THE PLOUGHMAN TURNED
POET.

N a recent number of the COTTAGER
we gave an account of a king who
turned ship-carpenter. We now
tell the story of a ploughman who

became a poct.

JOHN CLARE was born at Helpstone, near Peterborough, in Northamptonshire, in the year 1793, in which village his parents spent their days. Parker Clare, his father, was a farm labourer, never carning more than a few shillings a week. Hard work, poor fare, and exposure to bad weather, made him a helpless cripple from rheumatism and other diseases; so that, whilst his son John was but a lad, he was obliged to come upon the parish, who allowed him five shillings a week to keep himself and family.

It seems wonderful that John should have been able to procure any education at all in a family so destitute as his. That he succeeded in learning anything may show that

there are no difficulties which cannot be overcome by a steady and determined will. In those days there were neither National, British, nor even Sunday Schools, and the children of working people generally grew up in total ignorance. It was therefore the more remarkable that this village lad should have set his heart upon getting an education for himself. He had to work all day in the fields, helping his father to gain a scanty living. But by extra work as ploughboy, and in other ways, he earned a few pence: these he spent in paying the fee at an evening school in the neighbouring village of Glinton. He could, by working over-hours for two months, save enough to pay for a month's schooling. Thus, in the course of three years he received enough instruction to enable him to read the Bible. A kindhearted exciseman taught him a little writing and arithmetic. At school he sometimes received a few pence as a reward for diligence-once he had sixpence given him for repeating the third chapter of the book of Job. With these small sums he bought a few books, which he read with the utmost eagerness. When he had learned to read tolerably well, he borrowed from one of his companions a copy of Robinson Crusoe. This so deeply interested him that he redoubled his diligence in the acquisition of knowledge. When about thirteen years of age a copy of Thomson's Seasons fell in his way. This was like the opening of a new world to him. The passion for poetry which had hitherto been sleeping in his soul was called forth into activity. He determined to possess the book himself. As soon as he had saved a shilling he started off for Stamford, a distance of six or seven miles, to buy it. In his eagerness and fear of being too late, he arrived there before the shops were

Most of his poems were composed whilst working in the fields. He could not trust his memory, and therefore wrote them down with a pencil on the spot, copying them out when he got home. His writing was so bad that if he had no opportunity of transcribing what he had written for some days, he could seldom make it out. How little he thought of his poems, or how little he expected them to please others, is shown by the fact that he used to keep them in a hole of the wall of his father's cottage, and one of them was often taken to hold the kettle or light the fire.

He still continued to live with his parents, and get work from the farmers of the neighbourhood as best he could, for he had no regular place. His wages were five shillings

a week, but often no work was to be had. In the year 1817, whilst a farm labourer at Bridge Casterton, about nine miles from Helpstone, the idea of publishing a volume of poems came into his mind. His master gave him notice to reduce his wages, during the winter, from nine to seven shillings a week.

submit, and having saved a pound, by workTo this he was not disposed to ing hard night and day, he had a paper printed announcing a volume of poems, and soliciting purchasers by subscription, the price not to exceed three shillings and sixpence. He distributed the prospectuses himself, but without success. He only got seven subscribers, and the scheme broke down. This, however, proved to be the turning-point in his history. A prospectus and one of his short poems fell into the hands of a printer at Stamford, who sought out the ploughboy poet, induced him to make a collection of his poems, and sent them to a London publisher, who gave him £20 for them. They were published in the year 1820, and were very well received, and soon went through three editions.

The sale of the volumes and the contributions of several noblemen and gentlemen, whose attention was called to his remarkable history, produced enough to procure for Clare an income of £30 a year for life. He now married the daughter of a small farmer, to whom he had long been attached, and whom he had celebrated in his poetry as "Patty of the Vale," and "the rosebud in humble life." The young couple resided with Clare's father and mother, whose old age they made comfortable, for £30 a year was looked upon by these simple rustics as a fortune.

In the following year Clare published another volume of poetry, and contributed

to various periodicals. His fame as a pot was rapidly rising, and his true genius was universally acknowledged. But, alas! like most poets, he did not understand the management of money. management of money. He tried farming, and failed. His little hoard was soon lost, and he found himself involved in pecuniary difficulties. He sank down into a condition of nervous despondency, from which he never rallied. Last year he died in the Lunatic Asylum, in which he had been placed. Many of the pieces written before his mind gave way encourage the belief that he was not a stranger to the love of God, and that he had a good hope beyond the grave. Amongst these is the following sonnet to The Setting Sun :

This scene, how beauteous to a musing mind,
That now swift glides from my enchanted view;
The sun sweet setting yon far hills behind,
In other worlds his visits to renew:
What spangled glories all around him shine;
What nameless colours, cloudless and serena
(A heavenly prospect, brightest in decline),
Attend his exit from this lovely scene.
So sets the Christian's sun, in glories clear;
So shines his soul at his departure here:

No clouding doubts, nor misty fears arise,
To dim Hope's golden rays of being forgiven;
His Sun, sweet setting in the clearest skies,
In Faith's assurance wings the soul to heaven.

THE TWO MASTERS.

WIDOW MOSS was busy with her needs,

for she was preparing her boy's clothes against he went to a new place. Every now and then she gave a look up the road from her cottage window to see if he were coming but it was late before he opened the door and walked in.

I had almost given you up," she said. "Just see what a good job I've made of your old coat. I expect it won't be large enough for you long, but you'll be able soon to buy yourself another, and then you can give it to Jack."

Dick sat down after looking at the coût, and his mother asked many questions about his expected new place; to all of which he made but short answers.

"I doubt, lad," said Betty, "you'll never get a better master than him you're leaving." "I don't want to, as to that," said Dick.

And they do say," said Betty, "that if you'd stayed on he'd have raised you to be wagoner next year."

"Who said so?" asked Dick. "Well, it was the dairy-maid told my neighbour here; she's aunt to her." "What does the dairy-maid know about it?" said Dick.

Betty couldn't satisfy him as to that, but finding that Dick continued dull, she asked him what ailed him; and at last he confessed that he had misgivings as to whether he was going to change for the better. He had heard that Mr. Dawes, his new master, was in the habit of drinking occasionally, and

at those times he didn't care what he said or did among his servants; so that there was great disorder in the family, and several had gone away in disgrace with bad characters.

Betty looked very grave when she heard. this.

"Two pounds a year is a good deal," said Dick; but if I thought Mr. Walker would make me wagoner in a year, I'd stay on though he would not raise me one pound."

Just then Tom Dodsley, a labouring man, and some kin to the widow, looked in, and, nodding to Dick, asked him if he was going to change this Michaelmas.

"Yes, thinking of it," said Dick. "I can have a rise of two pounds."

"That's well," said Tom. " Where to?"

"Mr. Dawes, of the Oaks," said Dick, looking steadily in Tom's face, for he wanted to see how he would take it.

"Mr. Dawes !" cried Tom. "Oh! well! I hope you won't learn to spend your rise in drink; and I hope, too, that you'll leave with a good character."

66

D'ye think I shan't?" said Dick.

"It's rather a chance for anybody," said "but I don't want to set you against the place."

Tom;

What he said, however, added to what he had heard, had great weight with Dick, who went back, puzzled as to whether he should ask his master to keep him on, or fix on taking the place at the Oaks. Jane Clare, the dairy-maid, was bustling about, and met him as he passed through the fold. "Dick," she said, "I've been looking for you to help me a bit in the dairy. I'm going out to-morrow, and want to get done."

Going statutes?" he asked. "Me going to statutes!" said Jane. "Indeed I should hope I was above that, even if I wanted to change my place." "Then you don't mean to change ?" said Dick.

"If I knew what that was !" thought Dick. Just then there was a great rattling in the yard. Dick ran out, and who should be there but Mr. Dawes in his cart. His face was very red, for he had been drinking.

"Well!" he cried, with a smile, "I want you to come to me by ten o'clock; my son is off, like a vagabond as he is, so come directly you're at liberty."

"Thank ye, sir," said Dick, "I'm going to stay on;" for Mr. Dawes' voice and face had quite cured him of the wish to change.

Right glad was he to tell his mother that he should be wagoner next year with his old master, Mr. Walker. Dick never had reason to repent his decision.

master.

"A LEAP IN THE DARK."

N a very cold morning in February, a very cold morning in February, 1831," says Grant Thorburn, of America, "I was one of a party of fifteen who left Hoboken, in a stage couch, bound for the city of Albany.

"Among our passengers was a young woman who was returning to her friends in the west. Most of the journey there sat on her right hand a respectable farmer from Ohio, who, by his observations, must have seen much of men and their manners. On her left sat a young man about twentytwo, in the vigour of life and health, on his way home from college. Our farmer, when speaking of the inhabitants in the new settlements, remarked, that wherever there was a church the people were more orderly, sober, and well-behaved than were those This

"All well," said the farmer, "do what's best for yourself."

religion, ridiculed the Bible, and said death at the worst was only a leap in the dark. But ah, this leap in the dark! We little

thought that our courage, in a few minutes, would be put to the test.

"It had rained all day, the road became worse and worse, and the driver said he would take to the river, which had been frozen over for some time. The passengers, one and all, remonstrated to no effect. At every stopping-place, while the horses drank water, the driver drank rum. Our fears arose from the danger of getting into airholes, which could not be seen, as the ice was covered two feet with water. Fear was now on every countenance. I looked on our farmer; he was evidently uneasy, and said it was unsafe and imprudent. I looked on the young woman; she was pale, thoughtful, and serious, but spoke not. While I watched the effect of fear on her countenance, she took from her basket a little red book; she opened it, turned a few leaves, and read about a minute. As she shut the book and replaced it in her basket, she closed her eyes, and her lips moved in prayer. The young man trembled in every limb. This leap in the dark had taken him by surprise; he was like one without hope,-while she, placing her foot firmly on the Rock of Ages, remained firm and composed.

"We arrived at Albany by sun-down. Before we separated I asked her for the title much when we were dragging in the water. of the little book which had pleased her so

It proved to be Daily Food for Christians,' and she pointed to the text for that day in February: As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round about his people from henceforth even for ever."

THE

HOME COMFORTS. THERE are many things which working men and women, as well as their richer neighbours, are in the habit of using every

prived, even for one day, they would think day of their lives, of which if they were dethemselves very badly off. No woman who endeavours to make her home a greater attraction to her husband and children than the cheerful-looking tap-room and the busy street, with their evil examples and influences, would consider her home complete without these little helps to comfort. Yet how many are there who never give a thought to the labour and toil spent in their production, or know even from what part of the world they come, or, more than all, bestow a single thought of gratitude on that kind God "who giveth us richly all things to enjoy!"

The following is the first of a series of short papers concerning articles of every-day use, such as sugar, tea, coffee, etc.

I. SUGAR, AND ITS CULTIVATION.

Sugar, which is now looked upon as almost one of the necessaries of life, was a luxury wealthy they might be. At the present day it seldom indulged in by our forefathers, however finds its way alike into the cottage of the poor and the mansion of the rich; and in those countries where it is produced it is looked upon

as one of the greatest blessings bestowed upon mankind.

The practice of sweetening food is older than the knowledge of sugar; in olden times honey was used. Sugar is extracted from a great variety of trees and vegetables grown for the purpose. That which we use is obtained from the sugar-cane, which appears to have been known from a very early date, though only introduced into Europe as an article of food

about 600 years ago,

when it was called "Indian salt." The largest proportion of sugar is obtained from the West India Islands; but a large quantity is produced in South America and some parts of India, but the climate is not SO favourable to its growth as the West Indies. There are several varieties of the sugarcane, that which yields the sweetest and largest quantity of juice being the most valuable. The stem in every species of cane is round and hard, and divided at short intervals by joints. One kind, called the "ribbon cane," has a very beautiful appearance while growing, being of a purple colour, with bright golden stripes.

In planting the cane, the fields are well tilled and harrowed, the furrows run from six to ten feet apart, and the short pieces of cane, called "seed-cane," dropped two or three together, according to the judgment of the planter, and covered with earth from three to four inches deep. Every piece or joint contains a bud which encloses the germ of a new cane; and as the young plant rises from the soil, the cane breaks loose from the leaves, and joint after joint comes to perfection. The first joints require from four to five months to ripen; and in the course of nine months the cane is ready for cutting.

Like every other crop, it requires constant attention to keep it free from weeds; and as the cane advances, the plough and hoe are used to throw the soil over the roots to protect them from the heat of the midsummer months. By the beginning of July the spreading leaves cast a dark shade upon the ground, which effectually prevents the growth of weeds, and the plant is now strong enough to take care of itself.

When crop-time comes, the whole population are busily employed in the fields and mills. For some weeks the work goes on almost without ceasing day or night.

The field-hands, armed with huge knives, pass between the rows, which hide them from view. The tufted tops of the canes are violently shaken to and fro; you hear a crackling noise-a blowand the long lines are broken and fall. The cane is stripped of its leaves, the green tops are cut off, and the ripe part carried to the mill. It is there passed between heavy iron rollers, which squeeze out the juice. The cane comes out crushed into ribbons, and is used as fuel for the steam-engine. The raw juice of the sugarcane is exceedingly nutritious, and in many tropical regions it forms part of the ordinary food; every child has a piece of sugar-cane in its hand; while the negroes become quite fat in crop-time on the delicious juice. A little lime is mixed with the juice in order to clear it, and it is run into large pans over furnaces. When the juice boils, there rises to the top a large quantity of woody fibre and scum, which is carefully skimmed off.

At this stage a great deal depends upon the skill of the sugar-maker. He observes the syrup as it cools upon his ladle, and if it will string into beads it is sufficiently boiled. It is now quickly transferred to long wooden troughs, or "coolers," where it gradually thickens and crystalises. When this process is completed, the next thing is what is called "potting the sugar," which means to put it in hogsheads, where it is left to drain; the drainings are well known by the name of molasses. It is afterwards further refined in order to make loaf or lump sugar.

In 1864 our home consumption amounted to 527,000 tons, equal to about 40 pounds of sugar per head of the population! and the quantity is rapidly increasing. Taking three tons of sugar and molasses as the average produce of an acre of land, it requires upwards of 175,000 acres of rich land to produce the sugar yearly consumed in the British islands!

On the continent of Europe sugar is also extensively manufactured from the beet-root, vast quantities of which are grown for the purpose. In India the various varieties of the palm-tree yield a juice which, when boiled, gives a brownish raw sugar; and in the South Sea Islands the sap of the cocoa-nut tree is boiled till it resembles molasses. In China and Japan a species of sugar-cane, called sorghum, has been cultivated from very early times. In Canada and the United States a large quantity of excellent sugar is made from the sap of the sugar-maple, a large tree growing to the height of fifty or sixty feet; and of late years also been manufactured from the of maize or Indian corn.

WAITING FOR THE STEAMER.

it has

green

stalks