August 5. 
THE COTTAGE GARDENER. 
295 
sant will not read my writing, for I have touched largely 
upon it; and the only recommendation to notice which my 
J ff eu can claim is, that it has ever spoken truth. To those 
who feel no gloom or sadness in looking death in the face, I 
must add another affecting proof that every man shall die, 
■ “ and his name perish.” 
I was pondering last night very much upon my paper of 
I to-day; I did not seem possessed of a subject. I was fear- 
! till that I should make “a poor hand of it,” and disappoint 
tlio Editor. How little I thought that a subject was then 
awaiting me, and one that would cost me sorrow too ! 
This morning, at breakfast, a kind and anxious young 
medical man called and requested to see my sister. On 
j returning to the room, she brought the intelligence that 
John F-a man who had worked on the property 
I ever since he was a youth, was lying on his death-bed. He 
was a woodman, skilled in the measurement and manage¬ 
ment of timber, who has for years been “ranger" of our 
“ woods and forests,” in their simplicity; and who knew the 
face of every tree upon the property. But a very few days 
ago, I think only this day week, we saw him, in his usual 
health and spirits,wending his wayliome,with the customary 
“ niche ” upon his back, little thinking— too little thinking— 
of the summons so near at hand. He was labouring for the 
meat that perishes ; but as to the bags which neither moth 
nor rust corrupt, they were lying empty and utterly neg¬ 
lected. Only two days ago, he was speaking of coming down 
to the house for orders—the very day on which lie was taken 
ill; but another order awaited him—one which was stern, 
and must be obeyed at once ; from which there was no 
appeal, llezekiali was commanded to set his house in 
order, “ for thou slialt die, and not live;” but poor John was 
not given time to make his paths straight; he was laid at 
once upon a bed of suffering, and his recovery is said to be 
hopeless. Unless the Lord gives the w r ord, his departure is 
immediate. 
As we approached the abode of sickness there seemed an 
unusual stillness there. The cottage is one of three little 
tenements beneath one roof, and the whole of them are 
covered with roses, and surrounded by neat and well-culti¬ 
vated gardens, orchards, and trees. They nestle in a pic¬ 
turesque dell, and are quiet and secluded from the bustle 
I and noise of busy life, l’oor John’s garden was always ' 
fruitful and early; well-stocked, and well-managed. He has 
a row of bee-hives, under a sheltering box hedge, and there 
they were this morning, buzzing about as if nothing was 
the matter. He has had much trouble with them this 
summer; they swarmed, and went back agaiii; then they 
hurried out, day after day, keeping him in perpetual uncer¬ 
tainty—but now all is over. How soon do our earthly cares 
and pleasures cease, and seem as if they had never been. 
John has survived his wife three or four years. They 
never had a family; and an aged brother and sister alone 
remain to mourn for him. He has lived alone, with a large ! 
black cat, the pet of his wife, ever since she was taken from 
him ; but ho has kind and attentive neighbours, and his 1 
poor old sister sits by him. When we saw him, he was 
sensible, but could say little. The very great heat oppresses 
him, and he is to be kept “ very quiet.” Alas ! what a time 
for the work of works to bo begun and finished ! What a 
time for a “ sleeper” to arise, and call upon his God ! Sab¬ 
baths neglected and desecrated—the laws of God broken 
and disregarded—the Saviour unheeded and unknown— 
death unprepared for ! What a time to face all these ter¬ 
rors, and plead with God, “ if so be that God will think 
upon us, that we perish not.” A Christian man must feel 
deep awe when the last summons comes, particularly if it 
! is quick and peremptory; what shall he feel who has no sure 
j hope in his God ? 
| John has some worldly business that ought to be attended 
to. lie has other persons accounts in his head, for ho can¬ 
not write or cipher; but he cannot talk or think of them, 
though wo know it gives him uneasiness. How, then, can 
he wrestle with Him whose strength “ is as it were the 
strength of an unicorn ?” A death-bed is no place in which 
to repent. Even supposing we are enabled to collect our 
thoughts, and have time given us to do so, we cannot tell 
whether it is godly sorrow, or slavish fear, that leads U3 to cry 
mightily to God. Many and many a sick penitent has come 
forth from his chamber, and returned to his wallowing in 
the mire. Let us not deceive ourselves in this matter; 
the day will come when we shall look back to these precious 
hours of health, wasted and misspent, with hopeless agony. 
We shall then think nothing of our gardens, our bees, our 
poultry, our pleasantest worldly concerns, except to cry, “All 
these things I might have done, and yet not have left the 
other undone." 
Since I wrote the last paragraph, we have again seen poor 
John. The languid eye lighted, and the horny hand, that 
has for so many years laboured in our service, was stretched 
out feebly to meet ours. He could only gasp a few words with 
difficulty; but some of those few cheered us. To a searching 
question, he sobbed out—“I have been thinking of these 
things for a good while. I found I was’nt in the right way. 
The soul is of a deal more account than the body.” He 
could say scarcely anything more; but the eyes moistened, 
and the weary head moved, as if he felt the power and 
sweetness of “ the Word,” as it met his ear. There is no 
other word that can give comfort in the dark valley—no 
other pillow to rest the soul—no other “water” that can calm 
the fevered mind. The parched lips may be refreshed with 
the cool draught, but they will “ thirst again.” “ But if any 
man drink of the water ” that Jesus Christ will give him, 
“lie shall never thirst again,” but be satisfied with the 
sweetness of that draught for ever and ever! 
Before these lines go to press the earth will have rattled 
upon the coffin of poor John—another cottage gardener. 
May it sound in the ears of many who dwell fax' from his 
secluded grave ! May it call to them loudly to “ remember 
their Creator in the days of their youth,” their health, their 
prosperity ! We must all die : it is a solemn thought. But 
we may not all be ready : this is more solemn—more terrible 
still. Oh! let us set our houses in order now. Let us make 
up our accounts with God now. Let us be as servants, 
ready and waiting for our Lord. We shall enjoy our gardens, 
and bees, and home pleasures, ten thousand times more 
than we have ever yet done, when our great spiritual account 
has been crossed out by Jesus Christ—when there is “ no 
handwriting against us ”—when he has whispered clearly to 
our heart, “ Thy sins be forgiven thee ; go in peace,” 
“ Man cometh forth as a flower, and is cut down.” Let 
us all remember the culling down of poor John F-—, the 
woodman and cottage gardener ! 
ESTIMATE OF POULTRY VARIETIES. 
A poultry- fancier myself, I look out (always with in¬ 
terest) for the remarks in The Cottage Gardener, made 
by your various correspondents—“ Anster Bonn,” “ Q in a 
Corner,” “ A Subscriber,” &o., &c. 
In the multitude of counsellors there is wisdom, and 
therefore, though my experience does not lead me to the 
same results with them, as to the relative merits of poultry, 
I am induced, as a large poultry-breeder, and a not unsuc¬ 
cessful exhibitor, to send you my opinions, in case you like 
to publish them in your excellent periodical. 
I am lucky enough to possess a good many walks, so that 
1 have been able to keep apart, at one time, Cochin-Chinas, 
White-faced Spanish, Minorcas, Grey and Spangled Dork¬ 
ings, Bolton Greys, or Every-day Layers, and Polish. Of 
all these 1 have endeavoured to secure the best blood. 
I find Cochins very good layers, but their eggs are very 
small; and though mine have laid more eggs in the year 
than my Spanish, it has not been in the proportion I ex¬ 
pected, considering the size of the eggs, and the great 
quantity of food consumed by the Cochin-Chinas. My man’s I 
remark to me yesterday was—“ Why, sir, two of those fowls j 
eat as much as a pig; ” and, allowing for a little exaggera- I 
tion, he is not far wrong. They are good nurses, well suited, J 
from their tameness, to be kept in confined places ; but-, from 
their great voracity, I do not consider them “ paying poultry” 
to a cottager. As a bird for the table, their great heavy legs 
are sadly against them, and I should call their flesh “coarse 
and stringy.” I have got a few chickens crossed between 
Cochin-China and Dorking, which promise to be very good 
table fowls. 
Of Spanish, I have got nearly the best in England (I 
believe), and, as layers, I cannot speak too highly of them. 
I think I am safe in saying that since February last my 
