Heavy and stolid the Dorset rustic may be, though there is no reason to suppose that he is slower than any other rustic, but one is inclined to think that the "stupidity" of the countryman covers a deep, if only half-realised, philosophy. Nevertheless we must admit that Hodge often wins through in his slow way. There is a good deal of humour in the Dorset rustic, but perhaps most of his wit is unconscious. That reminds me of the story of a Dorset crier who kept the officials of the Town Hall waiting for two hours on a certain morning. They were about to open the proceedings without him when a boy rushed in and handed the Mayor a message. He read the message and seemed deeply affected. Then he announced: "I have just received a message from our crier, saying, 'Wife's mother passed away last night. Will not be able to cry to-day.'" That story may be a very ancient "chestnut," but here is a true instance of Hodge's unconscious humour. The wife of a blacksmith at an isolated forge in Dorset had died rather suddenly, and it happened that during one of my rambles I applied to the forge for food and lodging for the night. The old fellow opened the door to me, and I guessed that he was in trouble by the fresh crape band round his soft felt hat, which is weekday mourning of the rustic. However, the old fellow was quite pleased to have me for company, and I stayed at his forge for some days. "Her was a clever woman; her kept my things straight," he said to me one night at supper, as he looked wistfully at his old jacket full of simple rents from hedgerow briars. "But it's no manner of use grumbling--I never was a _bull-sowerlugs_ [a morose fellow]. And thank the Lord she was took quick. I went off for the doctor four miles away, and when I gets there he was gone off somewhere else; so I turned, and in tramping back along remembered I had a bottle of medicine which he did give me last year, so says I, 'That will do for the ol' woman'; so I gave it to her and she died." The old blacksmith drank his beer and dealt with his ham and bread for ten minutes in silence. Then he looked into the amber depths of his ale and said: "_Say, mister--wasn't it a good job I didn't take that bottle of physic myself?_"