THE COTTAGE GARDENER. 
45 
April 21. 
j are commanded to train up their children in the way they 
should go; and woe unto all who forsake or neglect the laws 
! and precepts of the Lord; but He has spoken also to 
I children quite as loudly and as strongly; and woe unto 
them when they turn a deaf ear to His commands. 
In nothing does this “ offence ” and this “ woe ” show 
themselves so frightfully as in the case of wilful and rebel¬ 
lious marriages. Young people set themselves up to act 
for themselves, and choose each other for life, in deliance 
of their parents; and rush headlong into that awfully solemn 
estate, which, if we thought about it as the law of God would J 
have us think, nine out of ten would not dare to undertake, j 
Philip Turner is the son of a farmer. His father, George 
Turner, was the spoiled, ill-brought-up son of another 
farmer, who made his eldest boy a half-gentleman, and the 
younger a labourer on the land. George Turner brought up 
liis son to be anything he liked. He was a heavy-faced, 
lumpish, violent boy, who forsook “ the law of his mother,” 
for she had no rule or influence over him, and his father 
encouraged and allowed him to give way to all his tempers, 
and do just as he pleased. When a child defies his mother, 
there is “ death in the pot.” 
Philip grew taller, and heavier in feature and expression 
year after year. Mrs. Turner was a mild, gentle, wretched- 
looking woman, whose face seldom bore a smile, and who, 
indeed, seldom was seen at all, except on the Sabbath day. 
Her husband was a civil spoken man to the world, but there 
was that in his face that savoured of incivility at home, and 
a temper that could not be turned if once he took a tliipg 
into his head. 
In process of time Philip disappeared from the neigh¬ 
bourhood. He had become a medical student in a London 
hospital, and, of course, was but little at home. When he 
did come, he was growing up into a tall, large-boned, 
clumsy, young man, but the heavy, violent face was there 
still, and did not win favour for him at first sight. 
At length it was discovered that Philip had been married 
a whole year, without his own parents, or those of his wife, 
knowing a: word about the matter. A boy and girl had 
fancied themselves in love, and probably, fearful of so wild 
and foolish a step being prevented, took the law into their 
own hands, and married without saying one word to any 
body. 
What was said or done by the fathers and mothers on 
this occasion I never heard. The young people had not a 
half-penny between them ; but to the best of my knowledge 
they lived with their baby, with Philip’s father and mother, 
who were themselves not over-burdened with riches. I 
believe the young man tried to get practice in or near Lon¬ 
don for a time, but it came to nothing. I heard of them so 
constantly at the fathers, that I conclude they lived chiefly 
with him, but until lately nothing much was known of their 
proceedings. 
A short time ago, however, I heard that Philip and his 
wife and child were in the immediate neighbourhood, and 
had been so for several months. The poor young wife was 
very ill, and this circumstance brought them to light; for 
they had been so shut up until her illness that few persons 
knew they were in the country. A nurse was engaged to 
attend upon Mrs. Turner, and the medical attendance 
nearest at hand was called in. All this was well. But the 
rudeness, violence, and savage demeanour of Philip scared 
every one else from the house. No one dared go near the 
place; no one ventured to enquire how the sick wife was— 
all was silent, dark, and unknown about the cottage. 
The place where they were now residing was the joint 
property of Philip’s mother and aunt; and in right of his 
own parent, it was supposed, he had made it his home for a 
season ; but soon after his settling there, his aunt, who Rad 
I previously occupied it, harnessed her little pony carriage and 
departed to her sister’s house. The violence of the young 
man was too great for the quiet habits of a spinster, and it 
was suspected that her life was endangered ; for Philip was 
subject to outbreaks that looked almost like fits of actual 
madness. His poor little wife recovered from her illness, 
and is now well; but there they remain, shut in together, 
just as they did before, and neither on week days or Sab¬ 
baths are they ever seen. 
I have had an opportunity of learning something of the 
workings of this poor young man’s mind. A relative, who knew 
him well, has said, that he is exceedingly miserable. Re¬ 
morse for the fault he committed in deceiving his parents 
as he did in his marriage preys upon him, and repentance 
of this kind is very bitter indeed. Then, no doubt, the 
madness of marrying at all so young, and without a six¬ 
pence, must weigh heavily. He has two children now; no 
profession, and no means of supporting his family as a hus¬ 
band and father ought. If this had been laid before him 
when he was a thoughtless medical student he would have 
considered it very cruel, very untrue, and very tyrannical. 
As it is, he has no one to blame but himself, and the poor 
heedless girl who took him for better and worse ; and judg¬ 
ing from things that do appear, we may but too justly sup¬ 
pose that much that passes within the cottage -walls has made 
her, too, repent that ever she consented to a secret and 
unblest marriage. 
What can be more wretched, more hopeless, more cala¬ 
mitous, than such a wedded life as this? Two persons— 
almost children themselves—with infants springing up 
around them, looking before them into a long and weary 
futurity, with no way of cheerfulness or comfort to gild the 
scene. A violent, morose, unemployed husband, and a 
young, ignorant, frightened wife. How will tlieir children 
be trained and nurtured ? Fearful are the consequences ; 
long is the train of evil arising from the misdoings of a 
single individual. One weak, careless, or wicked parent, 
sends forth into the world generations of weak, careless, or 
wicked men. There seems no end to the mischief. Evil is 
so bound up in the heart of man that it multiplies by thou¬ 
sands, when goodness only multiplies by tens. How needful, 
then, that all should take heed to their own ways, that they 
may not bring up “ children that are corrupters.” How 
needful that the tree be good, that the fruit be good also. 
Unconverted persons, when they are ever so well-meaning 
and anxious to do right, go blundering on from one side to 
the other, without any compass to steer by. They do the 
best they can for their children, and strive with all their 
might after it; but they can do no real good. What, then, 
must be the end when nothing at all is attempted ? It is j 
only the man who knows the plague of his own heart, who 
has tried the only remedy and found it good, that can even 
try to bring his children up “ in the nurture and admonition 
of the Lord,” which is the only way in which they can go 
for happiness and safety. A youth who has been taught to 
fear God will be the one most likely to obey his parents; for ; 
though we cannot turn hearts, -we may teach and impress i 
them; and a blessing is promised to attend all those who | 
“teach” God’s words “diligently to tlieir children,” and j 
speak of them when they sit in their house, and walk by the : 
way, and lie down, and rise up. 
Let young, heedless, self-willed people consider the com¬ 
fortless condition of Philip Turner and his wife; and let 
parents and children remember, that if in “ all our ways we 
acknowledge God, He will direct our paths.” 
ONE OF THE MOST PROFITABLE KINDS 
OF APPLES. 
Frequently seeing the question asked by amateurs and 
others—“ Which are the best kinds of Apple-trees to plant 
in this or that locality ? ”—I venture to recommend one in j 
particular, that deserves a place in every establishment, 
however great or small, where an Apple-tree will grow— 
namely, the Hanwell Souring. This tree, it may be said, 
is best adapted to orchard culture, on account of its large, 
strong, spreading growth, or habit; but I would not be 
without it even if I had only a small cottage plot of ground. 
In the latter, I should plant the Old English Godlin, or the 
Hawthornden, as my early pudding and sauce kinds, and 
the Hanwell Souring as my principal keeping and lasting 
kind. With a due number of these I could provide apple 
puddings all the year round, and what a cheap luxury is 
this for a poor man and his family’s dinner. 
The Hanwell Souring is one of the best bearing trees I i 
know. I may say it is a sure bearer, and a large and good 
keeping fruit. It is an Apple the cook will never find fault 
with; and those'who like the flavour of a real good Apple 
towards the months of April, May, and June, will still find 
that flavour in this. This renders it, in these late months, 
