ish notices with reference to the lost, stolen, or
strayed animals were read out in church at the commencement of the
service, the clerk of a church [my informant has forgotten the name of
the parish] rose in his place and said:

"This is to give notice that my Lady ---- has lost her little dog; he
comes to the name of Shock; he is all white except two patches of black
on his sides and he has got--eh?--what?--yes--no--upon my soul he has
got four eyes!" It should have been sore eyes, but the long _s_ had
misled the clerk.

The clerk does not always shine as an orator, but a correspondent who
writes from the Charterhouse can vouch for the following effort of one
who lived in a village not a hundred miles from Harrow about thirty
years ago.

There was a tea for the school children, at which the clerk, a farm
labourer, spoke thus: "You know, my friends, that if we wants to get a
good crop of anything we dungs the ground. Now what I say is, if we
wants our youngsters to crop properly, we must see that they are
properly dunged--- put the larning into them like dung, and they'll do
all right."

The subject of the Disestablishment of the Church was scarcely
contemplated by a clerk in the diocese of Peterborough, who, after the
amalgamation of two parishes, stated that he was desired by the vicar to
announce that the services in each parish would be morning and evening
to _all eternity_. It is thought that he meant to say _alternately_.

I have often referred to the ancient clerkly method of giving out the
hymns. It was a terrible blow to the clerk when the parsons began to
interfere with his prerogative and give out the hymns themselves. All
clerks did not revenge themselves on the usurpers of their ancient right
as did one of their number, who was very indignant when a strange
clergyman insisted on giving out the hymns himself. In due course he
gave out "the fifty-third hymn," when out popped the old clerk's head
from under the red curtains which hung round the gallery, and which gave
him the appearance of wearing a nightcap, and he shouted, "That a baint!
A be the varty-zeventh."

The following account of a notice, which was scarcely authorised, shows
the homely manners of former days. It was at Sapiston Church, a small
village on the Duke of Grafton's estate. The grandfather of the present
Duke was returning from a shooting expedition, and was passing the
church on Sunday afternoon while service was going on. The Duk