ten that happens!" She was probably not
alluding to the South African or the Japanese war, but to railway
accidents, as she at once told her favourite story of her solitary
journey to Newmarket, when on her return she remarked, "If I live to set
foot on firm ground, never no more for me."

The old clerk used to escort the boys and girls to their confirmation at
Bury, and superintended their meal of bread, beer, and cheese after the
rite. There was no music at Westley, except when Mr. Humm, the clerk of
Fornham, "brought up his fiddle and some of the Fornham girls."
Nowadays, adds the rector, the Rev. C.L. Feltoe, the clerks are much
more illiterate than their predecessors, and, unlike them,
non-communicants.

Another East Anglian clerk was a quaint character, who had a great
respect for all the old familiar residents in his town of S----, and a
corresponding contempt for all new-comers. The family of my informant
had resided there for nearly a century, and had, therefore, the approval
of the clerk. On one occasion some of the family found their seat
occupied by some new people who had recently settled in the town. The
clerk rushed up, and in a loud voice, audible all over the church,
exclaimed:

"Never you mind that air muck in your pew. I'll soon turn 'em out. The
imperent muck, takin' your seats!"

The family insisted upon "the muck" being left in peace, and forbade the
eviction.

The old clerk used vigorously a long stick to keep the school children
in order. He was much respected, and his death universally regretted.

Fifty years ago there was a dear, good old clerk, named Bamford, at
Mangotsfield Church, who used to give out the hymns, verse by verse. The
vicar always impressed upon him to read out the words in a loud voice,
and at the last word in each verse to pitch his voice. The hymn, "This
world's a dream," was rendered in this fashion:

"This world's a _drame_, an empty shoe,
But this bright world to which I goo
Hath jaays substantial an' sincere,
When shall I wack and find me THEER?"

William Smart, the parish clerk of Windermere in the sixties, was a rare
specimen. By trade an auctioneer and purveyor of Westmorland hams, he
was known all round the countryside. He was very patronising to the
assistant curates, and a favourite expression of his was "me and my
curate." When one of his curates first took a wedding he was commanded
by the clerk, "When you get to 'hold his peace,