24 
THE COTTAGE GARDENER. 
April 18. 
I 
object than a well-flued wall. 1 will not even place the 
latter second to the careful selection of suitable soil 
and dry situation, because that is likoly to be already 
attended to-—although, of course, attention to these 
latter matters is also essential to their welfare. Now, as 
a much greater proportion of the fruit grown years 
ago was done under the advantageous circumstances 
enumerated above, it follows that a non-attentive policy 
can hardly be expected to be so successful. 
In drawing these remarks to a close, I cannot avoid 
alluding to an opinion too often expressed, “That 
after a certain period of time a plant becomes, to 
a some extent, acclimatized to the country it has 
adopted.” This is certainly wrong; for, though atten¬ 
tive cultivation, aud the raising of hybrids or varieties 
having a hardier constitution than their parents, may, 
in some few iustances, be adduced, by far a greater 
number will be seen of a contrary kind; and as the 
Peach, and its companion the Nectarine, still retain 
that tendency to bloom and start growth earlier than 
our native trees, we may infer that their natural dis¬ 
position is not overcome by the change of abode, 
neither have we reason to believe them one whit more 
hardy than before; and as our experience with ordinary 
flowering plants of a hardy kind has been for some 
time guided by the rule of letting everything alone that 
does not call for urgent alteration, the principle seems 
to be carried to the Peach also. Hence the neglect and 
want of success in situations where a contrary residt 
might be looked for; while, in the more ungenial j 
climate of the north, the walls, being flued, are warmed 
in spring for some few weeks, protecting the setting of 
the blossom and favouring the production of wood; i 
and in the autumn, again, the same is done to ripen the 
wood, and, if needs be, the fruit. Now, these necessary 
assistants, with that close looking after which things 
only get, when, by common consent, they are reported 
not to be able to do without, generally commands better 
crops than is found in the south of England, where a 
less careful system is followed, and without the help of 
the flued wall above. J. Robson. 
WHAT A SOLDIER OUGHT NOT TO BE. 
By the Authoress of “ My Flowers." 
At this particular time, when everything belonging to 
our gallant defenders by sea and land is so interesting to 
our hearts; when wo have just seen our noble regiments 
marching onwards in all their martial array, we feel 
it a suitable time to bring forward a sketch or two 
ot a soldier’s character, to show what he ought to be, 
and what he ought not to be, in private life. Good soldiers 
are not always good men—they may be true to their country, 
yet traitors to their God; audit is melancholy and painful 
to think, that those who have such a claim upon their 
country’s gratitude and regard should be so unworthy of it 
as we sometimes find them. I will give the warning first, 
and the example in my next. 
Tom Sparks is the son of a cottage gardener, whose 
character I have already touched upon in a former paper. 
He enlisted at fifteen, much to his father’s sorrow; but he 
could not prevent it, and the boy’s heart was set upon a 
red coat. For years and years they knew little about him ; 
he was absent on foreign service ; and as he could not write, 
they seldom heard anything of him. At last—it was the very 
time of the riots—Tom came for a few days on leave, before 
sailing again for Canada; and it was remarked as a wonder, 
in an out-of the-way village, that a red coat should be seen 
at church the precise day of the breaking out of the 
disturbances. From that day he returned no more until 
his term of service expired, which happened very early in 
his life ; and he left the army with a pension. Before this, 
however, he was quartered for some years in Ireland; and 
his parents learned that he had married there. His poor 
father had a horror of Papists, and concluding that his 
son had taken one to be his wife, he was never easy about 
him. “ The poor soldier," was ever on his lips; aud ho 
became very anxious to find out what kind of spiritual state 
his son was in after so many years of absence" and vicissi¬ 
tudes. 
At length the cottage door opened, and the aged couple 
behold their tall son, and with him a little Irish wife and 
child. I believe the iron entered into the poor cottage 
gardener’s heart when he saw her ; but it was of no use to 
give way. She was the warmest-hearted little creature that 
ever came from her warm-hearted country; but her ways 
were so unlike English ways, her language and voice so 
unlike those of our land, and the old man’s prejudices were 
so strong, that he never quite got over it; and I think his 
end was hastened, in a measure, by such an addition to his 
household. He was warmly attached to his son, and they 
used to sit up at night quietly together, over the embers, 
talking of a thousand things the father wished to hear and 
say; but by day there was no peace. The hoy was 
ungovernable ; the mother talked unceasingly, without ever 
altering the tone of her voice, and as fast as the words 
could flow. Tom seemed a steady man, he was as stiff and j 
as strait as an arrow, and no man had less to say. He 
was very slow at his work, but he was quiet and respectable, ! 
and very seldom out of employment. 
While the old people lived things went on well with the j 
son ; hut when they died, and Tom and his wife set up for 
themselves, matters took a turn. With seven shillings a 
week pension, and day labour besides, they ought to have 
been in easy circumstances : but instead of that they were 
always in debt. The poor little woman was always in a 
dirty cottage, either cowering over the fire upon a low stool, 
or block of wood, or else messing with a wash-tub, “just 
two or tree little tings for thecliilder;” and looking the 
very picture of warm-hearted untidiness. Her second child 
was a beautiful fellow, the pride of her heart. He was 
snatched from her by scarlet fever, and one child only 
remains. 
Some time after this, it came to light that Sparks had 
taken to drink. He could never pay his allotment rent; 
he had always a long debt at the shop; his wife had no 
Sunday gown or shawl; but he himself was always well 
dressed, and in his place at church. At last he began to 
beat his poor little wife, and a more miserable looking 
creature could not be seeu. He beat her frequently and 
I very severely, but she said nothing tdl her neighbours 
; found it out and spoke of it. Sparks had got into shocking 
company, and spent his evenings and earnings in drink, 
j giving much of his money to one who had no lawful claim 
upon him, which agonized the poor wife more than all the 
rest, as she sat starving and weeping in her cottage. 
It seems a hard case that an offended and injured wife 
is never to express her indignation; that she gets nothing 
but harm by it; that the only way to deal with such 
husbands is to be civil and smiling, when the heart is 
turned almost into curd by its wrongs, l’oor Mrs. Sparks 
was driven beyond her power of endurance sometimes, and 
her lips spake truly, but unadvisedly. This made matters 
much worse; a silent, determined, violent man was made 
furious by expostulation ; aud the poor little creature could 
only mourn that she had ever left Ireland and kind friends, 
and become, as she says, “ a poor sthranger ” in England. 
Neighbours, however, are very kind and compassionate to 
her, and stand by her as far as they can. One goodmatured 
man draws Sparks into his cottage sometimes, to have a 
chat, aud a little friendly beer, on purpose to keep him out 
of evil company. But what a thing that is ? What a 
hopeless case it is, to go striving on against such evil 
habits! The wife implores his employers not to turn him 
off, for work keeps him quiet all the day, and prevents her 
being totaly destitute, though she gets scarcely enough to 
support herself. She lives in hopes that he will mend, 
which he sometimes promises, but never performs; so 
there she sits in her melancholy cottage, “ chewing the 
cud of sweet and bitter fancy.” 
Readers! this is a retired life of a British soldier. I 
grieve to record it, for the honour of the army ; but so it is. 
He is the child of many prayers. His poor father wrestled 
for him, aud would have mourned bitterly had he suspected 
