The hero of my story was a countryman; you may, if you please, fancy his neat white cottage on the hill-side, with its rustic porch, all overgrown with jasmine, roses, and clematis; the pretty garden and orchard belonging to it, with the snug poultry yard, the shed for the cow, and the stack of food for winter’s use on one side.

[Illustration:  The poultry yard.]

You may fancy the pleasure of the little children who lived at this cottage in going with their mother morning and evening to feed the poultry; the noise and bustle among the feathered tribe at this time; how some rudely push before and peck the others in their anxiety to obtain the first grains that fall from the basket, and how the little children take care that the most greedy shall not get it all; their joy at seeing the young broods of tiny chicks covered with downy feathers, and the anxiety of the hens each to protect her own from danger, and teach them to scratch and pick up food for themselves; while they never forget to admire and praise the beauty of the fine old cock, as he struts about with an air of magnificence, like the very king of the guard.

  “High was his comb, and coral red withal,
  In dents embattled like a castle wall;
  His bill was raven-black and shone like jet,
  Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet;
  White were his nails, like silver to behold! 
  His body glittering like burnished gold.”

If you had been there, you would have wished to visit the little orchard; to see the gentle cow, and the geese feeding on the common beyond; to watch the young ducklings, dipping and ducking and enjoying their watering sport in the pond.

If it be spring, the children would delight in gathering the sweet-scented meadow flowers—­the water ranunculus, with its golden cups, the modest daisy, the pink cuckoo-flower, and the yellow cowslips; while overhead the bees kept up a constant humming; they have found their way from the straw hives in the garden and are diving into the delicious blossoms of the apple and cherry trees, robbing many a one of its sweets.

[Illustration:  The Bee hive.]

But now to my history of what did really happen to a countryman, who very likely lived in such a pretty cottage as I have described.

He had more poultry in his yard than he needed for his own use; some of them had been fatted for sale; and wishing to turn them into money, he left his home, which was near Bristol, with a basket full of them on his arm.  Having reached the river, he went on board the ferry boat, intending to go across to a place called Bristol Hot-Wells.  Many gentle folks visit this spot for the sake of drinking the waters of the wells, which are thought to be very beneficial in some complaints; and no doubt our countryman hoped that among them his poultry would fetch a good price.

The ferry boat was nearly half way over the river, when, by some accident, the poor man lost his footing and fell into the stream; he could not swim, and the current carried him more than a hundred yards from the boat; but he kept fast hold of his poultry basket, which being buoyant, supported him until he was perceived, and rescued by some men in a fishing-smack.