WE

VE beg to call attention to a resolution of the Book Committee which is published on the cover of both our magazines this month, respecting the circulation of our Connexional periodicals. As regards the JUVENILE INSTRUCTOR, if things go on as they have done for the last twelve years, it will come to be a question in a few years whether it is worth while to continue its publication at all. We have a reasonably good circulation considering the intense competition with which such periodicals have to contend in these times, but it ought to be much greater, and would be if due exertions were made by our friends. We have in our Sunday-schools in England and Ireland 67,274 scholars, and the number of the JUVENILE printed last month was 14,500 copies, being rather in excess of the demand. Now, can any one believe that if due exertions were made we could not circulate more than say 14,000 copies among 67,274 scholars? This statement shows that not quite one in every five scholars take the JUVENILE INSTRUCTOR. In 1860, when we had a circulation of 20,000 copies, we had only 60,745 scholars in our schools, and consequently that nearly one scholar in every three took the JUVENILE. Yet no one alleges, or has ever alleged, that the JUVENILE has deteriorated in intrinsic value, or that it is worth less to-day or any time since 1860 than it was at that date. The difference arises from the fact that less exertion is made to circulate it; that preference is given in some cases to outside publications by Sunday-school managers; and that showy cuts and light reading have captivated many minds to the disregard of what is really informing and useful. We cannot contend against such odds, or control the influences which operate against us, but the position, of the business is such that the question will have to be taken up by our Church authorities in a much more earnest spirit than has been manifested of late years, or the consequences will tell in a financial aspect and in other ways which will not be very advantageous. Our schools are supported by the money of the Connexion; the services necessary to be held, and the collections necessary to be made for this end, are the work of our own ministers. The buildings in which our schools are conducted are erected and maintained for the most part by our own friends; and is it fair or just that in any case these institutions should be made the fulcrum to lift outside publications into notice and circulation when our own are either banished entirely, or are sustained with such feebleness that they drag on an existence in some schools which is but a living death? Let no one misapply these remarks. We know and gratefully acknowledge the sympathy and help we receive from the great majority of our friends in Sunday-schools, and if the rest would imitate these worthy examples there would be no need of complaint, but we might all rejoice together in the success of our efforts.

HERE were about thirty of the scholars at Copsley School who lived at such a distance that they preferred to bring their dinners with them instead of having the walk to and from home.

There was considerable variety in the provisions brought by the different boys. Slices of bread and butter, bread and cheese, ham and beef sandwiches, and small pork-pies were the usual viands produced at dinner-time. Others brought slices of ham or bacon, which they cooked in a very primitive fashion over the classroom fire.

In most cases the lads were careful to have as little weight to carry as possible. Some even brought no victuals at all, but begged twopence instead, with which they bought a penny roll and a pennyworth of treacle, the two making a meal whose delicacy only a schoolboy can appreciate.

Some of the boys, however, were in the habit of bringing rather more pretentious dinners. There were three brothers in particular-Alfred, Thomas, and James Edgeworth, hearty, hungry, growing lads-who generally brought a large plateful of cold meat and a fruit pie for division among them. It was a standing joke among their schoolfellows that the rest of the boys could eat two dinners while Alf, Tom, and Jem Edgeworth were quarrelling over theirs. They were irritable, cross-grained lads, as one might have guessed, judging from their red hair and surly faces. Alfred was the tallest boy in the school, though not so strong as Gus Brookes, and could easily have settled any dispute with his younger brothers by sheer strength; but although he would have preferred to do so he knew that if he did he should get severely punished when he went home at night.

As soon as morning school was over there was a rush to the little closet set apart for the dinner baskets. In the summer the lads seized their respective dinners and ate them in the coolest place they could find; but in the winter all the boys by common consent wished to get near the fire, and as they preferred an open fireplace to a closed stove they generally sat in the class-room.

It was here that Edward Lindsay first became intimate with his

new companions. On the first day of his arrival he had been subjected to a great deal of cross-examination, through which he had passed creditably, and now on his second day at Copsley School he felt a little more at ease.

He and John and William Parsons had got into the class-room early, and had secured comfortable seats, when the three Edgeworth boys came in with what Bob Johnson called their "market-basket."

Alf looked round, and finding all the best seats occupied, he turned rudely on the new scholar and said

"I say, Lindsay, come out of that seat, will you? It is mine.' "I'm sure it isn't," said John Parsons. "You know very well that the places belong to those who first get them. Don't you stir, Ted," he said, turning to the timid lad, who had already got up. "Oh, I don't mind at all," said Edward Lindsay. I would rather he sat there if he wishes to." And with that he moved away to the other side of the room, to the perfect astonishment of his new schoolfellows.

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"I should be ashamed to take advantage of a fresh chap in that way," said George Benson, as he knelt on the fender and toasted his bread and cheese.

"Catch anybody who knows him moving for him," put in Gus Brookes as a taunt.

"No one asked you to speak," growled out Alf, who was a trifle ashamed of what he had done.

He now opened the large dinner-basket and began to divide the provisions with his two brothers. There was some cavilling about the sharing of the meat, but when he began to carve the apple pie the clamour was quite astonishing.

“I say, Alf, I haven't got so much as you," protested Tom, while Jem complained that he had not enough apple for his piece of paste. "I shall tell your mother-so I shall;" said Jem," you always keep the best piece for yourself."

"He should tell his mother then!" said Sam Townley, with mock sympathy, as he lay on a bench with his feet stuck Yankee fashion against the mantelpiece, this being a favourite posture with him after dinner.

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"I say, Parsons," said Gus Brookes to John, "have you learned the rule for dividing a circle into three equal parts? I've hardly got to that yet. If you can do it I wish you would fetch your instruments and divide that pie for those chaps. I don't like my dinnertime disturbed in this way.

The lads generally managed to despatch their dinners by a quarter or half-past twelve, and so they had fully an hour-and-a-half left for sport. This time was variously spent. In the summer cricket attracted many of the lads; others preferred to take a walk in the wood, and loll about on the velvety grass, while one of their number read aloud some romance or adventure; and still others hied away to the canal for fishing or bathing. In colder weather there were lots

of warm games-tick, rounder, circular swings, leap-frog, football, and, grandest of all, "hare and hounds," in which game the lads often ran for two or three miles. In winter the boys flocked to the nearest ponds for skating or sliding; or, if the weather was damp, they assembled in the school and class-rooms, where they huddled round the fire and listened to tales or conundrums. Sam Townley was responsible for most of the stories given at such times. He had an omnivorous appetite for every variety of romance or fairy tale. He subscribed to several periodicals for the young which teemed with tales "Of most disastrous chances,

Of moving accidents by flood and field;

Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach;
Of being taken by the insolent foe,
And sold to slavery."

But on this Tuesday afternoon the lads seemed unable to settle down to any game. The frost, which had held out bravely through the holidays, had begun to give way early on the Monday night, and on Tuesday the boys found the roads muddy instead of hard, and the ice on the pools unsafe. Perhaps the dampness of the weather damped their spirits. At any rate they grieved over the departure of their old friend Jack Frost.

And so skating and sliding were out of the question, and the playground was so muddy from the thaw that it was decidedly unpleasant even to walk about, without incurring the additional discomforts of splashing and possible stumbles which would attend a game. So the lads lounged about the schoolroom, talked over their holidays, and laid plans for future enjoyment, until the master's whistle again summoned them to their studies.

CHAPTER IV.

A SNOW- FIGHT.

ON the next Friday morning Gus Brookes awoke just as the oldfashioned kitchen clock was striking six, and sat up in bed debating with himself whether he should get up or not. For the last few days the weather had been so bad that he had had no sport when he had risen early.

"It seems very cold," he said, as he rubbed his eyes and tried to look through the window; but somehow the panes were so dim that he could scarcely see through them.

"It is very queer," thought Gus, as he got out of bed. "It surely can't be a frost after such a long thaw. It is though," he almost shouted, as he reached the window; "and snow, too! Hurrah! A white world!".

There was no question now about lying in bed. He was soon washed and dressed, and he then hurried downstairs, where the servant was lighting the fire and preparing breakfast. Of course he