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Be Courteous or, Religion, the True Refiner   By:

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First Page:

BE COURTEOUS:

OR,

RELIGION THE TRUE REFINER.

BY MRS. M. H. MAXWELL.

[Illustration: MARY AND THE SICK CHILD SEE PAGE 56.]

PREFACE.

The scenes and characters of this story are those once familiar to the writer. The story itself is but a disconnected diary of one who, early refined from earthly dross, lived only long enough to show us that there was both reason and divine authority in the words of an apostle, when he exhorted Christians to "Be Courteous."

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

THE PLAIN THE ISOLATED DWELLING BLUE BERRY PARTY TAKING A VOTE TREATMENT OF NEW ACQUAINTANCES THE FAMILY AT APPLEDALE THE YOUNG PEOPLE UPON THE PLAIN SINCERE MILK OF THE WORD A CALL AT THE LOG HOUSE THE RIDE HOME ORIGINAL POETRY

CHAPTER II.

THE KIND "GOOD MORNING " THE HIGH HILL UNEXPECTED MEETING ROMANCE AND REALITY THE GOOD FARMER IMPRESSIONS OF CHILDHOOD WORSHIPING BEARING THE CROSS

CHAPTER III

THE POOR WOMAN OF THE PLAIN THE NOTE MOURNFUL MUSINGS THE CUP OF TEA THE STRUGGLE CHARITY AND SELF EMMA'S HISTORY

CHAPTER IV.

THE LITTLE TIME HOW IMPROVED FITNESS FOR REFINED SOCIETY MORNING REFLECTIONS RUTH AND BOAZ CHARITY AND COURTESY THE VISIT

CHAPTER V.

THE OLD PEDDLER BITTER WORDS THE MEEK REPLY THE EFFECT ACTING A PART SOFTER FEELINGS THE DEATH SCENE THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS SIMPLE CHRISTIAN COURTESY

BE COURTEOUS:

OR,

RELIGION THE TRUE REFINER.

CHAPTER I.

THE PLAIN THE ISOLATED DWELLING BLUE BERRY PARTY TAKING A VOTE TREATMENT OF NEW ACQUAINTANCES THE FAMILY AT APPLEDALE THE YOUNG PEOPLE UPON THE PLAIN SINCERE MILK OF THE WORD A CALL AT THE LOG HOUSE THE RIDE HOME ORIGINAL POETRY.

Not more than a mile and a half from a pleasant village in one of our eastern States is a plain, extending many miles, and terminated on the north by a widespread pond. A narrow road runs across the plain; but the line of green grass bordering the "wheel track" upon either side, shows that though the nearest, this road is not the most frequented way to the pond. Many reasons might be assigned for this. There is a wearisome monotony in the scenery along this plain. There are no hills, and but few trees to diversify the almost interminable prospect, stretching east, west, north, and south, like a broad ocean, without wave or ripple. The few trees scattered here and there stand alone, casting long shadows over the plain at nightfall, and adding solemnity to the mysterious stillness of that isolated place. It is not a place for human habitation, for the soil is sandy and sterile; neither is it a place for human hearts, so desolate in winter, and so unsheltered and dry during the long warm summer. Yet midway between the village and the pond was once a house, standing with its back turned unceremoniously upon the narrow road with its border of green. It was a poor thing to be called a house. Its front door was made, as it seemed, without reference to anything, for it opened upon the broad ocean like plain. No questions had been asked relative to a title deed of the land upon which that house stood, or whether "poor Graffam" had a right to pile up logs in the middle of that plain, and under them to hide a family of six. Through many a long eastern winter that family had lived there, little known, and little cared for. Nobody had taken the pains to go on purpose to see them; yet, during the month of July, and a part of August, some of the family were often seen. At all times of the year, in summer's heat and in winter's snow, the children going and returning from school, were wont to meet "poor Graffam," a short man, with sandy hair, carrying an ax upon his shoulder, and bearing in his hand a small pail of "dinner;" for Graffam, when refused employment by others, usually found something to do at "Motley's Mills," which were about half a mile from the village. Sad and serious looking was this poor man in the morning, and neither extreme civility nor extreme rudeness on the part of the school children could procure a single word from him at this time of day... Continue reading book >>




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