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Eccleshall, October 3rd, 1873. Dear Sir,- I wish to write to you about Holland. The people of Holland are called Dutch. The land they live in very flat-you can hardly see a hill in it. A good deal of it is near the sea shore, and the water has to be kept out by dykes. The map of Holland shows us that there are many canals in it. The smell of these is so bad that the people smoke very much to take it off. The water is pumped up by windmills and conveyed to the sea. Grass is plentiful in Holland, and much butter and cheese are produced. But the land does not suit corn so well, and very little is grown. The capital is Amsterdam, and up all the streets run canals. In the winter people skate on them, and along the sides of them trees grow. Another important town is Utrecht, from which town water is taken to be sold in the streets of Amsterdam, for they have no clear water there. The Dutch are very clean, and wash their houses outside ; and very nearly all the children can read and write.—Yours truly, EDWARD HURLSTONE (aged 10).

Done in my presence entirely by him.-GEO. WM. HEWITT, Master, Eccleshall National School, 30th October, 1873.

Dear Friend,-I write to you to tell you a little about Holland. Holland is a very damp country. The people dig ditches nearly all over the land to take the water away. They dress a good deal like the English and French. The favourite bird is the stork ; it just suits them, as it eats the frogs, and with its long legs it can walk in the marshes and catch them. They are extremely fond of it. Their religion is Protestant. There is a great deal of flax growing in the fields ; it is a very useful plant indeed. William the Third reigns over the kingdom now. When he began to reign he devoted himself to many internal improvements. They are called the Dutch, and are very tidy people. There is a great deal of fish, and the best herrings that are ever found are caught there. The Dutch call their land the Faderland. They burn peat instead of coal ; it is easily found. They are very fond of their gardens, and keep them very neat. 22

MABEL MAUGHAN (aged 10). Her own work.—G. MAUGHAN, Vicar of East Kirkby, near Spilsby, Lincolnshire.

To our Readers.

The answers to the second question in this month's examination have pleased us better than the answers to the first. Most of the lives of the younger Pitt read stiff and bookish ; few of them are in the real everyday language of the writers. Many of our competitors would tell their friends that Holland is “intersected”


with canals, that the climate is “humid," and that “the inhabitants are distinguished for their industry, frugality, and cleanliness.” This is not the style in which people generally write letters. The best letters are those written in the simplest English. These long words only make the essay prosy, and show that the writer has been consulting his books.

With regard to the question on Holland, in a letter of this kind, things that are uncommon, and different to things in this country, should be noticed. We have selected a few statements of this kind which have been made by different writers. Mary Bolton remarks that Holland means “hollow-land.” Richard Martin writes, “The Dutch are much given to smoking and dram-drinking, and they love flowers too. The love of flowers, and the taste for dram-drinking are things so very opposite, that they should not have been placed together. Wilfrid Welford mentions that the Dutch "are very fond of cutting their trees and hedges into the shapes of birds and beasts." Hope Doeg states that “storks are very abundant in Holland ; they feed on the frogs in the marshes, and walk about the streets as our fowls do.” Edith Maughan writes : “On the 15th June the fishermen set out herring catching ; when they return the very first barrel of salted herrings is sent as a present to the king," It is such little details as these that we like to see in the letters. The dear nephews, cousins, and uncles, to whom they are addressed, would be interested in reading such statements.



The publisher has found it necessary to come to the conclusion that he must cease issuing the Young Scholar after the year 1873. The magazine has not met, in its two years' trial, with the success which he had a right to expect. The number for December, 1873, will be, therefore, the last number issued.

In thus taking leave of our readers we trust they will remember the lessons we have sought to teach them, so that the Young Scholar, after its decease, may be a living power, influencing the lives of those who were once its readers. The sower in March walks about in a cheerless atmosphere, with cold winds adding to his discomfort, and no man staying to regard his work. But in August the heavens are bright, there is merrymaking at the reaping, and the children play in the harvest fields. We have had our March; for two years past we have been patiently sowing; that we have not been more regarded is only the lot that falls to all sowers, of all kinds whatsoever. We have sought to give children solid intellectual food, which will build up their minds; but the wise who prefer this are few—the foolish, who seek for books merely to attract the eye and amuse the mind, are many.

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O that they were wise, that they understood this, that they would consider their

latter end !--- Deuteronomy xxxii., 29.


S an excellent commentary on this text, we shall give

the story of Passion and Patience, from the Pilgrim's Progress, a book that ought to be in the hands of every child in the land, for it is published by the Messrs. Cassell, in a complete form, in a book containing 380 pages, for a penny.

“I saw, moreover, in my dream, that the Interpreter took him (Christian) by the hand, and led him in a little room, where sat two children, each one in his chair. The name of the eldest was Passion, and of the other, Patience. Passion seemed to be much discontented, but Patience was very quiet. Then Christian asked, What is the reason of the discontent of Passion? The Interpreter answered : The governor of them would have him stay for his best things till the beginning of the next year ; but he will have them all now: but Patience is willing to wait.

No. 24. DECEMBER, 1873.


“ Then I saw that one came to Passion, and brought him a bag of treasure, and poured it down at his feet ; the which he took up, and rejoiced therein, and withal laughed Patience to scorn. But I looked a little longer, and he had lavished all away, and had nothing left him but rags.

“Then said Christian to the Interpreter, Expound this matter more fully to me.

“ So he said : These two lails are figures ; Passion of the men of this world, and Patience of the men of that which is to come. For as here thou seest, Passion will have all now this year,

that is to say, in this world. So are the men of this world : they must have all their good things now ; they cannot stay till next year, that is, until the next world, for their portion of good. The proverb ' A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,' is of more authority with them than are all the divine testimonies of the good of the world to come. But, as thou sawest that he had quickly lavished all away, and had soon left him nothing but rags, so will it be with all such men at the end of the world.

“ Then said Christian, Now I see that Patience has the best wisdom, and that upon many accounts ; because he stays for the best things; and, also, because he will have the glory of his, when the other has nothing but rags. Interpreter.—Nay, you may add another reason.

The glory of the next world will never wear out, but these are suddenly gone. Therefore Passion had not so much reason to laugh at Patience, because he had his good things first, as Patience will have to laugh at Passion because he had his best things last. Therefore it is said of Dives, “In thy lifetime thou receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented.


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RPHAN hours, the year is dead,

Come and sigh, come and weer!
Merry hours, smile instead,

For the year is but asleep!
See, it smiles as it is sleeping,
Mocking your untimely weeping.

As an earthquake rocks a corse,

In its coffin in the clay,
So white Winter, that rough nurse,

Rocks the dead-cold year to-day.
Solemn hours ! wail aloud,
For your mother in her shroud.
As the wild air stirs and sways

The tree-swung cradle of a child,
So the breath of these rude days

Rocks the year. Be calm and mild,
Trembling hours : she will arise,
With new love within her eyes.
January grey is here,

Like a sexton by her grave;
February bears the bier,

March with grief doth howl and rave,
And April weeps ; but O ye hours !
Follow with May's fairest flowers.


The Widow and her Son.


T was some time before I left the churchyard. On my

way homeward I met with the woman who had acted as comforter. She was just returning from accompanying the mother to her lonely habitation, and I drew from her some particulars connected with the affecting scene I had witnessed.

The parents of the deceased had resided in the village from childhood. They had inhabited one of the neatest cottages, and by various rural pursuits and the assistance of a small garden had supported themselves respectably and comfortably, and led a happy and blameless life. They had one son, who had grown up to be the staff and pride of their age. “Oh, sir !” said the good woman,“ he was such a comely lad, so sweettempered, so kind to everyone around him, so dutiful to his parents !

It did one's heart good to see him of a Sunday, dressed out in his best, so tall, so straight, so cheery, supporting his old mother to church, for she was always prouder of leaning on

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