A Nice Midden
I read the other day in a book by a great agricultural specialist that men ought not in these days to be asked to deal with manure manually. Later I came upon the following passage:
" The midden must be levelled and turned at intervals, a grand job on a cold winter day, as the manure generates a strong warmth which penetrates through boot soles right to the finger-tips. If somebody suffering from loss of appetite could spend a day turning a midden, I am quite sure they would eat anything and everything set before them at the end. It is the hungriest job that ever man invented."
This was written by a delicately nurtured tenderfoot, whose natural profession is obviously literature. In general, I think, our rural critics grow much too nice. They are like Elizabeth's neighbours in Pride and Prejudice, who were horrified that their visitor had walked—think of it— and got her boots muddy. So. unlady-like!
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