CARL, THE YOUNG EMIGRANT: A MEMOIR OF SCHOOLS AND SCHOOLMASTERS. WRITTEN FOR THE AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION. PHILADELPHIA: AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, NEW YORK, No. 147 Nassau Street.....BOSTON, No. 9 Cornhill. Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1851, by the in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of No books are published by the AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION without the sanction of the Committee of Publication, consisting of fourteen members, from the following denominations of Christians, viz. Baptist, Methodist, Congregationalist, Episcopal, Presbyterian, and Reformed Dutch. Not more than three of the members can be of the same denomination, and no book can be published to which any member of the Committee shall object. 99 PREFACE. THE pages which follow contain scenes and dialogues, rather than a story or plot. If the lessons which are offered should gain the attention of young persons, and especially of young teachers, I shall not regret the little veil of fiction which is thrown over them. Neither argument nor observation has lessened my respect for the moral narrative, the apologue, or the parable, and there is good reason to believe that the present century will not destroy a predilection common to all preceding centuries, for this vehicle of instruction. If the tale shall win one additional favour or kindness for the European emigrant to our shores, I shall thankfully rejoice. Equally glad shall I be, if it contribute to elevate the name of the teacher in any one's estimate, or to cheer on any beginner in the path of instruction. The book, such as it is, is for the lovers of children: those who are not of this fraternity had better lay it down. The religious truths inculcated are increasingly dear to me, and my humble prayer is that they may be impressed on the heart of every reader. CARL, THE YOUNG EMIGRANT. CHAPTER I. THE OAKS. THE boys were all gathered under a spreading chestnut-tree, not far from which a stonequarry had been opened and then left to grow up with gorse, brambles and tufts of grass and weeds. It is such a cavern as children love, affording a hundred amusements to those who are inquisitive. Barry was, for the time, one of the boys. He sat in the shade of the mighty tree, with book in hand, but unopened. His eyes were looking over at the distant hills, and the intermediate landscape checkered with field and orchard, and seamed with hedges and brooks. But the noise and antics of his young ד |
