"
We have left the village where the "good minister" lived, far behind,
and now we approach a populous town. By our side travels a thoughtful
man, all unwitting of his company. It is the Sabbath, and he has been
ten miles to hear the gospel preached. No church-going bell has as yet
ever gladdened the place which he calls his home. Deep sighs escape from
his breast, as he rides slowly along. He meditates on the wretched
condition of his neighbors and friends. As we approach the town the
sound of voices is heard. The good man listens, and distinguishes the
tones of children familiar and dear. He approaches the hedge from which
they proceed. What anguish is depicted on his face as he gazes on the
boys, sitting under the hedge, on God's holy day, busily engaged _in
playing cards_! Are you a parent, kind reader? Are you a Christian
parent? If so, perhaps you can understand his feelings as he turns
desparingly away, and murmurs to himself--"No preacher of the gospel--no
Sunday-school--no Sabbath day. Alas! what shall save our children?"
Our journey is ended. Every incident which we have imagined we saw, is
recorded in God's book of remembrance as a fact.
My plea is in behalf of those who would establish Sabbath-schools among
the thousands of precious infant souls in the far-off West.
Do you ask what you can do? Perhaps you can increase your donations to
the Home Missionary and Sunday-school Societies.
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