When the shepherd and his family who tenanted the house were pitied for their sufferings from the exposure, they said that upon the whole they were less inconvenienced by 'wuzzes and flames' (hoarses and phlegms) than when they had lived by the stream of a snug neighbouring valley.
The night of March 28, 182-, was precisely one of the nights that were wont to call forth these expressions of commiseration.

The level rainstorm smote walls, slopes, and hedges like the clothyard shafts of Senlac and Crecy.

Such sheep and outdoor animals as had no shelter stood with their buttocks to the winds; while the tails of little birds trying to roost on some scraggy thorn were blown inside-out like umbrellas.

The gable-end of the cottage was stained with wet, and the eavesdroppings flapped against the wall.

Yet never was commiseration for the shepherd more misplaced.