palates.  The stone mill has been superseded to some extent by the steam “scratter”; but the cider is not considered so good, as the kernels are left uncrushed, an important omission, as they add largely to the flavour of the finished product.  After a hot dry summer, cider is unusually strong, because the sugar in the apples is much more fully developed.  It is recognized that these hot summers produce what are known as vintage years for cider, just as, on the Continent, they produce vintage wines.

Jarge, of whom I have written, was the presiding genius in the cider-mill, and his duties began as soon as hop-picking was over.  All traces of the downward inclination of the corners of his mouth, caused by the delinquencies of recalcitrant hoppers, quite disappeared as soon as his new duties commenced, and it was a pleasure to see his jovial face beaming over a job which seemed to have no drawbacks.  A really Bacchanalian presence is the only one that should be tolerated in a cider-maker; the lean and hungry character is quite out of place amidst the fragrance of the crushed apples, and the generous liquor running from the press.

The cider-maker is always allowed a liberal quantity of last year’s produce, on the principle of “thou shalt not muzzle the ox when he treadeth out the corn”—­a principle that should always be recognized in the labourer’s hire, and one which is too often forgotten by the public in its estimate of the necessities of the farmer himself.  It is usual for the man in possession, so to speak, of the cider-mill, to mix, for his own consumption, some of the new unfermented liquor with the old cider, which, after twelve months, is apt to be excessively sour; but the quantity of the former must not be in too large a proportion, as it has a powerful medicinal effect.

     “Wouldst thou thy vats with generous juice should froth? 
     Respect thy orchats:  think not that the trees
     Spontaneous will produce a wholesome draught,
     Let art correct thy breed.”

So sang Philips in his Cyder in the distant days of 1706, but the advice is as sound as ever, for good cider can only be produced from the right kinds of apples.  The names of new sorts are legion, but some of the old varieties are still considered to be very valuable.  Among these, the Foxwhelp has been a favourite for 200 years, and others in great esteem are Skyrme’s Kernal, Forest Styre, Hagloe Crab, Dymock Red, Bromley, Cowarne Red, and Styre Wilding.  It requires about twenty “pots” (a local measure each weighing 64 pounds) to make a hogshead of cider; a hogshead is roughly 100 gallons, and in Worcestershire is hardly recognizable under the name of “oxsheard”—­I have never seen the word in print, but the local pronunciation is faithfully represented by my spelling.  Another local appellation which puzzled me for some years was “crab varges,” which I eventually discovered to mean “verjuice,” a terribly sour liquid, made in the same way as cider from crab apples.  It was considered a wonderfully stimulating specific for sprains and strains, holding the same pre-eminent position as an embrocation, as did “goose-grace” (goose-grease) as an ointment or emollient.  This substance is the melted fat of a goose, and was said to be so powerful that, if applied to the back of the hand, it could shortly be recognized on the palm!