1. In the last age there was a familiarity between the parson and the
clerk and the people, which our feelings of decorum would revolt at, _e.
g._--“I have seen the ungodly flourish like a _green bay_ tree.”--“How
can that be, maister?” said the clerk of St. Clement’s. Of this I was
myself an ear-witness.
2. At Kenwyn, two dogs, one of which was the parson’s, were fighting at
the west-end of the church; the parson, who was then reading the second
lesson, rushed out of the pew, and went down and parted them, returned
to his pew, and, doubtful where he had left off, asked the clerk,
“Roger, where was I?” “Why down parting the dogs, maister,” said Roger.
3. At Mevagizzey, when non-resident clergymen officiated, it was usual
with the squire of the parish to invite them to dinner. Several years
ago, a non-resident clergyman was requested to do duty in the church of
Mevagizzey on a Sunday, when the Creed of St. Athanasius is directed to
be read. Before he had begun the service, the parish-clerk asked him,
whether he intended to read the Athanasian Creed that morning. “Why?”
said the clergyman. “Because if you do, no dinner for you at the
squire’s, at Penwarne.”
4. A very short time since, parish-clerks used to read the first lesson.
I once heard the St. Agnes clerk cry out, “At the mouth of the burning
_viery vurnis_,--Shadrac, Meshac, and Abednego, _com voath and com
hether_.” [Daniel, chap, iii.]
The clerk of Lamorran, in giving out the Psalm, “Like a timorous bird to
distant mountains fly,” always said, “Like a _temmersum burde_, &c. &c.”
with a shake of the head, and a quavering of the voice, which could not
but provoke risibility.[192]
[192] Rev. Mr. Polwhele’s Recollections.
* * * * *
~Custom~