In some counties, but not so far as I am aware in Worcestershire, one of the harmless snappers up of unconsidered trifles is the truffle-hunter.  At Alton, in Hampshire, one of these men appeared in summer; he carried an implement like a short-handled thistle spud, but with a much longer blade, similar to that of a small spade but narrower; he was accompanied by a frisky little Frenchified dog, unlike any dog one commonly sees, and very alert.  The hunting ground was beneath the overhanging branches of beech-trees, growing on a chalky soil; the man encouraged the dog by voice to hunt the surface of the land regularly over; when the dog scented the truffles underneath, he began to scratch, whereupon the implement came into use, and they were soon secured.  I have since been sorry that I did not interview this truffle-hunter as to his methods and as to his dog, for I believe he is no longer to be seen in his old haunts.  But I did get a pound or two to try, and was disappointed by the absence of flavour.  I have since read that the English truffle is considered very inferior to the French, which is used in making pate de foie gras.

The wool-stapler makes his rounds as soon as shearing is completed; his first call is to examine the fleeces, and if a deal results a second visit follows for weighing and packing.  He is of course well up in market values, probably receiving a telegram every morning, when trade is active, from the great wool-trade centre, Bradford.  He is not unwilling to give a special price for quality, but will sometimes stipulate for secrecy as to the sum, because farmers, naturally, compare notes, and everyone thinks himself entitled to the top price no matter how inferior or badly washed his wool may be.  The Bradford stapler has the northern method of speech, which sounds unfamiliar in the midland and southern counties, but it is not so cryptic as that of the Scottish wool trade.  The following colloquy is reported as having passed between two Scots over a deal in woollen cloth.

Buyer. “’Oo?”

Seller.  “Ay, ’oo.”

Buyer.  “A’ ’oo?”

Seller.  “Ay, a’ ’oo.”

Buyer.  “A’ a ’oo?”

Seller.  “Ay, a’ a ’oo.”

Which, being interpreted, is:  “Wool?”—­“Yes, wool.”  “All wool?”—­“Yes, all wool.”  “All one wool?”—­“Yes, all one wool.”

When the stapler arrives for the weighing he brings his steelyards and sheets; the wool is trod into the sheets, sewn up, and each sheet weighed separately, an allowance being made for “tare” (the weight of the sheet), and for “draught” (1/2 a pound in each tod, or 28 pounds).  This last is a survival of the old method of weighing wool, when only enough fleeces were weighed at a time on the farmer’s small machine to come to a tod as nearly as possible.  Buyers did not recognize anything but level pounds (no quarters or halves), and consequently they got on the average half a pound over the tod at each separate weighing, gratis.