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- POOR MAN’S PUDDING
‘You see,’ said poet Blandmour enthusiastically--as some forty years ago
we walked along the road in a soft, moist snowfall toward the end of
March--‘you see, my friend, that the blessed almoner, Nature, is in all
things beneficent; and not only so, but considerate in her charities, as
any discreet human philanthropist might be. This snow, now, which seems
so unseasonable, is in fact just what a poor husbandman needs. Rightly
is this soft March snow, falling just before seed-time, rightly is it
called “Poor Man’s Manure.” Distilling from kind heaven upon the soil,
by a gentle penetration it nourishes every clod, ridge, and furrow. To
the poor farmer it is as good as the rich farmer’s farm-yard
enrichments. And the poor man has no trouble to spread it, while the
rich man has to spread his.’
‘Perhaps so,’ said I, without equal enthusiasm, brushing some of the
damp flakes from my chest. ‘It may be as you say, dear Blandmour. But
tell me, how is it that the wind drives yonder drifts of “Poor Man’s
Manure” off poor Coulter’s two-acre patch here, and piles it up yonder
on rich Squire Teamster’s twenty-acre field?’
‘Ah! to be sure--yes--well; Coulter’s field, I suppose, is sufficiently
moist without further moistenings. Enough is as good as a feast, you
know.’
‘Yes,’ replied I, ‘of this sort of damp fare,’ shaking another shower of
the damp flakes from my person. ‘But tell me, this warm spring snow may
answer very well, as you say; but how is it with the cold snows of the
long, long winters here?’
‘Why, do you not remember the words of the Psalmist?--“The Lord giveth
snow like wool”; meaning not only that snow is white as wool, but warm,
too, as wool. For the only reason, as I take it, that wool is
comfortable, is because air is entangled, and therefore warmed among its
fibres. Just so, then, take the temperature of a December field when
covered with this snow-fleece, and you will no doubt find it several
degrees above that of the air. So, you see, the winter’s snow _itself_
is beneficent; under the pretence of frost--a sort of gruff
philanthropist--actually warming the earth, which afterward is to be
fertilisingly moistened by these gentle flakes of March.’
‘I like to hear you talk, dear Blandmour; and, guided by your benevolent
heart, can only wish to poor Coulter plenty of this “Poor Man’s
Manure.”’
‘But that is not all,’ said Blandmour eagerly. ‘Did you never hear of
the “Poor Man’s Eye-water”?’
‘Never.’
‘Take this soft March snow, melt it, and bottle it. It keeps pure as
alcohol. The very best thing in the world for weak eyes. I have a whole
demijohn of it myself. But the poorest man, afflicted in his eyes, can
freely help himself to this same all-bountiful remedy. Now, what a kind
provision is that!’
‘Then “Poor Man’s Manure” is “Poor Man’s Eye-water” too?’
‘Exactly. And what could be more economically contrived? One thing
answering two ends--ends so very distinct.’
‘Very distinct, indeed.’
‘Ah! that is your way. Making sport of earnest. But never mind. We have
been talking of snow; but common rain-water--such as falls all the year
round--is still more kindly. Not to speak of its known fertilising
quality as to fields, consider it in one of its minor lights. Pray, did
you ever hear of a “Poor Man’s Egg”?’
‘Never. What is that, now?’
‘Why, in making some culinary preparations of meal and flour, where eggs
are recommended in the receipt-book, a substitute for the eggs may be
had in a cup of cold rain-water, which acts as leaven. And so a cup of
cold rain-water thus used is called by housewives a “Poor Man’s Egg.”
And many rich men’s housekeepers sometimes use it.’
‘But only when they are out of hen’s eggs, I presume, dear Blandmour.
But your talk is--I sincerely say it--most agreeable to me. Talk on.’
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