One remembers the story of the man doing some Sunday carpentering; his
wife expostulated with him as a Sabbath breaker; he replied that in
driving in the nails he could not help making some noise; "then why,"
said she, "don't you use screws?"
An old Dorset labourer who helped with the removal of the pig-wash,
and did other small jobs for successive tenants of mine at a furnished
cottage on my land in Hampshire, invariably estimated the social
status and resources of each new tenant by the consistency of the
wash. When some rather extravagant occupiers were in possession, he
reported them as, "Quite the right sort; their wash is real good,
thick stuff." The villagers at Aldington did not smoke their bacon,
but, as it usually hung in the kitchen not far from the big open
hearth, and as the place was often full of fragrant wood smoke, the
bacon acquired a pleasant suggestion of the smoked article of the
southern counties. The cottagers rarely complained of the smoky state
of their kitchens, consoling themselves with the saying, "'Tis better
to be smoke-dried nor starred [starved with the cold] to death." Bacon
naturally suggests eggs; many of the villagers kept a few fowls which
sometimes strayed into my orchards; as a rule, I made no objection,
but it was not pleasing, when the apples were over-ripe and dropping
from the trees, to notice the destructive marks of their beaks on some
extra fine Blenheim oranges.
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