THE COTTAGE GARDENER. 
[■January 21 
220 
found nearly as forward as those that have stood the 
winter, and were sown in August last. Give plenty 
of air on all tine days, and as the plants become 
strong enough, take the lights quite otf. Plants 
raised in this way, may he lifted with good roots into 
the open quarters, in mild weather, towards the end 
of February. J. Barnes & W. 
MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION. 
OUR VILLAGE WALKS. 
(No. 16.) 
It is a pity that every little cottage cannot be 
built witli a warm southern aspect: there is so much 
comfort and cheerfulness in the beams of the sun, 
even on a winter’s day. I think this point might be 
more attended to than it is; and that, very often, 
indifference, or want of thought, have more to do 
with the matter than the situation of the ground on 
which the cottage is built. Of course, it is not 
always possible to face the sun, especially in villages; 
but if, when persons are building for the poor, they 
took a little thought for the comfort, enjoyment, and 
health of their humble tenants, they might do a 
great deal more to promote them than is now the 
case, and without trouble or loss to themselves at 
the same time. 
Cottages are, very often, stuck up any how, and 
any where: they are thinly built, and no sort of 
regard is paid to the situation. A cottage pays 
well, for some one is sure to take it; and a high 
rent is demanded—perhaps between three or four 
pounds — for two small, ill-ventilated rooms, and a 
little portion of ground, scarcely large enough to 
keep the family half the year in potatoes. In vil¬ 
lages, the rents are enormous. I know that for very 
small tenements, containing four little rooms, and 
a “ woodhouse,” six pounds are given, without a 
garden, or even a border to grow pinks and wall¬ 
flowers. Very little regard is paid to necessary 
repairs, in any case. Water will drop through the 
ceiling upon the beds, year after year, and nothing 
is done to prevent it. The rent is strictly exacted: 
the tenant may go, if he likes; if not, he must take 
all things as they are. I have known this in more 
instances than one, and I fear it is frequently the 
case. Landlords among the lower classes are, I am 
afraid, less considerate of their poorer brethren than 
the gentry. They are also more restricted in their 
means, in some cases, and dislike laying out money 
which makes no return. Small farmers, shopkeepers, 
and others in that class of life, frequently possess 
cottages which are occupied by the poor; and these 
are often very much neglected, and in scarcely habit¬ 
able condition. They arc seldom large enough to 
contain a family with comfort; and propriety is set 
at defiance. A whole household will often be obliged 
to inhabit one sleeping-room; and two is the utmost 
that any labourer’s cottage contains. Much is doing, 
in many ways, for the poor, but their health and 
comfort would be greatly increased if their dwellings 
were improved where it can be effected. I think 
much would be altered in this, as in every 'other 
case, if men would regard everything they possess 
as a talent committed to them by God. Men would 
not dare to “grind the faces of the poor,” nor to 
neglect even their common daily comforts, if they 
looked steadily Tip to the Father of us all, and strove 
to be “ perfect, even as our Father which is in 
heaven is perfect.” They would not then bo so 
likely to take a heavy rent from their poor tenant, 
and leave him with a door through which the winds 
whistle, and a roof that cannot keep out the wet. 
They would try, as far as they could, to soften the 
sufferings of the poor, and, at least, to give him a 
fair return for the money he pays. It is not the 
act of a Christian to neglect a fellow-creature’s sim¬ 
plest comforts, because ho can go away it he likes. 
The poor canuot always go away; and if they could, 
it is not a brotherly act to drive him from us by 
means like these. 
When we pass through some of our English vil¬ 
lages— interesting, beautiful as they are, taken as 
the features of our free and happy land — what 
wretched hovels we sometimes see, shrinking, as if 
from sight, behind the neater, and more pleasing, 
cottages that stand before them! What damps, and 
rheumatisms, and diseases lurk within them ! and 
how uncheered are they by warmth and sunshine! 
Who could be satisfied to take rent for such sheds 
as these ? How can one man, bearing the holy 
name of Christian, take rent from another for such 
miserable dwellings as these? It seems as it it 
would be a Christian’s pleasure—part of his joylul 
service to a tenderly-pitying Master—to do all he 
can for the children of that Master, setting aside 
their claim to his kindness as brethren. “Inasmuch 
as ye have done it unto me,” should be sounding 
perpetually in our ears, llow that musical vibration 
would deafen us to the cry of selfishness, covetous¬ 
ness, and advantage! I have known persons, “ pos¬ 
sessing godliness,” extremely unconcerned about 
such matters as these. I. have known persons of 
great decency and respectability let their cottages as 
beer-houses, to gain a higher rent ; thus laying 
snares for the souls of men, and saying, as loudly 
as deeds can say—“Am I my brother’s keeper?" 
It may be, that some ‘Cottage Gardeners’—some of 
my very indulgent readers—may possess cottages 
as well as gardens, and to them 1 would address one 
word. “Village Walks” suggest many ideas, and 
lead us sometimes from the woods and fields to the 
street find the dwelling. Can a cottage gardener 
enjoy his warm, snug kitchen, and blazing lire, while 
the wind blows heavily, and rain patters against the 
lattice, if he knows that the poor man’s door 
admits every gust through its gaping chinks—that 
the roof is dripping with the storm, and that the 
window, stuffed with paper and rags, chills the 
shivering inmates, as they creep into their cold, 
hard beds? How much more would the cottage 
landlord enjoy his thriving, abundant garden, if be 
felt that his tenants were enjoying theirs also— 
that their windows were sound—that the winds 
beat against a neat, close-fitting door — that the 
glittering, beautiful icicles fringed a stout, warm 
thatch — and that, if poverty and misery were 
within, they did not rest on his conscience! How 
much more cheerily would his daily work go on! 
How much more calm and sweet would be his rest! 
A village belonging to such landlords would be a 
refreshing sight, even among the beautiful villages 
we so often see. There would be a comfort, as well 
as a loveliness, in the bowery cottages that so often 
please the eye, covered with graceful, simple creepers; 
and yet, in many ways, so insufficient to promote 
the domestic comfort of the inmates now; often 
arising from thoughtlessness for the need of others, 
though, in some cases, from selfishness and avarice. 
Every cottage ought to possess a piece of ground: 
this is a positive necessity; for how can a poor man 
hope to support a family without the power of grow¬ 
ing one single cabbage? A kind, tender consider- 
