aracter. Shrewd, clever, and
better informed than the inhabitants of his little village of some
eighty folk, he was not "looked up to," but was regarded with suspicion,
and, in short, was not popular, while treated with a certain amount of
deference, being a man of some knowledge and ability. The clergyman was
a man of excellent character, learned, a fluent _ex-tempore_ preacher,
and one who liked the services to be nicely conducted. He came over
every Sunday and ministered two services. In those days the only organ
was a good long pitch-pipe constructed principally of wood and, I
imagine, about twelve inches in length. But upon the parish clerk
devolved the onerous (and it may be added in this case sonorous) duty of
starting the hymn and the singing. In those days few could read, and the
method was adopted (and I know successfully adopted a few years later)
of announcing two lines of the verse to be sung, and sometimes the whole
verse. But Mr. W.M. was unpopular, and people did not always manifest a
willingness to sing with him.

At last a crisis came. The hymn and psalm were announced. The pitch-pipe
rightly adjusted gave the proper keynote, and the clerk essayed to sing.
But from some cause matters were not harmonious and none attempted to
help the clerk.

With a scowl not worthy of a saint, the offended official turned round
upon the congregation and closed all further attempts at psalm-singing
by stating clearly and distinctly, "I shan't sing if nobody don't
foller." This man was deposed ere long, and deservedly, if village
suspicions were truthful.

After which, I think, he usually came just inside the church once every
Sunday, but never to get further than to take a seat close to the door.
He died at a great age. Two or three of his successors were worthy men.
One of them would carefully recite the Psalms for the coming Sunday
within church or elsewhere during the week, and he read with proper
feeling and good sense.

Another of the same little parish, well up in his Bible, once helped the
very excellent clergyman at a baptism in a critical moment. "Name this
child." "Zulphur." This was not a correct name. Another effort,
"Sulphur." The clergyman was in difficulty. The clerk was equal to the
occasion, for the parson was well up in his Bible too.

"Leah's handmaid," suggested the clerk. "Zilpah, I baptize thee," said
the priest, and all was well.

In that church the few farmers who met to levy a poor-rate a