BY TMH AUTHOX OV
EDITED BY DANIEL P. KIDDER.
PUBLISHED BY LANE & BSCF,.
PO0 TXE IUNDAT-ICHOOL UNION OF TDIR MITHODT 0aPWft
CHURCH, 1 MULBRT- TERIT.
JOISPH LONGKING, PRINTER.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by
LANE & SCOTT,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern
District of New-York.
GRINDING SCYTHES-THE CLOVER-FIELD-MOWING--SFPZADI
HAY-STRONG DRINK-DANGER FROM ITS USE-NOON-TIM-
MR. C.'B STORY-THE PIOUS SHOEMAKER-THE DITORTANT
QUwSTIOM . . . . . .. FAG 7
SADBATH MORnING-THE S Vnm-TD -THE BEES-THE BIDB'
MEETING-A FALSE CONCLUION--ONLY A fIAYZEBMKTING
-A SABBATH AT HOME-I-TE WALK TO THE MEADOW-
MISS .-WEEPING FOR SIN-MRS. P. AND HER RUIND CILr-
DRN.... ... .. .......... .20
FRANCIS ADAMs AND MR. .--TEI LITTLE POND-A MOW BOT
80METIME-OBLIGATIONS IM D BY A GOOD XOTrI-
HnUrrTI ON TE SABrATH-T3m LzT BIoL.E-THE IOMOT-
TEN PROMISE-THE BROKE IU.IM--DVICTION AND O B*
aN-A PROMISE TO SEK FOR SALVATION . . 35
EARLY in the morning of the 5th of July,
18-, Edwin Barlow was awakened by a
hammering of iron near the kitchen door.
"They have come," said he, leaping from
his bed, putting on. his clothes, and coming
down from his chamber as quickly as pos-
sible. Who had come? The hay-makers.
Mr. C., and Mr. D., and Mr. K., had come
with their scythes to mow Mr. Barlow's
clover-field. They were accustomed to
work for Mr.'Barlow in haying-time. Ed-
win was always glad to have them come;
he was fond of listening to their conversa-
tion at noon-time, and when they were at
The noise which awakened him '4M
caused by taking off their scythes, for the
purpose of sharpening them on the grind-
stone. When they had made them very
sharp, they fastened them on again, and
hung them up in a cherry-tree, that they
might be out of harm's way during break.
After breakfast they set out for the mea-
dow. Edwin went with them, carrying
an empty jug, which he was to fill with
water from a cold spring which boiled up
from beneath a large rock in a grove near
When the mowers reached the place
where they were to commence their labors,
they stood still for a moment, and looked
with admiration upon the scene before
them. It was a level field of eight acres.
It was covered with red clover, in full
bloom. It certainly presented a most beau-
tiful appearance, and the fragrance which
it sent forth was delicious.
- It seems almost a pity to cut this
downown" said Mr. D.
SIt is just what it was made for," said
Mr. C. When a thing answers the end
it was made for, there is no pity about
it. Shall we go through it, or around
"Neither the one nor the other," said
Mr. K., who had been a short distance
into the clover; "the late wind and rain
have caused it to lodge towards the east, so
we shall have to carry our swaths."
Well, that will not hinder us more than
it will rest us," said Mr. D.; "you put in
Edwin was ready with his little pitch.
fork to begin to spread the grass as soon
as it was mown. He continued to do so
till the mowers stopped to sharpen their
scythes with the whet-stone.
"Here, you youngster," said Mr. D.;
"do you not know better than to spread
hay while the dew is on?"
Father said I must spread it when you
mowed it," said Edwin.
I do not dispute that; but he did not
mean to have you begin while the dew is
on. Stick the pitchfork into the ground,
| and go and get a jug of cold *ater, and
then go and lie down under the chestnut-
tree till the dew is off; when you may make
the hay fly like a young whirlwind, if you
have a mind to."
Edwin followed Mr. D.'s directions.
Having procured the water, and covered
it up with fresh-cut clover to keep it cool,
he lay upon a rock under the chestnut-tree,
and watched the mowers as they kept time
with each other, and rolled the beautiful
carpet before them into winnows behind
them. It was a warm day, and the sight,
though a pleasing, was not a very exciting
one. In consequence he fell asleep; and
when he awoke a large part of the field
was mowed, and the workmen were sit-
ting near him under the tree, resting them-
selves. They were just about to make a
second attack upon a glass bottle, contain-
ing spirits, which in those days was the
constant companion of the water-jug in
Is there enough there to hold out till
noon?" said Mr. K., referring to the bottle.
"That," said Mr. D., depends on the
quantity we drink. I should say," holding
up the bottle to the sun, and shaking it,
SUMMER SCENES. 11
"that he has given us a fair allowance.
When is your father coming home?"
We expect him next week," said Ed-
Your father never drinks anything,
"I never saw him drink, and I heard he
had taken up the strange notion that it is
best to do without grog. He does drink,
you say ?"
"What does he drink?"
"He drinks tea sometimes, and water
'iew! you are a sharp one. Does
he drink any spirits ?"
"No, sir; he sars we can get asag
without it just as wel, and bitter too."
"That is his say-so. EvPybody knows
better than that. I wonder how he came
to take up with that notion!"
I have heard a story about it," said K.
"What is the story you heard ?"
.A" Why, when he went down East, where
se came from, he left the stage about dark,
1I SUMMER OCENNI.
and hired a man with a wagon and horse
to take him to his uncle's, where he want-
ed to go. It was only about four miles,
and a level road; so he thought he could
travel it, though it was a dark night. Well,
after he got into the wagon, he perceived
that the man had been drinking. Still, as
the horse appeared to be gentle, and as
he supposed there was no losing the way,
he didn't feel uneasy. They came to the
bridge that crossed the river, which was
wide and deep, and the man let the horse
have his own way. Every once and a
while he would stop, and require some
coaxing to go on. However, at last he
got over to the other side. His uncle's
house stood very near the opposite bank.
He looked out for the lane that led to it,
but could not see it. He went on, and
thought the country appeared strange to
him-different from what it used to do.
At last they came to a house, and he went
in and inquired where he was.
Have you crossed the river ?' said the
SUMMER SCENES. 18
"'Did you cross the bridge ?'
"'I wonder you are not a dead man.
That bridge was condemned more than
five years ago, and there has not been a
team across it since.' Mr. Barlow came
pretty near fainting on the spot, and resolv-
ed that he would never have anything to
do with a man that had been drinking."
That was well enough," said Mr. D.;
" I suppose he went further than that."
Yes, he resolved that he would never
drink any spirits himself; and I believe he
never has from that day to this."
"He will be just as likely to tumble
through a rotten bridge, as he would be if
he were to take a little now and then, when
he needs it.
Well, it ip te for us to go to work,
and you, Edwin, may go to spreading now
as fast as you ave a mind to."
Edwin .lt to work, and so did the
Do my reader, think that a man
who reiins from intoxicating drinks, will
be just as likely to fall through a rotten
14 SUMMER SCENES.
bridge as if he had indulged himself? I,
for one, do not think he will be as likely to
get on a rotten bridge as the spirit-drinker
will be. He will not be near so likely
to fall in harm's way, as he would be if
he disturbed the natural exercise of his
brain by alcohol, or yielded himself to the
guidance of one who has done so.
Mr. Barlow resolved that he would never
be guided by a drunken man again. Do
you form the same resolution-above all,
resolve that you will never be carried by
him to the place where alcohol is sold ;-
that you will not be influenced by him to
taste of the accursed thing. Take it orly
when you need it; and that will be when
it is prescribed by an intelligent and up.
After dinner the mowers took their
nooning under a large cherry-tree which
stood in the door-yard. Mr. D. and Mr.
K. were soon asleep. Mr. C. sat in a chair
which he had borrowed from th kitchen,
and looked out on the landsca elow.
The house stood on rising ground which
commanded quite an extensive prospect.
SUMMER SCENE. 16
Edwin sat down on the grass by his side.
For some time Mr. C. did not seem to
observe that he was there; but he at last
turned and said to him, My lad, do you
love to work ?"
Yes, sir; when it is not too hot, and
the work is not too hard."
"Do you like to go to school ?"
Yes, sir; I always go when I can. I
have always been to school, summer and
winter, till this summer-now father keeps
me at home to help him."
That is fair. He has worked for you
a great many years; you can afford to
work for him a little. I had no father to
work for me, and send me to school, when
I was of your age."
"Did your father die when you were
"Yes, before I was old enough to
know him; and my mother died not
many years after. I can just remember
"What became of you? Who took
care of you when your father and mother
were both dead?"
10 SUMMER 80BNEs.
"Well, there was not much care taken
of me. I had a harder time of it than you
have. I was put out by the town for a
while; and when I got old enough to be
able to do a little something, a man took
me to work for my board."
"What did you do ?"
"I did a great many things. I was
worked almost to death, and kept hungry
a good part of the time, and whipped a
great deal iMo the bargain."
Were you a bad boy ?"
"I was not as good as I might have
been; but I do not think I was any worse
than most boys of my age."
What were you whipped for ?"
The man that I lived with was a very
bad-tempered man; and when he wascross
he used to vent his ill humor upon me,
because he could do it with safety. Then
he had a number of children of his own,
and they found that it was very convenient
to. lay all their mischief to me. Their fa-
ther always believed them, and often
whipped me for what they had done."
"That was very unjust."
SUMMER SCENES. 19
He compared his own childhood with that
of the old man; for Mr. C. was now nearly
sixty years old. I wish the reader would
do the same thing. How different have
been the circumstances of your early
years! You were not left a helpless or-
phan, the victim of tyrannical caprice and
cruelty. You have had kind parents, and
a happy home. Why did your childhood
differ from that of Mr. C.'s ? Was it any-
thing that you had done ? or, was it owing
solely to the mercy of God ? What do
you not owe to him who has thus made
you to differ!
I wish to call your attention to the ex-'
ample of the pious shoemaker. He was,
as we have seen, the means of saving Mr.
C. when a poor boy. He had pity on him,
and labored to do him good. Men in all
conditions of life can do good, if their
hearts are set upon it. You, my reader,
can do good, however humble may be your
condition. You can pity and comfort those
who have none to pity, and none to help
them. You can persuade them to go to
the house of God. Whenever you see a
0U SUMMER SCENES.
neglected child, especially an orphan, see
if you cannot do something for him; some-
thing to render him happy; something to-
wards leading him to Christ.
IT was a beautiful Sabbath morning, in
the latter part of June. The first sounds
which fell on the ear of Albert W., as he
awoke from his slumbers, were the songs
of the birds. He lay and listened to the
sweet music for some time, before it oc-
curred to him that it was the Sabbath-day.
He was glad that the Sabbath had come.
He loved its stillness and quiet. He loved
to go to meeting with his parents. He
loved, after meeting, to sit under the shade
of a large tree, which stood near the kitch-
en door, and to read the Bible accounts of
those who lived in the quiet morning of
time. When he had read a chapter or
two, he would reverently close the volume,
and think about what he had read. He
was a thoughtful boy, even in his earliest
days. He used to think over the deeds
of the patriarchs, and to imagine bow they
acted in circumstances which are not re-
corded. He wondered how they spent
the Sabbath-day. He had no doubts
respecting their observance of the Sab-
bath, though no mention is made of
churches and preaching. He was sure
that all good people keep the Sabbath.
He was also half inclined to think that the
animal creation was under obligation to
do the same.
Mother," said he, one Sabbath after-
noon, as she came and sat down by his
side, why do not the bees keep Sunday ?"
"( Why should they ?" said Mrs. W.
Because they ought not to work on
"Why not ?"
Because it is wrong to work on the
"Do you suppose they know any dif-
ference between the Sabbath and other
22 SUMMER SCENES.
"They do not make any difference;
they work as hard on that day as on any
other, if it does not rain."
When I was young I heard a very
pleasant anecdote relating to this subject.
A little girl went to visit her grandparents.
Her grandfather had a number of bee-
hives. Isabel had never seen any bees.
She was greatly interested in their opera.
tions. She used to go early in the morn-
ing, and stand by the hives, and see the
bees come in from the field, loaded with
the yellow substance which they carry
upon their legs. One very damp, cloudy
morning, she arose and went to the bee-
house,,and found all the bees quiet in their
hives. There was none of the activity
which she had always witnessed on her
previous visits. '0,' said she,' I might have
known that they would not work Sunday.'"
"Did not those bees work Sunday?
Ours always do."
They did not work that day, because
it was a wet day."
"Is it not wrong for the bees to work
on Sabbath ?"
sWMMEa sBcNas. !
"Not more so than it is for the brook to
keep on running on the Sabbath."
"The brook cannot help running on
The brook is so made that it must
keep on running; and the bees are so made
that they must keep on working. It is as
natural for them to work in pleasant wea
other, as it is for water to run down hill. I
suspect you can very easily tell me the rea-
son why it is not wrong for bees to work
on the Sabbath."
"Because they have no souls ?"
"That is the true reason."
"Have birds souls ?"
Well, birds keep the Sabbath."
"How do you know ?"
"I never saw them do anything on the
Sabbath, except getting worms for their
young; and mother gets food for me,
and in the afternoon they have meet.
"Have meetings! what do you mean ?,
Why, mother,"-his lip quivered a lit,
tie, for he gathered from his modwer'eim
24 SUMMER 8CBNIR.
ner, that she thought he was trifling with
her,-" they do have a meeting every Sab-
bath afternoon on our cherry-tree."
What exercises do they engage in ?"
"They alight on the branches, and
some of them sing, and I suppose they
talk to one another, and then after a while
they fly away."
Mrs. W. smiled at the earnestness with
which her son supported his theory of the
Do you not think they have meetings?"
Yes; but I do not think that they
have religious meetings."
Why do they meet on Sunday, then ?"
They do not meet on Sunday more
frequently than they do on other days."
I always see them on Sunday, and I
never see them on other days."
You are at school on week-days; if
you are at home, you are so occupied that
you do not notice the birds."
Albert was not accustomed to call in
question the assertions of his mother. He
knew it must be as she said, though he
SUMMER SCENES. 25
had verily thought that the birds held meet.
ings on the Sabbath.
In this matter of the birds, Albert fell
into an error which young people are very
apt to fall into-that of forming a general
conclusion from too small a number of
facts. He had seen a flock of birds on
the cherry-tree, for several Sabbaths, and
therefore concluded that they always as-
sembled there on that day, and on that day
only. The fact was, they alighted there
quite as often on week-days as on the Sab-
bath; but, as his mother said, he did not
chance to see or notice them on those
days. The birds were accustomed to fre-
quent the trees which grew about Mr. W.'s
house, because he treated them kindly.
They were never stoned or shot at while
there. In consequence, they often built
their nests,,and reared their young there.
Reader, if you love to hear the sweet
music of birds, if you love to see the beau-
tiful creatures hopping from branch to
branch in the trees about your house, you
must never stone them or frighten them in
any way. You must never disturb their
W SUMMER SCENE.
nests, or try to catch the young birds when
they have left their nest, and are unable to
fly far. If you have a cat that is fond of
birds, and skillful in catching them, you
must put her away. If you are thus kind
to the birds, and they find they are safe near
you, they will build their nests, year after
year, in the trees of your door-yard and
garden, and pay their rent in sweet music.
They know that when they are near human
habitations they are safe from the attacks
of hawks, and other birds of prey. They,
however, prefer exposure to hawks, rather
than to the vicinity of cruel boys. But let
us return to Albert, whom we left sitting
under the tree.
It happened that, on the day mentioned
at the commencement of this chapter,
there was no preaching in the village
church, which Mr. and Mrs. W. were ac-
customed to attend. It was somewhat
doubtful whether there was to be any
meeting of any kind. At most it would
be nothing but a prayer-meeting," as Mr.
W. said. He therefore concluded that he
would not take the trouble to get up his
SUMMER SCNBE. S7
team, and take his family to the place of
Mr. W. was not a professor of religion,
yet he was generally regular in attending
upon the preaching of the word. Perhaps
he was sometimes rather pleased to have
an excuse for staying at home.
The family employed themselves in
reading during the morning, but, after a
time, they all became somewhat weary in
so doing. The day was a very long one,
and even Mr. W. did not seem to enjoy
himself as well as he did when he went
to meeting. He put on his hat, and went
out to the barn, and came in again; and
then went to see if the garden gate was
shut, and then came in again, and sat
down, and inspected his hat very carefully,
turning it over and over, and then hung it
up in its accustomed place. He next tried
to find a book to read, but pretty soon
came to the conclusion that he had read
enough for one day. After sitting still for
some time he rose, and went into the room
where his wife was, reading the Pilgrim's
Pegress. Have you a mind to take a
2 SUMMER SCENES.
walk in the meadow ?" said Mr. W.; "the
sun is getting towards the mountain."
Whether he meant to intimate that the
Sabbath was drawing to a close, and that
a pleasure walk would therefore be less
sinful, or that the heat had abated, I do
not know. Mrs. W. heard his question,
and at first her only reply to it was a look
of surprise. She was a member of the
Church, and always intended to keep holy
the Sabbath-day. Before she made a ver-
bal reply, Mr. W. turned to Mrs. F., who
was sitting near, and said, Would you
not like to take a walk? it is rather hard
sitting still all day."
"I should," said Mrs. F.; "I feel the
need of exercise. I suppose we shall not
disturb any one by walking in the mea-
dow." She rose as if to go, but paused,
as she saw Mrs. W. keep her seat. Mr.
W. had by this time taken his hat. Mo-
ther," said he, "do you not mean to go?"
"It will do you good," said Mrs. F.
Mrs. W. got her sun-bonnet, and the party
set out for the meadow.
Mrs. F. was spending a week with Mrs;
SUMMER SCENES. 29
W. on a visit. She had formerly been a
near neighbor, when they both lived in an-
other part of the country.
Albert, seeing his mother going, got his
hat, and followed her. He thought it
could not be wrong to take a walk with
his mother. He was sure that she would
do nothing wrong.
Mrs. W.'s feelings respecting the matter
were very different from Albert's. She
felt that she was doing wrong; but she
lacked the resolution to say so, and thus to
rebuke her husband and her guest. She
walked along in silence. Albert attempt-
ed to enter into conversation with her, but
They reached the meadow. It was
strawberry-time. The red, tempting fruit
lay in abundance at their feet. Mrs. F.
first stooped and gathered a few. Mo-
ther, is it wrong to pick a few just to eat?"
said Albert She gave him no answer.
Pretty soon he saw her gather some. He
then proceeded to help himself, till his ap-
petite was satisfied.
Here let me notice a distinction which
80 SUMMER SCENES.
is often made by young person, .and
which was in Albert's mind bhen be
asked his mother if it was wrong for him
to gather some "just to eat." Soane think
it right to gather fruit on the Lord's day,
provided it b# eaten on the spot They
acknowledge that it would not be right
to gather it, and put it away for Use at an-
other time. Now, there is no difference
in these two moral acts. Both are alike
violations of God's commandment. It is
true, that if a person be suffering from hun-
ger, and cannot otherwise relieve himself,
he may gather fruit for that purpose, even
on the Sabbath-day. But such a case of
necessity does not justify an unnecessary
indulgence of the appetite. I am afraid a
great many young persons allow them-
selves to be led into sin by this and sigmi-
lar false distinctions. Perhaps I may give
some fact, by way of illustrating this point,
before I close this little volume. We must
now return to the walkers in the meadow.
They had not been there long before
they had company. Miss R. and a yong
man, who afterwards became her hlstibd,
of independence sufficient to *keep yet
A.om yielding to temptations to transgre
e law of God. Let no regard for yeu
tends, let no fear of giving offense, pre-
sent you from declining any and every
oposal which involves the violation of
the law of God.
The peedy and manifest repentance of
Mrs. W. removed, igfpart, the evil infl-
ence which the act was calculated to etert
upon the mind of her son. Still it had an
unhappy influence. It led him to look
with less disapprobation upon the conduct
of those who spent the Sabbath, or a pat
of it, in ranging the fields and forests. A
desire to go into the meadow, or the glOm )
on the Sabbath, frequently aross la t16
mild; and the fear of grieving is mothM,
rather than the fear of offending God, pr.
vented him from yielding to suoe dtiws
The beginning of sin is like tbe 1ttig
out of waters.
Mrs. F. was a professorf religion; yet
as we have seen, s n'wras mt earefl o.
sanctify the Sabbath. She had, in sufy
lif, been taught that the Sabbath had ben
34 SUMMER SCENES.
abolished with the ceremonial law. She
now recognized the obligation of the..
Christian Sabbath; but the influences to
which she had been subject, prevented her
from being a strict observer of it. At the
time of her visit to Mrs. W. she had buaL
two children. They both grew up to be-
come Sabbath-breakers, and one4f them
became a vagabond.
My young reader, do your parents re-
strain your feet from wandering, and your
hands from improper employment on the
Sabbath-day? Do they require you to
visit the sanctuary, and to read the Bible,
and to maintain, in all respects, a deport-
ment becoming that holy day? Are you
ever disposed to complain of them as un-
reasonably strict in their requiremeas?
Be assured they are pursuing a course
adapted to promote not only your spirit.
l, but also your temporal welfare. They
are causing you to form habits, which may
lie at the foundation of your respectability
as &_itizen, and your success as a man of
' MOTHER," said Francis Adams, "Mr.
M. is going a fishing, and wants me to go,
with him; may I go ?"
"Yes, if he is not going too far."
"He is only going up to the little pond."
"I will take good care of him," said
Mr. M. had recently moved into the
place. He occupied a small house be-
longing to Mr. Adams.
How old are you ?" said he to Fran-
cis, as they were on their way to the
I am nearly twelve years old," mid
Are you a good boy ?"
Mother says I am sometimes."
You must be a good boy, if you wNd
to be happy. Why are you not a gooB
boy at all times ?"
I do not know, sir. Almost every omn
#es wrong sometimes."
6 SUMMER SEBNUf.
Are you a Christian ?"
4" I am sorry. A boy who has as good
a mother as you have, ought to be a Chris-
tian. When I was of your age I had no
one to care for my soul."
Had you no mother ?"
"My mother died when I was about
eight years old. I was born in the town
of H-. My father was one of the first
settlers there. I was one of the first chil-
dren born there. I grew up in the woods,
as it were."
"Had you no school to go to ?"
"No, and no meeting. I hardly knew I
had a soul, when I was of your age. I
oftentimes did not know when Sunday
Did your father use to work on Sun-
Yes; but not quite as much as on other
days. He usually went hunting on that
day. When I saw him take down his gun
for a hunt, I used to conclude it was Sun-
What did he use to shoot ?"
SUMMER SC0lNB. 1W
"Deer and foxes, and sometimes he kill.
ed a bear."
Were there any wolves then ?"
Yes, great numbers of them. I got as
used to their howling as you are to the
barking of dogs. You can judge what sort
of a boy I was, by the way in which I was
brought up, or rather the way in which I
grew up. I did not learn to read till after
I was eighteen."
Did you never read the Bible till you
were eighteen years old ?"
No. I scarcely ever saw one till then.
The schoolmaster who then taught me to
read, gave me one. My mother had one
when she was married, but it got worn out
or lost before I was as old as ou are.
Here we are by the pond, and we must
keep still if we wish to catch any fish."
I had rather hear you talk."
u Well, then, we will sit down on thi
log, and have a chat before we begin to
Mr. M. had asked Francis to come with
him, partly for the purpose of talking with
him on religions subjects.
38 BUMMER SCENES.
i" Will you please to tell me more about
yourself?" said Francis.
You see I had not your advantages
when I was young. I did not go to meet-
ing till I was about your age. Then the
Methodists set up a meeting in the place,
and I used to go occasionally. My con-
science would be roused sometimes, but I
was not led to do anything in earnest for
my soul. As I grew older, the number of
young people in the town increased, and
we got together and made ourselves worse
and worse. We formed habits of drink.
ing, and some of us became great drunk.
ards. When I got married, my wife made
me promise that I would not drink so
much; but I kept my promise but for a lit-
"Where is your wife now ?"
She is, I hope, in heaven. She died
many years ago. She was converted in a
revival, about three years before she died.
She prayed for me a great deal, and when
she died, told me she should expect me to
meet her in heaven."
"Did you become a Christian then ?"
SUMMER SCENES. W
No; her death checked me a little, but
I soon went on in sin again. One training
day I was thrown out of a wagon, and my
leg was broken. While I was confined'to
my bed I had time for reflection. A Chris-
tian man, who sought for opportunities to
do good, visited me. God blessed his ef-
forts, and heard his prayers. I became con-
victed of sin, and my distress was po great
that I almost despaired of my pardon. But
I was led to see that a great Saviour was
provided for great sinners. I was enabled
to put my trust in him. Since then I have
been trying to-serve him, and to persuade
others to do the same. I should be glad
to have all the world love and serve the
Saviour; and love and serve him a great
deal better than I do. I have neither learn-
ing nor money; but I have a good hope of
salvation through grace, which is worth
i1ore than all the learning and money in
I suppose you know more about your
duty now than I did when I was thirty
years old. Remember that where much
is given, much will be required. Remem.
W SUMMER 80ENE8.
bw what is said about the inhabitants of
Capemaum and other places which en-
joyed great privileges, and repented not
What is to hinder you from being a Chris*
tian now ?"
I do not know, sir."
"There is nothing in your way; that is,
nothing that should hinder you. You have
your mother to teach you, and to pray for
you. You can read the Bible, and you
have the gospel preached to you faithfully
every Sabbath. Why should you not be.
come a Christian now ? Why not set out
at once, with the full purpose of securing
the salvation of your soul ?"
Francis made no reply to these ques-
tions. What reply could be make ? What
reply can the reader make ?
As Francis appeared serious, Mr. M.
thought he would say no more to him at
that time. Now let me fix your line,
and we will see what we can catch." He
did so, and they went to the fishing-place,
and silently dropped the bait into the
water. They soon succeeded in getting as
imay fish as they wanted.
SUMMER SCENES. 41
On their way home, Mr. M. renewed his
conversation with Francis, and brought
him to promise that he would, without
further delay, attend to the concerns of his
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