THE COTTAGE GARDENER. 
39 
October 17.] 
one of England’s striking and beautiful features, is the 
abundance of institutions for the poor, beaded and aided by 
tlie highest and noblest in the land. 
| The Word of God has declared, that “ the poor shall never 
: cease out of the land.” Much has been done, and much is, 
1 and will be doing, to ameliorate the condition of the poor; 
j it is our bounden duty to strive in every lawful way to make 
them happy and easy in their humble sphere—to soften as 
far as possible the trials of poverty and labour— above all, to 
make them “wise unto salvation”—but “the poor shall never 
cease out of the land; ” and every cottage wa see — every 
tattered suppliant by the way-side—every labourer who tills 
our fields, and digs our gardens, illustrates and sets before 
our eyes the unchangeable purpose of God. 
I was born—we were all born—in the country, and my 
earliest recollections are associated with a village, close to 
j which mu- residence stood; our parents were always loved 
I and looked up to by tbe poor, and we have imbibed from 
them a fondness for, and an interest in, the humbler classes, 
that has grown and strengthened with our growth. For the 
last twenty years we have lived in the midst of a rural and 
agricultural people, where wages are generally very low, and 
poverty is consequently great; yet the interest we feel in 
this rural population—with all the drawbacks incident to 
human nature—is the stronger, because of its poverty and 
distress ; and we deeply feel from our own want of means to 
effect real and permanent good, how much might be done in 
similar situations by those to whom God has committed ten 
talents, and bestowed the desire to employ them well. A 
very dear friend, who loves the poor, and whose departure 
from the neighbourhood was long and deeply mourned by 
them, has frequently said, “ Where I now reside, I have no 
local interest — the cottagers are all so well off, there is 
nothing for me to do : I sadly miss the poor.” Thus there 
is put into the heart a sympathy, which is as good, as plea¬ 
sant, and as necessary to the giver, perhaps even more so 
than to the receiver ; and what is our duty becomes an enjoy¬ 
ment, without which we feel a void that even personal bless¬ 
ings cannot fill up. To those who take no interest in the 
poor—to whom the interior of a cottage is scarcely known— 
and whose sympathies are unmoved by their simple joys and 
sorrows, the country seems robbed of half its charms, and 
the daily routine of life loses half its pleasures. 
Human natui'e is the same in every land, and in every 
station. The passions of men, the evil heart, the fallen 
nature display themselves in each and all, only that amongst 
the poor there is less regard for outward appearances, vices 
are more openly practised, and they have not the fear of the 
world to keep them in check when the fear of God has no 
power over them. 
In our intercourse with the poor we must not expect to 
find them faultless, or destitute of evil tempers, unthankful 
hearts, gross deception often, or ready to hear and do as we 
would have them in many little ways that we think would be 
better and more comfortable. We must not expect to find 
the smooth tongue governed by a smooth heart, or the kind¬ 
ness shown always imderstood and valued. But we must 
look around among our own kindred, among our own people, 
above all, in our own hearts, and see what is found there, 
j where education may be supposed to have done so much, 
! and then we shall go forth better prepared to encounter 
those among whom we know it has done so little. 
There is a good deal of originality among the poor; and 
often we can perceive such a natural understanding, or the 
germ of so much talent, as would lead to eminence, if circum¬ 
stances were such as to encourage it. A friend of our own 
had taken a lad into his service to work in the garden, groom 
his pony, and wait at table. He was one of the very dullest, 
most stupid looking boys I ever saw, and seemed to have 
scarcely sense or life enough for his undertaking, and he 
was perpetually in disgrace for want of sharpness and ac¬ 
tivity. This boy, however, began to show a singular turn 
for carving. With a bit of bone and an old broken penknife 
he manufactured a seal for his fellow-servant, and carved her 
initials upon it. This seal was shown to his mistress, and 
she immediately ordered one. We all admired it, more, 
perhaps, from surprise at the artist than from the beauty of 
the work; but we all ordered seals, of course, directly, and 
it was surprising to see how quickly practice improved him, 
and how correctly and delicately the letters and words were 
carved. He began to make other little articles too, all 
equally well formed and cleverly done; and we used to give 
him the handles of our old umbrellas, as being rather better 
material than common bones. But there was no one to 
foster more usefully his genius. He married and settled 
down into a common labourer, although for a long time his 
cottage window displayed bone spoons, wooden butter-prints, 
&c., which he executed at his leisure hours, and most inge¬ 
niously they were done. Then his wife died, his infant died, 
and with one little child he left the village, and went I know 
not whither. It may be that even yet his native talent may 
burst through all impediments—a friend may be raised up 
to mark and assist the genius; and this poor boy may rise 
to be high in a profession very different to that in which his 
humble birth had placed him. 
In England there is no bar before a rising genius. Money, 
and friends, and patronage are needed, but there is no legal, 
no social hindrance to the lowest peasant, if his talent car¬ 
ries him on. In many surprising instances God has wrought 
for a youth with scarcely any apparent human aid. Every 
day we hear or read of some interesting case of this kind ; 
and in how many persons in distinguished posts and profes¬ 
sions have we found the son of the tradesman, the me¬ 
chanic, and even of the humble labourer. 
There is a never failing interest in “ the short and simple 
annals of the poor." 
GRASS-PLOT IRRIGATION. 
By Cuthbert IV. Johnson, JEsq., F.B.S. 
The good effect of house sewage irrigation in the growth 
of grass has long been known to be very considerable. For 
the purpose of testing the various little points of detail 
which might arise when carried on on a small scale, by small 
landholders, I laid down the turf on a plot of grass in my 
garden, near Croydon, in February and March, 1850. This 
was only 10 yards long, and 13 yards broad. The bed, 
therefore, contains only about 208 square yards, and is 
surrounded by a raised border of turf about two inches 
high, to prevent the escape of the irrigating sewage; and 
for a similar purpose the bed is divided by two turfed ridges 
of about the same size into three compartments. These 
ridges would have been repeated crosswise, so as to diride 
the bed into nine compartments (to suit the size of our 
beds to the bulk of our sewage), had we not wished to 
avoid impeding the action of the scythe, the whole produce 
being intended for the soiling of a pony. Soon after the bed 
was formed, earthenware pipes of about two inches bore were 
laid down, extending from a tank constructed on some 
higher ground than the grass-plot, the contents of which, 
whenever the tank is sufficiently filled, is allowed (by the 
lifting of a plug) to flow on to the grass—the orifice of the 
pipe from whence the sewage issues being about eight or 
nine inches above the level of the turf. From this pipe the 
sewage is distributed, by means of an open wooden trough, 
to any part of the plot that is just partly cleared. Our prac¬ 
tice has been to cut sufficient grass for two days’ con¬ 
sumption, and then immediately the grass is removed, to 
direct on to the cleared space all the sewage which has 
accumulated since the last cutting, occasionally adding to its 
bulk by allowing some pump water to flow for a minute or 
two from the sink through the house-pipe drain into the 
tank. By this plan the collateral advantage has arisen that 
the sewer pipe, tank, and delivery pipe, as well as the house 
sewage itself, by being so constantly cleansed or removed 
has not time to undergo putrefaction. The plan, therefore, 
is carried out (generally the first thing in the morning) 
without any of the inmates or visitors to the house being 
aware that such a manuring is systematically going on. 
The result, in fact, shows that the noxious effluvia from 
sewers arises, not as a necessary result of the matter con¬ 
veyed in them, but from their ill construction, and the 
barbarous practice of allowing the long accumulating con¬ 
tents of cesspools and choked drains to flow into them. 
The general result of this little experiment has been such 
as to induce me to confidently and warmly recommend the 
repetition of the plan to such of my readers who are so 
situated that the contents of their house tanks can be 
directed by its own gravity on to a conveniently placed grass- 
