after
Leaving my fathers house, he reached the
mansion-house Of Gienellich, which stands
lilo a little beautiful woody strath, com
manding view OF the Deu CaIedonian
Sea and part Of the Hebrides every
avenue, tree, and rock, was yet familiar
10 Duncan's recollection; and The feelings
Fof his sensible heart on approaching the
abode Of his father. whom he had loog
scarcely thought Of, can only be con,
ceived by heart like his own. He had,
without discovering himself, learned from
a peasant, that his father was still alive
but that he had never overcome the loss
of his son, for whom he lamented every
day and his wife and daughter lorded
it over him, holding his pleasure al
thought, aud rendering his age extremely
Iuohappy that they had expelled all his
old farmers and vassals, and introduced
the Iady's vulgar presumptuous relations
Fwho neither paid him rents, honor nor
obedience.
i Old GIenelIich was taking his evening
walk on the road by which Duncan de-
scended the strath to bis dwelling. He
was bordering on his own misfortunes, and
ia NOT auan dasnn 70 Lift his axtne ne fhn