502 
THE COTTAGE GARDENER. 
September 29. 
until the grass and weeds are quite dead. In case the j this wretched little roof, to try how things will speed with 
weather is showery, and the grass and weeds do not die ^er. 
readily, remove, or burn them, and proceed to give the 
fourth ploughing crossways, and use the harrows, 
roller, &c. as before, taking care either to remove or 
! destroy all the grass and weeds which might have come 
to the surface. When yard or town manure is applied, 
j it is best to cart it on the land previous to the fourth 
ploughing, it the fallow is sufficiently forward and clean; 
but that seldom being the case, it is usual to lay it on 
the land, and spread it previously to the last, or ridge 
ploughing, which should be done deep enough to bury 
the manure. In making up the ridges upon heavy clay 
soils, the five turn is the best size, being about eight 
feet in width; this will allow the drill to take one ridge 
at a time, the wheels going in the furrows; the horses, 
also, can walk in the furrows, and both drill and harrow 
in the seed without treading the land. 
Joseph Blundell. 
C To be continued.) 
THE POOR WIDOW. 
By the Authoress of “ My Flowers .” 
Not very far from “the rich widow’s” house there is a 
hack lane, which ends with wooden-doors, that shut in some 
private yard or enclosure. The laue on one side is hounded 
by a hedge, on the other by the backs of cottages, one of 
which is a pitfall of Satan, from which loud voices, tobacco 
smoke, and fumes of beer, often proceed. Quite at the end 
of the lane, close to the wooden-doors, there is an outhouse 
fixed against the gable of a respectable cottage on the open 
j side ol the lane. This outhouse, stuck together with little 
j better materials than brickbats and boards, is divided into 
two little bits of holes called rooms. They were once a 
wood-house and coal-hole, but are now called “ a cottage,” 
and in it dwells a “poor widow,” but one “rich in faith, 
and an heir ot the kingdom which God hath promised to 
them that love him.” 
Do my readers remember the “ upper chamber ” where 
the poor lock-shutter languished on the bed of suffering ? 
Well, this poor widow was his devoted wife. He died,* and 
left her in complete destitution, with nothing but a few 
articles of furniture, and a little rick of rough, water-side 
hay. the Board ot Guardians would give no relief while 
she had a thing left that could be called property , and, 
therefore, until this poor rick was sold, she starved as com¬ 
fortably as she could. But it pleased her Heavenly helper 
to bring her a purchaser very quickly, and he gave her just 
as much money as she. owed at the shop. When her debt 
was paid, she could fairly say she had nothing, and then 
the parish pay began—a loaf of bread a week, and one 
shilling. She was obliged to accept the affectionate offer 
of a sister and brother-in-law to live with them in a neigh¬ 
bouring town; but they were kept poor by an expensive 
I tamily, and the widow felt herself an incumbrance to them, 
i for her pittance was barely enough for herself, and her 
j health so broken, that she could do nothing for her support, 
| or t0 ma ke a return to them. Her heart, too, pined after 
■ ^er native village, and the neighbours she knew and loved; 
and after deep consideration, and earnest prayer, she began 
to turn her mind towards the possibility of getting back 
there again. 
Lhis outhouse was a tempting refuge for oue who longed 
for some spot in which to lay her head, and yet had nothing 
to rent a cottage with. Sixpence a week, she thought, 
might be managed, and the blessedness of a home of her 
own, and in the place where she was born, and where her 
husband and child lay buried, and the possibility of doing 
some little good to the sick and afflicted round her—these 
things all pressed so heavily against the spring of prudence, 
that at last it gave way, and the widow settled'herself under 
Go when you will, she is seated with a book in her hand— 
either the Scriptures, or a hymn book, or Bunyan’s Holy 
War, or a tract. In the first room, so called, there she sits, 
in a close, crimped cap, the pink of cleanliness, with a table, 
two old-fashioned chairs, a small set of shelves, with a few 
plates, and tea-things upon them, a tiny cupboard with her 
loaf in it, a kettle, a saucepan, and a broom. The inner 
apartment you enter by a low door, and a very high step, 
so that the thin ceiling touches your head, and a little 
square of glass shows you that there is scarcely room to 
stand between the wall and the bed. Light, however, peeps 
in from between the brick-work, and damp settles upon 
every thing, just as it does in a coal-shed. The widow has 
made a strip of matting, which keeps her feet from the 
damp bricks, but the whole tenement is so damp and cold, 
that it drove away an aged spinster last winter, and how the 
widow will “ win through ” the one that is approaching 
seems uncertain. 
Her delight is to go and visit the sick ; and the joy with 
which she takes them a cup of tea, or any little scrap from 
her own cupboard, is quite delightful to see. Sometimes 
she contrives a little apple-dumpling, and then she goes with 
a bit covered up to a poor sick man in a neighbouring 
cottage, with a benevolence of heart, and swelling of the 
breast that a queen might sigh for. She goes to read and 
speak comfortably to those for whom she has nothing else; 
and she speaks a word of exhortation to those ivho know not 
the Lord. Her desire is to glorify God in all things,—and 
to hear her speak, and to mark her little knowledge, one 
cannot but confess that she has been taught of God. 
It is remarkable the way in which the poor and unlearned 
discourse about spiritual things. The educated Christian 
speaks well, and scripturely, and declares the very same 
truths as his humble neighbour ; but from the poor man’s 
lips they come with peculiar unction; there is something in 
the way he sets them forth that the educated man cannot 
attain to. Nobody will understand this but those who have 
listened to them ; it is very strange; but scriptural discourse 
has double power when proceeding from a simple, unculti¬ 
vated mind. 
The widow’s principal business is to cheer poor William 
Adams under his pains and trials. She often sits by his 
side, when he can bear to be talked to, and lifts him up by 
her powerful words. Her energy and fervour is great, and 
lie says, it is most encouraging and reviving to him to listen 
to her conversation. She has had long and deep experience 
herself, and therefore she can minister help and consolation 
to all sorts and conditions of men; and when Christians 
have nothing else to give, they do not go to their afflicted 
brethren empty handed if they tyke with them a word in 
season to those that are weary. 
Readers! which is the happiest ? the rich widow, or the 
poor one? What is it that makes the rose-covered cottage 
dull; and the coal-shed bright with light? 
It is a beautiful sight to see a poor, and aged, and infirm, 
and tottering. Christian “going about,” like our Great 
Example, “doing good; ” ministering, to the utmost of her 
ability, to those who have certainly not less of this world’s 
goods than herself; and, in some cases, much more. But 
kindliness, sympathy, exhortation, correction, and reproof, as 
occasion offers, are Christian duties, and Christian pleasures, 
and it needs nothing but the heart set aright to fulfil them. 
The poor widow lias a heart brimming over with love and 
gratitude to a covenant God, who has led her through a 
howling wilderness, “ in the daytime with a cloud, and all 
the night with a light of lire.” She has not forgotten “ his 
works and his wonders ” that he showed her ; and her plea¬ 
sure now is to “ keep his covenant and walk in his law.” 
This is real happiness; even amidst poverty, infirmity, 
and age. This is to seek rest and to find it. 
Readers! You cannot live in a much v’orse place than a 
coal-shed ; you cannot be much poorer than this poor widow. 
“ Go, and do likewise.” 
