“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 fertilizing 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.”
“Then there’s ‘Poor Man’s Plaster’ for wounds and other bodily harms; an alleviative and curative, compounded of simple, natural things; and so, being very cheap, is accessible to the poorest sufferers. Rich men often use ‘Poor Man’s Plaster’.”
“But not without the judicious advice of a fee’d physician, dear Blandmour.”
“Doubtless, they first consult the physician; but that may be an unnecessary precaution.”
“Perhaps so. I do not gainsay it. Go on.”
“Well, then, did you ever eat of a ‘Poor Man’s Pudding’?”