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grown with verdure, of these masses of sandstone. Of another spot Cowper says:

"Not all its pride secures
The grand retreat from injuries impress'd
By rural carvers, who with knives deface
The panels, leaving an obscure, rude name,
In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss.
So strong the zeal t' immortalize himself
Beats in the breast of man.

The Toad Rock, at Rustall Common, is a strangely confused heap of broken masses, poised on a narrow column of laminated fragments, and bearing some resemblance to a crouching toad. Great rough masses lie on every hand, all thrown about with the wildest and most picturesque disorder; though the toad rock, from its strange form and prominent position, most quickly arrests the eye of the spectator.

Many of these erratic blocks scattered in various places, are remarkable for their great size. That out of which the pedestal of the Statue of Peter the Great was hewn, weighed fifteen hundred tons, and was an insulated drifted mass of granite, that lay on a marshy plain near the city of St. Petersburgh, from whence it was removed on rollers and cannon balls, while the ground of the marsh was frozen hard.

WICKLIFFE AND HIS COLPORTEURS.

He

As has been remarked before, no book before the invention of printing, [his version of the Scriptures] ever had such advantages for becoming widely known. Wickliffe, the great practial reformer, with his thorough knowledge of all classes of English society, had not urged through this gigantic task as a mere experiment. had his eye on a definite, practicable result, the means for accomplishing which were in his own hands. Aside from the demand for the Scriptures, excited by his general influence during a long public career, he had at command one of the most effective agencies of modern publication.

The

active, hardy, itinerant preachers, whom he had sent out to proclaim, by word of mouth, glad tidings to the poor, who had threaded every part of England, and become intimately acquainted with the character and wants of its population, now formed a band of COLPORTEURS for the written word. They knew in what far-off hamlets, pious souls were counting the days to the return of their missionary, and pining for the bread of life; what thinking merchants and tradesmen in the great towns, what honorable men and women among the country gentry, were eager to search the Scriptures, whether these things were so. Several copyists, no doubt, had kept pace with the progress of the translation; and as fast as a few chapters, or a book was completed, these faithful agents would make known the priceless treasure in the homes of the people. Many a touching scene might be imagined, of rustic groups by the wayside, in the churchyard, or around the peat fire at evening, listening for the first time to the words of the Bible in their mother tongue. Then, how would the beautifully written manuscript be passed round, from hand to hand, to be admired and wondered at; and not seldom to be wet with tears from eyes that beheld for the first time, in English characters, the name of Jesus! Nor would the Missionary be suffered to depart, before a copy, of at least some portion, had been obtained. If no professional copyist was to be found, hands all unused to the labor of the pen would scrawl painfully a rude transcript of a Psalm, of the Ten Commandments, a few chapters of the Gospels, or of Paul's Epistles, to remain as a lamp of heavenly light, when the living preacher had departed. It is a fact of intensest interest and significance, that numerous fragments of this kind were subsequently found among the Lollards. True, a large majority of the middle and lower ranks, must have depended for their knowledge of the holy oracles on the ear alone. But when the memory is little occupied, and the heart writes the lesson on its tablets, much of the very language of Scripture may even thus be handed down, unimpaired, through successive generations. The truth

of this is abundantly verified in the history of Wickliffe's later followers, as sketched in the second part of this work.-Mrs. Conant's English Bible.

A LETTER TO THE YOUNG,

FROM UNCLE JOSEPH.

My dear young friends,

:

I dare say some of you will remember your old friend, Uncle Joseph and if you ever think of him you will think that he either must be dead, or ill, or that he has forgotten his young friends. Now he wishes to assure you that he is still alive-that he has not forgotten you, but that his heart beats with feelings towards you as warm and kind as ever. It is a changing world we live in, and people's hearts and dispositions are often as changeable as the weather. Uncle Joseph however wishes his young friends to be assured that his feeling of sincere desire to do them good, and of warm-hearted kindness for them, is as strong as when they were oftener hearing from him. Since he wrote to them last he has had much more to think about, feel about, and attend to than usual. Often when walking to a preaching appointment, or when returning from one in the evening, has the thought of his dear young friends come over his mind, and the wish has sprung up in his heart,-Oh for time to write them another letter! His promise to say something more about William CowperHis poetry, his letters, and his hymns remaining unfulfilled, he has felt a strong, a very strong desire, to steal an hour or two from other matters, and write what he has to say, and send it away to the Editor of the Magazine, for his dear young friends. Well he has more than once begun, but ere he could finish, something or other has come in the way, and the thing has "dropped through."

Well. do you know, yesterday, Uncle Joseph got a new book! and he is as fond of a new book as any of his young friends are of a new hat or a new bonnet. He got his new book, cut the leaves, and, as the day was unusually

fine, he took a short walk into the country. But what has your new book to do with a letter to us, say some of his dear young friends. Well, only this. The book is about William Cowper. It was written by one of Uncle Joseph's "Favourite Authors," across the seas,-Dr. Cheever, of America; and it is written in the Doctor's best style. And do you know, as Uncle Joseph was walking through the fields,-very pleasant fields, and along rural lanes, reading his new book, every few minutes the thought of his dear young friends came up into his mind, and he said to himself, "It is no use, I must write another letter to them. I will do it. Little things shall not prevent me. It shall be done soon." Well he read on, mused on, walked on, and now and then lifted his eyes from his book, and looked on the green fields-for though it is autumn and winter is at hand, here the fields are still green. The cattle were quietly grazing-very quietly, and I suppose, very happy and contented. Here and there a bird was hopping on the branches of the trees, whose leaves are becoming "sere and yellow," and dropping on the ground. Here and there a bird was hopping on the branches of the trees, singing short notes-very short. The hills, or rather the mountains-the Yorkshire mountains, were stretching out at a distance-Roseberry Topping among them. People were passing and re-passing, some on business, some on¦ pleasure; air was bracing and refreshing, the sky was bright and cheerful-looking. At length I walked down into a valley, under shady trees, the leaves rustling on the ground. I crossed a stone bridge, ascended a little rising ground, and came to a village, a pretty village with a great name, Hawthorn. I saw some children at play, I thought of my dear young friends, and again says I to myself, I must write to them. So I turned my face toward home, still reading my new book, thinking of my young friends, and of my purpose of writing to them. So you see I have at length begun to do so.

When I begun this letter, I intended it to be about Cowper, but my nice walk, my new book, and my musing on them, have "spun so long a yarn,"-as the sailors say,

that a new thought has come into my mind. I'll tell you what it is. Well it is this. If each of my young friends who take in the Sunday-school Hive, will try and get some fresh subscribers for the Juvenile Companion for next year, I'll try to write them a letter about Cowper for the February number, and will also promise to send them a letter almost every month during the year, If I can find time to do so. Now what say you? Will you try. That is an important word "Try." You will see that if all who take in the Magazine now, shall continue to do so next year, and of course they will, and also succeed in getting one additional subscriber, the number of readers will thus be doubled; we shall have twice the present number to write for, the Editor's hands will be made strong, he will rub his eyes, start fresh, look blythe, and begin the new year full of hope, full of courage, full of trust, and the year 1857, will be the brightest and best year that the Juvenile Companion has ever seen.

I hope each of my dear young friends will make the attempt, and when we meet and shake hands on the 1st of February, I trust it will be with a smile in all our faces. And now in closing, let me ask you each to pray, and let your prayer be, "O blessed Jesus, make me one of the Lambs of Thy flock. Be my Saviour, and bless Uncle Joseph. Amen. Yours till February, 1857, Stockton.

UNCLE JOSEPH."

PROCRASTINATION.

Does any bright-eyed little boy or girl wonder what that long word means? It means delaying,-putting off till another time what ought to be done just now.

Ellen has some work to do before she goes to school. She can easily get it done, long before school-time, if she begins it in season. But it is very pleasant out in the garden, where Ellen is playing with her little brother Jamie; and so, when her conscience whispers to her, "You ought to go in and do that work now, Ellen;" the little girl answers,

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