Wise Saws and Modern Instances, Volume 2 (of 2)

by Thomas Cooper

SIGNS OF THE TIMES;

OR,
ONE PARSON AND TWO CLERKS.

It was at the very time,—for History is notoriously fond of synchronisms for her greatest events,—witness Mycale and Platæa, fought and won on the self-same day,—it was at the very time that Papineau and the Canadian rebels took up swords and guns to resist Sir John Colborne and the English troops,—that the old women of Stow, in the parts of Lindsey, took up eggs to pelt the parish parson!

All the world knows, or if it doth not know it has profited but little by the industry of antiquarians, that Stow, in the division of Lindsey, and eight miles north-and-by-west of Lincoln, was an ancient Roman station, under the euphonic appellation of Sidnacester; that under that name it was the seat of a Saxon bishopric; that although Remigius de Feschamp, one of the Norman tyrant's fighting churchmen, transferred the seat of the diocese to Lincoln, yet when the stately cathedral which he founded was finished, while they placed his episcopal effigy on one of the grand pinnacles of the imposing west front, they fixed the grotesque image of "the Swineherd of Stow" (holding in his hand the horn which he gave filled with silver pennies, towards building the Minster,) on the other; that the episcopal palace of Stow was the favourite residence of the bishops of Lincoln down to the close of the fourteenth century, and that Stow still gives title to an archdeacon; lastly, that its venerable-looking church, dedicated to the blessed Virgin, constructed in the form of the Holy Rood, and adorned with a west door of decayed Gothic grandeur, is, to this day, called "the Mother of Lincoln Minster."

Now such being the distinctions of Stow itself, of course the "Perpetual Curate" of Stow, on receiving the awful impressment of episcopal hands, and the mysterious investiture of canonical habits, together with the comfortable appointment of the patron to the vacant curacy, entered on the discharge of his spiritual functions with strong notions of the altitude of his office, and of the plenary powers attached thereto. The ideas of the governed, however, in these days, somehow or other, don't happen to preserve an equal altitude, respecting office, with those of the governors; and the new Perpetual Curate of Stow, the successor to the once vice-regal priests of Sidnacester, was stricken with ghostly astonishment at finding that sundry rustics of his parish cared not a bodle for his new authority; that they snapped their fingers at his counsel and reproofs; and, setting at nought his college learning, preferred lending their ears to the unlearned Wesleyan local preachers,—a race of heretics who are so vulgar and unfashionable as to follow the example of Paul, and other vulgar workers of old, who earned their bread with the labour of their own hands, and yet, occasionally, ministered in word and doctrine. In the very nature of things this was unsavoury to a clergyman,—especially to a young one,—but more especially to one who actually stood in the shoes, speaking spiritually, of the princely and potential bishops of Sidnacester: it was not for him, above all established teachers in the shire, to endure such contemptuous preferences, and by that endurance permit heresy to bud and blossom unchecked.

Now, a neighbouring reverend brother of his, the fox-hunting shepherd of Willingham, was also very grievously pestered with these energetic heretics,—and he had resorted to the ancient evangelical custom of thundering forth anathemas against them from his pulpit: but that only seemed to render the pestiferous teachers more successful,—so the Perpetual Curate of Stow resolved to exert the whole power of his wit in discovering some effectual way of doing, what his zealous and pious brother of Willingham could not do,—driving out heresy, and subduing the rebellious spirit of his flock. So to work the Perpetual Curate went with his wit, and a profound mine he wrought: such a mine as would, no doubt, have blown up heresy for ever in his parish, had he ever been able to put the match to it: so profound, that, since his scheme was frustrated, no one has ever been able to fathom it, and, therefore, nobody can tell anybody what it really was. But how was it that a scheme so profound, so workmanlike, so masterly, did not succeed? Alas! how often in this frail humanity of ours do the most exalted enterprises fail, yea, often by the unexpected resistance of the very instruments on which we think we can most unerringly and safely depend! And thus it was with the great Perpetual Curate: he was most magnanimously bent on subduing revolt and heresy, when, lo! even Sir Amen, his clerk, lifted up his heel against him!

Now this was a notable event of a very auspicious character for the revolters. Clerk William Middleton was no ordinary clerk. Gervase Middleton, his father, had been clerk before him. Clerk William Middleton had, therefore, an important hereditary stamp upon him. And then, he was a schollard, as the old women called it, and was so gentle, that he was never known to hurt a worm; so moral, that he was never seen drunk in his life; so religious, that he never used a stronger oath than "Marry good faith!" and "By'r Lady!" (old oaths of popish times that are not yet lost in old Lincolnshire); and so upright, that he would not deny his conscience, even for the parson! This was no ordinary auxiliary on the side of the enemy; and there was no wonder that it put the Perpetual Curate, for a while, to his wit's end, to hear the reports which were brought to him by one Spurr (who was spurred on by his own inward aims to reach Sir Amen's office), of the stout and unflinching and open assertions made in the streets of Stow, by Clerk William Middleton, that the Methodists had as much right to preach as the parson! It was heresy he did not expect from such a quarter; but he was resolved he would be even with this member of the revolt, however; so he played a master-stroke so suddenly, that it shook the whole parish like an earthquake: he actually un-clerked Clerk William Middleton, the son of Clerk Gervase, the old, learned, hereditary, gentle, moral, upright, pious, and religious parish-clerk!!!

This was a most unprecedented and most unexpected event; and it gave rise, as may be guessed it would, to a mighty concatenation of stupendous occurrences. The spirit of the Perpetual Curate was roused, and his genius, too, as was proved by his statesmanlike blow at the ring-leader of the rustic confederacy; and the spirit of the parishioners was roused likewise, for they were determined that, although the parson might appoint a new clerk, they would stick by the old one. The ensuing Sunday, accordingly, brought forth the strange anomaly of one parson with two clerks, reading the church service in the ancient aisle of Stow! Moreover, when the chosen of the Perpetual Curate was beheld to be the egregious tale-bearer and notorious sycophant, Spurr, who was no adept at the letters of his prayer-book, the churchwarden and parishioners were alike wroth, and resolved, still more resolutely, on abiding by their old respected utterer of amens, Clerk William Middleton, the son of Clerk Gervase. Thus it fell out that Clerk Spurr,—we know not, nor care we, what was his pronomen, or "christened" name, as they call it in Lincolnshire; whether it were Moses or Mahershalalhashbaz, Nahum or Nebuchadnezzar, Jeremiah or Judas Iscariot, we cannot tell, nor doth it concern the dignity of this our record, to say with positiveness,—for the fellow was but as a buzzard to a sparrow-hawk, when compared with the rightful clerk; but thus it fell out, that Clerk Spurr was called "the Parson's Clerk," while Clerk William Middleton, the son of Clerk Gervase, bore the creditable and legitimate epithet of "the Parish Clerk."

And, then, it came to pass that, when announcements of christenings, burials, or marriages, had to be made, the parishioners, in the spirit of their preference, commissioned their own clerk, "the Parish Clerk," to inform his Reverence the Perpetual Curate of the same, and to request the fulfilment of the accustomed rites. But the cooler the parishioners grew towards "the Parson's Clerk," the hotter did the parson grow towards his parishioners. He scorned to compromise his sacerdotal dignity by attempting a reconciliation with the unruly spirits by which he was surrounded: he spurned the ignoble example of the ancient worthies who thought the first and last part of Christianity was meekness and long-suffering; and he meditated a still more afflictive stroke of retaliation on his spiritual rebels.

Clerk William Middleton conveyed a request to his spiritual superior from a sorrowing villager to bury his dead child;—but the grand Perpetual Curate would not fulfil the request because it was brought him by the discarded, though old, hereditary Amen,—and adjourned, in dudgeon, to the hamlet of Coates,—while the poor villager's child was put into its grave,—as every child of such rebels deserved to be put,—like a dog,—without a prayer being read, or a hope expressed about its resurrection!

This circumstance sank deeply into the minds of the Stow revolters: it was a something that had never been heard of a clergyman in the memory of man,—at least at Stow in the parts of Lindsey: it made their skin creep, and the very "hair of their flesh to stand up,"—for they were simple, unsophisticated sort of people, and, therefore, all strong mental emotions had the same effects upon their physical frames, as the author of "Job" and Homer describe in their days. But the strong feeling did not evaporate through the pores of their skin, especially with the more noble, though tenderer, sex: they laid their heads together to do such a deed upon a parson as had never been done upon one since the name of parson had been known in Stow. In a short time another message had to be despatched to the Perpetual Curate: a woman had to be churched, and a child to be buried, on the same afternoon,—and, judging from the former example, the villagers conjectured that his Reverence would "make himself scarce" after the churching, and leave this child, also, unburied. And now, a valorous army of the female gender, their pockets plentifully provided with plenipotent ammunition of eggs, formed themselves, in heroic ambuscade, near the church door, purposing right courageously to assail the clerical enemy, if he should haughtily refuse the offices of Christian sepulture to the deceased child. "Enterprises of great pith and moment," however, as the immortal one saith, often "their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action." So it was in this ambuscade so gloriously planned. The clerical enemy wisely capitulated: his clerk, "the Parson's Clerk," preceded the Perpetual Curate from the church, as a herald of moderation, assuring the armed battalion that his reverence would peaceably inter the child; and, forthwith, some of the gallant troop immediately grounded their arms, while others preferred throwing them to a distance,—in token that they put away all hostile thoughts far from them.

And here, perchance, this chivalrous history might have ended, had not the demon of Litigation, who was doubtless hovering near the field of intended affray, taken the case into his own foul hands. Some part of the rejected artillery chanced to alight upon the garments of "the Parson's Clerk's" wife, and of the Perpetual Curate's servant-maid. It was in vain that the members of the ambuscade protested this mishap to be owing in no degree to their intent:—the parson commenced an action at law against the entire petticoat regiment, or its ringleaders, for "assault and battery."

Another untoward event thickened the quarrel, and doubled the action at law; but the event itself cannot be so distinctly related as the last, seeing it occurred in the dark, while the female ambuscade was planted by broad daylight. The successor of the bishops, bearing a staff instead of a crosier, and his chosen Amen, bearing a hayfork, chanced to meet two youths connected with the revolters, one evening after dusk, in the churchyard. Who gave the primal assault cannot be positively affirmed, for it is not over safe to speak closely after the parties in a squabble, when there are no other witnesses. However, a fight certainly took place, even among the tombs of the dead; and so high did the wrath of the belligerent Clerk Spurr rise in the conflict, that a cottager, neighbouring to the church, heard with alarm, even at his own door, the said clerkly warrior threaten to stab his opponent with the hayfork! Ere the cottager could quit his door, up came the parson and demanded help; but the cottager honestly told the parson "he would look better at home." His Reverence then sought "help" at the blacksmith's shop, but there, also, no one thought he needed it,—and so he retreated to his lodgings.

Such, in a few words, was the cause of the double action at law; and, at the ensuing Kirton sessions, the two youngsters who had either cudgelled the parson, or had been cudgelled themselves, together with the ringleaders of the famous female ambuscade, were together tried for "assault and battery." But the wrathful parson did not get his will: the affair was so ludicrous that he was compelled to consent that it should be "hushed up."

To hush up the heart-burnings of the parties, on their return to the seat of war, was, however, not so easy a matter. Above all things, did it now become a difficult task to keep peace between the rival clerks. Passing by the many minor occasions wherein fiery frowns and black glances were exchanged, this history, which we must abridge, through dread of being adjudged tedious, conducts us to another notable event, which became the subject of another "action-at-law," at a succeeding Kirton Quarter Sessions.

The funeral of a parishioner was about to take place, and the friends of the deceased "particularly requested" that Clerk William Middleton, the son of Clerk Gervase,—the true "Parish Clerk,"—the old, hereditary, and established, and legitimate pronouncer of conclusive amens,—might give the responses at this funeral. Clerk Spurr, the "Parson's Clerk," however, determined on contesting the point;—and—a struggle for the old folio prayer-book actually took place in the church!

Here, again, was a sight that had never been beheld, or dreamt of, before, in the parish of Stow: but as strange and indecorous a sight as it was, it was one that many a rural spectator declared he wouldn't have missed for a quart of ale!—The very mourners for the dead were compelled to hide their laughing faces with their white handkerchiefs,—for the grotesque wrestling of the rival clerks, and their looks of rage, as they together grasped and tugged at the prayer-book, put weeping out of the question. The parson had got through—"I said I will take heed to my ways,"—and wanted to begin—"Lord, thou hast been our refuge,"—but there stood the wrestlers, grasping, and pulling, and panting, and sweating,—and it was a most difficult thing to say which would be likely to beat. Many a stout farmer that shook his sides,—for the laugh became broad and general, in spite of the solemnity of the occasion,—longed to shout out, "A crown to a groat upon Middleton!"—but restrained himself. At length,—the genuine, hereditary spirit of the true "Parish Clerk" prevailed!—he possessed the book: the "Parson's Clerk" sought a seat, to take his breath;—and Clerk William, panting, and wiping the streaming perspiration from his comely and heroic brow, proceeded to echo the "Confession" after the Perpetual Curate.

Such was the cause of the "action" brought by Spurr (at the direction, and by the ghostly advice of the Perpetual Curate) against Middleton at the succeeding sessions,—an action of "assault committed by the said Middleton upon him the said Spurr, while in the performance of duty." The jury, on this occasion,—to make short of the narrative,—sat till eleven at night,—the Court rang with laughter for hours,—and the affair was, at last, got rid of,—by some legal resort, and Spurr (or his advisers) were saddled with costs. That was a conclusion that "gravelled" Spurr, as he said, on leaving the Court; and the Perpetual Curate was also "gravelled"—though he did not use the same expression; and they each showed it, soon after their second return to the old seat of war. But another slight event must first be chronicled, ere the several succeeding and exalted doings of the "Parson's Clerk" and the Perpetual Curate are narrated.

Thomas Skill, was a skilful yeoman of good report, holding two farms in the ancient parish of Stow; and although he eschewed all heresy and dissent, and willed to worship after the fashion of his forefathers,—who had been creditable yeomen in Stow from time immemorial,—yet liked he not of the wayward doings of his Reverence the Perpetual Curate. Now it chanced that on a certain Sunday in November that the said Skill the skilful went, as was his pious and religious wont, to pay his devotions according to law, in the parish church of Stow, the ancient and venerated sanctuary of his forefathers. As a holder of two farms, be it observed, this creditable yeoman had a right, by the customs of this rural district, to two pews; nevertheless, being by no means a person of an unreasonable disposition, he was content, on that day, to occupy but one, if so be that he might be allowed to worship quietly. Nevertheless, scarcely was he seated, ere a certain Jesse Ellis, an aged man of some rural rank as a master-husband-man who had been selected by the Perpetual Curate as his churchwarden, came up to the pew-door, said "he was ordered to pull Skill out," and, forthwith, attempted to put the "order" into execution. Did Skill the skilful resist?—Did he yield? No, no: he knew a trick worth two of either. He had not his name for nought! When Ellis laid his grasp vehemently on the pew-door, skilful Skill held it fast for a few moments, and then skilfully let it go,—all in a moment,—so that the vehement Ellis, by the vehemence of his grasp and the rebound of the pew-door, was overthrown; and there he lay,—he, the parson's own churchwarden,—on the floor of the aisle of Stow church, in the time of "divine service," with the congregation from their seats and pews, and the Perpetual Curate, from his reading-desk, and Clerk Spurr, the "Parson's Clerk," and Clerk William Middleton, the son of Clerk Gervase, squeezing one another in the desk below, and yet looking on, and all looking on, at his signal defeat and overthrow: there he "lay vanquished—confounded;"—like Milton's Satan, sprawling on the "fiery gulf," when all the fallen angels were sprawling there likewise, but yet looking on and shaking their heads at him for a rash captain—no doubt!

Then appeared Skill the skilful, and Ellis the sprawler, before a bench of "Her Majesty's Justices of the Peace for the parts of Lindsey," in the Moothall of Gainsborough; where the justices acted with sense and discernment, and dismissed the sprawler's suit, saddling him with costs. An end might have come to this episode here; but the sprawler and his son were people of spirit, and were so much dissatisfied with this decision of the justices, that they went home muttering all the way about law, and declaring to every one they met, that they "would yet have it." And so skilful Skill thought it wise and prudent to let them "have it;" and, therefore, from mere neighbourly good humour, commenced his action, in turn, against the said Jesse Ellis for attempting to pull him out of his own pew, on the said Sunday in November, and in the parish church of Stow aforesaid. Our manuscript hath, in this place, an hiatus; so that we cannot say how the said action terminated: but it will not excite wonder that amidst the ravelled tissue of broils and litigations occasioned by the gospel-mindedness of the illustrious successor to the Sidnacestrian prelates, some of their issues should escape complete and satisfactory chronicle.

It behoveth, moreover, that we now attend to the more lofty department of this our history of ecclesiastical revolutions,—for, as the sun transcendeth the stars, so do the acts of sacerdotal personages outshine the brightest deeds of the vulgar laity.

And first, of the continued luminous acts and deeds of Clerk Spurr, the notable and notorious "Parson's Clerk," the hero of the hayfork. Let none imagine that he always warred with such a vulgar weapon of the field; forasmuch as his Reverence the Perpetual Curate, being in possession of a grand double-barrelled gun, was wont to commit and intrust it to the lawful custody of his worthy coadjutor in heroic exercises, the heroic Clerk Spurr. Neither did it redound a little to the credit of the Perpetual Curate's humanity, that he did so commit and intrust the said formidable piece of ordnance to the custody of the said Spurr;—forasmuch as the life and safety of that hero of the hayfork were discerned to be seriously in danger,—inasmuch as it had been proven how the malicious urchins of the community, participating deeply in the heart-burnings of their sires and mothers, were wont often to annoy, with sundry small pebbles and other mischief-working missiles, the precious person of the said hero. Lest, therefore, these assaults should issue in some bodily harm to himself, the man of nightly valour was equipped with the gun, and speedily proceeded to defend himself therewith, in the manner that shall now be described and related, together with the fruition of his new act of heroism.

The night was two hours old,—no moon, no stars,—it was deeply dark and murkily cloudy, and—but never mind all that! Anon, up cometh the troop of youngsters, whispering laughter, and saying "Hush!" to each other, as they approach the camp of the enemy. Little thought they, as they marched along, each laden with his pocket of pebbles, of the sore discomfiture which had been planned for them by the foe! Clerk Spurr, that signal warrior of the implement with prongs, had planted himself, firelock on shoulder, eye full of aim, and heart full of valour, close by the usual point of attack. The besiegers halt,—and, in a moment, a shower of gravel gravelleth their enemy; but loud as was the war-cry of their tiny voices, above it rose the booming thunder of the "Parson's Clerk's" grand double-barrelled gun,—and woeful was the effect thereof!!! The shot or the wadding,—the manuscript sayeth not which—had entered,—not the brains, nor, even, the hats of the juvenile assailants,—but—but—the church windows! Away scampered the youngsters,—every mother's son feeling whether his head was off or on,—and yelling, till every cottage door in the neighbourhood was thrown open, and lights were brought out in alarm! Down tumbled the old coloured glass from the ancient mullions, rattling on the tomb-stones beneath, and sounding like curses on sacrilege in the ears of the affrighted hero of the gun and the hayfork! His weapon dropped,—for he was panic-struck! The churchwardens brought a bill against him for the repair of the church-windows: he refused to pay: was brought before the Lincoln county magistrates for recovery; and the hero of the hayfork had to "fork out" seven shillings and sixpence for his freak! The Stow rustics grinned from ear to ear, nodded approbation of the sentence, and spread mirth and fun when they reached home with the news; but the reverend successor of the ancient episcopal potencies was sorely grieved at heart when he heard of this repetition of defeat for his chosen and chop-fallen ejaculator of amens.

As for the grand Perpetual Curate himself, his personal troubles and griefs, and the uninterrupted continuation thereof, would require volumes for full narration. Suffice it to say, ere we bring this exalted record to an end, that, in the profundity of his wisdom, he resorted to multitudinous devices of apostolical character, after the defeats at law that have been heretofore noted. During ten successive Sundays he resorted to a most novel course of Christianity, closing the service after merely reading a few of the "Sentences,"—or, in addition, a few words of the "Absolution,"—and then, leaving his flock to find their way to heaven as they might. The legitimate "Parish Clerk" would come into his desk pretty early; then would come in the "Parson's Clerk;" and, lastly, the parson would walk into his desk, and commence reading after the following unique method:—

"When the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness that he hath committed, and doeth that which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive.——William Middleton! I charge you to come out of that seat, and let the clerk come in peaceably and quietly!"

The poor "Parish Clerk," meanwhile, would make no answer; but full meekly, and in the spirit of his vocation, would hold his peace. Again the parson would proceed:—

"Dearly beloved brethren, the Scripture moveth us in sundry places to——William Middleton! if you do not come out of that seat, and cease interrupting me in my duty, I shall conclude the service!"

And then would he close the book,—the poor "Parish Clerk" answering not a word,—and, walking to the communion-table, give a couple of parish alms-loaves to such as he chose to call—usually his own clerk, for one,—and then,—and then,—in the spirit of Jewel and Latimer, and the rest of the tireless and devoted exemplars of his religion, would he quit the consecrated edifice, and leave the congregation to finish by themselves,—or disperse, which of course they preferred to do, after witnessing these apostolical exhibitions. One more relation of the subtle and profound devices of the immortal and Perpetual Curate, ere we come to an end.

Vexed, teased, troubled, and circumvented, as he was, it came to pass that, in the plenitude of his mortified and yet haughty reflections, the successor of purple prelates bethought him that it was not seemly for the rebellious herdsmen, ploughmen, and other rustics of low degree, wherewith he was surrounded, to walk daily over the "consecrated ground" of the churchyard, in the ancient footpath. The more he thought of it the more he shuddered at it; that a number of rude rebels, with their heretical and sacrilegious feet, should tread daily on ground which had been "consecrated" in the hallowed mists of dateless antiquity, by mitred magnates, before whose uplifted crosier kings had lowered their sceptres, and mailed barons trembled and turned pale. It was not to be permitted: the magnanimous Perpetual Curate resolved to root out such impious sacrilege from the face of the earth; and immediately fastened up the gates of the said ancient footpath with strong locks and chains; yea, planted goodly young trees in the line of road hitherto trodden by unworthy and rebellious rustics. Nay, more, conceiving that even the remembrance of every grandmother and great-grandfather of such a stiff-necked generation should be obliterated, his high-minded Reverence gave order that all the hillocks over the graves should be laid low, and the whole churchyard be levelled!

But now the grand priest had reached a climax, in the judgment of his parishioners; and now arose the mighty wrath of the people,—that barrier which hath so often stood before proud priests,—yea, and will so stand again,—seeming to bear on its front, "Thus far shall ye go, and no further, and here shall your proud wills be stayed!" A parishioner, whose purse was lined with a store of guineas to back his resolution, avowed that the Perpetual Curate, if he caused to be touched a single clod that covered the ashes of his, the parishioner's, forefathers, should have his clerical cup sweetened with all the sugar that could be purchased for him in a court of law; and, lo! the successor of the prelates of Sidnacester rescinded his "order" for levelling the quiet graves of the dead!

Nor long did the other late devices of his canonical wisdom stand. The urchins of the parish contrived to slip slily over the churchyard wall, and to break down the newly-planted trees; and, at length, one parishioner, having conversed with Sir John Barleycorn at Gainsborough market, and being strongly advised by that notable counsellor of courage to set the proud parson at nought, and "break his bonds asunder," rushed to the churchyard gates, as soon as he arrived at his native village, and smiting at locks and chains, as if he had been Samson before Gaza, burst his way valiantly through,—and, thereafter, did the sacrilegious feet of every rebel rustic again press the path of their forefathers, without let or impediment! Such are the sovereign achievements of the magisterial "people," when engaged in the assertion of their time-hallowed "rights!" What are the acts of emperors compared therewith?

And now come we to the final "action" in this concatenation of litigation, one that gave consternation to the poor "parish clerk," be it understood. We have spoken of the "actions" at the first Kirton Sessions; namely, the Perpetual Curate versus the Female Ambuscaders, and the Perpetual Curate versus the Cudgellers in the dark: then spoke we of the "action" at the next sessions, Clerk Spurr, the Parson's Clerk, v. Clerk William Middleton, the son of Clerk Gervase, the Parish Clerk: then of the petit "action" before the Gainsborough Justices—Ellis v. Skill: then of the greater "action" at assize—Skill v. Ellis: then of the "action" before the Lincoln magistrates for recovery of value for broken church-windows—the Churchwardens of Stow v. the Parson's Clerk: lastly, of the threatened action by the parishioner of the long purse, which the Perpetual Curate avoided by rescinding his presumptuous "order" for levelling the graves:—but now come we to the final "action"—the action of actions: that to which all the rest formed but a petty preface: that wherein the Perpetual Curate departing from all by-ways of attack, undisguisedly assumed a position of legal and spiritual antagonism against the foe whom he esteemed as the chief author of his ills, the disturber of his projected schemes, that would, so many months before, have issued in subjugating the rebels, and consuming heresy in his parish,—against the old, hereditary, gentle, moral, upright parish clerk, Clerk William Middleton, the son of Clerk Gervase.

And where was the action commenced?—Before the county magistrates,—or at sessions,—or at assize? Pooh! nonsense!—that was not the way to finish Middleton's business as the parson intended to finish it. Where then? In the Queen's Bench, or the Common Pleas, or the Exchequer? No. What then, in the Vice Chancellor's Court, or the Court of Chancery itself? Not one of 'em, sir; but in a more awful court than any of 'em, or all of 'em put together: in the Spiritual Court, sir!

What aged dame in Lindsey had not heard of the Spiritual Court? Why the mere sound of the word served to fill her with mysterious awe, and to call up in her memory all the fireside stories of her grandmothers: how such awful "penances" were inflicted by this court, on erring females, in their days,—when the dread power of the priesthood was displayed in punishing the subjects of that natural frailty called "scandal," by compelling them to walk up the church aisle covered with a white sheet, and bearing a wax taper in their hand! With such associations derived from his grandmother, only conceive how awfully queer poor, moral, gentle, religious, upright Clerk William felt when he received the mysterious "writ," issued against him by this mysterious court. "Schollard," as he was, it was so strange a thing to look upon, that he instantly sent for the parish schoolmaster, who, with spectacles on nose, and frequent spelling and some mispelling, read aloud—to a house full of consternated neighbours,—Clerk William turning pale as he heard the beginning,—

"In the Name of God, Amen!

"We, John Haggard, Doctor in Civil and Canon Law, Vicar-General in spirituals of the Right Reverend Father in God, John, by Divine Permission, Lord Bishop of Lincoln, and official Principal of the Episcopal and Consistorial Court of Lincoln, lawfully constituted,—to you William Middleton, of the parish of Stow, &c. &c., touching and concerning your soul's health, and the lawful correction and reformation of your manners and excesses, and more especially for profaning the parish church of Stow aforesaid, by brawling, quarrelling, or chiding in the said parish church during the celebration of divine service therein by the Rev. ——, perpetual curate, &c. &c., and also for contumacious behaviour, and refusing to obey the lawful commands of the said ----," &c. &c.

And then followed a pompous quotation from a statute of Edward the Sixth, showing that a clergyman had power to prohibit a contumacious member of his flock ab ingressu ecclesiæ,—that is to say, from entering the church: in other words, to excommunicate him! Furthermore, an act of the 53d George III. was quoted, declaring that "Persons who may be pronounced or declared to be excommunicate by any ecclesiastical court in definitive sentences, or in interlocutory decrees, having the force and effect of definitive sentences, as spiritual censures for offences of ecclesiastical cognisance, shall incur imprisonment not exceeding six months, as the court pronouncing or decreeing such person excommunicate shall direct."

That was a sore shake for poor Clerk William! Excommunicated! Why, the thought of such a fate to one who had been brought up in a veneration of the church, whose father was a clerk, and thought himself as fully consecrated as a bishop!—it was no joke to such a one to hear there was a chance of his being excommunicated. Yet he would not "give it up!" No, that he wouldn't: his father had said, "Nobody could turn the parish clerk out of his office so long as he had morality on his side: his office was his freehold:" so his father, Clerk Gervase, of pious memory, had said; and he, Clerk William, would abide by it. So he took the desk on the following Sunday, and kept up the war as usual. Yet he often pondered on "definitive sentences" and "interlocutory decrees,"—when he had learnt the words by heart,—wondering what kind of awful things they were.

The effect of issuing this writ, however, so completely astounded the parishioners that they thenceforth only whispered where they had shouted, and were silent where they had whispered, in all matters relating to the parson: true, whenever a paper for convening any particular parochial meeting was attached to the church door, bearing the usual signature of —— ——, Incumbent Minister, some wag would be sure to scratch out one of the words, so as to make it read "Incumbrance" Minister, instead: but beyond that there was, now, no further daring.

And, at last, the summons came, and no less than a score of witnesses were taken to the Consistory in Lincoln Cathedral, to be sworn that they would give evidence on the case. And week by week—week by week—the prosing "examinations" were proceeded with, on a certain day of the week, until a thousand folios of "examination" were counted; and when a parishioner asked how much he must pay for a copy of the depositions for Clerk William, the reckoning was made by the "registrar" of the court, at the usual sum per folio—and he was told it would merely be such a trifle as five-and-twenty pounds! And then the calculations, and the wonders, and wishes that were expressed, night by night, and day by day, in every cottage at Stow,—nay, in all the villages round, and the wagers that were laid in every village ale-house on a Saturday night, what would be the cost of the whole trial, and how long Clerk William would be imprisoned, and where they would imprison him,—for nobody was so slow of heart or understanding, as not to know beforehand that the "Vicar-General in Spirituals" would give judgment against the poor "parish clerk," as a matter of course, whenever the trial should come to an end.

And did the trial ever come to an end? and was Clerk William Middleton, the son of Clerk Gervase, really excommunicated? "By no manner of means, sir," as the pompous fellow says in the play: the grand suit, after causing so tremendous a quassation, and all that, of a considerable quarter of Lindsey, was—given up! Yes, it was: and more than that, the true "parish clerk," Clerk William, was reinstated, fully and entirely, in his rightful office. Ay to this day,—unless our information misleads us,—he exercises the same without losing an inch of his height, or a fragment of his independent spirit; for it is but a few months bygone since he showed it. The grand Perpetual Curate, according to his wont, took upon him to reprehend, at the very grave-side, a Wesleyan, whose child, then being interred, had been baptized by a Wesleyan preacher: Clerk William, right bluntly, told the priest that the Wesleyan had a right to please himself! "Why, as for you, you will say or do any thing," retorted the priest, "if they'll pay you for it!"—"And would you be standing there in that gown, with that book in your hand, unless you were paid for it?" asked and answered Clerk William. The grand Perpetual Curate bit his lip, and walked away!

Reader, we have been relating facts: perhaps, in adopting the style of half-rhodomontade, we have not displayed very good taste; but the narrative itself contains uncontradictable facts. And these did not occur in a district disturbed by chartism, nor revolutionised by radicalism, or anti-corn-law agitation; but in the old-fashioned, rural centre of Lindsey: it is even there where the "spiritual court" shrinks from employing the foolery of its own worn-out terrors; and where the peasant adventures to beard the priest! Are not these "Signs of the Times?"

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