He was an excellent gardener, but did not care about novelties in flowers, though at one time he made a hobby of raising new kinds of potatoes. His greatest success was the original Ashleaf variety, the stock of which he sold to Mr. Myatt for a guinea, and which was afterwards introduced to the public as "Myatt's Early Ashleaf." It was one of the best potatoes ever grown, very early, and splendid in quality, and it was unfortunate that he parted with it so cheaply, though, of course, the purchaser of the first few tubers had no idea of its immense potential value, and possibly, like so many novelties, it might have proved a failure. It is still in cultivation, though its constitution is impaired, like that of all potatoes of long standing. Later on I shall have more to say about this unfortunate tendency to deterioration. J.E. was one of my most reliable men, working for me, first as under-carter and afterwards as head carter, for, I think, altogether twenty-six years; he was well educated and a great reader, quiet and somewhat reserved, and though his humour did not lie on the surface, he could appreciate a joke. My recollections of him, after his steadiness and reliability, are chiefly of his personal mishaps, for he was an unlucky man in this particular. I was on my round one morning when I met a breathless carter-boy making for the village. Asked where he was off to, "Please, sir," he replied, "I be to fetch Master E. another pair of trowsers!" "Trousers," said I; "what on earth for?" "Please, sir, the bull ha' ripped 'em!" I hurried on, and soon saw that it was no laughing matter, for I found poor E. in a terrible plight of rags and tatters, sitting in a cart-shed in some outlying buildings, on a roller. The cowman was standing by holding a Jersey bull. The story was soon told. The cowman, having to go into the yard, had asked E. to hold the bull a minute. Unfortunately, the animal had only a halter on him, the cowman having omitted to bring the stick, with hook and swivel, to attach to the bull's nose-ring. No sooner was the cowman out of sight than the bull began to fret, and, turning upon E., knocked him down between a mangoldbury and the outside wall of the yard. In this position he was unable to get a direct attack upon the man, but he managed to gore him badly and tear his clothes to pieces. The cowman, hearing E. calling, came back and rescued him, the bull becoming quite docile with his regular attendant. Poor E. was black and blue when he got home in the pony-cart, and was laid up for many weeks afterwards. He undoubtedly had a very narrow escape. It is curious that, though the Jersey cows are the most docile of any kind, the bulls are the most uncertain and, when annoyed, savage; I had trouble with two or three, and one became so dangerous that he had to be killed in his stall.