43C 
THE COTTAGE GARDENER. 
Maiich 6. 
saw liis daughter the mistress of comforts and luxuries, and 
the idol of her husband. After all that had passed before 
his eyes and mind, what a prize had Matilda drawn in the 
great lottery of life 1 Poor man! He saw nothing of the Hand 
that held out the sceptre of mercy to a poor sinner; all was 
“ luck,” “fortune,” and the turning up of the die! What a 
dead blank and frightful chaos must the mind be, which is 
tossed upon the waves of chance, and sees nothing ahead but 
the confusion of uncertainty and disorder; no hand to open 
the entanglements, and no voice to bid the storms and waves 
“ be still.” The omnipotence and omnipresence of the Lord 
are the couch and pillow of the believer; on them he lies 
quietly down, and waits, in simple trusting peace, for the 
day-dawn of deliverance. 
The “ good fortune ” of Matilda was a reality, hut dashed 
from her lips by her own hand. No change had taken place 
in her heart; she was the same still, and the washing of the 
outside of the cup could not cleanse the corruption which 
existed within. The haven of rest in which her bark had 
taken refuge became a wearisome monotony; and the kind¬ 
ness of a husband who had chosen her in her lowest de¬ 
gradation, raised her to affluence, and loved her through it 
all, could not>attach a cold and depraved disposition like 
hers. She left him as unconcernedly as she had left her 
father, aud betook herself to her old haunts in town. 
This stroke was too much for poor Sir Charles; his head 
bent beneath it, and paralysis seized him. Poor man ! he 
was in Paris, leading the life lie liked best; hut the news 
reached him at last, and even the gay, thoughtless life of 
easy amusement which Paris affords, could not shield him 
from affliction, or deaden his sense of it. The visit he had 
paid Matilda in her new and luxurious home, where she 
reigned triumphantly, and gladdened her father's very soul, 
was his last sight of her; never again did his eyes behold 
her, or his thoughts turn to her without agony of mind. 
Alone, among strangers, in the pleasure loving city of 
Paris, did poor Sir Charles wrestle with sickness and sorrow, 
while his heartless, profligate daughter, breaking every tie, 
social and sacred, cast off the affections of those who really 
loved her, and entered upon a career of madness and sinful¬ 
ness once more. AVell may the heart of man be declared 
“deceitful and desperately wicked; who can know it?” 
Well may it be said of him who “trusteth in his own heart,” 
that he is “ a fool.” 
The rod that was to teach Sir Charles B-must needs 
he a sharp one. Much might be done that he would think 
“clever” and “sharp;” much that he would fail to perceive 
was wicked or wilful; much that he would allow for and pass 
by ; but this was indisputable. He could neither misunder¬ 
stand nor gloss over conduct of this kind; it was too keen and 
telling. 
The combined histories of Sir Charles and his daughter, 
at this point, diverged for ever. The next thing that was 
heard of her was that she had taken to the stage, and was 
acting under a feigned name in London. She was admired 
as an actress ; her talents, figure, and air, were sure to make 
her acceptable to an audiemce, ancl her adopted name enabled 
those who knew her, long to notice her in her fallen and 
degraded career. For a considerable period the name ap¬ 
peared among the list of actors belonging to the Theatre; 
but at last it ceased to be found. Season after season it was 
looked for, but in vain. A dead n,nd solemn silence seemed 
to settle upon that misguided woman. Where she went to, 
what had become of her, no one knew. Her husband was 
left a melancholy monument of imprudence and short¬ 
sightedness, and her place knew her no more. 
Poor Mr. Watson did a fatal deed when he married 
Matilda. What could he expect when he went to the altar 
with a woman whose pursuits and turn of mind he knew to 
be like hers? Could he expect happiness, or even common 
respectability ? His friends warned him over and over again; 
they dreaded the consequences of such a marriage; but they 
warned in vain. He was fascinated by her, and was blind, 
deaf, and doting. When she quitted him in cold and unholy 
indifference, the truth flashed upon him, but it was then 
too late. 
“ Young men and maidens,” there is a word for each of 
you in the history of this unhappy couple. There is a loud 
and special warning to young men, to be beware who they 
choose for their partner in life, and how they undertake that 
solemn step. It is of no use to employ soft words in dealing 
with any strong principle. We must marry “ only in the 
Lord;” only choose God-fearing and God-serving partners, if 
we hope to he respectable and happy. Let every body 
ponder this truth, for it is drawn from the Word of God 
Himself. 
Let young women be under subjection to the law of God, 
whatever their parents may be. Let all who are gaily or 
wildly disposed, consider and tremble. Let them mark the 
progress, step by step, of heedless, unrestrained youth, on 
its downward road to perdition. Let them mark the in¬ 
stances of the Lord’s tender concern for them, when oppor¬ 
tunities are placed before them to turn from their wickedness 
and live, and let them embrace them. Every day His hand 
is stretched out to save, and none need perish. 
POULTRY IN A CONFINED SPACE. 
There are very many persons who would gladly keep a 
few fowls, either for amusement or profit, or for both 
purposes combined, if they thought they could be kept in 
health and comfort in a comparatively confined space. In 
consequence of residing near town, I am frequently invited 
to visit various suburban poultry-yards, sometimes to pre¬ 
scribe for some disease which has broken out, at others to 
suggest alterations in the arrangements, or to select birds 
for exhibition, &c.; these circumstances have given me the 
opportunity of seeing very many examples of fancy poultry 
kept in runs of very limited dimensions, and it has occurred 
to me that a small space in The Cottage Gardener may 
be usefully occupied with an account of two small yards; 
one managed with success and profit, under the most 
disadvantageous circumstances ; the other mismanaged with 
considerable pecuniary loss, under a much more promising 
prospect. 
In a low, damp situation, on the banks of the Thames, in 
the main street of a suburban village (Fulham) is a small 
hack yard, entirely surrounded by houses, its length is sixty- 
eight feet, and its width thirty-five feet; one end of this 
space has been divided into five runs, each twenty-one feet by 
seven, with its proper poultry house, eight feet by seven and 
the remainder of the yard, thirty-nine feet by thirty-five, 
has been left as an exercise ground, where the occupants of 
each run could be let out in succession; in this place, five 
varieties have been kept, a considerable number of chicken 
have been reared, and both the old and young birds have been 
exhibited. On enquiring, I find that they have been sent to 
seventeen shows, including most of the larger ones, as 
Birmingham, Colchester, etc., where they have taken nine¬ 
teen first prizes, five second ditto, three third, and have 
been five times highly commended. The varieties kept are 
Silver-spangled Polands, Spanish, Sebright Bantams, Bulf 
Cochins, and Grey Cochins or Brahmas ; the circumstances 
on which the success has mainly depended may be described 
in two words : the most unremitting attention to cleanliness, 
and the avoidance of the slightest approach to overcrowding. 
The only approach to disease amongst the stud has been 
in the case of the Polish chicken, several of whom have 
died when about half-grown; they have been forwarded to 
me for inspection, and I have found that they have died of 
tuberculous diseases, a complaint which Polands are very 
subject to when young, if reared in a damp locality. 
This account proves what may be done with good manage¬ 
ment, even in a very confined space ; and much credit is 
due to Mr. Jones for the demonstration. As a contrast to 
this scene, let me call attention to another yard, which may 
be taken as a sample of some dozens that I am acquainted 
with. A hack garden, in a high district near town, open 
on three sides to other gardens, with double the space of 
the one previously described, and one variety of fowl only 
kept, and that the hardiest of all, namely, Cochins; the 
proprietor, a gentleman to whom money is scarcely a con¬ 
sideration, and who has constantly been in the habit of 
buying the best fowls he could obtain, without regard to 
price. Here, with every advantage of dry, sheltered dusting 
places, corn without limit, expensive patent fountains, warm 
and sheltered houses, &c., the fowls are always ill, and die 
olf rapidly; l'or they are over-crowded, and the ground is 
