24G 
THE COTTAGE GARDENER. 
consumption of fuel is much greater than in hot-water- 
heated structures. This is certainly an object of con¬ 
sequence where firing is dear, added to which, is the 
dilticulty of contriving to have the fire to act on a 
substance that will admit the greatest possible amount 
of heat through without giving way in any manner. 
Cast-iron 2 fiates have been tried, but the action of the 
fire on the one side expanding that side soon deranges 
it; and, the edges curling up or down, the smoke escapes 
into the liouse as well as the heated air. The best 
apparatus for heating in that way was by using what 
hop-driers call a “ cockle,” which is a square cast-iron 
box, of something like live or six cubic feet interior 
dimensions. Tliis box, being cast whole, is without a 
lid, and an opening (not very lai-ge) is made on one 
side, to which a fnece of pipe is attached, conveying the 
smoke to the chimney. This box, being turned bottom 
upwards over the fire-jfiace, is thus secured; but the air 
to be heated has access to it on the top and all sides as 
well as the one from which the smoke-flue proceeds. 
This is usually built against the wall, and not iinfre- 
quently the front wall, because it enables all the other 
sides to act on the hot-air chamber. The admission of 
cold air to this chamber, and the outlet for the warmer 
portion, by passing over a vessel of water, &c., are the 
matters in detail which have long been subjects of con¬ 
troversy. Suffice it to say, that in the few instances 
where it has proved successful, it has been omineiitly so; 
while the many cases on record where it has failed, 
present a sad tale of the damage done by smoke, steam, 
want of heat, and many other evils. These disasters, 
repeated so often, imply either a defect in the con¬ 
struction, or that the plan must be a hazai’dous one. 
Taking the latter for our guide, we would at once advise 
the amateur, who is about building or heating a pit or 
house, to make himself well acquainted with Polmaise 
before he ventures to adopt it; and, in the absence of 
the most j)erfect confidence of his experience that way, 
we advise him to try hot-water in some of the many 
shapes it is now presented to our use, which, though 
none of them be so perfect as they may become, are 
certainly more likely to give satisfaction than the 
hazardous jfian of Polmaise; hut more of this anon. 
J. Rohson. 
THE POOR TAILOR. 
By the Authoress of “My Flotvcrs," <tc. 
I AM going to introduce my readers to a scene of quiet, 
unobtrusive want and distress, which very few know anything 
about, and which it would be very wholesome to many of us 
to see and understand. I’overty is sometimes clamorous, 
and most frequently easy to he perceived. We look for it 
among the humblest classes, and for them, what can be 
done is always set apart; hut there is a class of sufferers 
which do not come within the limits of what is called 
charity—they are too resi)ectable, too delicate to beg, and 
too superior in their little station to be supposed to be in 
want; so that kind hearts pass them by, and never hear the 
sigh of the sorrowful through the closed door. 
William Jenkins is a tall, thin, pale, qtiiet village tailor. 
His wife is as tall, and pale, and thin as himself; and they 
inhabit so small a cottage, that one expects to see their 
heads pi-otniding from the roof. Until last summer they 
possessed three pale, sickly little children, whose voices 
were never heard, and whose figures were never seen, unless 
the door was opened, when Jenkins and his hoard seemed 
to take up full half of the little kitchen, leaving just room 
enough for the wife and children to stand or sit still in the 
darkness and closeness behind his seat. They are such 
remarkably quiet keepers at home, that no one seems to 
know anything of them. Jenkins has a bit of allotment 
ground, which he manages tolerably well, and to go down 
with their father sometimes to this garden has been the 
only air and exercise the poor little children enjoy; and 
their large melancholy eyes, and solemn faces, speak volumes 
Decembeu 30. i 
about the want of childish play which other children have, 
but which they cannot get at; having no space behind the 
house, and being strictly kept from running into evil in tlie 
sti’eet. 
Jenkins used always to have plenty of work. Early and 
late he was sitting before his window, with work piled about 
him ; and then he made nothing of “ stepping ” over to the 
nearest town, about seven miles from the village, besides 
going about for orders, and looking after his garden-ground 
too. He is a man who knows “ the Truth," and can speak 
well about it—his habits are very sober, peaceable, and un¬ 
offending, and as a tailor he was rather an eminent charac¬ 
ter. He was always obliging, jranctual, and fair in his 
charges—made capital shooting-coats, and rough country 
clothes, and things seemed to promise well for him and his 
pale family. 
Alas 1 times are changed with poor Jenkins. My views of 
political affairs are, of course, of none account; as a lady, I 
am supposed to know and understand nothing; hut times 
are, nevertheless, changed, and Jenkins knows it well. 
There is no work for petty tailors, shoemakers, and artists 
of that calibre. People have no money, and then- wants are 
narrowing into as small a compass as possible. IMore than 
one of the little tradesmen in the village are almost in a 
starving state; and they look with trembling upon that which 
is coming upon them. 
Last summer Mrs. Jenkins became the mother of twins. 
It seemed a severe calamity; for her weakness was great, 
their inivations extreme, and the addition of two babies to 
their other difficulties was almost overwhelming. One of 
the elder girls had always been afflicted in health; it was a 
pining, whining little creature, and its poor mother’s nights 
had always been disturbed and broken witli its cries and 
frettmg. Two babies, in addition to other drawbacks, was 
almost beyond the strength and spirits of the poor mother, 
and her recovery was long and tedious. Fatigue, broken 
rest, no nourishment, and five children! Oh, little think 
the rich what sufferings are endured within the cottages that 
stand thickly dotted around them. Oh ! if they would but 
search and look, and give with their oii ii hand, how much 
misery would he removed, how much sorrow, and sighing, 
and sadness, would be done away, even here, now, amid this 
world of tears and trouble. 
One of their neighbours, a kind-hearted, pitying widow, 
told the tale of poor Jenkins’ distresses. She said she knew 
they were literally in want of food, and that among them¬ 
selves their poor neighbours had collected a few halfpence 
to relieve them. Inquiry was instantly made, and it was 
found quite true. Jenkins was himself unwell, his wife 
almost exhausted, and one of the twins had never ceased 
pining and fretting since its birth ; so that by night and by 
day it was a burden to them. Some trilling assistance was 
at once given; and a kind-hearted farmer did the best thing 
of all, for he sent them a large can of milk every morning, 
which nourished parents and children ; but it was not pos¬ 
sible to do all that was wanted, for they had scarcely any¬ 
thing of their own. Now and then Jenkins earned a shil¬ 
ling, but they could not hear to be in debt, and would rather 
go without food than take out goods they knew not how to 
pay for. 
Mrs. Jenkins at last recovered from her long illness, and 
got about again; but the door is always closed, the family 
are always shut quietly in, and no one sees or hears them. 
One day, a lady was passing through a narrow passage 
that leads hy Jenkins’ hack door to that of another cottage, 
and stopped to speak to his wife, who was washing in the 
small space that they called their pantry. Her eyes were 
bright, but she was thinner and paler than ever, and a child 
or two were standing quietly hy her side, in the midst of the 
steam and wet linen. In a calm, low voice, Mrs. Jenkins 
spoke a few words that led to further inquiries, and revealed 
the extremity of her weakness and distress. She said she 
has many blessings ; her husband never goes into a beer¬ 
house, or spends one half-penny fivjm his wife and child¬ 
ren— he is kind and thoughtful. Her nights are such 
with her two babies, that when morning comes she has 
no strength or spirits. “ I seem, ma’am, to be unable to 
get up — it seems too mighty for mo; but then I think 
to myself, this won’t do, I must get on somehow, and I do 
get dressed at last. My husband lights the fire, and puts 
