THE CLERKS OF CORNWALL.
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
OBSERVED BY THE
LORD LIEUTENANTS OF IRELAND.
On the great road from London to West Chester, we find, at the principal inns, the coats of arms of several lord lieutenants of Ireland, framed, and hung up in the best rooms. At the bottom of these armorial pictures (as I may call them) is a full display of all the titles of the party, together with the date of the year when each viceroyship commenced. I have often inquired the reason of this custom, but never could procure a satisfactory answer. I do not reprobate the idea of this relique of ancient dignity, as these heraldic monuments were doubtless intended to operate as public evidences of the passage of each lord-deputy to his delegated government. They now seem only to be preserved for the gratification of the vanity of the capital innkeepers, by showing to humble travellers that such and such lord lieutenants did them the honour to stop at their houses; and yet I will not say, but that for half-a-crown handsomely offered to his excellency’s gentleman, they might likewise become part of the furniture of every ale-house in Dunstable.
After fruitless inquiry, accident furnished me with the ground of this custom, which now only serves to excite a little transitory curiosity. Having occasion to look into sir Dudley Digge’s “Complete Ambassador,” published in 1654, I was obliged to the editor for a solution, who, in the preface, (signed A. H.,) speaking of the reserve of the English ambassadors, in not making public their negotiations, has this observation—“We have hardly any notion of them but by their arms, which are hung up in inns where they passed.”
This paragraph at once accounts for the point before us, and is sufficient, at the same time, to show that the custom was anciently, and even in the seventeenth century, common to every ambassador, though it now only survives with those who go in the greater and more elevated line of royal representation to Ireland.
Samuel Pegge.[193]
[193] Curialia Miscellanea.
For the Table Book.
THE BACHELOR’S PLAINT.
An Ode of the olden Time.
Hark! the curfew, friend to night,
Banishes the cheerful light;
Now the scholar, monk, and sage—
All by lamp that con the page—
All to whom the light is dear
Sigh that sullen knell to hear!
Labour now with day is done;
To the wave the weary sun
Rushes, from its cool to borrow
Vigour for his course to-morrow:
Yet, in kindness, scorning quite
Thus to rob the world of light,
He lends the moon his useful beams,
And through the night by proxy gleams.
Kine unyok’d, sheep safely penn’d,
Ploughmen, hind, and shepherd wend
To the hostel’s welcome latch,
From the tankard’s draught to snatch
Strength, relax’d, which, blithe of strain,
Deeds of day they act again!
Now the nightingale’s sad note
Through the listening air ’gins float,
Warning youth in warded tower,
Maiden in her greenwood bower;
’Tis the very witching time,
Dear alike to love and rhyme!
Every lover, at the strain,
Speeds the shady grove to gain,
Where awaits the treasur’d maid;
Where each care and toil’s repaid!
Each fond heart now lightly veers,
With alternate hopes and fears;
Each fond heart now sweetly glows,
With love’s rapturous joys and woes;
Each fond heart—ah, why not mine!—
Gently hails the day’s decline;
But, alas! mine,—woe is me!—
Is benumb’d by apathy;
Is indifference’ dull throne—
There she reigns, unmov’d, alone!
There one stagnant calm presides,
Chilling all sweet feelings’ tides!
Ah, methinks, I fierce despair
Better than such calm could bear:
I have nought to hope or fear—
No emotion claims a tear—
No soft rapture wakes a smile,
Meeding centuries of toil!
Listless, sad, forlorn, I rove,
Feeling still the heart wants Love!
Nought to me can pleasure give,
Shadow of the dead I live!
No sweet maid’s consenting blush
On my cheek brings rapture’s flush!
No fond maiden’s tender tear
Thrills my soul with transports dear!
No kind maiden’s kiss bestows
Blest reward for all my woes!
No sweet maid’s approving smile
Beams my labours to beguile!
Best incentive Love can claim,
Leading age to wealth and fame.
A lone and lonely being I,
Only seem to live—to die!
With mankind my vacant heart
Feels as if it had no part!
Love, thy slave I’d rather be,
Than free, if this is being free!
Rather feel thy worst annoy,
Than live and never know thy joy!
Come, then, let thy keenest dart,
Drive this loath’d Freedom from my heart:
I’ll bear whole ages of thy pain,
One moment of thy bliss to gain!
W. T. M.
May, 1827.